A few years ago I discovered a bootleg of a band called Phantasia. It's self-titled private press album from 1971. The record is a soft and dreamy take on late period psych and early prog. The yearning vocals work exceptionally well with the disconsolate lyrics, nearly all of which are drenched in despair and sadness. In its fragility it is beautiful. Yesterday I received an official German CD (circa 2002) from the World In Sound label. It features a sizable booklet comprised of the lyrics from the album and its bonus tracks. Most fascinating, however, were the lengthy liner notes by John "Depugh" Cavanaugh, the lyricist and drummer. I never before read a band history in a CD booklet that began: "My name is John Depugh. My father was dysfunctional. Instead of standing me in a corner for discipline, my dad locked me in a dog cage." It goes on from there to detail both the formation of his band (along with some deaths through accidents and some members being drafted) and the abuse he suffered at home. Several paragraphs later, there's this: "My egomaniac father decided it was his calling to save the world from communism and formed a paramilitary organization. Quickly convicted of various crimes, he jumped bond and went underground hoping to incite a revolution to overthrow the US government." Our hero is sent by his mother to live with his father after graduating high school in order to bring the family back together. His father is trying to live happily with his "concubine" on his compound. Resuming Depugh's text: "When I arrived he screamed in my face, 'You have shit for brains!' until I cringed like a dog. I just wanted to hide somewhere and smoke some cigarettes. He just wanted to beat my shitty brains out for embarrassing him in front of his recruits." And so it goes on with his father in solitary confinement in Federal prison and the band amounting to series of dead ends. At the very least, Phantasia left behind something of value who those who seek it out.

It's been a few weeks since the last set of interviews went up, but that time has been frantically busy for me. Despite the fact that the holidays are upon us, I have a few interviews scheduled that I believe listeners will enjoy. The interviews are with some fascinating individuals and will continue to expand the scope of the project further afield but still under the umbrella of DIY punk.

I leave you with two quotes from John Wyndham's 1955 novel The Crysalids:

"Neither his kind, nor his kind of thinking will survive long. They are the crown of creation, they are ambition fulfilled -- they have nowhere more to go. But life is change, that is how it differs from rocks, change is its very nature. Who, then, were the recent lords of creation, that they should expect to remain unchanged? The living form defies evolution at its peril; if it does not adapt, it will be broken. The idea of completed man is the supreme vanity: the finished image is a sacrilegious myth."

"They are determined still that there is a final form to defend: soon they will attain the stability they strive for, in the only form it is granted -- a place among the fossils."

"There is comfort in a mother's breast, but there has to be a weaning. The attainment of independence, the severing of ties, is, at best, a bleak process for both sides; but it is necessary, even though each may grudge it and hold it against the other. The cord has been cut at the other end already; it will only be a futile entanglement if you do not cut it at your end, too.

"Whether harsh intolerance and bitter rectitude are the armour worn over fear and disappointment, or whether they are the festival-dress of the sadist, they cover an enemy of the life-force. The difference in kind can be bridged only by self-sacrifice: his self-sacrifice, for yours would bridge nothing. So, there is the severance. We have a new world to conquer: they have only a lost cause to lose."
 

Brilliant.

Brilliant.

Brilliant.

A constructive alternative to looking at punk as a community is to see it as a family. Think about Thanksgiving (unless you're an anarchist). When grandpa is grumpy, dismissive, and archly conservative, everyone thinks he's a dick and wonders when he's going to finishing dying already. When grandma is filled with great stories and wise insights, everyone loves the old bird and they make real tears when she croaks. Likewise, when junior is an arrogant and dismissive little snot, everyone wants him to choke on a wishbone or at least grow the fuck up and get over himself. But when junior brings youthful vigor and enthusiasm for life to the table, the entire family feeds off his or her ebullient qualities. For my part in the family, I'm just glad I had a vasectomy all those years ago.