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EARLY WORD: Space Ritual De Lo Habitual


R5: If we are going to talk about “out there” music, we can’t get much further out than legendary 70’s British space rock pioneers HAWKWIND. Most of our favorite bands have been borrowing heavily from Hawkwind (consciously or not) for years – heavy, droney, hypnotic and endless. Like the Stooges or the MC5 stretched and stretched until they become these epic riffscapes of wah wah guitars and thrumming low end drone, all stretched loosely over an unwavering motorik beat. Basically every stoner metal band/psych rock ensemble I have ever heard owe it all to the ‘wind, whether they know it or not. It’s totally insane they are playing again and we are very excited to welcome them to Union Transfer on October 11th.

NICK KENT: Down along the borderline which divides Germany into East and West, the guards all line up in uniform and shades so that they look both anonymous and vaguely sinister at the same time. They stand, either still as statues or chewing gum which makes their cheek-bones twitch, perfecting the art of being faceless. The Germans, after all, have always been strong on the tradition of uniforms and silent machismo, and these dudes have learnt their lessons well. The way they coolly ask for your passport, using every pause and movement to ensure that the beloved paranoia rating of any self-respecting hippy will reach a suitably impressive score. Meanwhile inside the area cordoned off on both sides by road-blocks, a strange figure appears from a nearby public convenience. Of impressive height and build, long reddish-blond hair and beard, and a uniform of black leather, he has the words “Thunder Rider” emblazoned on his motorcycle jacket. No-one takes much notice of him, though, as the starkness of the landscape surrounding them has seemingly stunned their capacity for wonderment or even vague curiosity. A small gathering of Frauleins stare at him suspiciously while constipated husbands glower over a frankfurter. There soon appear more such characters – a look of quiet fatigue on their faces, their cheeks slightly swollen (this was because they were carrying dope in their mouths, but, I digress). A strange mutant boy from among the company with an awkward physique and outrageously long flowing hair falls over and mutters profanely in a foreign tongue. No-one takes much notice. Their two cars stand together distinguishable from each other only by the fact that one of them has heavy damage on one side and the other has vomit stains trailing off from the back window. These people have obviously come a long way. And for a purpose. Slowly they leave, heading out toward the autobahn. Their destination – who knows where? They depart, leaving behind the soulless to continue their silent contemplation of the Wasteland. The fools. Did they not realise that they had received a visitation from the cosmic Prophets of the Unalterable Apocalypse – no less than the Sonic Assassins, the mighty Hawkwind?!? (Here some electronic sounds should be produced for effect in a suitably ominous fashion). MORE

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