Author: D-Moss

here we are

Russell Grant; Revolution, Now!

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Russell Grant

A leading TV astrologer has called for “Psychedelic Revolution Now!” during an interview on Newsnight.

The jovial entertainer shocked presenter Jeremy Paxman when he admitted he had injected several “reefers” of LSD in the green room. Grant had been invited to the studio to discuss his stint as guest editor of Cheshire Life.

When asked why he chose to edit a lifestyle magazine for very rich people and aspirational tossers, Grant replied:

” I want them to wake up, to experience the here and now, we are all one with the universe and if I can just get through to these people, and explain that their wealth, their houses, their cars, their horses, all of that shit, that none of it matters,  and that the hard eye of the universe is the ever flowering source radiating timeless nowness through every vibrating particle, even in their own dead hearts, then, if they can just see that, they can change, they can evolve their consciousness, it’s a revolution, and it’s now, always now”

“but it just looks like an old edition of Oz!” Paxman claimed witheringly.

Grant replied;

“come on Jeremy, grow your beard man, I am a fucking wizard you know, I can make rainbows, I’m a starman, and I’m sick of the way the world is run by an elite of lizards who are disenfranchising the youth of today and turning them all into clones, it’s just emotionally destitute corporate wonga lords manufacturing analogs of ur-turd sold as aspartamane Mileys for a generation of feckless addicts, and I want to wake them all up, them at the top and them at the bottom  ”

Russell Grant takes over from Michael Crawford as Wizard of Oz-777329
Grant transforms into a wizard mid interview.

Paxman glowered at the fluffy pantomime dame for several seconds.

Jeremy Paxman
Jeremy Paxman

Mung Function, live review.

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Mung Function Live at Edgeley Park…reviewed by Mathew Coot..Reprinted from the Four Heatons Outlaw Press, June.1976.

It was a dismal night, towards a blurred ending, like nothing ever changed but the style of grey, a tone and weave apart from the next, so slim but that was all, our mecca bingo like a wall, only the dead pass, and through that particular shade and twill, orange smiling warm stains splash across the imaginary starlines where we wished the viaduct was translucent, instead of a dictator, and the hordes gathered uncertainly, expecting the divine, but the buses were running late and nobody expected an airship, a dirigible cloud like a fat bouncer on the door to the vista in a pact with the viaduct to block the angles, but then the body swayed and the insignia revealed, the western ocean reflecting through the transmatter panels; the Mung Function, and toys parachuted down onto the crowds, eighths of an ounce of Lebanese hashish and spangles.
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The band emerged from the airborne vessel, exploding over Edgeley park in balls of paper that origami themselves into near human form, and as they floated to the turf a breeze circled the stadium creating a plateau of revolving air. The Mung Function eased their descent and hovered at the exact height of Big Kevin Francis (6 feet 7 inches) and then the show started as they revved up their synaesthetic engines and tuned to the Mersey pulse, ripping the air as they coursed into their classic homage to the Legend: “Big Kev’s Head” The near 2000 strong crowd were wild and as the song ended they were begging more, and the Function obliged with “Slow Train To Whitby” which is perhaps the only song by a Stockport band that exposes ex-playschool presenter Fred Harris as a psychopathic serial killer.
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Over the next four and a half hours we were consumed, digested, regurgitated, reingested, then shat out in the shape of a monstrously loose space rock fusion turd; with guest appearances by Stockport luminaries the likes of which had never before or have never since gathered and united in such a tour de force! There was Big Rinny, a man so vast and powerful an area was named after him (Brinnington) Tiddy Ogden, an urchin from Heaton Norris who performed a traditional “Ucksters Jig”, Greasy Nick from the Tasty Fish salon who miraculously fed the whole audience with a couple of manky fillets of Mersey trout, three stale barms and a jumbo sausage; and Mike Yarwood, who did a great impression of sixties prime minister Harold Wilson.
The gig ended with a segue into a soap operatic reenactment, by the Cheadle Heath Amateur Criminal Association, of the 1984 pitched battle between County nutters and Telford rowdies, which ended in a nasty bout of ammonia splashing betweeen the enthusiastic Diva and a couple of lardy tenors.
Next up was the Sex Pistols, but most of the crowd had gone home by then…