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Rating:
"The Wilde Canterbury Dream".
It was 1992, sex for two was scarce. During my solitary, very personal lysergic afternoons, I immersed myself in the fairytale tranquility of "In The Land Of Grey And Pink".
I listened and I thought.
"The Wilde Canterbury Dream". Todd Dillingham was my White Rabbit.
A sunflower with an eye, a white unicorn owl, colorful bubbles, frogs with butterfly wings, colorful frogs.
That photograph of former classmates 20 years later, but those names. Richard Sinclair, Andy Wards, Jimmy Hastings.
The music is magical.
The silver key to access a world where past and present vibrate in unison on the same strings of my wonder, for those childishly mature notes.
A colorful flying staff. The psychedelic, Canterbury, acid folk verb, declined in a pop key.
Pop, sweet, dreamy, melancholic. Dreams that might have been born from the mind of a Robyn Hitchcock, Kevin Ayers, the XTC in power flower costumes, Donovan, forgotten entities gathered by Bam Caruso, the west coast with an English gaze, Beatles acidity, and some prog musings.
I listened and I thought, it was 1992.
It was 1994, I bought another Todd Dillingham CD "SGT. Kipper". I remember I also bought the Wilde Flowers CD, also published by Voiceprint.
It was 1994, they were the Wilde Flowers. Another story, but it’s still about the "Wilde Canterbury Dream".
And I? I listened and I thought.
It was 1994.
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