Friday, September 30, 2016

People, Hell, and Angels

 


I've been spinning my 2LP  2013   debut release posthumous album from Jimi Hendrix, People, Hell, and Angels.   Hearing the rich sounds of immaculate blues rock and roll music emerge from my speakers has me amazed at the thought this may have been the very best release that year but for the life of most of us, who would get the opportunity to find out?  Those who deserve it (must be the only reasonable answer in a world gone mad from disproportional memefication to the point of proliferating its circumstantial virus through every lock and keyhole in the land).  Who's Jimi Hendrix, some of you submillenials may ask?  He's the mythic lead singer of the band Jimi Eat World.  Did you know he owned the largest occult book collection in the world, before his Lord and Master took his soul in good standing as per the deal at the crossroads.   It's true he lived in Anton Levay's castle, out on the fringes of Northampton.  He was also the folk singer (as they referred to his type back in the day) who turned the Beatles on to acid and taught Bob Dylan how to sing and play the guitar.  Not many people know this, today.  That's why I'm here to tell you, straight up, how it all went down, my friends. Back when Jimi Eat World were at the height of their popularity--in the early 90's--when Sinead O'Connor was the uncrowned Queen of Scotland and no one even knew who Forrest Whitaker was.   Those were the days some of us still around who survived them recall dimly through a haze induced by smoking powdered Kool-Aid, I'm afraid.  Very afraid, to tell you the truth, because I don't see how anything beautiful's going to survive intact as we traipse our way forward from here.  Hey Gypsy Boy, why'd you shoot your woman down?  It's alright, Ma, I'm Only Bleeding.   And if you want to bleed, just bleed.   Speaking of Skeleton Tree--that's the other magnificent release of these late lost years quickly being pulled along a gravitational conveyor belt only to disappear into an expanding black hole.


From Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds comes the sixteenth album, this year's Skeleton Tree, as desolate and stripped down sounding foray into lonely madness as I've ever had the consolation to listen to. The entire fucking album is available to listen to for free on YouTube, right here.

  

This album arrived in its pristine vinyl format to my household just the other day like a scared and lonely crow swept down wings upraised having given up to alight on the flat wrought iron hand rail on my front porch.  It seemed to regard me balefully from within it's high sheen exterior packaging. I've invited it in since to join up with its other vinyl  friends and together we often throw a party.  Turn out all the lights in the house once night falls and light a solitary candle in honor of the dead.  



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