In which Neil Young waxes sad and beautiful about leaving home and finding himself on an asphalt highway bending through libraries and museums, galaxies and stars. Found on the acoustic side of 1979’s Rust Never Sleeps, the album where Mr. Young faced the punk whirlwind, found it relevant, and thus ensured that (unlike most of his contemporaries) he would neither burn out nor fade away, but keep on keeping on.
In which the alien aka David Jones aka David Bowie comes clean and reveals he’s really human after all. “I remember hearing this a lot in 1980 – memories of Ronald Raygun running hard for the White House, the hostage thing ongoing in Iran, a clash of civilizations apparently … the realization of how utterly doomed and damned we all were if couldn’t find a common humanity beneath all our bullshit gods and politics. The supreme challenge of learning to live with someone else’s mental and spiritual health issues. Same as it ever was.” (Philip Random)
This continues to be Randophonic’s main focus, our overlong yet incomplete history of the so-called Prog Rock era (presented in countdown form) – 661 selections from 1965 through 1979 with which we hope to do justice to a strange and ambitious time indeed, musically speaking.
Part Twenty-Two of the journey went as follows:
Eddie Kendricks – keep on truckin’
Emerson Lake + Palmer – lucky man
Manfred Mann – waiter there’s a yawn in my ear
Edgar Winter Group – Frankenstein
Genesis – the knife
Genesis – return of the giant hogweed [the march]
Renaissance – ocean gypsy
Renaissance – Mother Russia [half-live]
The Mothers – Montana
Jethro Tull – Baker Street Muse
King Crimson – prelude [song of the gulls]
King Crimson – islands
Fresh episodes air pretty much every Saturday night, starting 11 pm (Pacific time) c/o CiTR.FM.101.9, with streaming and download options available within twenty-four hours via our Facebook.
Joe Higgs (the man who taught Bob Marley how to sing) delivers yet another sort of lost hit from way back when, that murky part of the 1970s when reggae still hadn’t really been discovered by the rest of the world and yet, no coincidence, was probably at its best.
George Dekker (straight outa Jamaica) delivers a timeless anthem of rather uplifting despair, if such is possible. Because things are always getting worse, just turn on the news, which is no reason to stop moving. “I remember a work friend whose younger brother was dying of Hodgkin’s. She loved this song. I’d ask her how things were. She’d raise a triumphant fist and declare, Things Are Getting Worse.” (Philip Random)
“I knew nothing about Lindisfarne other than the fact that they were on Charisma, the same label that Genesis got started on. Which is why my friend Carl’s big brother bought Lindisfarne Live. He figured any album with that Mad Hatter graphic in the middle couldn’t be bad. He listened to it once, and (not being into ‘folk shit’) gave it to Carl, who didn’t think much of it himself, so it ended up with me, buried in the deep end of my collection, barely listened to for at least a decade before I dragged it out one sloppy, stoned 1980s evening, and holy shit, it was fun, it had edge, it had drunken British hippie folkies taking wets on the wall. Radical shit.” (Philip Random)
The Clash telling it like it was in 1979 (and now for that matter). Got a problem with the weight of the world? You’re just not thinking, grooving, acting fast enough. In fact, they were so prolific (and good) at the time that they dropped Groovy Times as a b-side. First band since the Beatles to be thathot. And probably the last.
Wherein American punk-hard-core (whatever you want to call it) bushwackers Black Flag unleash a profound anthem of insight and purpose unto the world. Because we’ve all done it, invested precious hours of our lives in smoking dope, drinking cheap swill, watching crap on TV. Originally found on an EP of the same name, but most of us heard it first care of the Repo Man Soundtrack which, it’s true, probably saved the western world, but first it had to destroy it.