Posts by: Fred Shaw
Iggy Pop/Preliminaires-Astralwerks The Possibility of an Island/Michel Houellebecq-Vintage International With the June, 2009 Atralwerks release of Preliminaires (the French word for foreplay), Iggy Pop returns to hip mainstream, NPR-style culture consciousness. Preliminaires allows Iggy to showcase his versatility, and versatility is an aspect of his act that can sometimes get lost [...]
The grainy video survives in
the scratchy simulacrum of history
where Sun Ra will always be seated
behind a state of the art keyboard,
costume of silver, his heavy fingers
of obscure genius pressing keys
like combinations to an ancient code,
unlocking the precision of a universe
he could explain, he could explain,
he could explain.
Follow him to 1978, the latest
incarnation of his Arkestra,
thirty musicians, cramming
the small stage in Studio 8H,
four minutes and fourteen seconds
of “Space Is The Place.”
Follow the rows of musicians, percussion
and brass taking direction precise,
caped dancers twirling with light feet
of interpretation, unable to spread out
among the mike stands and horn players.
Follow him to Europe, to the Great Pyramids,
follow him to decades of performance dates,
follow him to a monastic row house in North Philly,
follow him to jail for conscientious objection,
follow him out of the racist Deep South of Birmingham.
And follow him through woofer and tweeter,
where dedication to innovation
is an eccentricity that turns out
more fundamental
than all the answers to why.
In a shoebox of cassettes
the scrawled-in-pen names of DJ’s
are spelled-out on thin, white stickers.
These faceless heroes
of our forgotten scene
have taken day jobs
or managed to tour Europe
with only their decal-covered
travel case of vinyl records
to spin in still-happening clubs,
like minstrels carrying
pairs of turntable needles
instead of guitars.
Either way, the hiss of tape
with layers of dated beats
blend disco and “Planet Rock”
with James Brown hooks
and hip-hop samples, mixed
into a tuneful soundtrack
that reaches out from my youth
to remind me of lost friends
and mythic parties.
I am no longer psychedelic
in the genius of 1994,
the one who rarely worked
and never paid bills.
I have evolved into a fact
of my bank statement,
a truth I awaken
each morning with a shower,
making ready to toil in the mundane
world of service.
