Blind Uncle Harry is one of those people who perfectly blend subversiveness and silliness into their ragged, reactionary music. And while there is usually a serious point to be found at the root of the music he makes, often one that is fighting to balance out the scary and sanctimonious view America seems to be projecting to the world at the moment, here the positive message is much more obviously on display. The hidden depths are not so hidden this time out.
As his usual wonderfully and whilfully unpolished music wanders into more psychedelic and exotic realms, a blend of eastern sonics and western groove, he tells the tale of the ‘Shambala Warrior’ a prophetic and mystical figure in Tibetan Buddhist thought who, having achieved enlightenment and moved beyond the mortal realm will, when the direst times are upon us, return to this world to help us heal and change using compasion and love. Few would argue that those dire and dark clouds are no longer just a shadow on the horizon…they are here.
There is something of the Haight-Ashbury scene coursing through the song, as the raga sounds ripple and the harmony vocals soar, and something much earlier, too… an ancient, primal understanding of what it means to be human that we seem to have lost.
It’s a timeless and timely message. My only concern is that should such a savior appear on American soil, ICE agents would have them in a holding cell before they could even say “Namaste, motherfuckers!”
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