I first became familiar with Julian Cope’s music through his being associated with other cracked heads who worked in the wake of original famous British acid casualty Syd Barrett. He first came to prominence in the late 70s and early 80s, as singer for the Teardrop Explodes, one of those bands, like Simple Minds and Echo and the Bunnymen (contemporaries and both of which Cope alternately respects and dismisses in his excellent autobiography Head On), that at the time were constantly being compared to the Doors. I never got this point of comparison, though others couldn’t let go of it, to the point that Echo and the Bunnymen couldn’t either, to their detriment.  Following the collapse of Teardrop Explodes, Cope went solo and slowly seemed to disintegrate, Syd Barrett-like, into pastoral psychedelecisms.  Then came Peggy Suicide, a double album with a refreshed and matured Cope confidently leading his long-suffering and new fans on a garage pop narrative of environmental and political disorder at the twilight of the century.  It’s a masterpiece and I became a fan, seeking out his old records (Fried, the most immediate Barrett knock-off, became a favorite) and keeping a line on him.  I moved to New York in 1995, and one day I was browsing the book section of the Virgin Record Megastore in the heart of Manhattan, and happened upon Krautrocksampler by none other than Julian Cope.  I knew next to nothing about the genre, although I owned a Can compilation and had heard of some of the groups, like Popol Vuh and, of course, Kraftwerk.  But sheesh, I thought, this has to be good.  It was a beautiful, compact book, with glossy full-color photos and text everywhere.  The cover, as I later learned, was the same image adorning Amon Duul II’s album, Yeti.  I put down my $10 and walked out with a copy.  I couldn’t put it down.  Cope was a passionate writer, and this, a passionate subject for him, bubbled with enthusiasm, humor, serious asides, and deep observations.  I could see him writing it and not being able to keep up with the flood of thoughts and emotions.  Over the next months I spent hundreds of dollars on import CDs of krautrock legends, some of which, in Cope’s patois, was shite, some of which glimmered with genius.  I left New York considerably wiser, and considerably poorer, as regarding krautrock.

Fast forward a few years, and I’m in North Carolina, again perusing the music section of a book store, this one at UNC Chapel Hill, when I spy the Modern Antiquarian, by none other than Julian Cope.  Apparently in his spare time, Cope developed another passion, for British stone circles, becoming something of an authority.  Inspired, I got on Amazon thinking I’d find it cheaper, and I didn’t.  I think it may have already been out of print. And, as it turned out, so was Krautrocksampler.  The kicker was that people were selling their used copies of Krautrocksampler on Amazon for over $100.  Sheesh, I said again, if only I’d bought two copies.  Then I found the link below, and sold my copy for $175 (I am not kidding).

http://www.swanfungus.com/2006/10/krautrocksampler.html

You might call this copyright infringement, and “swanfungus” is quick to note the out-of-printness of the book, something Cope doesn’t seem to care about anymore, as his reason for posting.  I call it a public service.  The best book on music I have ever read.