More Metal Machine Music

Someone actually covered Metal Machine Music ("The Greatest Album Ever Made!"- St. Bangs). And it's Fantastic. Listen:

And here's a pretty decent mashup of MMM & No. 9:

You Don't Know Yoko Ono

Most people only know the name Yoko Ono as a byword or a punchline. She is neither. I can't think of a single artist or celebrity with such a more undeserved reputation. If you don't know Ono, let me give you the skinny: Yoko hate is 1 part philistinism, 99 parts PURE SEXIST BULLSHIT. If you don't like avant-garde art or strange music, she won't be your bag. But neither (most likely) will David Lynch, Salvador Dali, Crispin Glover, John Cage et cetera. But these male artists don't get the kind of hatred Ono inspires, because it's expected that they are artists whose role it is to challenge and provoke. People don't think about Yoko Ono this way because, 1) she's a woman, and 2) she was John Lennon's girlfriend.

If you like the kind of crazy noise we often traffic in at Interplanetary Music, you should really give Ono's music a listen. Some of it is not good. Some of it is incredible, particularly the Plastic Ono Band album. The following documentary (you'll have to watch parts 2-6 on Youtube, because embedding is disabled for some stupid reason) helps debunk some of the Ono myths (and they are all myths, except for the one about her being a witch), but it doesn't do much in the way of appreciating her as an artist.

Ravi Shankar: Chants of India

Ravi Shankar died in December, and Interplanetary Music neglected to memorialize him. There's a very good reason for this, which is that I am not that familiar with his music beyond his appearances at Woodstock and Monterey Pop. I recently decided to atone for my neglect, and whaddayaknow but the very first album I chose to listen to was a straight muthafuckin' fucking killer. Chants of India, produced by the Mr. Bangladesh-slummin' "Quiet Beatle" George himself (my first girlfriend, who initiated me into the endless mystery of the Beatles, was a Georgie-girl, apparently attracted to such taciturn spirituality, making me wonder what she was doing with a wiseass atheist (a John) like me (the hair, clearly)), is surprisingly minimal, given Shankar's reputuation as a shredding virtuoso, as well as the variety of instruments employed here. In fine, this album has given me a reason to live for the past few days. Take that as a recommendation.

It sounds like like life. It sounds like death. It sounds like some incomprehensible third thing. Oh India, please whisper your wisdom into my ear so that I may breathe it out of my mouth.