A psychedelic landlady who worked with both Robert Graves and Kenny Everett, and was indirectly responsible for Robert Wyatt being in a wheelchair? Surely not!
June Campbell Cramer was a stylistic and personal link between the eccentric post war British avant garde scene, the Beat movement, and the rock and roll dreams which followed. She was born on 3 June 1931 in Doncaster in Yorkshire, England of Scottish and Russian parents who raised her according to the strict rules of the Plymouth Brethren, a conservative Evangelical Christian movement. However, in an act that one would have imagined would have been anathaema to the elders of the church, in the late-1940s, her father, a fashion retailer, took her to the Spanish island of Majorca where he introduced her to modelling. June moved to London in the 1950s where she worked as a model and studied at an art college but in the early 1960s she returned to Majorca where she continued modelling in Palma.
In Palma June met several musicians including Daevid Allen and Kevin Ayers, who later were founding members of the Canterbury bands Gong and Soft Machine. June later moved to the coastal village of Deià on Majorca, home of English poet Robert Graves. Allen said to live there "you had to have some sort of satisfactory relationship with him [...] Robert was very tolerant of June, and she hung out with him."
June began painting in Deià and put on several exhibitions of her works there as June 'Onion', hanging an onion over each piece as her signature. Her paintings, and later her poetry, were filled with elements of "surreal humour".
In the late 1960s June moved into a flat in Vale Court in Maida Vale, London, which she opened up to many musicians to lodge in or just "hang out". Daevid Allen described her flat as "London's premier smoking salon", and her role of "landlady to many of the capital's more creative musicians" spawned her honorary title of "Lady". She hosted many parties there, including a notorious birthday party in June 1973 for Gilli Smyth, Allen's wife, during which ex-Soft Machine drummer Robert Wyatt broke his back when he fell from a third-floor window.
By 1970 June was combining her painting, poetry and music into multimedia presentations, and in 1972 she gave performances at a number of venues, including the International Carnival of Experimental Sound in London, and at the Edinburgh Festival. In 1973 she worked on the BBC Radio 4 series If It's Wednesday It Must Be... with Kenny Everett and Vivian Stanshall, and participated in a Radiophone Workshop for BBC Radio 3. Later that year she recorded Lady June's Linguistic Leprosy, an album of her poetry to music by Ayers, one of her tenants, and Brian Eno, who lived nearby. The recording was made in the front room of her flat in Vale Court with Ayers, Eno and Pip Pyle, and reportedly cost £400. Richie Unterberger at Allmusic called the album "an eccentric piece of work" with songs that are "odd, whimsical, rather surrealistic spoken poems, delivered in a quirkily aristocratic manner"
The original release was originally a limited pressing of 5000 copies which quickly sold once followers of Eno and Ayers realized that they contributed to the recording. |
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Tuija Takala writes: “The original idea […] is based on years of academic work on the ethics of genetics by Matti Häyry (prof at the University of Manchester, UK) and myself (University of Helsinki, Finland). Our combined publications in the field include more than a dozen international books and numerous scientific articles.
The initial storyline was developed on the back of some of our research topics (savior siblings, immortality treatments, genetic engineering, and designer babies), but soon, as an American-Canadian-Finnish-Swiss collaboration, it became to include the expected human interest stories of rivalry, jealousy, love and death. To help with the music, Corky (Laing, the legendary drummer forMountain) was invited to join us, and he has since become an integral part of the production team more generally”.
She continues:
“One of the key advantages of this project is its close connection with the academic world. The idea for the rock opera has already been presented at Universities in Finland and in the UK, and at international academic meetings. The response has been enthusiastic. For Summer 2013 we so far have two concert shows lined up at international academic conferences in Europe (Paris, France and Basel, Switzerland). In addition, there will be seminars and workshops in University settings in Europe.
However, while the Opera rests on solid academic research, it is intended for the public at large. The University connections are important and provide a good starting point, but the music and the storyline are definitely meant for to reach larger audiences.”
The synopsis for the opera is massively intriguing:
ACT 1[i]
Luke, a 110-year old blues singer, enters Happyville at the break of dawn, nails the contract that sentenced him to indefinite life through medical experimentation on Mr C’s office door, and takes a lethal overdose of pills and liquor.[ii] Luke’s ethereal body climbs up to the Terrace of the Gods. Gods are discussing the long-term lack of prayers from humankind. When they learn that Luke should have died years ago, and that he comes from Happyville, the town that has had the lowest prayer rate for years, they decide to send him back to find out what is going on.[iii]
Coming back down, Luke witnesses, as a flashback, the creation of designer twins Tony and Alex by their parents and Mr C two decades ago.[iv] He also witnesses Tony’s return from college and an impromptu celebration in his honor.[v] The twins and Tim, Ron, and Kevin (survivors of a lethal genetic disease) get together, reminisce about their teenage band and sing about love as they see it now. Tony sings about college girls[vi] and Alex sings about his secret love for Sophie, the young woman helping her Father at the Organic Vegetable Store and part-time assistant to Mr C.[vii]
Celebrations are interrupted by Tina, Tim’s sister, who rages about people partying while her brother is dying.[viii] Luke asks what this is all about and he is told that, as a side effect of genetic treatment, Tim is now at the end stages of leukemia. Tim’s fate prompts Tony and Alex to evaluate their relationship with each other.[ix]
Tina refuses to accept Tim’s imminent death and starts gathering people to be tested, so that one of them might help Tim. They all sign the standard disclaimer. But none of them is a match, not even Tony who is the last in line.[x] Sophie helps Mr C in the procedure, and when the testing comes to an end, her eyes meet Tony’s. Love comes in many shapes and forms, but life is a fine line that connects the past, present, and future – how peculiar.[xi]
During the night, Tim dies and wanders into the interspace of those who do not belong. There he meets a variety of other-worldly creatures.[xii]
Next morning, Sophie and Tony arrive at the Vegetable Store, where Tony’s parents are shopping, and tell about their plans to be together. The news is not well received by Tony’s parents, who wanted their perfect child to have a perfect wife.[xiii] After Tony and his parents leave, Sophie and her Father confront each other. Father, a single parent since Sophie was an infant, expresses his anguish about losing his daughter. Sophie expresses her resolve to change her life. The argument ends up with Sophie running away.[xiv]
ACT 2
Alex and Tony have put their old band together. While they are tuning up, it transpires that they are both in love with Sophie. A confrontation ensues.[xv]
Contemplating Tim’s death, Tina realizes that she should move on, but does not know exactly how.[xvi] She is briefly consoled by the feeling of sisterhood offered by the Constable and her colleagues,[xvii] but finally finds her true spirit in her own self and individuality.[xviii]
Sophie has been missing since the confrontation with her father and townspeople are looking for her. The row with her father made her question who she really is and where she belongs. She has spent the time with her computer and is finding out about the genetically manipulated origin of Happyvilleans. She also uncovers the fact that she is not organic, as she had always thought, but genetically modified. Tony, the first one to find Sophie, sees this information over her shoulder and freaks out. He wanted Sophie to be natural and not manipulated like he is.[xix]
Sophie is taken aback by his reaction and continues her search. Alex enters the scene and expresses his longstanding love for Sophie on deaf ears.[xx]
Sophie gains access to the most secret file - it transpires that Mr C is Sophie's biological father! She pushes print and information starts pouring out from printers all around the town.
Townspeople gather around to see what the commotion is about. As the printouts are distributed and read, anger towards Mr C grows among the crowd. Their secrets have been exposed, they have been cheated, they have been overcharged, and they have been deceived. As Mr C arrives to his office, he is confronted by an angry mob. Luke calls out for the Gods, and points out Mr C to them as the cause of the declining prayers. Gods strike Mr C dead with a lightning. People, aghast, freeze.[xxi]
After a moment of shock and disbelief, the townspeople gather themselves. The evil man died. It was not their fault, nothing is their fault, and, little by little, life goes back to normal.[xxii]
[iii] Dilemma of the Gods
[ix] Open Up Your Imagination
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A couple of weeks ago, the legendary Mick Farren, the revolutionary man of letters that I have often aspired to be when I have not been aspiring to be something completely different, sent me a copy of his new novel - Road Movie. It is as good as one would have hoped, if not better, and this week thanks to those jolly nice people at Penny Ante editions, I am in the glorious position of being able to publish a chunk of it, exclusively for you.
Ain't life grand? |
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| Big-hearted warrior for a better world |
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Jon Elliott: from the Canterbury Times
Jon Elliott, the man who put a stink bomb into the ballot box during the last election, has had his sentence increased, from a curfew, to six weeks in prison.
He’s been in the news a lot lately. First of all he was bound over to keep the peace, having rushed at Prince Charles’ car before the ceremony of enthronement for the new Archbishop of Canterbury in March this year.
He got in all the national newspapers for that. He was described as “lunging” at the car, but Jon says he thought it was David Cameron, and he was trying to put a leaflet on the windscreen.
After that he was given a split curfew for the stink bomb protest. He was only allowed to leave the house between twelve noon and six pm, and then again after ten pm, which was effectively an eighteen hour curfew. The man who put on his tag said it was the strangest sentence he’d ever heard of.
When Jon went to appeal, the judge decided to increase his sentence instead, describing the protest as “a dangerous political act”.
Pardon? It was a stink bomb. He was hoping to kick up a stink about the state of our democracy. Unfortunately the ballot counter who found the offending item mistook it for poison – Sarin gas and terrorism having been in the news lately – which undoubtedly gave her a fright, for which Jon apologised.
The worst you can say about it is that it was a little bit thoughtless, that’s all. Maybe he would have done better to have exploded the stink bomb in the box, thus making the terms of his protest clear.
At this point I would like to make something clear. Jon is a friend of mine. He is not “dangerous”: he is passionate. He is not “jobless”: he is disabled. He is a big-hearted warrior for a better world, but he could never do any harm, as anyone who has met him will confirm.
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HAWKWIND NEWS
(The Masters of the Universe do seem to have a steady stream of interesting stories featuring them, their various friends and relations, and alumni). Each week Graham Inglis keeps us up to date with the latest news from the Hawkverse.. |
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A video has surfaced on YouTube this week, by none other than Hawkwind's Tim Blake, showing Dave Brock and the newest member of Hawkwind, sax player Michel Sosna.
Tim comments, "The Polish saxophonist Sosna has been bringing quality sax playing to Hawkwind's "Warriors on the Edge of Time" set," and the fans concur.
Sosna is from the band Hipiersonik, who played support to Hawkwind in March. He's by no means the only performer to migrate from a support band to the main act: he follows a route trodden by people as diverse as Simon House, Mr Dibs and Harvey Bainbridge, to name but three. |
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AN EXCERPT FROM ROBERT CALVERT'S FIRST NOVEL
now reissued by Gonzo (and typeset by me) |
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ROD GIFFORD eased his head out of the built-in earphones section in the head-rest of his blue leather listening chair. He pressed the remote-control STOP button mounted in the arm of the chair, and the demo-tape he’d hardly been paying much attention to came to an instant halt. He pressed another button and the chair, with a faint whirring sound, swivelled slowly round to face his desk. At the same time it tilted him gently forward to an upright sitting position. He patted down the layered side-pieces of his curved-over-the-ears hairstyle and flipped open his copy of Music Week to have another look at the photostat he’d tucked inside it.
Some of the letters in the tiny handwriting were broken and were not that easy to read. The message had been written in blue ball-point which never copied very well. The lipstick print, however, had come out very clearly; it was a rich black.
He read it through again, feeling the carefully combed lengths of hair that covered the bald spot in his crown: In spite of the poor quality of the print, the gist of the message was unmistakable. That Sammy Quentin had somehow screwed Kaufman for a promo-budget. Two things puzzled him though. The letters on either side of the lip-print. What did they stand for? At first he thought one of them had been the high-school stand-by, SWALK. Sealed with a loving kiss. But no, it wasn’t that. It was definitely SALT. And on the other side was LEMON. What was lemon, for Christ’s sake? It had been a long time since he’d sent or received any notes of this kind himself. How about: Love Evermore Or Never? It couldn’t' be that, surely. It sounded like a dreadful song title. Not the kind of stuff Sammy Quentin went in for at all. Unless it was some sort of private joke she shared with Cahn.
How long had they been sharing it? he wondered. Good question.
If I do decide to spring this on him, thought Gifford, I just hope Abner keeps a spare battery handy for his pacemaker, that’s all.
He was going to have to talk to him about this budget nonsense, though. Twenty-five grand. What’s he playing at? He needn’t mention the note. Not yet anyway. It would be something to hold in reserve.
Gifford reached for his white Easiphone and pressed the automatic dial for Jenny. ‘Hello, Jen? It’s Rod. Are the Americans still in with Abner?’
‘I told you, Rod, I’d give you a call when they came out.’ Her voice sounded strained. Having the American branch descend on the place always produced an atmosphere of tension.
‘Are they going to be in there all afternoon, or what? All right, Jenny. As soon as you see the door handle move, let me know. Knoworrimean?’
Gifford’s Liverpudlian impression usually made her laugh, but she snapped back at him: ‘All right, Rod. I said I’d let you know. O.K?’
Gifford hung up and smiled. He switched on his electronic Master-Blaster game and slid the button to the fast game position. He scored four flying saucers with his rocket before two of them came down together from both top corners, met in the middle and merged to destroy his base in a realistic light-emitting-diode blaze.
The accompanying buzz of triumph it made always filled him with dread. He switched it off and looked at the boxes of unsolicited tapes he’d promised to give a listen to.
What he dreaded even more than his rocket base being blasted by saucers was the visit he was going to get from the Americans himself at some point later in the afternoon. He could nip in to Kaufman and confront him while they were snooping on Cahn, who would be next on their list. But the real hang-up was the waiting. The not knowing when. He’d had to blow out his meeting with Gestalt and their manager to accommodate this afternoon of suspension.
There was nothing much else he could do now, except wait. He’d already rehearsed what he was going to say to Abner. Heard it on the grapevine was the phrase he would use. The next line of the song was: That not much longer would you bemine. But Kaufman would have to sort that one out for himself.
Gifford reached for his early West End edition of the NME, pushed his glasses up and started glancing through its columns of pseudo-hip trivia, in-jokes and pictures of identi-kit rock nonentities . . .
He turned back again to page fifty-seven of the live review section. He thought he’d seen someone he recognised. No, surely not. It couldn’t be. It was though. It was him.
Tom Mahler. The Music Machine.
As he read the review, Gifford’s expression changed from one of consternation and disbelief to a smile of satisfaction. He read the name underneath. Virginia Symes. Oh yes, her.
That meant syndication. And the start of a one-woman campaign by the look of it.
This was too good to be true. |
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| THE YES CIRCULAR - TIME AND A WORD |
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| The Court Circular tells interested readers about the comings and goings of members of The Royal Family. However, readers of this periodical seem interested in the comings and goings of Yes and of various alumni of this magnificent and long-standing band. Give the people what they want, I say |
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Considering that this has been a shorter week than usual, I was fully expecting to write something along the lines of "considering that this has been a shorter week than usual, I am afraid that blah blah blah", but nothing of the sort. There are actually more Yes related stories than usual. A truly bumper crop.
We start off with two interviews with my semi namesake Geoff Downes, to whom (as far as I am aware) I am not related. There is one in writing, and one radio interview. |
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| There are two separate stories about the forthcoming Yestival; one an interview with the lovely Annie Haslam, and the other an interview with Steve Howe. There is an article about Jon Anderson's forthcoming Manchester date, and finally an interesting project by a Seattle band featuring Alan White, who are recording unreleased Beatles songs. Cool! |
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| I am probably getting a bit OCD about all of this, but I find the Yes soap opera of sound to be absolutely enthralling, and I for one can't wait to see what happens next! |
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i did not know as i walked into Freddies open mike show
it was also to be a baby shower!Boxes of gifts piled high on the stage
to show the love they have for host Jessie Valentine.I laughed @the Royal family
having to upstage her by having their baby early!Jessie was blessed with joy and happiness!
I strung beads and flowers round her neck,as she photographed performers and kept her show moving.
Now,Freddies is a family friendly bar,with misters for the Texas heat,and a sweet open stage on Wednesday nights.
Jessie has the loyalty of staff and customers alike-soon the stage was packed with baby welcome gifts
and her beau was presented with gloves,apron,nosepeg and spatula for future baby care(Austin style!
Smiles broke out like free food and cake.Staff wore beads and shared the night's stage.Poets pranced
and songs were shared,birthing September's child in harmony,hospitality,health and happiness-South Austin style!
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In Victorian times every well-bred Gentleman had a 'Cabinet of Curiosities'; a collection of peculiar odds and sods, usually housed in a finely made cabinet with a glass door. These could include anything from Natural History specimens to historical artefacts. There has always been something of the Victorian amateur naturalist about me, and I have a houseful of arcane objects; some completely worthless, others decidedly not, but all precious to me for the memories they hold..
I used to be a collector of rock and roll memorabilia, but most of my collection went into my solicitor's pocket during my divorce from my first wife, and I never had the stomach to build the collection up again. However, people send me pictures of interesting things such as this peculiarly trendy Jethro Tull mug.
The `Keep Calm and Carry on` motif has become what I believe is known as a meme. It was originally, I believe, a WW2 era piece of British propaganda which has been reissued and has taken on a cultural life of its own.
Read on... |
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On the third weekend of August every year for the past fourteen years we have had the weirdest weekend you can imagine. The Weird Weekend is the largest yearly gathering of mystery animal investigators in the English-speaking world. Now in its fourteenth year, the convention attracts speakers and visitors from all over the world and showcases the findings of investigators into strange phenomena.
Cryptozoologists, parapsychologists, ufologists, and folklorists are descending on Woolfardisworthy Community Centre to share their findings and insights. Unlike other events, the Weird Weekend will also include workshops giving tips to budding paranormal investigators, and even a programme of special events for children. The Weird Weekend is the only fortean conference in the world that is truly a family event, although those veterans of previous events should be reassured that it is still as anarchically silly as ever!
The event is raising money for the Centre for Fortean Zoology, the world’s only full time, professional cryptozoological organisation. The profit from food and beverages goes to a selection of village charities, mostly working with children.
How do you fancy spending three days of high strangeness, good food and great beer, together with the cream of British Fortean researchers in the middle of the glorious Devon countryside? By the way, I am sorry to have to say this, but as this is a fundraising event, tickets are non-refundable, although you are free to resell them should you be unable to attend.
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FEATURED SPEAKERS INCLUDE:
Lee Walker: Dead of Night
Andrew Sanderson: Russia Expedition report
Lars Thomas: The Natural History of Trolls
Judge Smith: Life after Death
Jon Downes/Richard Freeman: Intro to Cryptozoology
Nick Wadham: You will believe in fairies; you will, you will!
Tony Whitehead (RSPB): Starslime
Glen Vaudrey : Mystery animals of Staffordshire
Darren Naish: Adventures from the world of tetrapod zoology
Richard Freeman: Expedition repoort Sumatra 2013
Sarah Boit: Orbs from a photographer's perspective
James Newton (London Cryptozoology club): Bigfoot
Shaun Histead-Todd: Pre Columbian civilisations in america
Ronan Coghlan: Amphibians from Outer Space
Jon Downes: Keynote Speech
Speaker's Dinner at the Community Centre
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| INTRODUCING THE NINE HENRYS |
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| I think Peter McAdam is one of the funniest people around, and I cannot recommend his book The Nine Henrys highly enough. Check it out at Amazon. Each issue we shall be running a series of Henrybits that are not found in his book about the nine cloned cartoon characters who inhabit a surreal world nearly as insane as mine... |
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| CORINNA DOWNES: Hocus Pocus |
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Jon has on more than one occasion asked me to write about any experiences I may have had during the days when I used to travel up to London to see bands. Trouble is, not a lot really happened (apart from the theft of my Afghan about which I have already written). You bought your ticket, dolled yourself up, caught the train, hopefully enjoyed yourself, then rushed back to the station in the hope that you didn’t miss the last train home. Come to think of it, the last event did happen once and we had to hitch a lift. I would never contemplate doing that now. Nor would I contemplate catching the last train home on my own these days either. Mr Zimmerman may have waxed lyrical about the Times They Are A-Changin’; well they certainly did that, and not in a fun way.
The last train home for me took me to the end of the line – Uxbridge. And that was back when it was a relatively nice place to live and not a sprawling suburb of the capital like it is now.
Maybe it was because I was a mere spring-chicken and was possessed of a lesser sense of fear – or naivety even - when I used to traverse the streets after midnight on the way back to my house, but I always found that late night perambulation from the railway station kind of fun. Jingle-jangling with every footfall from the multitude of beads and bracelets bedecking my person, wafting the last, fading scent trails of patchouli or jasmine behind me, and usually with an extortionately priced (and most times suspiciously thin considering the fortune paid) programme tucked under my arm, I would walk along with the songs going around in my head and with my ears ringing from the sheer volume of the event.
Then came the choice; the question I always found myself asking. Should I take the long way round or cut through the alley? I always chose the alley. In fact I don’t really know why I bothered to silently utter the option in my head every time. It was a foregone conclusion. And if my mum knew she would probably have berated me for a week. And, to be fair, probably just I would if either of my daughters owned up to doing such a thing at such a time of night, especially now in these ‘you-weren’t-kidding-times-they-are-a-changin’’ times.
However, it was not always a trip to London. Many a time it was a trip just down the road (well okay not just a trip – a well-known route planner informs me that it would have been 1.3 miles). And one particular evening does stand out more than others. Focus had been playing and my brother and I decided it would be a fun idea to yodel in true Thijs Van Leer- ‘Hocus Pocus’ fashion on the way home. So we yodelled (and whistled) our way across campus and what fun was had by all. Us two anyway. No idea what the inmates thought; perhaps a Friday night outing of the local banshees, who knows? Who cares? We were young, we were free, we were alright!
I just wish I had written a diary back then and recorded a blow-by-blow account of the events I attended. They would have made entertaining reading all these years later, even if only from the point of view of reminiscing on the responsibility-free days of youth. But then I guess quite a few of us can say that can’t we? |
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