Today – The Fugs. Coming out of the same era as Tim Leary, Robert Anton Wilson and a shitload of Acid, The Fugs are a long running favourite of mine. Tuli Kupferberg, lyricist and poet, had a knack for the sublime, the surreal and the nonsense, which is pretty much the perfect blend as far as I’m concerned. Only tenuous links to Crashed America the story but the spirit of the music is one I’d like to think my writing shares, although you’ll have to judge that for yourselves.
If you like what you hear and find yourself looking for more I’d recommend their ‘First Album’, especially ‘Nothing’, ‘Defeated’ and ‘Couldn’t Get High’, none of which would qualify as upbeat lyrical ditties but all of which have something to them. Almost makes a soul want to turn Discordian.
As for the novel, soon come brethren. ‘I’s are dotted, ‘T’s are crossed and now it’s just a couple more days until I go on a heroic celebratory drinking binge and you buy it. I hope… if you don’t mind…