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The Wild Eyed She Beast From Planet X and the Validation of the Psychedelic Underground

(Or, Reasons to avoid Raoul Duke at the Austin Psych Fest)

By Brent Fellows, 2014 for Pow Magazine.

I was watching Acid Mothers Temple blast through a set of pure psychedelic mayhem on the Elevation stage at APF when suddenly, from what seemed like ten feet away came this spastic arm. Elongated and shaking, it streched out like Plasticman on some kinda weird binge. It came up and over several people behind me and the index finger, pulsating and protruding through the strobe lights and freaks landed exactly where it intended to. My shoulder. "HAAAYYYYY, WHATCHA DOIN'?", she shrieked. Lipstick smeared across her mouth like a drunken witch on drugs. The Wild Eyed She Beast from Planet X had spotted me and I knew what she was capable of. They can steal your soul and leave you zombified if you're not careful. It's their mission to bring human souls back to X but they are a dull bunch and exceptionally incompetent. Their fiendish love for earth drugs makes them no brighter but ya gotta be careful. They want you. Her voice alone was the first indicator of her alien status. Synthesized and unearthly, I knew she was dangerous. Also, the crazed look in her eyes. The pupils are opposite from those of a human, black on the outside with the color in the middle. A mistake made by the cloners on Planet X but seldom noticed, it's exaggerated when high on earth drugs. I sneered back with an evil eye and the spastic, elastic arm retracted violently back into the She Beast. I felt safe for now but I was having second thoughts about my run in with Raoul Duke back stage.

The Austin Psych Fest, now in it's 7th year and hosted by The Black Angles & the Reverberation Appreciation Society at Carson Creek Ranch was held the first weekend of May on the banks of the Colorado River just east of Austin proper and just north of the Austin Bergstrom Airport. I arrived on Thursday and made my way directly to Coatsie's house. Sprawled out in the back yard on a blanket in the sun, pale and disheveled, was Frankie Teardrop of the Brian Jonestown Massacre. Frankie had got squirrelly on his motorbike and crashed two weeks earlier with results better than death. He rolled over to greet me, bleary eyed, frighteningly bruised and half drunk. Why this was a sign that the weekend would be epic, I could not tell you, but there are signs. Decipherable or not.
It was Thursday and we made our way into town for the pre-partys, our heads bulging, long and indifferent. Maybe it was the Texas grass or the Lone Star or perhaps just entropy itself but we were moving forward now and it would be hard to stop, like a long train gaining speed. At Mohawk, Holy Wave and Night Beats were the first bands to spark the groove. Later at Red 7, the notorious and undeniable Flamin' Groovies twisted away their timeless garage, followed by the heavy rolling, Slow Motion Rider. The Warlocks pop drone finished the night and I slithered away into slumber, unaware at the time of the dangers that would be lurking out at the Ranch.

It was psychiatrist Humphry Osmond who first coined the term "psychedelic" in 1957 but it wouldn't be until eight years later that the term would be first used by a rock band to describe themselves. That band, fittingly from Austin, TX was the 13th Floor Elevators. The umbrella of psychedelic rock is a large one, covering many decades and many genres. In the 60's and 70's alone you have Pop, Folk, Soul, Blues, Hard Rock, Kraut Rock and so on all of which dabbled, if were not dosed in psychedelia. In the 80's there was the Paisley Underground movement, The Soft Boys, The Legendary Pink Dots, Echo and the Bunnymen, etc. In turn inspiring early shoegaze acts like My Bloody Valentine, The Jesus and Mary Chain, Spacemen 3 and Primal Scream who brought in elements of Acid House. In the US in the 90's there was the Elephant 6 collective, BJM and the Dandy Warhols. There was the emergence of stoner rock bands and doom metal with strong elements of the psychedelic sound. This broad melting pot, half a century on, is the inspiration from which so many bands can draw from today. The creativity and diversity is unlimited as was the case at APF this year. The scene here is one of the few true underground rock movements. You won't hear it on the radio and if you want to buy it you'll most likely have to buy the vinyl.

"Frankie, let's go." It was Friday afternoon and time to get out to Carson Creek Ranch for day one of the festivities. Backstage in the Artist Lounge were many familiar faces. I thought I spied Raoul Duke darting through the crowd and an intense feeling of excitement and terror overcame me. Greetings and salutations were made to old friends and new. The vibe was loose and the stage was set. Three stages actually.

I made my way out into the main festival grounds with my earth girl in tow. There on the main stage was King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard grinding away. Two drummers and explosive rhythm guitars not unlike Thee Oh Sees. Looking north into the dusky sky I could see the spaceships coming in. One after another, they loomed overhead, approaching their landing pad just across the freeway from the festival grounds. Most of them are friendly creatures but one must always be wary of the soul sucking She Beasts. Those bitches are CRAZY!!!

Standouts Friday were Graveyard, Terakaft, Black Lips, Kadavar, The Fresh and Onlys and of course the Zombies who played my favorite ‘Care of Cell 44'. The Dandy Warhols played an amazing set as well as The Black Angles who closed the night. Backstage things were getting weird and the weird were turning pro. I was beat and needed sleep badly.

Saturday afternoon we picked up Coatsie and were off to the festival again! More of the same hoopla backstage only this time I surely spotted the "Duke". He had Jason Simon from Dead Meadow cornered and was rambling like a madman. Stumbling and fumbling. Hammering and stammering on some wild rant about the '68 Democratic Convention, Mayor Daley, Owsley and how much better the acid was back then. The same feeling of excitement and terror gripped me but now I knew it was on. Jason made his escape and the Duke looked around wildly for someone or something, not really sure of anything until his eyes found me. He smiled fiendishly as did I in return. "Heya fellow Mellows, How are ya, whyaa, whatcha wanna drink? You wanna Whiskey?", he blasted. "Hell yeah, you know I do", I replied. We sauntered over to the bar and ordered a couple cocktails. The Duke explicitly asked for doubles, twice, as if the bartender didn't hear him the first time. When the drinks came Duke reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a little white tab and popped it into one of the drinks. He then mixed them up so it was impossible to tell which one was which (although, I'm sure he knew I got the dosed one). "What the hell was that?" I blurted. "Well, I ah, hmm, I couldn't tell ya for certain", he replied, "But don't worry. It can't make anything worse." Immediately I was worried. But, hell, what could happen? It was time to get out into the dust and dirt and get an earful of Rock n Roll. I stopped in at the DJ Booth to check in on my old pal Darragh. We shared a joint and that I could handle. I was feeling pretty good now and Pure X were holding down a mellow groove on the Reverberation Main Stage. A quick jaunt over to the Levitation tent and Zombie Zombie from Paris were kicking out their own brand of electro loops with a drummer and percussionist synched to a drum machine. Moon Duo came on next with a fearsome drive. Simple, repetitive keyboard melodies with sonic guitar riffs layered on top and a cool, delayed vocal. Ripley Johnson and Moon Duo are no joke!

The train was about to reach full speed now. It would take a while to stop and there would be no getting off until the ride was over. I'd lost the Duke somewhere out there and I was on my own. Dead Meadow were coming on and I was too. Whatever it was he'd slipped in my drink, it was coming on with a vengeance and I had to hold on tight. ‘Jeez, I'm too old for this shit', I thought to myself. ‘At home, maybe, but not out here with all these aliens and freaks.' Goddamn Duke got me again. The trepidation began to simmer. Grappling with pangs of phobia, I felt like I'd stumbled into the Psychiatrist's Club Discotek. Come to think of it, I had no idea where I was. Fuck! Where was I for Christ's sake? I needed some whiskey to cool the nerves and remembered the flask in my pocket. I emptied the damn thing and a warm surge of hope and clarity returned. I made my way over to see Acid Mothers Temple. Things had loosened up for now and I was feeling half sane. If anyone was gonna take me somewhere I wanted to go, it would be Acid Mothers Temple. They were hitting it heavy and I was rolling with the punches when out of the corner of my eye… No, don't tell me. Yep, there it was. The Wild Eyed She Beast from Planet X lurking a few rows back. I'd met this one before. In fact it was her, while on a mad coke binge, who'd spilled the beans about Planet X, the cloners and their mission to steal human souls. I knew her savage appetite for earth drugs and her total ineptitude to carry out her mission but in my translucid state of mind, I still had to be particularly careful. Then, like deja vu, came the elastic arm and protruding finger. "HAAAYYYYY, WHATCHA DOIN'?" I turned my head and sneered back with an evil eye and the spastic, elastic arm retreated. It was time to split. The Horrors and BJM were going on at the main stage and I needed some reprieve. I made my way back to the artists lounge where I found my earth girl. The safety of her arms when she wrapped them around me felt like an angel from heaven. I closed my eyes and a kaleidoscope of loving grace unfolded before me. Likened to the words of our late guru George Harrison, "It's All Too Much", a solitary, joyful tear rolled down my cheek. Soul intact.

The train was slowing some now. I felt free to move about the cabin. My earth girl was close at my side and the threat of the She Beast gone. We walked out to the Main Stage to catch the rest of The Horrors. Their chemically treated pop was the perfect prescription as was The Brian Jonestown Massacre who finished the night in brilliant fashion. Crafting, live, their neo-60's psychedelia beautifully.

The train had slowed enough now and was coming close to my station stop. I stepped off and into another dream world. The next day I sat on the banks of Town Lake next to my beautiful earth girl Miyako. A light breeze came off the water and the quietude was relaxing. I was still collecting myself from the night before. Was that really Raoul Duke or was it some other crazed madman I'd met somewhere along the line? If so, who and did it really matter? There was still another full night of music ahead. Like everything in Texas, they go big. The phone rang and it was good ol' Coatsie. He needed a lift out to the Ranch and as would be, we would go again, one last time, until next year!

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