Moondog was a dude who knew what he was about and was as true to that while enriching the lives of others as it’s possible to be, and there’s few things more admirable than that in this world. His time spent living in New York (late 1940s till 1972), where he spend his time hanging out on 6th Avenue (between 52nd and 55th street) wearing a cloak and a Viking-style helmet on account of his appreciation for nordic culture, as well as his sense for marvellous fashion choices. Sometimes, he’d busk or sell music, other times he’d just stand silently on the sidewalk, which is commitment to a bit if I ever saw it. I’ve seen a few guys like that in my time, and it’s always impressive, at the very least; check out Moondog’s wiki page and other sources if you want to know more, because he’s a fascinating guy. This track starts with Moondog reciting one of his epigrams, then proceeds into a jaunty D minor (so much for it being the saddest of all keys) melody that develops into a fairly rousing canon. Experimental classical music is so undervalued at large, as from my perspective, so I love finding things like this that I didn’t know about that I think anyone would appreciate and enjoy. It was released on the sample album Fill Your Head With Rock (CBS, 1970), presumably at the height of his viking fuelled prominence. There’s a bunch of sick live versions as well, I really like this one, it captures the intensity and jazziness of the piece. Rock on Moondog, you minimalist legend.