PSYCHEDELIC, ULTRASONIC, ORGASMATRONIC….
oh Sweet Jesus can mere words explain what The Studio ’68! did to my fragile teenage mind?
Because oh yes I was there brothers and sisters when these four cool cats of the apocalpyse (oh yeah baby, I’m talking Paul, Will, Patrice and Monsieur Simon Castell) laid down their blazing sonic sermons in real time. This is in the ‘early ‘90’s, dig, back when those sad sweet bandwagon jumpers Blur were just another bunch of baggy boys and old monobrow Gallgher was still sweeping up the Inspiral Carpets’ fag buts.
Because I’m telling it to you straight man when I say that The Studio ’68! were there first-and, hell, better too – blazing a trail fusing Brit rock influences (Small Faces, Who, Cream) and kountercultural kool (Paris riots, Oz, Black Dwarf) with a sound and attitude so explosive it hurt – especially when a flying Epiphone came your way! Fact is, the ’68! lit up British rock in the No Mans Land between Madchester and Britpop like a kaleidoscopic distress flare and there was no one to touch ‘em (ok, maybe Five Thirty on a good night – we play fair round these parts daddio).
Hey, don’t believe me? Then check the music beautiful reader! Cos I defy anyone to drop the needle on Portobellohello – all slashing fuzz guitar, demented drums, booming bass and screaming Hammond- and tell me it ain’t the sound of the gates of Heaven and Hell being blown wide open, making grey-day reality vanish like a tab of Owlsey’s acid on the tongue.
But enough rambling – what are you waiting for? Dig the sounds, stay in touch, and dream of that reunion gig, eight miles high, on a West End rooftop, all fur coats, whisky chasers and sweet Mary Jane on ‘vibes’… Cos as the song goes: “The ’68! will never die..”