Red Plenty, American Road Trip, and Seven League Boots

I recently finished reading two books, and re-read portions of a third. 

Red Plenty, by Francis Spufford, is a recent publication.  Aside from some small parts taking place in the 1930s and 1970s, the majority of the book takes place from 1959 to 1965.  It’s a lengthy (not too long) analysis in narrative form about the Soviet economy in the Krushchev era.   The best and brightest Soviet economists and mathematicians believed that if they found the right algorithms and mainframes they could replace supply and demand of the capitalist market economy with an efficiently planned economy.  Answer?  Well, we know they couldn’t handle that and by the 1970s (Brezhnev era) the Soviets had given up.  I liked one character – a “fixer” (almost like a “NEP-Man” who “gets things done”) - and one reference to a Western slam on the Soviet economy as a “permanent seller’s market.” 70% of the book is the narrative, followed by a full 30% of extremely detailed and illuminating footnotes.   If you’re curious about how and why the Soviet experiment failed, from an economic perspective, this is a good book to read.

Ilif & Petrov’s American Road Trip: The 1935 Travelogue of Two Soviet Writers.  It’s mentioned in the footnotes to Red Plenty, so I decided to check it out myself.  Because half the material is photographs it was fairly quick and easy to read: I finished it in one day.

Basically it’s a photo essay of two Soviets who went from New York to California and back in 1935 and took pictures.  They were on assignment from Stalin to tell a story about America for ordinary Russians back home, something along the lines of “it’s a nice place to visit, but you wouldn’t want to live there.”  New York and L.A. are crucified as plastic places, Hollywood as a factory for terrible films, and Americans are racist against blacks.  They also accuse Americans of being a country full of morons who mindlessly accept 100% of commercial advertising and Hollywood movies.  There are no “theaters” in America, only movie houses for the terrible films, so Americans are presumably “nekulturny” (uncultured).  So they’re also trying to make ordinary Russian workers and peasants feel superior to Americans.  I started out enjoying the book until I saw the trend emerge.  The first half is actually pretty complimentary, but as the book goes on the insults pile up.   While some are astute and reasonable, they pass that point halfway through and then veer off into “stupid American” territory – and never come back. 

“One story” refers to small town America where the towns are all the same and they don’t have multiple story skyscrapers like they do in New York or Chicago.  “If you’ve seen one of these small towns you’ve seen them all.”  They were also highly amused by the American habit of naming many such towns after large, better known European cities, e.g. Moscow, Ohio.  They did acknowledge that St. Petersburg, Florida, is actually a fairly large city. 

You know how we laugh when the Chinese or Iranian state agencies cluelessly pick up Onion articles and report them as true?  Well, these clownskis did the same: an ad for Boners, a Dr. Suess-illustrated collection of the funniest “stuff kids say” (the book is still around, you can check many of the hilarious entries on Amazon.com) simply pulled out the quote, “Revolution is a form of government abroad”.  These two idiots thought Americans really believe that. 

Seven League Boots.  I had to follow this up with re-reading portions of another book, Seven League Boots, by Richard Halliburton.   Indeed, that book arguably deserves a blog entry of its own, but I’ll cover it here, because among many other topics, Halliburton covers the Soviet Union – at almost exactly the same time as Comrades Beavis & Butt-head were touring the US collecting their literary fertilizer – Communist propaganda – masquerading as a travelogue.  

The range of topics of this book is remarkable.  Halliburton, who was an American adventurer-journalist in the 1930s, apparently did the following: met with AND spoke to Ermakov, the surviving Bolshevik who murdered the Romanovs in Sverdlovsk in July 1918 AND burned off and disposed of the whole family’s bodies – thus finally confirming what sensible people knew, i.e. Anastasia died there and did not escape; went to Ethiopia and spoke to Haile Selassie himself; visited the castle of Henri Christophe, Haiti’s short-lived dictator in the early nineteenth century; rented an elephant (!) and retraced Hannibal’s journey across the Alps into Italy; and even – unsuccessfully – attempted to enter Mecca despite being an infidel.  These are just some of the adventures he describes in his book.

            But it was his visit to Stalin’s Russia in 1935 which interested me.  As I said, the flip side of the Soviet idiots.  He met Comrade Krupskaya, Lenin’s widow.  He married his interpreter and immediately divorced her – an experiment to demonstrate the USSR’s liberal divorce laws.  He visited ballet and circus schools.  He visited Leningrad, Moscow, and other places in the USSR. 

            And what was Halliburton’s impression?  Well, he was impressed that so many women were working at men’s jobs.  He was impressed with the circus school.  That was about it.  The regime’s brutality, its censorship, the consistent poverty – a deliberate result of the regime’s policies – and overall drabness of the cities and the people, and also this business of destroying Russia’s vast culture in a heartbeat for this “social experiment on the lives of 160 million Russians”, who are forbidden to leave, to speak out, to protest, to accumulate any wealth or private property, to learn about the outside world or about Russia prior to 1917 – the sum total of the Soviet regime’s totalitarian nature, horrified him.  Of course he was also shocked at the hypocrisy of Soviet propaganda against the United States – much of which can be read first-hand in the Ilif & Petrov book. 

            This is even more remarkable because Halliburton had a fairly open mind about Russia.  He was bending over backwards to find positive things to observe and acknowledge.  He also hoped – even perhaps expected – that in 20-30 years, the worst excesses of the regime would be over, that Russian society would be more like ours, and that in this time we ourselves would be more socialist and thus the two countries and societies would converge.  Alas, he died in 1939, trying to sail a Chinese junk from Hong Kong to San Francisco, so he never lived to see the reality as depicted in Red Plenty.

                While the Soviet Union I saw in 1983 was doubtless different than the one Halliburton saw in 1935, the similarities are more significant than the differences.   And vicariously, these three publications complement each other for an illuminating contrast of America and the USSR.

Gibson Firebird

Ages ago, an automotive advice column got some feedback from a reader.  “You told that man having problems with his Firebird that he should contact General Motors.  You should have told him to contact Ford.”  Apparently the reader was confusing the Pontiac Firebird (made by GM) with the Ford Thunderbird (made by Ford).  However, the guitar world has the Gibson Firebird and the bass equivalent, the Thunderbird, also made by Gibson.  And Fender makes both the Jaguar and Mustang, models considerably less popular than the Stratocaster or Telecaster, although Kurt Cobain liked the Mustang – and much less popular as guitars than the auto equivalents are, of course.  Confused yet?  Good, because it gets better.

In 1963, following up its replacement of the Les Paul with new models – the SG, the Explorer, and the Flying V – Gibson watered down the Explorer into the Firebird, designed by Ray Dietrich, who normally designed cars: Packard and Lincoln.   These models were the so-called “reverse” models.  The body looks like an Explorer radically toned down with a reverse headstock and chrome mini-humbuckers.  Rare among Gibsons – indeed, among guitars – the Firebird has “neck through body” construction, meaning the neck and middle of the body are all one piece.  Fenders have bolt-on necks (removable and replaceable) while most Gibsons (e.g. SGs and Les Pauls) have glued in necks.  The tuners were originally banjo tuners which went straight through the headstock and turned from behind, rather than from the side like regular tuners. 

Nonreverse.   Soon after the reverse model came out, Fender bitched and hollered, so Gibson changed to the “nonreverse” model, which to my eyes looks even MORE like a Fender than the reverse style - especially since they went from a reverse headstock (generally unique to the Firebird) with a regular 6-in-line headstock very similar to Fenders; some of the last reverse body Firebirds from 1965 (the transition year) actually have nonreverse headstocks.  Go figure.   The standard pickup on the nonreverse seems to be the single-coil P90s, sometimes with minihumbuckers (e.g. the Firebird X, see below). 

Since the sixties, Gibson has reissued the nonreverse model a few times, but reissued the reverse model far more often, so that the latter is effectively the standard Firebird model.   Gibson used Roman numerals to designate the individual reverse Firebird models, I = one pickup and dot inlays, III = two pickups, no vibrato, trapezoid inlays, V = two pickups, vibrato, trapezoid inlays, VII = three pickups, vibrato, and block inlays (i.e. a Firebird “Custom”).  As reissued the V wound up as the standard, without a vibrato.   There’s also the Firebird X, a modern nonreverse version with a 3x3 headstock, and the Firebird Studio, which uses regular humbuckers.  

For 2014, Gibson is still selling reverse Firebirds, although now only in cherry, classic white, and tobacco sunburst.  There are two signature models, the Eliot Easton (guitarist for the Cars) signature model in Gold Mist with humbuckers and a Bigsby vibrato, and just now the Jeff “Skunk” Baxter (Steely Dan) signature model in copper.   Funny, Easton more often plays SGs, and I’ve never seen Baxter play a Firebird.  That’s like an Angus Young signature Strat.

Pickups.  In addition to its neck-through-body construction and reverse headstock, another unique feature of the Firebird is the pickups.  While they look similar in shape and size to the minihumbuckers Gibson started putting in late 60s Les Paul Deluxes - themselves a stockpile of Epiphone pickups the company inherited when it bought Epiphone - they are a different design and sound different from minihumbuckers.  While PAFs, P90s, and other Gibson pickups appear on multiple models, the Firebird is the only Gibson with a pickup specific to the model. 

Mini Humbucker Versus Firebird Guitar Pickups: What’s the Difference? – Humbucker Soup 

The Firebird pickups give the guitar a sound which is closer to a single-coil sound, but not quite – I’m actually not personally familiar with P90s to compare.  In 2010 the banjo tuners were replaced by Steinberger models. From what I can tell among the Firebird owners on Facebook, as of 2020 the Steinberger tuners are the most popular, even more so than the original banjo models, which seem to be preferred only for pure nostalgia and not playability.  https://guitarchitecture.org/2010/10/13/steinberger-gearless-tuners-review/

Famous Players:  Johnny Winter, Paul Stanley (KISS), and Allen Collins (Lynyrd Skynyrd) are the most commonly associated with the reverse model.  I’ve seen Eric Clapton, James Hetfield and Gary Moore playing them, albeit rarely.  For a short time, Dave Grohl was playing Firebirds in Pelham Blue while in the Foo Fighters.  Stanley has a Washburn signature model which copies the Firebird.  Brian Jones was playing a reverse model briefly, and Keith Richards played a nonreverse. 

My Own.  In 2014 I had a surplus of time and money, and at yet another visit to Chuck Levin’s in Wheaton, Maryland, saw an ebony Firebird V (brand new 2013 model) and fell in love immediately.  As a V model, it has the trapezoid inlays, two Firebird pickups, and as a 2013, the Steinberger tuners.  More recently I replaced the pickguard with an ebony model, still with the Firebird symbol.  It’s definitely a fun guitar to play, and if anyone wants another unique Gibson to add to their collection, by all means, choose this one – though I’d recommend getting a model with the Firebird pickups and Steinberger tuners.

Through The Never

Recently I saw Metallica’s most recent “concert movie”, Through The Never.   It’s 80% concert film and 20% “goofy story about a roadie who fights bad people.”  Something like that.  Something gay, stupid, irrelevant, and only meant to pull an iota of attention away from the band so it’s not just a concert movie, which in fact it is.

            It would be tempting to claim that Metallica “jumped the shark” after Cliff Burton died in 1986, but that would ignore how important …And Justice For All was, and I still maintain that Metallica (the self-titled fifth album, aka “The Black Album”) is really just more of the same, just a little less self-indulgent.  It’s like with Def Leppard:  compare High N’Dry to Pyromania, and the latter looks more commercial.  But compare both to Hysteria….Anyhow.   For all his issues, Jason Newsted really wasn’t all that bad a bassist, even if he wasn’t Cliff.

            But from Load through Death Man-getic, Metallica has been….plastic….insincere….phony.   The distortion is still on, but the real-ness is gone.   “Some Kind of Monster”?   Difficult to watch or endure, but if the movie’s intent was to assure the fans that the band was still “real”, it didn’t work.   Oddly, I don’t find Lulu, their collaboration with Lou Reed, as part of this; ironically, their most “commercial” effort also looks like their most sincere, and the other albums, while indeniably heavy and thrashy, still have a barely articulable yet nonetheless perceptible and discernable phoniness.   The haircuts and Kirk’s guyliner simply put into a picture what a 1,000 song lyric words couldn’t accomplish.

            Finally, there’s that business of the “roadie” (probably a professional stuntman) catching fire during the show and being put out, followed by the band pretending to be back in their shithole in San Francisco in the early days – back when Dave Mustaine was the lead guitarist and Cliff was still helping to call the shots.   It takes no imagination to figure that if Cliff was still with the band, none of the Load >> Death Man-getic crap would have happened.  There would be no “Some Kind of Monster”.  And had they tried to pull it off anyway, Cliff would have joined Megadeth.   Why isn’t “Cliff ‘Em All” on Blu-ray?  Is it because much of the source material is so low budget and crappy, or is it because they want to forget that period?   

            We saw Metallica at Donington in 1985 – with Cliff Burton.  It was the Ride The Lightning tour, and they were early on the bill.  The crowd was throwing dirt, bottles, beer, piss, whatever they could get their hands on.  You’re throwing shit at CLIFF BURTON?  Shame on you.   Were you also singing along with Fish later on?  Probably.  Well then, you should love Lulu.

Trains

This is blog #420 for me, but I already did the “legalize it” blog, so no “420” connection this time around.

The other week I drove my ’76 Firebird down to Stafford to have the floorpans replaced.   The shop had no means of chauffeuring me back up to Falls Church, so I had to take the train up to Union Station and the Metro out to Falls Church.   After some confusion on the platform – apparently VRE/Amtrak isn’t set up to allow you to simply buy a ticket and get on a train – I was able to sit back and leisurely watch the train choo-choo-choo its way past Quantico and up to DC.   Although the route is theoretically parallel to 95, which I’m very familiar with, the rail lines pass miles off from the highway and show a radically different picture than the 8 lane highway.

It reminded me how rarely I take the train.   It’s completely impractical for intercontinental travel (take the plane) or even long distances in the US (e.g. L.A. or Florida).   For the area it is useful, East Coast USA, driving is more practical and much cheaper. 

More of my train experiences are from living in Europe.   Two ski trips to Switzerland; one school trip to Italy; a family trip to Lourdes, France; a family trip to Normandy on June 6, 1984; and a much later ski trip to Garmisch, Germany.   The Garmisch and Normandy trip were day trips, whereas the others were overnight.  I’ve already explained how, even in a sleeper car with a “bunk” the clip-clop of the train prevents much real sleep.   I’ve never been in a sleeper car in the US.

US train travel has been: NYC In summer 1988, a quick trip to Philadelphia in 1992 to drop off legal documents to local counsel in a NJ case; and this most recent trip back up from Fredericksburg.  Thus a 4 hour voyage was the longest I’ve taken on a train in the US.   Like buses, trains have NO security, aside from the conductor who simply makes sure you have a ticket and aren't an overdressed hobo.  You just get on.   No metal detectors, no surly TSA goons, no erotic x-ray machines.   That much I can appreciate.

The train is the oldest form of cross-country travel we have in the US.  It predates the Wright Brothers, Model T’s, commercial aviation and buses.   Even if the cars are brand new with Wi-Fi and electrical outlets, the travel mode itself is nineteenth century.   No matter how new the cars are, they’re not as modern as a jumbo jet, nor as modern as buses, which give a 50s-70s vibe no matter what.   Face it: to Americans, trains are by their nature “old-fashioned.”   Even if you’re commuting to your dot.com job carrying your laptop, you may as well be Harold Hall going to River City, Iowa, in 1912 to scam the locals with a band uniform & equipment sale.

So here’s my advice for Amtrak.   RETRO the trains.   Give us the turn of the century look, on every train, going everywhere.   Commuter train?  Yep.  Sleeper car?  Give us the Pullman look.  Cross-country train – you mean they still have those? – fool us into thinking Butch Cassidy or the Lone Ranger will be making an appearance.   The kids can imagine it’s the Hogwarts Express.  Keep the Wi-Fi and the outlets, keep modern technology under the surface, but please, please, please, give us the retro deal inside.   Hell, you can keep the diesel locomotive and not the steam (Punk) engine, as we really can’t see them when we’re inside the train anyway. 

Bullet trains.  I haven’t been to Japan, so I can’t comment on those.   Nor have I been on the TGV, France’s equivalent.  They sound cool, but the expense of doing that in the US with no guarantee that anyone would ride it more than once, makes it unlikely that we’ll see that here in the US. 

Toy trains.  I suppose I should cover this topic.  My dad loved these, but he couldn’t pass that passion on to my brother or sister, or me.  For that matter, neither my nephew nor my nieces show any interest in this either.   And even if I see a well-built setup, with tunnels, stations, switches, water towers, etc., no matter what the scale, my impression is still nothing more than a bored, “that’s nice.”  

Anchormen

As promised, here is the final piece of the Red-Ass-Burgundy Trilogy.   I imagine if Red 3, Kick-Ass 3, and Anchorman 3 are released, I could combine them all into a single blog.   Anyhow.

Anchorman.   In sunny San Diego, California, the heretofore unchallenged dominance of the alpha male news anchor, Ron Burgundy (Will Ferrell) and his male colleagues Champ Kind (sports) (David Koechner), Brian Fontana (investigation) (Paul Rudd), and Brick Tamland (weather) (Steve Carrel) is rudely disturbed when a – gasp! – woman, Veronica Corningstone (Christina Applegate) joins the crew and quickly challenges Ron’s place by sheer…competence.   Fun and games ensue, including, but not limited to, a conflict with rival news team led by Vince Vaughn, the Spanish language channel (Ben Stiller), and even PBS (Tim Robbins).      

    Eventually Veronica slyly rigs Ron’s abrupt departure and subsequent descent into an abyss of self-pity, but the San Diego Zoo beckons and Ron is summoned back to do what he does best – or at least in a way no one else can.   And there was much rejoicing.  Seth Rogen is here as a PBS cameraman at the zoo scene.

Anchorman 2:  The Legend Continues.   At this time, Ron and Veronica have married, moved to NYC, and have a son, Judah.  They are both anchors at the big network.  Unfortunately, the network head, Mack Tannen (Harrison Ford, in a comedy???) promotes Veronica and fires Ron.  Of course, Ron’s ego can’t handle that, so he leaves the scene for SeaWorld in San Diego – but not for long.  An eccentric Australian media mogul, Kench Allenby (Josh Lawson) taps him to start up a 24 hour news network, so Ron gathers up the former team and brings them to NYC.  By this time Veronica has remarried a stuffy, pompous psychiatrist, Gary (Greg Kinnear).   Did I mention that Ron’s superior is not only a woman, but a black woman (Megan Good)?  Or that he’s not the top anchor, but a poor relation to Rick Lime (James Marsden)?  Or that Brick gets a love interest, Chani (Kristen Wiig), who is just as charmingly stupid as he is? 

   Of course, problems occur again, along with fun and games as well, and it's a different and more wacked out array of fun and games.   Ron loses his eyesight and retreats to a lighthouse.  Yes, for real.  He regains his sight and returns to Manhattan.   Yes, for real.  And we get a final confrontation in the city between multiple news teams – including the BBC (led by Sascha Baron Cohen) and the History Channel.   Just when you think it can’t go any more over the top, it does.   

   The humor is sometimes lowbrow, but nominally so, because Ferrell and his buddies pull it off with such remarkably clever wit that you can’t help but laugh.  In fact, you’ll laugh so hard you’ll forget to be ashamed of any of it.   Enjoy it.  And let’s hope they do make a third movie, because God knows how they’ll top this one.

The Czech Legion

History time again, and yes, WWI is part of the story...again.  And yet again the source of my story is another Osprey Men-At-Arms book, The Czech Legion, written by David Bullock and illustrated by Ramon Bujeiro. 

This also ties into my earlier blog about Austria-Hungary.  The countries we now know of as the Czech Republic and Slovakia, and which from 1919 to recently were bound together as Czechoslovakia (not to be confused with Wisconsin), were during World War I the northern parts of Austria-Hungary.   Bellicose males of military age and inclination and Czech and Slovak ethnic origin who found themselves NOT drafted into the Austro-Hungarian army, realized that a victory of the Central Powers would mean continued subjugation of their lands by Austria-Hungary, whereas an Allied victory would likely mean independence at last.   So with the war in full swing, many volunteered for Allied armies.

In France, the Czech Legion wore French horizon blue uniforms with some Czech/Slovak insignia on their Adrian helmets.  They fought on the Western Front against the Germans, although not in sufficient numbers to cause any strategic impact on that part of the war.

In Italy, the Czech Legion wore the greenish-grey Italian uniforms – also with Adrian helmets - and fought in the Italian Army against the Austrians, way up in the mountains.  Since many Czechs and Slovaks were conscripts in the Austrian army, the Legion hoped to induce desertions from active units as well as recruitment from Austrian POWs.  However, here again the numbers were too small to make any strategic impact on the war in this sector.  In fact, this war was mostly a deadly stalemate until Rommel showed up and won it practically single-handedly – earning his Pour Le Merite (Blue Max) – even if Germany would later lose the war.

In Russia, the Czechs persuaded the Tsar (aka the Czar) to allow them form a larger unit, the Druzhina.  These troops wore Russian uniforms and – you guessed it – Adrian helmets.  Also fighting against Austrians, this unit likewise had the goal of inducing defections from their army.   Unfortunately for the Legion at this point, the Bolshevik Revolution took Russia out of the war and handed Germany a huge victory on the Eastern Front.  Yet again Germany decisively won the war in this theater but still lost the war.

However, the Czech Legion in Russia was not quite done yet.   Before WWI had even ended (November 1918), the Russian Civil War began (January 1918).  The Allies hoped to get the Czechs over to Western Europe now that the Germans were able to swing their whole army westwards to knock out the Allies before the Americans showed up.  The problem was that the Czechs were stranded in the middle of Russia with no way to get west. 

The next bright idea was to have them travel all the way EAST – to Vladivostok – and put them on ships headed back for western Europe.  In fact, the Legion was so large (80,000+ troops), and middle Russia so large and vacant, that the Legion did indeed take large stretches of Russia and its railways, and a few armored trains which they painted colorfully.  The US forces sent to Vladivostok under General Graves – not to be confused with the North Russia expedition – were sent there partly to assist the Czechs, but Graves noted that there weren’t even any ships available at Vladivostok even if the Legion were somehow able to get there, which contributed to his “so what are we doing here?” befuddlement.   Moreover, in November 1918 the war ended, and with that the need for the Czechs to assist in the Western Front battles. 

Politically, the Czechs had no “dog in the fight” in the battle between the Reds and Whites, neither officially nor as a practical matter, thus amidst a bloody civil war there was a huge neutral army trapped inside with no compelling reason to support one side or the other.  Thus the unit made deals with the Whites or the Bolsheviks as the local conditions dictated.  Ultimately the Bolsheviks allowed them passage to Vladivostok and they finally left, returning by sea and forming the nucleus of Czechoslovakia’s army, though not before assisting the Hungarians in putting down their Red uprising.   And there was much rejoicing….   

The Time of the Hawklords

Music and science fiction meet in this semi-fun 70s novel by Michael Moorcock and Michael Butterworth.  Moorcock seems to disavow his role writing this book – perhaps out of embarrassment – but if it was Butterworth’s writing, he did an excellent job of copying Moorcock’s style.

The “classic” lineup of Hawkwind from the mid-70s is here, albeit with slightly alternate identities: Baron Brock (Dave Brock), Thunder Rider (Nik Turner), Count Motorhead (Lemmy, generally referred to as Lemmy anyway), Lord Rudolph the Black (Paul Rudolph), The Hound Master (Sandor Clegane….er… Simon King, drummer), The Sonic Prince (Simon House, keyboardist), Earth Mother (Stacia, though generally simply referred to as Stacia), Astral Al (Alan Powell), Liquid Len (Jonathan Smeeton), Captain Calvert (Bob Calvert), The Acid Sorceror (Moorcock), and Actonium Doug (Doug Smith).  Remarkably, they all have fairly equal roles, though Calvert is a late arrival to the story.  All are portrayed fairly sympathetically.   Sorry to disappoint, but Stacia does not have sex with anyone.

A mysterious death ray is weakening and killing the remaining population of London and the rest of the planet, which appears to be in a state of post-capitalist decay, though no signs of nuclear holocaust, more like simply the inevitable cumulative effect of decades of wanton abuse of the planet by the usual neglect by the thoughtless modern society.  Hawkwind’s music, when played live, has the effect of countering the ray’s effects, but only temporarily, and the band can’t play continuously – even with the usual expected array of chemical assistance.  

The “straights” and establishment authority figures are immune to the death ray and adversely affected by Hawkwind’s music – so much so that the band develops “music guns” to protect themselves.  The forces of evil, such as they are, are led by Mephis; uncertain as to whether he’s simply the most powerful “straight” or an actual devil or demon.  Moreover, it turns out that the band members are in fact reincarnations of previous champions from ancient times – does this sound familiar, Elric readers? – with special powers, i.e. Hawklords, even Stacia herself.   For his part, Mephis does seem to have similar powers, so maybe he was a “devil.”  Anyhow.

Ultimately the story winds down to a climactic battle between the Hawklords and their lesser allies vs. Mephis and his legions of soldiers and straights.  It’s 60% “classic Moorcock” and 40% Hawkwind, so I’d say the mix is fairly well done.  However, I can’t say the story is compelling enough to appeal to anyone who isn’t a Hawkwind fan.  On the other hand, if you’re a Hawkwind fan AND a fan of Moorcock, I can’t see any compelling reason NOT to read this story.  It’s not very long, it’s fairly easy to read, and as moderately enjoyable as any of Moorcock’s other fiction.