Looney Toons
Some weeks it seems like all of hippiedom over-dopes and under-drinks. Contrast euphoria, generally non-productive, to depression, generally fruitful, if only as a way out. Listen to the music . . . depression music, if you can dig that, is the magic music, the music to put you deeper in and farther out, all at the same time.
Looney Toons
Dave Marsh
Some weeks it seems like all of hippiedom over-dopes and under-drinks. Contrast euphoria, generally non-productive, to depression, generally fruitful, if only as a way out. Listen to the music . . . depression music, if you can dig that, is the magic music, the music to put you deeper in and farther out, all at the same time.
Listen to Smokey’s sweet sadness, Pharoah’s tortured tenor twitchings, Miles’ painful progress. Now that music makes sense, whether it’s Stooge agony or merely Coltrane running into the mystic wall and finding his frustration in not finding the void quite where he’d hoped it’d be. Ah, yes, the masses lead lives of noisy desperation these days. I’d celebrate a few for you.
But Smokey ends and ’Trane begins, not instigated by me exactly but just there. So. Like that. One slip and it cuts right through your wrist. Ray Davies .with too much on his mind or Mick Jagger with an overcrowded cloud. Superman music, the kind you can jump out windows to. Not because of, just as an adjunct.