Fantastic Plastic Machine: Green Door "Suck It And See"
Thanks for reading.
cheryls@dsuper.net
brian@phyres.lan.mcgill.ca
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------------------------------
Date: Sun, 13 Aug 2000 10:49:02 +0100
From: "Paul Hodge" <paul.hodge@virgin.net>
Subject: (exotica) wah wah in Barcelona
Just returned from a holiday in Barcelona
Couldn't believe it when I visited Wah Wah
It really had everything I've been searching around for.
What a top record store!
Returned wirh a basketful of Schema releases.
Wonderful
Paul
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------------------------------
Date: Sun, 13 Aug 2000 15:25:07 +0200
From: Moritz R <webmaster@derplan.com>
Subject: (exotica) (obit:) Carlos Castaneda
A Yankee way of knowledge
CARLOS CASTANEDA, WHOEVER HE WAS, IS DEAD -- WHATEVER THAT IS.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
BY IAN SHOALES
Last week, the Los Angeles Times ruefully alerted us to the death of
Carlos Castaneda, noting the occasion with a baffled overview of his
life. He was believed to be 72, born (perhaps) in 1925 in either Brazil
or Peru, depending on which story one accepts. On his death
certificate, his occupation was listed as a teacher in Beverly Hills,
but records don't show Castaneda teaching there. A (possibly bitter)
ex-wife was quoted: "Much of the Castaneda mystique is based on the
fact that even his closest friends aren't sure who he is."
The obituary was accompanied by a very odd photograph taken at the
University of Texas in 1951. The picture, however, didn't show a kid in
his mid-20s. It looked like a Hollywood publicity photo of a character
actor who specializes in playing stout bankers. He might have played
one of Lionel Barrymore's clerks in "It's a Wonderful Life." Time's
obituary of what it called, in its mighty wisdom, an "enigmatic
personality who was either an unfairly vilified anthropologist or a
wildly inventive novelist," was accompanied by a picture of a face
covered by a hand, with only intense eyes and a few strands of black
hair showing. This is the only photograph, according to Time, to which
Castaneda would consent. For a cover story!
I hadn't thought about Castaneda in years. As a matter of fact, the
last time I thought about Carlos Castaneda, after the previous years I
hadn't thought about him, was at a party in Mill Valley, Calif., in the
early '80s. Midnight or so, a short, long-haired Latino man walked
through the door. He had a huge mustache and a grin that ate half his
face. On either side of him, two women, gorgeous in a Playboy/hippie
kind of way (honey-blond, vacant, faded blue jeans, halter tops, you
know), sashayed through the door. They seemed like a dream sequence
from a Cheech and Chong
movie.
After a while, somebody came up to me and shouted over the music (the
'80s equivalent of whispering) that this guy was Carlos Castaneda. I
went over to the cluster of people surrounding him in the corner of the
garage, out of the way of the dancers. He had his wallet open, beaming,
showing everybody his driver's license. The two women were moving their
bodies idly to the music, looking away, scanning the crowd. I elbowed
to his side. Like a stoned pope offering his ring, he held his license
up for my view. Sure enough, it said, "Carlos Castaneda."
And that was that. I didn't talk with him. I danced until 3 and drove
home erratically.
Was he the One True Castaneda? I doubt it. He was too young and pleased
to be recognized. On the other hand, he did have two fabulous babes
following him around, always a sure-fire fame indicator. Maybe he was a
con man who'd convinced them that he was the real Castaneda. Maybe he
was the genuine Castaneda, acting like a con man to teach us a lesson,
and the two women were spiritual guides from a separate reality. I just
don't know.
After reading the obituary, feeling both nostalgic and mildly alarmed
that I couldn't remember what the deal was with Carlos Castaneda, I
rushed out and tracked down a copy of "The Teachings of Don Juan: A
Yaqui Way of Knowledge." I found one for $2 in a used bookstore in
Santa Rosa, from a woman who seemed excited that I was buying it. I
guess the news of Castaneda's demise hadn't precipitated a rush for his
output.
The book was pretty much as I'd remembered it -- an earnest seeker
hooks up with a cranky old magician and learns what fear is. That was
the appeal of the book (and series) when I was a kid, and probably
remains so today.
There are all kinds of echoes in the relationship between Carlos and
Don Juan -- Plato and Socrates, Boswell and Johnson, Watson and Holmes,
Luke and Yoda, Scully and Mulder. The book is very well written, in an
old-fashioned meticulous style that only contributes to the -- what?
Verisimilitude, I guess. I liked it as much as I had the first time I
read it, which was quite a lot.
But I also remembered why I stopped reading the series. "Journey to
Ixtlan" was the last one I read, I think, if that's the one that ended
with Carlos leaping into the Nagual. Anyway, I didn't leap with him. I
lost interest, that's all. I was as fond of amazing dope tales as the
next guy, but I wasn't about to pack my troubles in an old kit bag,
hitchhike to Sonora and stalk old Apaches in the hope of finding
luminous beings, magical gestures or even the secret of life. My
parents would have killed me. I'm a Tonal, not a Nagual, kind of guy,
in other words. I had a life, such as it was.
What Castaneda's life was, though, remains a mystery. He seems to be
one of those peculiar Americans (despite his origins), like Joseph
Smith, L. Ron Hubbard, Walt Disney or Hugh Hefner, who had a dream of
combining mission with marketing. He was more subtle than most, and
therefore less successful (though successful enough to remain in print,
and on required reading lists, for 30 years). Cruising the Internet,
however, I've noted that he has bickering female "disciples," roaming
the land, promoting his (Don Juan's?) concept of "tensegrity" through
workshops and seminars. Tensegrity is a tool that allows us to cross
the bridges of space, time and awareness. Nothing wrong with that, but
where's the theme park? The church? The drugs?
Ah well, if it isn't dead, Castanedaniasm is young. As are we all.
Forever young, forever stupid.
As the ever-wise Don Juan put it in "The Teachings," re. the abuse of
magical power:
"I killed a man with a single blow of my arm ... Once I jumped so high
I chopped the top leaves off the highest trees. But it was all for
nothing! ... For what? To frighten the Indians?"
Really. What's the point of that? That's the true lesson of the '60s,
isn't it? On the magic bus, we're all Indians. What's the point of
that? SALON | June 24, 1998
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------------------------------
Date: 13 Aug 2000 08:28:00 -0700
From: mkg@calle22.com
Subject: (exotica) Ukelele
Just got a Cd called Misfits. Was doubting if I should get it or not, maybe it was the punk band and I'm not into that kind of stuff anymore. Anyway, saw the song listing and it was a compilation. And it included a cover of The Clash's 'Should I Stay or Should I Go' performed by The Ukelele Orchestra of Great Britain. So I bought it and that song is great.
Another good one is 'The Crumble Song' by The Lorraine Brown Experience. No ukeleles on that one, though.
While reading the liner notes about The Ukelele Orchestra I remembered that I saw not that long ago a news report about a convention of ukelele players and how they were trying to get some respect for their instrument. So I have several questions: Any ideas about why is the ukelele so generally disliked? Is this a fact? Are there any good ukelele records out there? And does anyone kknow where can I buy a cheap ukelele in London?
I'm posting here the liner notes of the Misfits Cd about The Ukelele Orchestra, just in case anyone is interested.
Bye,
Manuel
"We are regarded as the anarcho-syndicalists of the ukelele world. The ukelele establishment has ostracised us for refusing to play George Formby numbers".
Don't mention the F-word around the Ukelel Orchestra of great Britain, the lamp post-leaning cheeky chappie is emphatically not someone they wish to be associated with, as george Hinchloffe, the suave-and-sophis UOGB cultural attachΘ, explains: "We try to have as little to do with that as possible. It's all about watchhing ladies undressing through windows." Terribly vulgar.
The UOGB repertoire is more tasteful, eclectically mixing and matching classy classics: the Velvets 'Candy Says' with Hawkwind's 'Silver Machine', Tchaikovsky's 'Piano Concerto N. 1' with Kate Bush's 'Wuthering Heights'. Everything is up for grabs. "We are happy to pillage anything from music's rich pageant," says George. "There's no orthodox'repertoire' for the ukelele, so we take a classic song or sound, and rise to the challenge of a Van Halen guitar solo or an Eric Clapton slide piece. Sometimes it's doomed to failure, but we're valiantly rising to the challenge."
Gentelaman George first conceived the orchestra in 1985, when he picked up a child's ukelele and had a sudden flash of inspiration. A vista of possibilities opened up bfore him: an entire orchestra that could fit in the back of a transit, an orchestra fully equipped for the price of a decent clarinet case, a world tour with hand luggage only! A year later George's dream was realised as, with co-director Kitty Lux -Emma Peel to his John Steed- he assembled a fledgling eleven-strong orchestra under his baton. The young ukes had barely taken their first steps before success came round to ask them out to play: one minute they were gigging at whistable Oyster Festival, the next playing sell-out concerts in Japan and getting mobbed by teenage girls on the streets of Tokyo. Then Ronnie Scott's, Hyde Parke, Pebble Mill... And then the albums: 'The Ukelele Variation', 'A Fistful of Ukeleles', 'Pluck'...
The orchestra's championing of the humble ukelele struck a chord. George puts it down to the uke's hidden depths, "The ukelele is like an iceberg," he reckons. "It seems small and insignificant, but nine tenths of its presence is far larger than its physical dimensions." The orchestra is working on another album, 'Anarchy in the Ukelele', a tribute to mark the 20th anniversary of punk. And that's not all. Oh no, George has big plans for his little ukeleles. He dreams of a uke-fest, an orchestral orgy of 1000 ukelele-ists playing together in the Albert Hall. To quote one of their Japanese headlines: Gather Many Small Instruments And Play Big Music.
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------------------------------
Date: Sat, 12 Aug 2000 17:01:34 +0200
From: Johan Dada Vis <Quiet@village.uunet.be>
Subject: (exotica) Re: Design Record Label
The Love Machine: Electronic Music To Blow Your Mind By!!
Design 282
Sounds a lot like Jimmy Haskel's "Countdown": late 1950's style
guitar and organ instro with a lot of electronic sounds and effects
added. Personally, I think "Countdown" is better because there the
electronic and other zounds are part of the music, while here The
Love Machine is more like playing a game of "now let's see how many
weird sounds we can put on top of this cheesy instro music". Still
amazing stuff though!
The Galaxy Generation: Aquarius, Good Morning Starshine, Hair
Design SDLP 302 Stereo
quote from Jack Diamond's sale list: Titles; Aquarius, Good Morning
Starshine, Hair, The Sign Of The Zodiac, Star Fall, Sun Quadrant,
Gemini, No Love But Yor Love, Lover's Dream, We Found Our Paradise.
seriously cheesy organ led instrumentals, WITH bongos, electric
guitars, with all sorts of electronic keyboard and organ sounds.
Quite a groovy psudo-psychedelic cash in cover to boot reminding me
of the Jimi Hendrix Experience. Drop ACID, NOW!
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------------------------------
Date: Sun, 13 Aug 2000 18:04:22 +0100
From: "Robbie Baldock" <rcb@easynet.co.uk>
Subject: Re: (exotica) (obit:) Carlos Castaneda
Moritz R wrote:
> CARLOS CASTANEDA, WHOEVER HE WAS, IS DEAD -- WHATEVER
