I’m a rock’n’roller so I’ll get up at 6am and write straight through until 6pm and then get absolutely trashed.
...there were twenty-five Slovakian motorcyclists in this Little Chef and every one of them just got up and legged it as soon as we walked in...
...Why didn’t you run with the popstar thing?
JC: Because I was surrounded by cunts...
Julian Cope is lost. He went off on a mission to get some sandwiches, took a shortcut, made a U-turn and lost mobile phone contact with the crew.
...If you set yourself up to put yourself on the edge of human experience what comes forth is your uber-human side. It’s just a fantastic feeling.
...it must be said that Crossing Border must take great credit for highlighting left-field Dutch talent. It’s important, and well, I find it unbelievable that outside of say Noorderslag no other major ‘national’ festival really does it, especially when there is a real renaissance in Dutch underground music...
We have plane hijackings, riots with farmers, and bassists escaping in the n.u.d.e.
Hung Up and Hanging Out to Dry was just bloody
splendid, prompting my rather squiffy teacher friend to throw cheese
strings at Cope (“I did it for the hell of it” he later confessed).
When we went to see him playing this album live, a female associate with our group demanded loudly from the audience that guitarist Michael Mooney (and I quote) ‘Stick his plums up me bum!'.
I've been putting this off for a while, as Copey's back catalogue is one that must be treated with reverence, and a shoddy, slapdash piece would not do.
It defies categories. It's a horrible noise. It's cut-ups to the Nth dgree. Part of it is just like Frank Zappa's Lumpy Gravy (the funny bit, thank the Goddess.)
Bands to form a band to. That's my take on the Teardrop Explodes.
Hey ho, Julian Cope.
"“Shrine of the Black Youth”, crashes into the room; all yowling and tremolo feedback"