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The twin titans, Robert Fripp and Adrian Belew, share amusements and dovetail perfectly in these performances.
Then, Terry Kath of Chicago. Hendrix had high praise for this great man.
Well. Hendrix himself.
Mr. John McLaughlin and Co.
The mighty and eternal Allan Holdsworth.
And, of course, the great Pat Martino.
Indeleble performances from giants of the art.
Titans of improvised music display their immense powers.
Few are in the class of charisma, as is The Morrissey. The mononymous one, co-founder of the Smiths, with Johnny Marr, ventured out on his own, with great nobility, in 1987.
The above meister-works, summoned from deeps untold by courageous pioneers, represent nothing less than the Greatest—EVER—Achievements in prose, poetry, or what was transmuted, swart and silken, flowing Between, neither plucked nor harshly flayed, But gathered up, from wildly different beasts.
Erm…Pynchon *might* have contributed slightly to the latter areas of the above.
“The High Priest of quasi-androgynous Synth-Pop/Electronica, the Alien Deity, The Gary Numan.” *That* is the short-duration, deeply personal gist of the above Volume Integral symbol. What has been used to calculate Flux Densities, and has served as one’s WordPress Profile “About Me” content, to boot, now is more—much more—much, much more. It conveys gist; Gary Numan gist. This realm. This symbol. This Gary Numan.
“This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England…”
We’ll lead off with two {you may see three; deal with it} epoch-defining…”performances” {which will, I suppose, have to suffice, word-wise, as there exist no words suitable…}. He is **up** to something…..
The first and third videos are both from Dutch TV program TopPop, 1979. They are *not* identical, however. One, I believe, was not broadcast {the 1st; perhaps the “smiling” was considered too dangerous…}. Both are sublime.
“Praying” would have to rank first, or thereabouts, in my own world. Curiously, very few live/TV iterations seem to exist. I did what I could!!
Spellbinding is Numan’s performance on Down in the Park, live at the Odeon, 1979. Doom-y, evocative, remarkable.
There’s a realm where no one can touch Gary Numan. I am *not* going to provide: its Name, Address, or Phone Number, at present. {oh, OK!}
*1 Cock Boulevard, Absorto, Chari-Baguirmi, Chad * {quite near the headquarters for Flux Density-measurin’ Volume Integral, noted Theme Park}.
He created aural landscapes which allowed access to the unfathomable. His performances have been described in so many ways. Strikingly “robotic”. Otherworldly. And there’s an edge, accompanying his trenchant intelligence; a certain wariness. At times, an unnerving camaraderie with….whatever it may be, the ritual held out in the open, hauntingly obvious, yet impenetrable. A language we’ve forgotten; mind-argot beyond our ken. Β
An ever-so-haphazard collection of songs/performances which bring one to the trancelike state of what is called Pure Pop Wonderment. These things avoid syzygy. It’s not an excuse; it’s a vigorously researched excuse. Linear-ness is overrated. Most of these you’ll know, but perhaps not these versions. Maybe 1 or 2 that are new, to, say, the likes of you. Enjoy.
Go ahead. Choose a realm, any realm. Ian’s not from there; he’s never taken up residence there, and, for that matter, spends precious little—if any—time there. Yes. It’s been proven.
It’s a damn shame that so little halfway decent video footage seems to be available, of Joy Division. The first two are the cream o’, that I have encountered. Prose ought not storm about in the Video {or Image} playground. I panicked. I’m stalling. Wingeing. And on, now, we go. Unto the Breach. We few. We happy few.
This is their greatest achievement. {Yes. In my opinion.} Lyrics such as “On stranger waves, the lows and highs, Our vision touched the sky” {I hear “skies”, but every “authority” says otherwise. It’s skies.} are lyrics that will stop one cold, transported. He’s Rimbaud, but lots better, genius-y-er. Getting It-y-er. And: past tense. Like he’s not there. Maybe never was. Haunting. As. ___________.
Isolation transcends the Isolation genre, or would, if such a genre existed. “I’m doing the best that I can” not to expound. I give you Ian: ” A blindness that touches perfection,
But hurts just like anything else…” I mean…
Ian was not only brilliant, fiercely determined, and a de-framer-of-reference…to whom could he be compared?…but he was one brave man. To go out, in public, put self on display, and take unreal chances, and I mean here with his dancing…this must have been terrifying. For one afflicted with epilepsy, to *intentionally* lose control, physically…unreal. But, he *had* to.
What follows is a smattering of incredible live performances by this ensemble, mainly {if by *mainly* one means 26.6666666666666666%} the 1980 iteration, which included guitar maestro Adrian Belew. David Byrne, it could be argued, virtually created “New Wave” {or *something*} with the inexplicable, unpinpointable, wondrous peregrinations of his vocals. Plus, the unusual “dancing”{or Nureyev/??-like movements}. Much more than an iconoclast, Byrne simply brought into the time/space continuum, things that were previously Noumenal, undefinable. An epoch-defining genius; equivalent to Beethoven.
{Granted, Wild Wild Life is nowhere near the preternaturally edgy/”weird”/indefinable ventures into undreamt-of realms, which made this band legendary. But, it *is*, well, fun. And it shows Byrne’s mindboggling theatricality and capacity for adopting a bewildering array of disguises, and such.}
A few comments on our selections {NOT all of them!!}: Cities {1983, 1982, *and* 1980 versions} *might* be David Byrne’s high-water mark as an “umm, what???” (followed by audible hysteria, in my case…) vocalist. The Impossible writ upon a landscape. Pulled Up and Mind, at the very least, are looking uneasily over their shoulders. The “He’s come undone” staggerings/lurchings in Psycho Killer {1983} are also enough to keep one alive for several epochs; the 1979 Mudd Club version is electrifying, mystique-laden; ridiculously brilliant. Both versions of Drugs have an eerie, haunting element all of their own; Dollette McDonald and Adrian B contribute mightily. Crosseyed is simply a collective singe-fest.
Mr. Byrne has always been that rare bird: a creative genius and innovator, with a deeply innate style, who is also willing—eager— to take in all manner of input {see: Eno} so as to evolve. Definitely not a play it safe type, David Byrne took risks as simply a matter of course. I, for one, admire this greatly.
