YOGA |
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I've been warned by a very shrewd record pal: you can't tell people to have sublime experiences. In fact, telling people they're going to have a sublime experience can actually make it harder for them to do so. In the case of this particular album, I'm not worried about it. I tracked down Justin O'Brien, assumed dead these past 15 years, and got to tell him that the world did in fact notice his only album, and deemed it worthy of two bootlegs and a market valuation of $500 for a clean original copy.
You'll find a fuller story in the liner notes that accompany the LP by Guerssen and the CD by Riverman. If you buy the DL and you want the liners, just send me an email. Suffice to say that Justen worked in his North Dakota basement from 76-78 with the kind of vigor that never survives into adulthood. He was recognized by the people around him as some kind of genius savant, and he annoyed the hell out of everyone with his ambitions for the record. Perhaps Justen just wasn't made for this world. Comparisons abound -- Jade Stone and Luv, Bobb Trimble, Bob Smith, DR Hooker, Arthur Lee / Love... But you only have to hear about ten seconds of it to know there's nothing else like it.
A lot of questions remain. Was Justen O'Brien in fact abducted by aliens? Where did he go after this record was finished? Why did one of the greatest rare record dealers in the world insist he's seen a second Justen O'Brien album? And most importantly, how good does a record have to be to get reviewed on Pitchfork without the help of a high powered publicist?
the original album cover art |