VAN MORRISON

VAN MORRISON                      

 

 

First of all the MASONIC TEMPLE THEATER is a great venue, one of these art deco jewels that exist on a sort of illuminated, secured island in the middle of the decay and nothingness of DETROIT. Since the seats sold out so fast we were waaaaaay back on the main floor, not that far from a pillar, but I could see perfectly and the sound was great.

For some reason the show was delayed (but not as long as they said – fortunately we didn’t leave our seats) and when I saw VAN I was just enraptured. I’ve been living with his voice for over 30 years and when I finally saw him it was like seeing Santa Claus or something, I couldn’t believe this mythological character was real and manifesting in front of my eyes. For the first few songs I just sat there agape, my mouth hanging open, digging it.

They say VAN is either ON or OFF, and although I’ve never seen him before I have to say he was definitely ON last night. He seemed very into it (for a guy wearing a hat pulled over his forehead and sunglasses who stayed basically within a radius of four feet) and I could tell when he pumped his arm a few time that it was going to be a good show. He was in great voice, and the band, an expert country-swing ensemble with violin and pedal steel was loose and restrained enough to let him whisper and wail. The reaction of the crowd seems much more important to him than with BOB DYLAN but for a middle-aged crowd they were very receptive and appreciative and I think VAN dug that too – he even made a few jokes during the songs, as opposed to BOB who shocked me when he actually talked, if only to introduce the band.

But one of the reasons I love VAN so much is that he’s always trying for some kind of TRANSCENDENCE, even if he doesn’t always succeed. The origins of music are no doubt sacral, not just in the gospel church music that VAN suggests, but even farther back to shamanistic trance music. VAN has the habit of repeating a phrase over and over again until it means everything and nothing, and when he did it last night he seemed to put both himself and the audience into a trance, leading us all to a HIGHER PLANE. He seemed to enliven his own material that I don’t find his best, and even the old Tommy Edwards chestnut that he’s often performed "It’s All In the Game." And the when he did "Wild Nights" or "Gloria," well, we all lost it. Certainly it was one of the best concerts I’ve ever seen. I liked BOB but it seemed like just another show to all involved – somehow, maybe because he plays around here so rarely, VAN seemed like an EVENT, one that I won’t soon forget. I’m not sure there’s anybody left on my "WANT TO SEE BEFORE I DIE" list, so I guess now I can go happy.

MARS LIGHTS seem to be the other constant of my concert experiences lately. For DYLAN it was a TOW TRUCK bringing gas after we’d run out – this time it was a COP CAR busting me for speeding. In the city, no less! Ah, well, I should have taken the route JEANNE suggested. And I’m not going to let the ridiculously high fine ruin a PRICELESS evening.

And then when I got home there were the DELICIOUS results of the ELECTION. SUCK ON THAT, KING GEORGE!!!

Yr Pal,

UBU

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HAD ENOUGH? VOTE DEMOCRATIC!

I’m here to tell you we’re going to stay the course.

– George W. Bush, November 28, 2003

 

We’ve got to stay the course and we will stay the course…

– George W. Bush, April 5, 2004

 

The United States of America will stay the course…

– George W. Bush, November 21, 2004

 

We will stay the course; we will complete the job in Iraq.

– George W. Bush, August 4, 2005

 

We will stay the course, we will help this young Iraqi democracy succeed.

– George W. Bush, August 31, 2006

 

Listen, we’ve never been "stay the course…."

–George W. Bush, October 22, 2006

 

HAD ENOUGH? VOTE DEMOCRATIC!

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Bethany: Part IV

Bethany: Part IV

 

I admit I had a problem in high school – I didn’t know my place, despite numerous attempts by various authority figures and jocks to point it out to me. But for whatever reason I just didn’t get it, didn’t get why I should go to the back of the bus, why some guy like Sammy Rosenfeld was better than me or why I should show him any more respect than he showed me. A lot of my fellow Pitt Preppers were "lifers" and had been together since kindergarten, giving the pack plenty of time to develop a pecking order, but when fresh blood was infused things got cloudy, and there were more than a few of us troublesome newcomers who didn’t have any desire to simply fit in.

Now that I’m older I’ve been reminded of my inconsequentiality so many times that I just try to keep my mouth shut and do my thing, but back then I didn’t know any better, and I have to say I admire my former self’s audacity, even though in retrospect it seems a little unbalanced. I was constantly told that some bully boy or other (often President Rosenfeld himself) was going to "kick my ass," for some irreverent comment I’d made, but somehow it never happened. I’m certainly no action hero, but I’m not afraid to fight back, and maybe Sammy’s crew had the same response as that big bully Sonny Liston when faced with Muhammad Ali – I ain’t messin’ with no crazy man. And when the place went co-ed sophomore year there were further complications, more spoils to fight over and even some girls who (gasp) preferred to be spoilers rather than spoils.

Just to prove that all that money my parents spent to send me to private school wasn’t completely wasted, I occasionally managed to learn something in the classroom, and it was in political science early Junior year (taught by Mr. Wrench, who was later to blow his brains out in the middle of the golf course – but that’s another story) that I got the idea for The Red Banner of America.

Even though it was an obvious idea, nobody had thought of starting a political party at our school before. In such a small place if you can get even a handful of people to vote as a bloc and try to persuade a few other people to do so too, you can control an election, and that very day my genius friend Doyle ans I laid the groundwork for the world shaking Red Banner of America.

It didn’t take sophisticated polling to figure out that there was a lot of dissatisfaction among the rank and file with our putative president for life Sammy, especially if that dissatisfaction could be expressed via the anonymity of the ballot box. Doyle and I knew we weren’t exactly presidential timber ourselves, and in typical dada fashion we drafted an outstanding nerd, Bilbo, to hoist the red banner in opposition. Whimsical as our selection may have been, it proved to be inspired – the cool kids and stoners voted for Bilbo as a joke, the nerds embraced him as one of their own and enough other people cast protest votes against Sammy that he was finally dethroned. Our vice-presidential candidate, our handsome, artistic friend the Smiler also won, benefitting from his own attractiveness and the power of the RBA machine. Sammy was probably as surprised as we were, and knew perfectly well who was behind it all, and his already vast enmity toward me increased, although he never was able to deliver that long promised ass whipping.

Senior year, however, the RBA’s slate didn’t run as strongly. Sammy had realized that he was no longer going to be simply handed the presidency, and he went to the trouble of doing some arm twisting (literally and figuratively), his version of campaigning. Our man Bilbo, although quickly hewing his own nerdish path as president, had made the mistake of consulting with Doyle and me on a few decisions, such as the infamous semi-formal dance which nobody came to because it was semi-formal, and we made sure to advise him, as was our wont, in the most absurd manner possible. Besides, a joke is never as funny the second time around.

The power of the incumbent, then, didn’t help Bilbo much, but fortunately Sammy attempt at counter-coup by the emergence of a fresh political force – Bethany also decided to run. She probably won the election outright, but it was close enough that the administration declared a run off between her and Sammy, hoping, no doubt, that the overwhelming male electorate would vote in a reliably misogynist way, restoring their pet Quisling to his proper position.

But they hadn’t reckoned with the progressive policies of the RBA – we threw our support to Bethany, who carried the day, as did the Smiler.

There’s no disputing the fact that Bethany won on her own considerable merits, but I also thought that the RBA deserved at least some of the spoils of her victory. The Smiler, of course, was one of us, but he became more Dan Quayle than Dick Cheney, a wide eyed devotee to Bethany rather than an flint progenitor of policy. And there was only one thing that I really wanted from President Bethany, and I knew she wasn’t inclined to give it to me.

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DYLAN

I saw BOB DYLAN last night at THE PALACE OF AUBURN HILLS and, although I’ll spare you the faux review I will make some DEEPLY FASCINATING observations:

Although our seats were crappy and we ran out of gas on the way home (Thanks to JEANNE, Ms. "We could make it to CHICAGO on what I have left in the tank" – but that’s O.K., doll, it only made the evening more memorable!) It’s always fantastic to see a living legend like BOB. I was telling my son that someday he’ll boast about seeing DYLAN the way I boast about seeing BOB MARLEY and JOE STRUMMER.

They show a lot of MUHAMMAD ALI fights late night on ESPN CLASSIC and they hypnotize me they same way BOB does. There’s a definite genius affinity between these two 60’s icons – if you watch ALI, what he does is not really boxing in the way everybody else does it, it’s just him. It’s the same way with DYLAN – they’re not really songs like other people’s, and the performance isn’t really a rock show – it’s just BOB.

We were on the floor, and since a basketball arena tries to have as flat a surface as possible, there was no theater-like rise to help visibility. The stage was too low and there was no JUMBOTRON, so being about 3/4 of the way back I had to crane to see a thumb sized BOB leaning over his organ. Bummer.

Organ! Yes, I’ve seen BOB a couple of times and he sort of played piano once on one song, this time he stayed on the keyboards throughout, playing wacky AL KOOPER circa "Like a Rolling Stone" chords. The effect was pretty neat actually, with the eerie carnival overtones BOB so loves – besides as usual BOB’s instrumentals were pretty far down in the mix.

I thought the sound was very good, maybe an advantage of being on the floor. The band was crackerjack and BOB’s voice was rough but ready. Of course he’s got so much great material and the new stuff stands up to the old, though I got my first frisson of the evening when he did my all time favorite DYLAN tune "Visions of Johanna."

And when I’d get discouraged about being unable to see I’d think about standing on that floor (covered with plywood of course), in the same place that two groups of world champions, like ISIAH THOMAS, JOE DUMARS, BEN WALLACE, RASHEED WALLACE, etc. and their noble enemies like MICHAEL JORDAN, MAGIC JOHNSON or LEBRON JAMES did their thing and get a kick. Not to mention the ladies of the WNBA CHAMPION DETROIT SHOCK, of course.

I’m seeing THE ROYAL SHAKESPEARE COMPANY perform "The Tempest" on Sunday and VAN MORRISON on Tuesday, so I’m being deluged by genius – just as you have been in reading this UBU post. I know you’ve all been waiting impatiently for part four of "Bethany," and I hope to put that up tomorrow – but remember here at RADIO FREE UBU, quality is JOKE #1!

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On these mean streets: Take a bite out of crime

 

Return of the cannibals!

 

Man attacked by cannibalism accuser

 

A 45-year-old Ann Arbor man was attacked while walking downtown Saturday night by another man who later accused the victim of trying to devour him, according to city police reports.

Police said they were dispatched to a fight in progress at the Beer Depot at 10:20 p.m. and found two men fighting with a stick and a chain.

The victim said he was walking toward the business when a man he didn’t know approached, began acting peculiarly and stabbed him with a knife. The man suffered a minor cut to his finger and clarified the injury was caused by a stick. He refused medical attention at the scene.

Police arrested the attacker, a 41-year-old Ann Arbor man, who told them the other man was a cannibal and that cannibals were trying to eat him.

 

Crazy? Well, here’s some proof that cannibals are operating in our area!

 

Worker reports boss bit her on the arm

Ypsilanti Police took a report Sunday morning from a 24-year-old pizza worker who said her boss bit her when she made a mistake on an order.

Officers said the woman told them she was working at Happy’s Pizza on Michigan Avenue Saturday night, taking an order on the telephone, when her 23-year-old supervisor, unhappy that she had made an error on a previous order, walked up to her and bit her, leaving a "very visible mark" on her arm.

Police said they are still trying to locate the supervisor for questioning.

 

And finally there’s this chilling story of a criminal mastermind in our midst!

 

Woman admits to hiding products

A 32-year-old Ann Arbor woman fought with security Thursday at the Ann Arbor Kmart, and was arrested when she admitted to hiding hair products under her wig, police said.

When police arrived at about 6:30 p.m., three Kmart employees were holding down the suspect. Employees told police the woman had in the past used hair products in the store and reclosed the containers and put them back on the shelf and left without paying.

The suspect later told police, "I’m gonna use the most expensive stuff I can." When the police questioned her for hiding the hair product in her wig, she said, "So what? You’re going to have me arrested for that?"

The police report said the suspect was caught on surveillance video kicking and scratching a 41-year-old Ann Arbor man an Kmart employee.

The suspect was arrested, booked and then released.

 

So, remember the classic words of McGruff the crime Dog and Take a bite out of crime!

 

 

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Boo!

Happy
Halloween!
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Supernatural by Graham Hancock

Supernatural: Meetings with the Ancient Teachers of Mankind by Graham Hancock (Disinformation Company, Hardback $29.95)

 

I’m sure you all remember my 9/6 review of William J. Broad’s book The Oracle (if, for some reason, it doesn’t come immediately to mind feel free to consult the copy I’m sure you have framed on your wall). In it I said that Broad "…pussyfoots around the central revelation of the book – the fact that the Oracle of Delphi achieved her fantastic results and acclaim with the aid of consciousness altering agents." I went on to ask the rhetorical question "Is it really a shock that the Oracle relied on consciousness altering agents when the shamanic origins of religion places them at the very dawn of human spirituality, and even, some postulate, the genesis of consciousness itself?"

Well, Graham Hancock, the author of Supernatural: Meetings with the Ancient Teachers of Mankind could never be accused of pussyfooting around the revelations of his research, and he certainly postulates the heck out of the place of consciousness altering agents in the shamanic origins of religion and consciousness itself. It’s a brilliant, breakthrough book which comes close to being the unified field theory of, if not all of the supernatural, at least of all encounters between humans and supernatural beings.

Hancock begins with a description of his own visionary experiences with the hallucinogen Ibogaine, which he took, with a logical vigor that escapes most academics, in order to truly gauge its effect, and therefore the validity of his theories. He follows this with a (perhaps too) meticulous examination of the cave paintings that represent the beginnings of human art, concentrating on their bizarre and seemingly inexplicable nature, at once representative and fantastic, a contradiction that the bonehead academics have (naturally) been totally unable to puzzle out in over a hundred years of trying.

But just when I thought the book was going to be one of those tedious Fortean catalogues of weird stuff, Hancock brought forth his first thesis, based on David Lewis-Williams’s The Mind in the Cave. Lewis-Williams’s idea is simple – that the enigmatic cave paintings were produced by shamans in a trance state and are representations of the shamanic experience. It’s an audacious, elegant solution – the psychotropic distortions and patterns match that of drug users and there’s no doubt that many shamanistic cultures, such as the prototypical Siberian and the still extant South American, exhibit a heavy use of mushrooms and other hallucinogens to achieve shamanic journeys and transformations. Hancock also examines the rock art of a tribe in South Africa whose paintings were similar to cave art and whose imagery was explicated by the last survivors of that tribe.

This theory seems almost self-evident, so naturally it remains controversial in the academic world. Perhaps as a reaction to the sixties, the academic establishment now rejects all the fruits of dream, drug and trance as hallucination, and tries to efface the very clear fingerprints of sense altering agents in our culture and civilization. It should come as now surprise, then, that several stalwart defenders of the empty status quo have stepped forward to advance their careers by attacking Lewis-Williams theories with various sophistries. Hancock handily refutes them, exposing them as deeply misguided if not purposefully dishonest. It’s a deft explanation for the general reader of a difficult theory in the manner of Colin Wilson, but the start of the book is just a stepping stone for Hancock, who moves on to his own conceptual breakthroughs.

The genesis of Hancock’s insight, like many of the crucial insights of modernity, came while he was under the influence. During his Ibogaine trip he saw a large headed, bug eyes "alien" figure, and recognized several similar creatures in cave paintings. One of the major techniques of modernity is juxtaposition, and Hancock placed the shamanic model next to contemporary accounts of alien abduction and concluded "Shamanic experiences of spirits and modern experiences of aliens are essentially a single phenomenon." There are startling similarities – transformations, journeys into the sky, ritualistic, invasive body manipulations and encounters with powerful, mystifying, alien entities. But what in heaven’s name do these creatures want with us? As I said in Snakes in Caves, the purpose of the whole Alien project may be some kind of vast breeding experiment, and shamans were certainly familiar with intercourse with various interstellar entities and even the production of human/alien hybrids.

Hancock then further links the shamans of the stone age to the abductees of today by brining in theories advanced by Jacques Vallee in his book Passport to Mangonia. Vallee compared the fairy lore of medieval times with UFO data and found similarities there as well, with more abductions to unearthly realms, time distortions, encounters with superhuman "others," and, of course, "reproductive contact." Hancock then draws a single breathtaking, unbroken line of human/supernatural contact from the dawn of humanity to the present, the nature of the contact basically the same, but understood in accordance with the prevailing conceptual world view.

Where do these "others" come from? Parallel universes will be, I believe the overriding theory of the twenty-first century, and it’s certainly easy to see, as many have postulated, the often inexplicable aliens emanating from other vibrations rather than other planets, but Hancock introduces an even more audacious theory. Like a lot of archaic/psychedelic thought it originated with the late, great Terence McKenna who, confronted with the prevalence of helix imagery during his trips, postulated that his drug of choice, DMT (an ingredient in many shamanistic substances), makes "information stored in the neural-genetic material available to consciousness." In other words all that "junk" information contained in DNA, which resembles a language and has inexplicably been preserved for millennia, is in fact a message that the superior beings who created it imbedded in advance of the time we would be able to understand it (kind of like the monoliths in 2001). Francis Crick, one of the discoverers of DNA (who was, by the way, under the influence of LSD when he first visualized the double helix shape of DNA – something they sure didn’t tell us in high school when we reverently studied The Double Helix) even came to believe that DNA itself was the result of an alien seeding project.

Hancock presents these ideas as more speculative than the rest of the book, as indeed they are, and in his final chapter gives a quick overview of the shamanic origin of all religions and the essentially psychedelic nature of shamanism, tracing the use of hallucinogens in such landmarks of ancient spirituality as the mysteries of Eleuis and the Soma of the Vedas.

All in all, it’s an impressive, enthralling book which gains force as it continues, firmly grounded in scholarship, yet able to utilize the fruits of personal experience and experimentation. Hancock presents a unified theory for almost every encounter between humans and supernatural beings (although, in the "spirit" of the season I must say that, despite the fact that departed ancestors play a role, Hancock does not grapple with the localized phenomena of ghosts). Supernatural is a brilliant work, the capstone of Hancock’s career, one that has (of course) been ignored by mainstream media and science, despite being much more interesting and valuable than timid but more ballyhooed works like The Oracle.

Hancock is no freewheelin’ hippy, but a rather rigorous enquiring mind of the old English school, but he’s not afraid to go where Wisdom beckons, and the book’s final scene shows him recumbent in the midst of nature, about to gobble a handful of magic mushrooms, the results of the journey to be recorded, I can only hope, in his next volume.

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These Mean Streets

CRIME BEAT! Tales From These Mean Streets!

 

These police officers haven’t seen enough horror movies – how can they be sure the man was "delusional"? Also – how to you "attempt" to assault?

Delusional man arrested at bus depot

Ann Arbor police say a 41-year-old man who appeared highly intoxicated attempted to assault several officers Monday evening as he screamed that cannibals wanted to eat his flesh.

 

These people were at church (on a Saturday!) so there’s no way it could have been an inside job, O.K.?

 

Family returns home to naked pictures

An Ann Arbor family said they returned from church Saturday evening to discover pictures on naked men in their bathroom, city police said.

The incident occurred Saturday evening, but was not reported until Monday.

Nothing appeared to be taken from the home, but several pictures of naked men were placed ona toilet seat in the bathroom, reports said.

 

So let’s be damn careful out there!

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Bethany: Part Three

Bethany: Part Three

 

If Bethany was the embodiment of an authentically good person, then Sammy Rosenfeld was our schools greatest living example of a fake one. Sammy was the kind of guy the grown ups are always pointing out to his peers as a model citizen, the school boy gold standard that they can only aspire to, but who is known by these same peers to be, in fact, a cruel, manipulative sociopath. The enthusiastic face Bethany showed the powers that be was the same one everybody saw, but Sammy’s mask of good cheer fell as soon as Headmaster Blew or Coach Grandiloquent turned their backs, his innocent grin twisting into an evil, self-satisfied leer. Of course you have to wonder how deceived they really were – like trustees in a prison, it can be quite useful to have a privileged member of the general population who is committed to the status quo and willing to use methods that could never be officially condoned to maintain it.

In the amoral world of High School, cruelty and sadism aren’t necessarily considered negative qualities, especially when they’re exhibited by a varsity football player, and Sammy was considered popular, a serial cheerleader deflowerer, the guiding light of a pack of cronies who shared his predilection for tormenting the weak and different. Most of the remaining students respected him, but, unlike the general sentiment toward Bethany, it was a respect born of fear rather than admiration.

Maybe because the teachers were always advancing his candidacy, Sammy had been class president since the distant days of first grade, all through Junior and Middle School, his position seeming permanent. Permanent, that is, until I appeared on the scene as a freshman in the Senior School.

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Editor’s Note: Quotebag

Editor’s note:

Mrs. Sophie Krels and her son and daughter, Don and Judy, and Bobby Nixon, as named in this story, are real characters who played the part in the case as set forth herein, but have been given these fictitious names to save them from embarassment.

 

The imposter is the dream and the Emperor is the dreamer himself.

– Sigmund Freud

 

The difference is crucial, for Johnson’s detachment enabled him to think and speak of such things as the "true state" of life. Sterne is the first writer of fiction to believe that there is no such happy thing as objective and universal reality. Instead, he knows intuitively that reality is no more than a projection in his own head – and we know what he thought of that head.

– David Thomson

 

It had ever, as I told the reader, been one of the singular blessings of my life, to be almost every hour of it miserable in love with someone.

– Laurence Sterne

 

I could devour the little witch. If she had a plague-spot on her, I could touch the infection.

– William Hazlitt

 

(In Washington, D.C. the young hipsters who run the White Tower late at night and freefeed their subterranean flipped chicks have no conception whatever of the dignity which we are supposed to employ in the contemplation of Abraham Lincoln)

– Jack Kerouac

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