ArnoldLayne

But, you see, the underlying problem is that your review could work, with just a few word changes, just as well for a 13th Floor Elevators album as for one by the Dead, one by Quicksilver MS, one by Jefferson, or for any product born under the lysergic sky of the late '60s West Coast (with few exceptions). The cliché, if you will, is exactly this: to often and readily, sometimes even with effort, reduce everything to one’s own belonging, prioritizing the historical context, which is indeed fundamental but secondary in terms of rightly recognizing a product that must first be taken in isolation. In short: assigning space-time labels can only lead, in a short time, to the dating (in the negative sense of the term) of the product in question, something that doesn’t happen when certain artistic and personal peculiarities are highlighted, an absolute value that meshes well with the imperishable nature of Art. An innovative style, dark, visionary, unadorned, distorted and raw at the same time, far removed from the pristine utopian flights of the Airplane or the essentially blues-based jams of Quicksilver or the virtuosic hints of a Garcia, a Cipollina, or a Cassady, finds no better historical counterpart, in the pre-psychedelic era and its evolution (both before and after "The psychedelic sounds of"), than in Roky Erickson. And it’s evident: many owe debts to Erickson’s work, especially on the first album by the 13th, from Barrett to the V.U. to the Electric Prunes, just to remember three pillars.

I warmly invite all past and future readers of this review to consider it as the mere outburst of a person who, firmly anchored to a few golden idols, showcases their ability to climb mirrors to belittle, now with clearly forced concepts, now with simplistic condescension, one of the most fundamental blockbusters in the history of cinema, as well as the supreme Director. In this shameless obstinacy to assert, even while stepping outside the lines, their disconnected ideas, one can find coincidentally both the mere thirst for ephemeral (virtual) glory of a frustrated bourgeois and the innocent egocentrism of a nine-year-old child.

So many clichés, especially in the first part, that could have been avoided. There's so much to say about this album, but it hasn't been said. Don't talk about the jug? Your "habit" of wanting to summarize, in my opinion, heavily penalizes the review. Additionally, the use of punctuation is more than questionable. Fundamental group. I quote Lewis: the first is the FIRST.

I enter this page where a nostalgic (thirty-something?) has the unfortunate idea of pairing Leopardi and pink magic with doses of impalpable irony. The choice is unusual, yes, but I believe it should have been avoided. @Percy: a record doesn’t acquire intrinsic value, but it has it within itself, otherwise we would have to talk about sentimental value, which can arise at the first listen and/or diminish/increase over time. Therefore, I don’t think this value, enormously relative, has much to do with the content of the music, but rather with our experience and thus with our taste/pleasure, that is, our unconscious tool for evaluating and consequently liking/disliking forms and contents, which, as abstract realizations (concept and formulation of music) and material (reproduction and lyricism) of ideas birthed by others, can only seem foreign to us even after we have well assimilated them. Dear Neu!, if The Piper is better (i.e., has greater intrinsic value) than Meddle, it is certainly not a matter of how much mere percentage of form or content there is in one and how much in the other; it is better for very different reasons that emerge from the same field where we are allowed to differentiate a Meddle from A Momentary Lapse of Reason (and there are quite a few differences), which is not possible based on your criteria of percentages, where instead M and AMLOR would have parity of form, right? Form and content are two cornerstone elements of music, they go hand in hand, and favoring one over the other, by the artist, will easily negatively impact the final result. But this is just a small step; in fact, the artist emerges or fades based on the QUALITY of that form and the QUALITY of those contents. Religion is all form, sport is all content, Art (and thus music) lies in the middle.

High Tide enveloped in an aura of mystery between progressive and psychedelia... I miss this live.

I struggle to give 3 stars to the Supreme Master, but this album is an unknown.

dieeeeeeeeeeeee

if you had done fewer filoni, maybe you'd hit the right sentence

Beautiful