
How cool. I had no idea The Beatles were the (accidental) inventors of the secret track!
Here’s more, courtesy of Jude Rogers at The Guardian.

Very sad news to report, though it’s surely made its way throughout the progressive and pyschedelic rock communities. Daevid Allen, the beloved founder of Gong and member of Soft Machine, is suffering from neck cancer. He has decided to forego any more treatment, and has six months to live.
A strange factoid to pass on: when I worked at a local record shop in Los Angeles, the actor Sherman Hemsley (George Jefferson of ‘The Jeffersons‘ TV series) was a client of mine. He had the strangest and most interesting taste in music, and was particularly fond of progressive rock. I was told some years later that it was he who had spent a good sum of money to bring Daevid and company out to the United States for a tour.
What strange bedfellows those two made.
Portishead, the undisputed kings and queen of Trip-Hop, perform in the hamlet which bears their band name.
Such an incredible story. A 17-year-old creates the masterpiece of the 1970s in Tubular Bells, almost loses his mind doing it, and has to struggle to break free from that monster of a record.
More on Mike Oldfield here, courtesy of Wikipedia.
In honor of the passing of the legendary Demis Roussos, as well as admiring the musicianship of Vangelis Papathanassiou, who was a monster keyboard player for Aphrodite’s Child before softening with Chariots of Fire.

I hate it when my blog becomes a necropsy report. Unfortunately, the world lost former singer of Aphrodite’s Child, and an amazing singer in his own right, Demis Roussos.
The BBC provides an obituary here.
Maybe it’s a sign of getting old that I’m enjoying sparse, folk-ish acoustic music, but there’s something sublime in the soothing voice of Cibelle.
Danish pop singer and pianist Agnes Obel is a new name to me. Perhaps it’s time to start listening to KCRW or indie radio again.
Yann Tiersen at his minimalist, near-heartbreaking best.
I’ll bet you didn’t see this coming!
I grew up in the 1980s, where music video was a new art form. One of the first memories I have of MTV is watching, among good new wave ditties, this song. It seemed pompous, boring, and the band looked like they were on a pile of cocaine rather than in a desert. It took about twenty years for me to appreciate the song-craft of Fleetwood Mac.
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