Driving (in the) snow from Kempten. I was supposed to put saucers and blondes together, but the reversable rider of Skye said „NO!”, and off he went on a rollercoaster ride of thrift shop guitars, carrying the torch for Lady Biba. The 4 A.M. Lamp kept burning, and sociopaths were rescued from their shady caves, turned into rainbows and oh! Butterflies „above the nation”. That was the dream of the Woodstock generation, now wasn’t it?
Tribal
The Birth of Grunge- “91”- And The Death of Drums- “Taon II”
by ION
(In the Tempo of the Dog, please…)
“Can’t smoke, can’t drink, can’t dance, can’t sing,
can’t punk, can’t folk, can’t fight, can’t fall anymore…”
– “Taon II”
All that is not entirely true.
I can still sing.
And punk.
And fall…
like you wouldn’t believe.