Ey-up People,

Man, so much has happened since the last Drudion it’s hard to know where to start. I’ve been up to my waders in Corkadian streams (3rd Irish fieldtrip this year) and wandering the foothills of Mount Olympus to the altar of Zeus at Dion, whilst Dorian and my kids stayed with her Greek family in Athens. Hey, the bombing of Bali may have opened up the terrorist war on to new fronts, but it didn’t stop Athens airport from featuring the weirdest ‘living commercial’ I ever saw. Yup, right there in the departure lounge, three fake Muslims were down on their knees worshipping a car! I hustled the kids over to see such fun, but by the time we got back, the three dudes had been swapped for a single be-burkha’d woman. I tell you, such ironic religious pisstakes didn’t exactly make me feel safer flying.
And for all those of you who expected me to be on the stage at Athens’ Rodon Club this coming Saturday, soz babies but it weren’t my fault! According to the club’s boss, various mistakes were made after I signed a contract to play on November 2nd, which meant that all the press and radio were informed that I’d be there on the 9th. Yup, go figure…

Sorry I’m so late this month but I didn’t get back from Greece until November 3rd – just in time to discover that my mother had had a near fatal stroke 7 days before. It’s clear that she won’t make it, but we’ve been expecting this news for so long that it was less of a shock to me than anyone could imagine. Don’t think I’m being callous or too matter-of-fact about any of this – I have a horrible feeling that my grief is gonna be a delayed reaction.

Anyway, now I’m listening to a bunch of Greek stuff I got hold of last week, the best of which is ON THE WINGS; the third LP by Socrates Drank the Conium. It’s a 1973 recording of a bunch of anti-Dictatorship longhairs who were forced to record in Paris, as Dictatorship-period Greece wasn’t exactly amenable to those against Papadopoulos. Anyway, this album sounds a lot like SABBATH VOLUME 4 with Family’s Roger Chapman singing!
I found out about this stuff through a psychedelic freak called Chris, whose Volos appartment where I stayed is chock full o’Farfisa organs and rare garage compilations. He and my good friend Ilias accompanied me to the ancient oak sanctuary at Dodoni, just below the Albanian border. It was the hardest road I’ve ever had to negotiate, but by having scant regard for anyone else’s lives but our own, we did it with class and in plenty of time. 

As you may know, I turned 45 at the end of last month. My kids are always complaining about mad music emanating from my bedroom, but they still bought me the new 3CD by Maru Sankaku Shikaku. Yup, three albums of early-70s sub-Amon Duul street blurt and my nippers brung it on themselves. U‑Know! The leader of that band was the drummer with Rallizes Denudes’ sister band Murahachibu, who sounded like ARROW-period Television playing the Stones. Their LIVE ’72 LP is well worth searching out — and keep watching our merchandiser for new Rallizes stuff. It flashes in and out because we can only lay our mits on limited amounts, but I’ve sourced most of this stuff myself either by begging or open threats. I’m currently listening to “Cold Woman Blues” from their stupendous FUCK UP & NAKED double-CD, and wondering why Virgin Records decided not to sign them in 1976.

Finally, Kevlar’s had a bone marrow transplant which appears to have taken successfully. As if in some kind of synchronous celebration, Brain Donor has a new 45 out soon on the Static Resonance label: “My Pagan Ass” b/w “Like a Motherfucker”. Both are poignant tales of the modern heathen caught in the monotheistic crossfire of 21st century Britain. Dorian is trying to dissuade us from donning fluorescent burkhas for the campaign, but I think it’s about time the inner-female side of my proto-Viking Odinist self was properly explored.

When you Ragnarock with me, ain’t no place I’d rather be!

Enough already,

JULIAN (M’Lud Yatesbury)