a deranged attempt to make sense of julian cope

Some of you will know Julian Cope at several decades' distance. You probably saw him, fresh-faced, on Top of the Pops in the 1980s, and you sing along whenever 'Reward' pops up on drivetime radio.

 

Some of you will have every Dope and Brain Donor and '131' release and will have intently perused 'Head On' and 'Krautrocksampler' and will have spent all your money on obscure Japanese LPs and will have visited every barrow and monument and stone circle in your region and quite a few further afield.

 

It's the 'real heads', the ones who know precisely what Julian has got "impregnated in my Daffy Duck shorts" - and who, if I mention the words 'microphone stand', will conjure up a wondrous vision of some angled and platformed marvel - that will trip out the most over the following pages. 'The In-Psychlopaedia' is your pathway through the doors of perception, a groovers' guide to The Archdrude's recorded and literary output. It's a heavy scene. If you're one of those aforementioned FM petrolheads and worker drones who hasn't given Cope a thought since you watched him supporting Queen in Milton Keynes '82, you'll be amazed at what you've missed. Neanderthal thug-rawk, politicised folk-rawk, ambient field recording-rawk, Avebury/Silbury-rawk, anti-auto-rawk, space trance-rawk, Sardinian drone-rawk, faux funk-rawk, drunk-rawk, Sqwubbsy-rawk, roll'n'rawk. Right on!

 

Dare to travel around the cornea-stimulating blasts of colour presented for ya rite here and you'll discover more about Julian than he himself has forgotten. Teardrops explode, worlds shut their mouths, brains are donated and dayglos are maradona-ed. From Cope to Dope (featuring Fuck Authority, brothers and sisters, and dontcha ever forget it) and points beyond, our attempts to define and code and catalogue the man's achievements go only to prove what an impossible, eternal task that is. Dive in anyway. As the song goes, one two three four five six seven eight

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