Glastonbury Fayre1972
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Arthur Brown and his band Kingdom Come unleash torrents of intense rock and roll voodoo in a shamanistic performance that doesn’t spare any of the ham in shaman. It’s the kind of grand hokum that suspends belief and lights up your chakras like a pinball machine. This is the kind of stuff that lives up to the notion of rock as the devil’s music. This is what we were warned about. This is why we left our homes and went absolutely medieval in those lost days when music could rattle your bones and split open your brain. This is shock and awe without death tolls. A kind of mutilation by music that scars you for life… in a good way.
I found Glastonbury Fayre pairs well with a bottle of Zinfandel. I watched it with the lights out while reclining on an overstuffed couch. Tibetan incense smoke suffused my living room. I imagined tribes were gathering outside my door. This is magic I thought. I don’t go to the movies anymore. They come to me… and they bring friends.
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Member Reviews (6)
Roeg is an excellent cinematographer who knows how to shoot with an eye towards future editing possibilities. That said, your interest in this time capsule will be dependent your ability to identify with the subject matter.
Whew! Those were the days, miracles everywhere where are they now?? They're GONE! Oh to roll tripping and naked in the mud again? You had to be there, right? A throbbing psychadelic Hurricane. One, in a string of "Beads"stretching from Monterey to the Isle of White, through Woodstock, and Altamont. with the fumes of "SPINAL TAP" rising from the sacred cacophony of Freedom, Love, and wild abandon! Acid, weed, Gurus, and "wizards"We were all on the Yellow Brick Road together., in a writhing chanting parade to "Enlightenment", or not.
Arthur Brown and his band Kingdom Come unleash torrents of intense rock and roll voodoo in a shamanistic performance that doesn’t spare any of the ham in shaman. It’s the kind of grand hokum that suspends belief and lights up your chakras like a pinball machine. This is the kind of stuff that lives up to the notion of rock as the devil’s music. This is what we were warned about. This is why we left our homes and went absolutely medieval in those lost days when music could rattle your bones and split open your brain. This is shock and awe without death tolls. A kind of mutilation by music that scars you for life… in a good way.
I found Glastonbury Fayre pairs well with a bottle of Zinfandel. I watched it with the lights out while reclining on an overstuffed couch. Tibetan incense smoke suffused my living room. I imagined tribes were gathering outside my door. This is magic I thought. I don’t go to the movies anymore. They come to me… and they bring friends.
Before some wiseacre came up with the term "Rockumentary," there were "Concert Films." In the prehistoric world before DigitalVideoInterwebz, this was the only way to catch a glimpse of the giant Music Festivals of the late 60's and early 70's, at some old movie screen near a college campus at Midnight on a Friday or Saturday night. Glastonbury took place a mere two years after Woodstock, but it's an intriguing contrast the events. Indeed, Glasonbury (still going song 45 years later) has an underlying feeling of unity and purpose, as seen in the mass ritual towards the end. You get some sense of the time and the place, and the strange magnetic pull of the giant pyramid stage, but you don't get the full show. David Bowie played at this show as the sun was rising one morning. Where's the footage of that???
those were the days my friend/we thought they'd never end/we'd sing and dance forever and a day
a British Woodstock. 'Nuff said