Quotes from musicians and people connected with the music industry
Raja Ram - founder and flautist with 60s/70s eastern influenced rock band Quintessence, now a world famous trance DJ
'Something this powerful really shook the tree, and everyone loosened up. On LSD your mind was able to enter previously forbidden areas, where you could discover even more. Some rejected it, but the adventurers went with it. Most drugs are non-workables, but acid really shook you down to the very essence of your foundation- it was the most spiritual. Our egos were pretty much annihilated at the start, and people had to reinvent themselves. And out of all that destruction comes creation...Cocaine is the drug for making music to now. It makes it sound better, or think it does. Acid will always be an underground phenomenon, for the freaks of the universe.'
From Q Magazine 173 (largely a drug edition with much else of interest)
Absolutely Tabulous by Martin Aston p 62-65
**********************************************************************************************
Mike Oldfield - multi instrumentalist
Three sections from his extremely readable biography. The first refers to late 1966:
'It was back at home that I first tried LSD. It used to come on little bits of blotting paper. I don't think I had a whole piece, I think I had half of one.
'I already had all this musical ability, technique you could call it, but perhaps I lacked inspiration; then I tried that small part of an LSD pill. I just spent the whole night doing things like lying on my back watching the clouds pass by, or even watching the noise on the TV and seeing patterns. To me they were mystical visions, it was all quite extraordinary. The effect it had on how I felt about music, how I saw music, was profound.
'My first proper LSD trip was on Hampstead Heath of all places. I remember getting distorted, it was like putting your headinside a wormhole or a black hole. Everything went totally strange, and I found myself in thr kind of world where the song 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds' makes perfect sense, it is completely logical. Of course, then I would go back to Hornchurch Grammar and the bloody music teacheer with his mathematical four-part harmonies that all seemed so pointless comp ared to these drug-induced, musical experiences. It's such a string thing to take drugs, I don't know what to say about it. On the one hand I would say beware, drugs can be dangerous, you are never going to be the same afterwards; but on the other hand, I have to say that for me, things wouldn't have happened in the same way without the drugs.'
1970
'One evening, I was to have the last LSD trip in my life. I'm not sure exactly what happened, but I do remember walking down Vauxhall Bridge Road, where we were tripping. All of a sudden, something simply switched in my body, almost like switiching on a huge elecvtric current. It felt like I was being electrocuted.
'The effect on me was immediate. I felt a veil was lifted off, from where I was and what I was, and from what everbody was. The people aroundme, they weren't people any more, everybody was stripped of anything I had ever learned about them. They looked to me to be just like biological machines, almost like robots, but made of flesh and blood. I saw into their bloodstreams and down to the molecular level; I could see that all their movements were dictated by electrical impulses and chemical reactions. They were inhaling this gas which we call air into their lungs, they were somehow processing it into energy so they could move around. Even their mouths, the way they spoke -- they were making these weird, strange sounds we call language. It wasn't that I had a hallucination, that I imagined that humans were machines, but I knew it, I saw it, and indeed I can still see it. We are machines. If you see that in its harsh reality, it's horrifying.
'Then my consciousness expanded even further. It became a hopelessly lost, weird thing, floating in the middle of an eternal void. It was like, quite suddenly, somebody had told me the secret they had been trying to cover up for my whole childhood. I faced the harsh reality of looking at our existence in its purest, most physical level, without the foggiest idea how we got there, or how we came to be concsious, or why, for what purpose. I felt I had unlocked some terrible Pandora's box, that somebody had told me life was not really how I imagined it, that I was lost in a completely bio-electromecahnical woreld without a clue as to how I had got there or why I was there; what was more, I was going to disappear from it by dying, without finding a single explanation for anything. At that time it just seeemd such a terrible truth. I felt I was the only person who knew it. I wanted to go up to everybody and say, 'Don't you know, don't you know, this is real, this is how it really is!''
From: Mike Oldfield: Changeling The Autobiography
Virgun Books, 2008
**********************************************************************************************************************
Noel Redding - Jimi Hendrix' bass player
'The LSD situation is only a catalyst to the brain, as the brain has all that stuff anyway, because it's the subconscious that comes out.'
http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/n/noelreddin262840.html
**********************************************************************************************************************************************
Mark E. Smith - The Fall (vocalist and founder member)
I took acid before I had a packet of cigarettes, though, at 15. I was on acid before I even had any pot; pot was for hippies. I had no problem with the acid because it was proper LSD. I remember my sister giving me a copy of I Can Hear the Grass Grow by the Move - a second-hand copy. And I listened to it on acid. Couldn't believe it - knocks all that other psychedelic shit into touch. If anything, I was doing acid to get away from the cider clubs and the sherry clubs. Kids of about 14 used to nick their mam's "British Sherry" and be sick all over the house. You could tell where they lived by the drink and vomit stains on the carpet.
Renegade: The Lives and Tales of Mark E Smith by Mark E Smith
********************************************************************************************************************************************** Lemmy - ex Hawkwind bassist, founder of Motorhead
You didn't think I'd get to talking about sixties London without mentioning drugs, did you? Our whole crew was on acid during the entire tour. And we all got the job done just fine. Orgasms on acid, by the way, are fucking excellent, really unvelievable, so I was doing plenty of that. As a matter of fact, acid was still legal then. There weren't any laws against it until the end of '67… There were some great clubs in London, like the Electric Garden and Middle Earth. You'd go there and everybody would be tripping. There was a chick who used to stand in the doorway of Middle Earth, by the cash register, handing out acid. She'd give one to each person as he or she walked in, free. One thing we used to do was get a crystal of acid, which had a hundred trips in it, and dissolve it into a hundred drops of distilled water in a bottle. Then we'd take a dropper and lay the mixture out in rows on a sheet of newspaper. Then when it was dry, we'd put the page back in the paper, go out, rip off the corners and sell them to people for a quid. Sometimes, if you were lucky, you'd get a piece of the treated newspaper that had two trips in it; other times, a soggy bit of paper! Real acid tripping, in those days, wasn't all groovy-like, peaceful shit. The first trip I took lasted for eighteen hours, and I couldn't really see. All I saw were visions, not what was actually around me. Everything, every sound - you could snap your fingers and it would be like a kaliedescope - doomph! Your eyes would just turn into noise activated, coloured strobes. And all the time your mind felt like you were on a roller coaster, sometimes slow at the approach to the top of each drop and then - wheee! Your teeth would kind of sizzle, and if you started laughing, it was incredibly hard to stop. You could say I liked acid. But acid is a dangerous drug - that is, if you're complacent because it will wake your ass up! If you were a little uneasy about yourself, you would either be catalyzed by it or you wouldn't sjow up again - you know, they;d take your tie and shoelaces away, and your belt, and put you in a room with no windows in it and a lot of soft walls. A lot of people I knew went to the basket-weavers' hotel on acid.
White Line Fever - Lemmy Pocket Books 2002 P57-59
Other, brief references to LSD occur on pages 69,73,82,83,84,90,94 http://www.amazon.co.uk/White-Line-Fever-Lemmy-Autobiography/dp/067103331X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1208281938&sr=1-1
**********************************************************************************************************************************************
Peter Quaife: Kinks' bassist (quoted in 1967)
'I just let the whole flower people, L.S.D., love thing flow over my head. I just laughed at it. The trouble is it changed a lot of good blokes, who everybody rated, into creeps. Instead of expanding minds, L.S.D. seemed to close minds into little boxes and made a lot of people very unhappy. You still can't beat going to the pictures, a couple of pints and a fag. The Kinks all agree that Sunday dinner is the greatest realisation of heaven.'
It was a mystery that baffled the world of music. One minute, Shelagh McDonald was on the cusp of stardom - the next, there was no sign of the young woman's whimsical songs and haunting voice that had taken the early 1970's folk scene by storm.
Fans had loved her bewitching live performances, while critics hailed her distinctive style. Record company bosses watched in delight as her albums flew off the shelves. Could this be the new Joni Mitchell, they all asked?
But, just as Shelagh's fame was starting to spread, inexplicably the 24 year old turned tail and fled - and for the next 30 years, the world heard nothing of her fate.
Even her friends did not know why or where she had gone, or even if she was still alive. Her record company was left wondering if she would ever return to the stage or the recording studio.
To the public at large, Shelagh was all but forgotten, until earlier this year, when her albums were re-released. Suddenly, there was a flurry of renewed interest in her mysterious disappearance.
The Scottish Daily Mail told the intriguing tale of the elfin faced Scottish folk singer who had disappeared on the brink of fame. So completely had she vanished from the world that her elderly parents had gone to their graves not knowing what had become of her.
But now we can shed new light on this riddle. After reading the article about her life, Shelagh ended three decades of self imposed obscurity and walked into our office to tell her story.
She could have had money and fame as a musician - but a bad experience with drugs left her psychologically scarred. Running away from society she embraced a nomadic and bohemian lifestyle, wandering the country and living in a tent.
Now 57, she told us "I know I may have hurt a lot of people by just disappearing, but my simple life is so much better and I am happier than ever before. I loved life in
Born in 1948, she had enjoyed a prosperous, middle class upbringing in the
Things moved quickly for the strikingly beautiful young woman and, as her reputation as a singer and songwriter grew, she was championed by a manager who recognised her rare talent and moved her to
She regularly pulled in crowds at the famous Troubadour club and mingled with legendary performers such as Nick Drake, the recently rediscovered folk singer whose celebrity fans include actor Brad Pitt.
Within months she signed a record deal. Although her first album, simply titled Shelagh McDonald, received only a lukewarm response, her second release, Stargazer, was a big hit.
The young Scot seemed destined for fame, with growing legions of fans, and was feted by music magazines such as Melody Maker and NME, which said her voice blended "the melancholy of Sandy Denny with the birdsong of Joan Baez". Critics and fans warmed to the sensitive, hippy lyrics of songs such as Sweet Sunlight, Road to
But, just as Shelagh's career looked set to take off, her life began to falter. A relationship turned sour, she found herself living in a rough area of
Her fragile and sensitive personality could not cope with the psychedelic onslaught of the cannabis and LSD so readily available in the folk scene.
"Everybody was experimenting with drugs," she recalls. "But in April 1972 I took a trip that turned my world upside down. I thought it would be out of my system within 12 hours, but three weeks later I was still hallucinating.
"It wasn't the kind of colourful hallucination you normally got with LSD - this was horrific. I was walking around the shops and looking at people who had no eyes or features, their faces were just blank.
"It went on for so long, I just forgot to eat and was just skin and bone. I was all over the place and didn't seem to know what I was doing or where to turn to.
"Suddenly, I had to get out. My disappearance wasn't at all conscious. It was a coping mechanism - self-preservation."
Without a word to her friends or manager, she travelled north to her parents' new home in
But her singing voice was unaccountably ruined. She says: "I sounded like a cat being strangled. I was so sad. I suddenly found I had lost my place in the musical world I had loved. I had lost my talent."
She sought relief in the normality of suburban life, living with her parents and working nine-to-five in a
Eventually, swayed by their flower-power ideals and back-to-nature philosophy, they gave up living in houses and took to travelling the country with a tent. It was the ultimate withdrawal from society.
"For years we have enjoyed travelling around the Scottish islands and mainland, setting up tent wherever we can," says Shelagh. "I love the lifestyle - it o nature and defines me mentally and physically. People may think it strange, but I am genuinely happy after all this time. I suppose I couldn't totally shake off my hippy roots."
She never renewed contact with her former friends and associates on the music scene, and gradually lost contact even with her family. She says "It just became more and more difficult to call home and eventually I just lost touch. After that, I was scared to call them - too much had happened and too much time had passed between us."
But, while Shelagh was doing her best to forget about her life as a musician, the music scene never forgot her. Her albums were still selling and still bringing in a profit for her record company.
A royalties cheque for thousands of pounds was waiting her her, if only she had thought to collect it. But, when her albums were re-released earlier this year, she remained oblivious to the renewed interest in her career and life.
She only learned her parents had died when she read her own story in the Scottish Daily Mail.
"It was a great shock to me," she says. "People must think I am cold for never getting back in touch with my parents, but our family are Christian Scientists and I know my mother and father would have understood. I still believe they are with me in spirit and that not even death can part us."
When Shelagh walked into our office last week, she looked fit and healthy. The dark, flowing hair of her youth was cut short and laced with grey streaks, and the fresh face that stared out from her album covers was now lined and wrinkled. Yet her eyes still sparkled.
Remarkably, she also revealed that the singing voice that won her so many fans has returned, and she is once again writing songs. She said "The happier I have become over the years, the more my voice has improved. I am writing songs and I enjoy music again. I don't know if I would have been so popular had I not had the experience I did and disappeared. Perhaps my music would have just burned out."
Now it's very strange to hear my albums are enjoying a revival - I don't even have a copy of my original, and haven't heard it since the 1970's. I was amazed to find out people were still talking about me after all this time. I've just come forward now to let everyone know I'm safe and well."
The Scottish Daily Mail reunited Shelagh by telephone with her one-time boyfriend Keith Christmas, who had been a 20 year old long-haired musician when they first met in the late 1960's. He was astounded to discover Shelagh had turned up, after years of wondering what happened to her.
Mr. Christmas, who once supported The Who on tour, said "It's fantastic to know she is well after all this time and that she is enjoying music again. I couldn't believe it when I heard her voice on the phone - I recognised it straight away.
"Shelagh was one of the great, promising artists of our era and it's sad that she didn't go on to fulfil her potential, but I am just glad to know she is happy and healthy."
So what now? Will she return to the music industry and try to reclaim the career that she was forced to abandon all those years ago? Only time will tell.
Last night, a spokesman for Sanctuary Records, which has re-released Shelagh's work, said "Her work is still enjoyed by many people and we would be interested to hear any new music.
She was a truly talented artist who was destined to release more music. It is a shame she decided to leave the music scene."
Fans had loved her bewitching live performances, while critics hailed her distinctive style. Record company bosses watched in delight as her albums flew off the shelves. Could this be the new Joni Mitchell, they all asked?
But, just as Shelagh's fame was starting to spread, inexplicably the 24 year old turned tail and fled - and for the next 30 years, the world heard nothing of her fate.
Even her friends did not know why or where she had gone, or even if she was still alive. Her record company was left wondering if she would ever return to the stage or the recording studio.
To the public at large, Shelagh was all but forgotten, until earlier this year, when her albums were re-released. Suddenly, there was a flurry of renewed interest in her mysterious disappearance.
The Scottish Daily Mail told the intriguing tale of the elfin faced Scottish folk singer who had disappeared on the brink of fame. So completely had she vanished from the world that her elderly parents had gone to their graves not knowing what had become of her.
But now we can shed new light on this riddle. After reading the article about her life, Shelagh ended three decades of self imposed obscurity and walked into our office to tell her story.
She could have had money and fame as a musician - but a bad experience with drugs left her psychologically scarred. Running away from society she embraced a nomadic and bohemian lifestyle, wandering the country and living in a tent.
Now 57, she told us "I know I may have hurt a lot of people by just disappearing, but my simple life is so much better and I am happier than ever before. I loved life in London but I had to leave. I had signed a record contract and was really happy with the way life was going, but then everything turned upside down.
Shelagh's story sheds an uneasy light over the heady music scene of the early 1970s. Like so many from the same era, she experimented with drugs - and paid an appalling price after they left her paranoid and psychologically battered.
Born in 1948, she had enjoyed a prosperous, middle class upbringing in the Edinburgh suburbs. Her father ran a publishing business while her mother kept house. At school, Shelagh discovered a talent and passion for music and, as soon as she was old enough, she left Scotland for Bristol, lured by the city's burgeoning folk scene.
Things moved quickly for the strikingly beautiful young woman and, as her reputation as a singer and songwriter grew, she was championed by a manager who recognised her rare talent and moved her to London.
She regularly pulled in crowds at the famous Troubadour club and mingled with legendary performers such as Nick Drake, the recently rediscovered folk singer whose celebrity fans include actor Brad Pitt.
Within months she signed a record deal. Although her first album, simply titled Shelagh McDonald, received only a lukewarm response, her second release, Stargazer, was a big hit.
The young Scot seemed destined for fame, with growing legions of fans, and was feted by music magazines such as Melody Maker and NME, which said her voice blended "the melancholy of Sandy Denny with the birdsong of Joan Baez". Critics and fans warmed to the sensitive, hippy lyrics of songs such as Sweet Sunlight, Road to Paradise and City's Cry.
But, just as Shelagh's career looked set to take off, her life began to falter. A relationship turned sour, she found herself living in a rough area of London and, most damaging of all, she began experimenting with drugs.
Her fragile and sensitive personality could not cope with the psychedelic onslaught of the cannabis and LSD so readily available in the folk scene.
"Everybody was experimenting with drugs," she recalls. "But in April 1972 I took a trip that turned my world upside down. I thought it would be out of my system within 12 hours, but three weeks later I was still hallucinating.
"It wasn't the kind of colourful hallucination you normally got with LSD - this was horrific. I was walking around the shops and looking at people who had no eyes or features, their faces were just blank.
"It went on for so long, I just forgot to eat and was just skin and bone. I was all over the place and didn't seem to know what I was doing or where to turn to.
"Suddenly, I had to get out. My disappearance wasn't at all conscious. It was a coping mechanism - self-preservation."
Without a word to her friends or manager, she travelled north to her parents' new home in Glasgow and hid from the drug induced demons that haunted her. As time passed, the psychological scars began to heal.
But her singing voice was unaccountably ruined. She says: "I sounded like a cat being strangled. I was so sad. I suddenly found I had lost my place in the musical world I had loved. I had lost my talent."
She sought relief in the normality of suburban life, living with her parents and working nine-to-five in a Glasgow department store. In 1981, she met and fell in love with bookshop owner Gordon Farquhar, who helped rekindle her hippy idealism.
Despite the disapproval of her parents, the pair began to drift away from society. Sometimes in Scotland, sometimes abroad, they adopted an almost nomadic lifestyle, living on benefits and moving from house to house around the country.
Eventually, swayed by their flower-power ideals and back-to-nature philosophy, they gave up living in houses and took to travelling the country with a tent. It was the ultimate withdrawal from society.
"For years we have enjoyed travelling around the Scottish islands and mainland, setting up tent wherever we can," says Shelagh. "I love the lifestyle - it keeps me close to nature and de