Tonight and tomorrow at Santos the O.T.O.'s throwing a festival of experimental musicks by practicing magickians, the first one of its kind. No one on the bill is a member of the O.T.O. though, so this isn't some kind of recruiting gimmick--you really think they'd do that? No, it was put together in a more general way to explore the impact of Thelemic culture on music and art, and maybe to make sure no one mispronounces Crowley's name again, thanks to Ozzy Osbourne. Tonight's performers at the Musicka Mystica Maxima (check out the site--it's just as cryptic and bare-bones as you'd think it would be) are Genesis P-Orridge & Thee Majesty, Amber Asylum, Arrington de Dionyso, Larkin Grimm, and Nautical Almanac.
Between each set there'll also be live ritual action performances including an invocation from Crowley's Gnostic Mass and Crowley's "Hymn To Pan," which is totally worth going to alone, especially if you're into veils and swords and salt.
Festival season's about wrapped up, and from those traversing moats of beery mud we've learned that no matter the clime, body fluid situation, nor K-related circumstance your clothes should look like a passport to sex city. Otherwise them there threads are just prison bars locking you out from fun times.
Notting Hill Carnival is basically the only street festival anyone in London's ever heard of, a place where a lot of super loud dub and jungle and house and reggae gets played, a lot of chicken gets eaten and a lot of dope gets smoked, and normally there is a shooting and everyone blames the police. Let's see what people wear to this thing.
The Green Man festival is a relatively small festival in the Brecon Beacons. It's basically Latitude with less bullshit about being a quirky boutique festival (when it's run by the same people that run Reading and Leeds), less weekend warriors (although there are still some), and a much better lineup. I went down to this immensely picturesque part of Wales to catch some music, a few talks, some comedy, and see a huge green man be burned to the ground. WOO!
I hate to say this but most concerts are not even worth the walk to the venue. Watching bands play the same songs interspersed with corny banter for the gazillionth time is unbearable. I agree with Richard Hell: CONCERTS suck ass.
No matter how much I like a band's records, that appreciation rarely translates to their live show. Mostly I find myself twitching, checking my phone, and taking numerous trips to the bar in order to get an equal number of bathroom visits out of my bladder (if you’re bored enough to think "maybe I need to pee,” you’ll be bursting from the mere thought). Hence, I haven’t bothered going to music festivals lately. Then, for some magic reason—namely a killer line-up
—I dragged my ass down to the Way Out West festival in Gothenburg (Sweden’s indie capital inhabited by adorable bands like
Love Is All,
Studio,
Jens Lekman
and every other listenable Swindie musician).
The wizardrock scene in the States is a-OK with bands like Harry and the Potters, Draco and the Malfoys, and the Cedric Diggorys. Recently there was a big wizardrock concert in Stockholm that was part of Expecto Patronum 2009 (a Harry Potter convention), and I was expecting the same caliber of talent from Swedish bands. But I was off by a long shot. A LOOOOONG shot.
The Falls Festival has just announced its first round of acts and already it's looking pretty awesome because King Kahn and The Shrines are headlining. Now, if you don't know, King Kahn is the newest Vice Records signing and they're ridiculous live. Add to that the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Major Lazer, Grizzly Bear and Midnight Juggernauts and you've pretty much got enough great music to fix what has so far been a pretty shitty year (seriously, what is with it?).
So if you can think of a better way to ring in the easiest to say year since 1990 good luck to you. Otherwise, burn these details into your memory now.
I
like to think of myself as a slightly young, semi-professional type of lady. I like music, I think art is good, books are fun and
parties are awesome. But I also like to hit the floor on occasion and if my
skirt happens to fly up, or someone snaps me in a situation where my face looks
like a spat out sausage, then pffft, adios Captain Dignity. I considered trying
to be sophisticated a while back, but decided that the level of
upkeep was much too burdensome. I’d rather cut it loose.
Tens of thousands of people rolling around in each other’s masticated filth while high on every household substance that the part-time dealers can successfully powder or pill is a recipe for self-harm. The entire festival site is an adult playpen designed to facilitate the sort of debauchery that normally ends in a hospital visit. Which is why, I thought, being a festival paramedic must suck. Not only are you forced to stay sober while everyone around you descends into gurning, grinning morons, but you have to fix them when it goes wrong.
Last weekend we decided it’s that time of the year to infuse our lungs with some healthy fresh air and we set out for a weekend trip to the great outdoors. Or, to put it another way, we sent this guy who somehow writes for us and a photographer buddy of his to Melt! Festival in Gräfenhainichen to see what happens if you push grown up people to the edge of responsibility and then push them to go one step further.
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