A few more links — these in a more cheesily cinematic vein, saluting the lingering influence, for good and ill, of the late Dr. Hoffman. (The official RIP is below.)

Suggestions for further clips will be gratefully entertained.

In 1943, a chemist rode a bicycle in Switzerland and wound up changing a small chunk of the universe. That bicyclist who, having accidentally ingested through his fingertips a tiny amount of a new chemical he’d developed, was Dr. Albert Hofmann, who died today at age 102, just over 55 years after that fateful April 16th when the first LSD trip took place.

As mentioned in his Wired obituary, Hoffman often referred to lysergic acid as his “problem child” and, indeed, its effects on individual humans ranged from the apparent beneficial influence on the mental state of psychiatric patient Cary Grant on the one hand to the apparent disastrous impact on, among many others, a self-medicating Syd Barrett of Pink Floyd, perhaps the most obvious and saddest known “acid casualty” in popular culture. Other prominent users, like John Lennon and Paul McCartney, had few apparent ill effects. (Lennon, fellow Beatle Ringo Starr, and mutual friend Harry Nilson certainly had far worse problems with far more addictive drugs like heroin, pills, and alcohol.) Lots of others, like Brian Wilson, fell somewhere in between. Mental explorers are, on the whole, probably better off meditating.

Whatever unwitting blame Hofmann shares for the problems with LSD, he also gets unwitting credit for making our mental landscape a little more interesting and fun. Below is a highly idiosyncratic selection of some great musical moments which I think were in some way influenced — one or two possibly indirectly, but no less powerfully — by Dr. Hoffman’s discovery. One great thing about psychedelia is that you can be influenced by it without ever taking a single drug.

Please enjoy these videos responsibly. As the somewhat less responsible Dr. Leary suggested, “set and setting.”

LIVE FROM BARACK OBAMA HEADQUARTERS, SANTA ANA, CA —

In the post right below this you’ll find a sorta kinda detailed discussion of the fact that this year’s California Democratic primary is open to Decline to State/Non-Partisan voters. If that’s you, read it.

However, my compatriots here have asked me to add that non-partisan voters  who fill out the paper ballots for this need to check the “bubble” marked “Democratic.” Apparently there’s been some serious confusion on this point that may lead to some legal action later on. If you want to ensure that you’re vote is counted, therefore, make sure you fill in the Dem box!

Here it is — the place where I first forged my long lasting relationship with the drug of my choice. Peet’s Coffee in beautiful Berkeley, California.

A friend dragged me, a 19 or 20-year-old coffee skeptic there one fateful morning. I couldn’t drink the strong brew black (still don’t), but with milk and sugar, it was something else. Coffee has been a pleasure for me ever since.

Peet’s really does represent, to me anyhow, the pinnacle of coffee — there’s no mistaking the aroma that hits you when you walk into a Peet’s, so much stronger and more distinctive than the not-bad-at-all aroma of a Starbucks. I don’t want to make too much of this, but to me really good coffee is what wine is to a lot of people, only it actually makes me work better. (On even the smallest amount of alcohol, I’m utterly useless as anything but an lengthy conversationalist.)

Anyhow, while struggling with an overlong, self-indulgent post that I may never succeed in making sense of (stay tuned for that), I came across the news that Mr. Alfred Peet, the company’s founder, passed away last week at the moderately ripe age of 87. I could say a lot of things, but all I really want to say is this: Thanks, Mr. Peet. You’ve made my life better.

Here’s the NPR piece and a obit. Now go and get some Major Dickasen’s.

I was going to post something on a different subject, then I heard just now on Pasadena public radio station KPCC that the wildfire, which has already caused many residents and visitors to evacuate, is threatening the small town of Avalon. The radio station also has a link up to a webcam.

I haven’t been there since I was a child, but it’s a place that’s kind of special to me. I remember it as sweet, small town with lots of great retro architecture, ski ball machines, and clean air. I hope the winds spare as much of the place as possible.

UPDATE: Extremely thorough readers will still probably NOT notice that I’ve deleted a line or two of the above. Nothing important or relevant, just a mild case of blog OCD, I assure you. What is relevant is that the now-delightfully coolish weather in Southern California seems to be helping firefighters defeat the blaze and things are apparently returning to normal on the island. At least, that’s what the AP says, and the Catalina webcam screen capture below seems to back that view up. Sure looks pretty.

Yeah, these iMacs are great (thanks Lloyd!), but they really are different from PCs.

I shall return soon, however. I promise.

The enormously important film producer has died at age 94. I’ve always known he was one of they producers of the European new wave but I gotta confess I didn’t realize he was still alive. I also didn’t know that much of the gossipy details of the guy’s life. But imagine being married to the most lusted after woman in the world, twenty-five years younger than you, and you still cheat on her with other almost-as-lusted after woman.

Some guys have all the fun are bad.

Anyhow, CBS News has a nice gossip-laden obit, and hat tip to Greencine. They’ve got more.

Yay.

Although it made national news in January, I only learned of the murder of the Harvey family of Richmond, Virginia last Tuesday. It was simply a case of me realizing I hadn’t ever bothered to Google one of my favorite bands, despite not having heard much about them over the last fifteen years or so, and finding out something for which I could not have been prepared.

Bryan Harvey was the singer/songwriter/guitarist of a truly great two-man guitar and drum combo called House of Freaks. Along with crack drummer and co-writer Johnny Hott, he made a different kind of sound that borrowed from folk and blues in a way that had nothing to do with the way that most bands borrow from folk and blues. There was no fetishizing of musical cliches or slavish hero worship. This was nothing less than thoroughly contemporary pop music that actually added to the grittier end of the American musical tradition.

House of Freaks was gutsy. For one thing, this was when basses were pretty much a rock and roll requirement, long before bands like the White Stripes made the guitar and drums only line-up a popular option. Removing that reliable throbbing somehow added to the drama. Less really was more.

Their first two albums, Monkey on a Chain Gang and Tantilla were notable not only for the dramatic sparness of the sound and the melodies, the raspy sweetness of Harvey’s voice, or his big, cutting, guitar sound, but also for the shocking emotional resonance and sincerity of the lyrics. Without straining to sound important, House of Freaks transcended the usual pop subject matter of romantic pain and longing and took on really big subjects in a deeply personal way that I can’t really compare with any other band or songwriters.

My favorite song from either album was, “Give Me a Sign.” It dealt with the largest issue of all, a cry for an absent God in a world that could really use a present one. It’s about a guy who’d really like to believe, but first he’d like just a little evidence. Not much to ask for. Another, “You Can Never Go Home” is simply one of the saddest and most compelling tunes I ever expect to hear.

While many songs had their share of mordant humor, their subjects included sickness, domestic abuse, nuclear war, cosmic despair, white supremacy, and other lightweight ephemera. I guess it should have been no shock they didn’t zoom up the charts during the hair-band heyday, but it was a crying shame. They should have been filling stadiums. Instead, I got to see them play for free at the Santa Monica Pier.

And it was at that show when a filthy, obviously drunk, homeless guy ascended the stage and, boogeying his heart out, started to disrobe while they performed their best known song, “40 Years,” a poigant celebration of the lack of nuclear annihilation despite forty-plus years of cold warfare. Rather than nervously eyeing the security staff or being angry at the guy for ruining their big musical statement, the guys couldn’t stop laughing.

Fortunately for everyone’s psyche, somehow the fellow was lured off the stage before accomplishing even a quarter Monty. A few minutes later, I smelled something not entirely pleasant and looked up. The homeless man, fully clothed, was holding a bottle of Jack Daniels and yelling, “They gave me this!”

It was one of too few great shows I was lucky enough to catch before Harvey and Hott left L.A. and returned to their native Virginia. I never stopped loving those first two albums, but the band House of Freaks dropped off my personal radar screen.

Before this week, I had either forgotten or been unaware that Harvey and Hott had actually recorded another four albums, two as House of Freaks, and two as part of a supergroup of sorts, Gutterball, featuring Steve Wynn of Dream Syndicate. Both groups released their final albums in 1995.

In a world where people get what they deserve, Harvey would have been at least as rich as Bono or Springsteen, or at least have have been able to live off his songwriting royalties. Instead, he did IT work and settled in for the really important work of raising a family along with his wife, who also ran “House of Mirth,” a popular novelty store in Richmond. Meanwhile, he kept his hand in with a soul-funk cover band, NRG Krysys, which must have been a hell of a lot of fun to see live.

The Harvey family were not quite world famous, but it really seems as if they were genuinely happy and beloved by just about everyone they came into contact with. And, despite the lack of vast wealth and fame, that would have been a very nice end to the story.

Maybe this could have been a brief post in which I would have written Bryan a belated fan e-mail. From what I’ve read people say about the kind of guy he was, I likely would have gotten a nice note in return. Instead I read about events that are just horribly sad and utterly senseless. I won’t discuss them here, because they’ve been dealt with elsewhere and it’s not my place.

I will suggest that you give Bryan Harvey’s work a listen. Both Monkey on a Chain Gang and Tantilla were just recently reissued in special editions with previously unreleased material by Rhino (see the links above). There’s also a new limited compiliation of Bryan’s work, which I’ve just ordered myself, including some of the best of House of Freaks and songs from other bands, available here. All proceeds go to the foundation that was established in the name of the Harvey family. You can also contribute directly to that good cause here.

This is the point when I’m supposed to make some kind of statement, tying my thoughts and feelings about all of this together. It’s not possible. However, since I began writing this article, I was reminded that Bryan closed that Santa Monica Pier show with another of my favorite songs, John Lennon’s “Instant Karma.”

More than most of us, I think, Brian, Kathryn, Stella, and Ruby Harvey shine on.

This news from the Beeb is a reminder that traditional animation (though often laced with impressive CG effects) remains a very serious staple in one of the world’s biggest markets.

At least until the new Pixar-based regime kicks in at Disney, it appears that the legacy of Osamu Tezuka is stronger than that of Walt Disney.