What does a Master do when forced to set fire to their invitation to the ‘Gran Café de Paris’ so as to stay funky in the height of a dystopian-solstice? “Must I evolve? Must I change? Must I develop?” – Jarvis questioned the almighty abyss.
The answer to all is most certainly, the question from the back-row remains unheard of.
Recognised as one of London’s favoured Merry Prankster’s, The Romance Of Baba Loco is a grown-up ‘Cirkeline’ concealed in a polka-dot display of crimson wooze and a penchant for educational re-interpretation.
Not to be confused with the hazy-heliotropic substance recommended by the electric-ladies of decades swung prior, the ‘The Winged Thing on the Shoulder of the Lama’ is a Chroma-Colour bread bin doubling as a letterbox for contemporary mystics, and an airtight vessel containing slow-burning Oparin fuel.
“Birthed from an admixture of eastern mysticism and western nonsense in the big bop belly of South East London”, The Romance Of Baba Loco is marvellously curated; like clutching ‘The Winged Thing on the Shoulder of the Lama’ in-between your ring finger and thumb so as to harmoniously wed the “ethno-alternative” with an alpha-Attar and bathe in the balms of interpretive woop.
For all its plunk, The Romance Of Baba Loco is the master of swanky purpose. In a similar vein to an army of ants crawling out of a porcelain fruit bowl melded together by intangible-slickness and chewing-tobacco, fuzz is a lovely feeling when you prance barefooted on a threadbare asteroid built out of cosmic-kaftans, and trail pheromone.
“Bang bang smash to perennial illumination sometimes, and, on other occasions, cling clang for funk monkeys.”
The new issue of So Young is out now. Its sold out in print but you can read the digital edition below.