Everybody knows that he’s been obsessed with Syd Barrett but it’s weird when Robyn Hitchcock sounds like post-Barrett Pink Floyd. This could almost be an outtake from The Wall.
Losing my face, losing my friends, losing my temper
Losing my place on the map, losing my home
“I first saw Robyn Hitchcock in my hometown, Cambridge, in 1976,” director by Hugh Hales-Tooke told Rolling Stone. “He was playing with a fairly early incarnation of the Soft Boys. It seemed fitting for Cambridge to be the place for Robyn Hitchcock to emerge. He was doing something strong and unique but with a strong connection to Cambridge, the home of Syd Barrett and early Pink Floyd psychedelia.”
Below are the things we’ve posted to Twitter recently. In reverse chronological order, just like Twitter… We’re reposting 195 tweets this time with a total of 108 links to stuff that (mostly) didn’t end up on GLONO.
# RT @seanonolennon: Now they say I’m abusing Lennon fans? Because I’m defending my mother from insults over an advert I had NOTHING to do with!? 3 minutes ago
# How come Paul McCartney never made another album as good or as weird as Ram? about 2 hours ago
# Sad about Haeley. RT @maura: tonight’s ‘american idol’ recap, in which i get to the point: http://bit.ly/csZzTO about 4 hours ago
# “With Paula, you’re never more than a few minutes away from seeing a grade-A display of batshit antics on live TV.” http://ow.ly/1eHYx #idol about 4 hours ago
It all started with the Soft Boys. Somebody made me a copy of their odds ‘n sods collection Invisible Hits, an assortment of leftovers so good that other bands would be proud to call them the main course. My Maxell cassette of that album got so many spins that I nearly wept when it eventually got destroyed in the car stereo of a friend. This was before Robyn got a major label deal with A&M Records, you understand, so Invisible Hits was totally out of print and the friend that made the copy, well, like your pot dealer in college, he was long gone.
Add to this, a chick that I really thought I had a connection with, a music hipster no less, mentioned that she really liked that album after I played it. So like a schmuck, I found a tremendously priced import copy of the album and, are you sitting down, gave it to her as a Christmas gift, an action that haunts me to this day, especially considering the emotional guillotine that is falling in love with someone more than they actually love you.
I stitched my head back on when I found another copy for myself and christened myself a Robyn Hitchcock disciple. He sang songs to me that sounded great stoned and they sounded just as good sober, although the words became a tad more warped.