Last week’s Randophonic radio was completely concerned with the music of Can and Jaki Leibezeit (who died recently). So much so that it requires three Mixcloud streams to do it all justice. The first two are a re-run of an old Randophonic show called Canned Goods, with the third a recent mix of material that Herr Lebezeit contributed to outside of Can (1977-2013).
A Led Zeppelin rocker from 1975’s Physical Graffiti, but for Philip Random, it was more of a 1988 record. “A pivotal year for me. At the time, it was just something to be endured, one of those phases where the winter winds never stopped howling, even in the middle of summer (figuratively speaking of course). The Winter of Hate we ended up calling it. Aliens with a hunger for human flesh had taken over all the world’s governments and the only thing worth laughing about was that nothing was funny anymore. Musically, this manifested in a lot of pure raw noise as even punk/hardcore wasn’t really fierce enough anymore. Or maybe I was jonesing for some honest, raw, nasty blues – the kind of stuff Led Zeppelin had in ample supply on their biggest, longest, last truly great album. Man did it sound right!”
“A Kate Bush song (circa 1980) about nuclear horror apparently – even includes an eruption of heat and exterminating light toward the end. Close your eyes so you won’t go instantly blind, then brace for the shock wave that removes you from time and space altogether. That seems to be the intent. What happens on a metaphysical level when suddenly an entire planet’s worth of souls are cut loose from the mortal coil? What kind of turmoil is there in heaven, hell, purgatory, all the other way stations? At least that’s how Latetia explained it to me one long night of drinking tea and discussing apocalypse. She’d had these prophetic dreams, you see.” (Philip Random)
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, no reason to stop moving. “I remember a work friend whose younger brother was dying of Hodgkin’s. She loved this song. It became kind of a joke. I’d ask her how things were. She’d raise a triumphant fist and declare, Things Are Getting Worse.” (Philip Random)
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 cheap dope, drinking swill, watching sh** 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, saved the western world, but first it had to destroy it.
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 nineteen of the journey went as follows:
King Crimson – pictures of the city
Todd Rundgren – how about a little fanfare?
Todd Rundren – I think you know
Todd Rundgren – the spark of life
Utopia – [fragments of] the Ikon
PFM – il banchetto
PFM – is my face on straight
Rush – La Villa Strangiato
Led Zeppelin – four sticks
Supertramp – the meaning
Man – c’mon 
361. Nektar – finale [to the centre of the eye]
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.
The Jimmy Castor Bunch are mostly known for their one-off mega-hit whose sexual politics were dubious even in 1972. The shock is just how good the rest of the album is — a blast of funk fused psychedelic soul that’s as serious as life, truth and death.
In which the Moody Blues go deep and wide and high, thus reminding us why they were once considered pretty darned cool. Philip Random recalls listening to Melancholy Man a lot while reading Lord of the Rings for the first time “… as a mostly uncool, pre-driver’s license teenager with absolutely nothing better to do one long hot summer, stuck in somebody else’s cottage, there being only one even remotely decent album in the vicinity – This Is The Moody Blues (who knows how it got there?). I still think of Bilbo Baggins finally getting old whenever I hear it, and I didn’t even know what melancholy meant at the time, just felt it anyway, all that deep sorrow and regret, particularly once the mellotron sweeps in about half-way through.”