The Crazy People
Bedlam

From the mid-sixties onwards, the Beatles dabbled for five seconds of sitar in pop tunes, yes beautiful, but without too many revolutionary pretensions, despite them believing it (in the East brought to the West), just because they were more famous than God. They did the same for some stamps of LSD taken just like that, randomly, just to see a bit of tangerine trees and then tell everyone, excited like schoolboys eager to tell their parents the good grade they got in school to get their allowance. Maybe they wanted the allowance too. Let's even remove the maybe.

In 1968, many things happened. Among others, a group of musicians was born who, for some obscure reason, recorded a wonderful album, then vanished into thin air. Bizarre. Bizarre people.

The same year the United States of America gave birth to a stunning album, innovative in its intentions and highly successful fusion of electronics and whimsical, lunatic, and Dadaist psychedelia.

The Crazy People of Bedlam anticipated the carefree playfulness of the Gong and made it, albeit for only one album, an absolute and distinctive trademark. They carried the disconnected and Dadaist word of the aforementioned contemporaries United States of America, accentuating its deconstructive and absurd characteristics.

They were bold in their attempt to present the most bewildering and entertaining album possible. Full of citations, absurd sounds, classical symphonies, and descriptive narrations. They brought a rooster into the recording studio (assuming they ever really had one) at six in the morning, they brought in a drunk and a suicidal person after the evening drink and before the umpteenth attempt to end it all and made him say what they had in mind.

If a parade in the merry farm hasn't yet made you understand that their only goal is to make sure your brain feels entertained and at ease, then you just need to sit in the toilet (fully dressed) while you visually analyze, with the eyes of someone who has nothing in their head and everything in their heart, Freud smoking opiates in a pipe with a drawing of an elephant at the circus, who then sits next to you without you noticing, also visibly relaxed and lost in that absurd and paradoxical vision. Freud being analyzed, wow. If every now and then you notice the sound of some alarms, don't worry, let it go. Watch Freud while perhaps you hear, as a thud, the disconnected words of someone who has just awakened in the other room and is meanwhile positioning themselves in front of the piano and starts to play. Then picks up the flute and eventually enjoys playing a military march with the trumpet. It's likely he gave the opium to Mr. Sigmund. He though has taken too much and with the help of a circus tune falls asleep and begins to dream who knows what. You feel free and without thoughts. The circus closes, but you don't leave. Maybe you rest a little, then it's time to start playing again!