Crazy rock n roll capers No.XXXXXIIIIVVIVI! ‘Looped, tied and taped forever in the etchings of modern civility lies the kingpin that acts pivot to celebration far and beyond the call of nature to complete understanding, but caters for a shared holler to cease animosities, thus paving the way for an analgesic smouldering of goodwill and merriment that generally forms its variable fold in a state of exotic connotations who limber the soul to a merry tune brought forth in the world’s music festival season.
Riding on the baseline of knowledge, knowing that you win some and you lose some, as Lemmy explained to me in a cafe before he went to the great gig in the sky, whilst ordering a side plate of pigs in blankets; ‘those little crispy succulent critters’ as he refers to them while mentioning how that gig he did in the Young Ones house was supposed to be recorded in a hot air balloon, ‘That’s the kismet, the karma, the kingpin my friend, that’s the Ace of Spades.’
But by the belching banality of Beelzebub’s breeches did scurry the wind of balderdash and tosh. What in the wide, wide world of ghosts, ghouls, vampires and claptrap; is this nonsense that brims our cups of vanquished ideologies, for have we not sped through the ages of apocalyptic black finger-nailed puppets of the macabre, who live the circus life of seemingly perpetual absurdness.
Where are they now? Alice Cooper takes tea with the Queen, Iggy Pop stopped self mutilating to sell insurance on TV and Judas Priest designs golf courses somewhere in the British Midlands – not sure where, because when I went to look for him one summer I got the wrong address and when I asked someone if the owner, Judas himself, was around he looked at me kind of funny.
Nevertheless, one soul destroyer of conformatism and rebel rousers of irregularities was simply plain cuckoo in the belief that he actually thought he was Satan, until his wife told him he was probably just drunk and he’d be alright in the morning. A mere 146,000 mornings later did he take heed and realise he was just a bloke from Birmingham who had a rather large hit back in 1971, to which he pointed out to me the other day over tea and scones in a tuk tuk we shared home from the bingo. It was then his paranoia subsided and he realised he wasn’t in fact the devil he knew.
The Prodigy however, Firestarted in ‘96 and still donned in a psycho-jokers haircut parade the music festival fields of the world with six under their belt for the northern hemisphere season – it is with that impulse to be no-one but yourself we offer The Prodigy their Get It Off Your Chest Request… hussar!…
If you would like to send in your Get It Off Your Chest Request contact firstname.lastname@example.org.