"Hell of a band," was how their erstwhile bass player [a]Lemmy[/a] described the stroboscopic, bare-breasted, drug-ingesting charabanc of no fixed hygiene that was [a]Hawkwind[/a] in 1972....
“Hell of a band,” was how their erstwhile bass player [a]Lemmy[/a] described the stroboscopic, bare-breasted, drug-ingesting charabanc of no fixed hygiene that was [a]Hawkwind[/a] in 1972. And while you’d be rightly suspicious if he were telling you about a “hell of a recipe” or a “hell of a doctor”, in the matter of bands you’d have to acknowledge that Ian Kilminster knew his spiked psychedelic onions pretty well.
In the period covered by this three-CD compilation, [a]Hawkwind[/a] were a band of two fairly major halves: in the early-’70s a whiffy collective more often than not either wholly incapacitated by Mandrax or raddled to gnashing on amphetamines. They would turn up, blind you with projections, spaced-age paranoid incantation and the trance-inducing power of repetitive riffing. They had a bloke called Dik Mik in them, and nobody knew why. By the late-’70s, though, the influence in the group had shifted to the tidier, if still massively psychotic vision of singer Bob Calvert. Influenced by the anxiety-centric science fiction of Isaac Asimov, they found a new way to express themselves that was powerful, repetitive and sinister.
Track names? Names are limiting, man. You don’t want their, like, [I]names[/I]. But just as the world is [a]Hawkwind[/a]’s free festival now, be advised that it was their potent psilocybin mushroom then, and this is a worthy document of that long strange trip.
Several men on drugs. Quite possibly playing in your garden now. Hell of a band.