Post Orgasmic Chill

Post Orgasmic Chill


It wouldn't be so bad if Sir Galishite himself  a man who seems to have gleaned his entire philosophy from Dungeons And Dragons manuals and a video of [B]Sinbad And The Eye Of The Tiger[/B]  wasn'

This could be the best gig of the millennium, given a few extra features. A 10ft, papier-mbchi dragon bursting out of the stage for starters. Some blokes in suits of armour missing each other with long swords. A miniature Stonehenge being crushed by some dwarves. We want fake snow, pointy hats with stars on, false white beards and wands. And a big gong at the back for good luck. Because how utterly fantastic, what a kick in the bollocks to their critics, what a resurgence in our faith in anti-fascist humanity would it be if [a]Kula Shaker[/a] finally got their own joke?

Let there be no argument here: ‘Peasants, Pigs & Astronauts’ – with all its Age Of Aquarius choirs, inadvisable bagpipes and babbling pseudo-spiritual guff – is by far the most unintentionally hilarious record since they let Ringo sing. Take ‘Mystical Machine Gun’ fr’instance: a song that’s never been within pig-throwing distance of a proper tune, rendered classic by a single howled reference to a [I]”wizard in a blizzard”[/I]. Eat your hearts out, The Jerky Boys.

The Kulas, to their faint credit, do have a go at grasping this new-fangled, 20th-century ‘irony’ lark. They’ve renamed the venue The 108 Club because, like, the number has some kind of, y’know, ancient significance or sommat, like Merlin said in that film. Crispian Mills acknowledges the bagpipe folly of ‘Mystical Machine Gun’ by thanking “the spectre piper of Charing Cross Road”. Then he impersonates Elvis. And that’s your lot. Because they really do mean it. They really, honestly think all this Excalibur: The Musical! rubbish is the future. No, really.

And that means months of torturous jazz sax at the end of ‘Smart Dogs’. It means flower power operetta pastiches like ‘Great Hosannah’, which Pete Townshend would’ve dropped from Tommy for being bombastic to the point of ridicule. It means ‘SOS’ (working title ‘Soldiers Of Satan’! FACT!) coming on like ‘The Riverboat Song’ after intensive training from Glenn Hoddle. Sure, this is pre-millennial music, but which millennium exactly?

It wouldn’t be so bad if Sir Galishite himself – a man who seems to have gleaned his entire philosophy from Dungeons And Dragons manuals and a video of Sinbad And The Eye Of The Tiger – wasn’t so pompous and self-indulgent about it all. The DJ tries to hammer home the point by playing ‘The Magic Number’ as the limp strains of ‘Govinda’ fade out, but Crispy‘s gone, off with the pixies, away to reload his mystical machine gun with bullets of cod-psychedelic bullshit. The joke flies right over his head once again. And Krishna alone knows how it got that high.