Magic Mushroom Band | Interview | Garry Moonboot Masters

The Magic Mushroom Band’s legacy lies in the DIY scene of the ’80s and ’90s, a time when independent music and free festivals created a unique space for creative expression beyond the constraints of the mainstream.

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From their early days, they helped define the spirit of self-reliance, organizing their own shows and performing at countless benefit gigs for causes they believed in. Their involvement in the free festival movement wasn’t just about playing music—it was about fostering a sense of community, where people could come together, experience live music, and connect without the barriers of ticket prices or venue restrictions. In this interview, Garry Moonboot Masters reflects on the band’s journey, offering insight into their role in the DIY culture and the lasting impact of the free festival scene.

“We and other bands of our ilk created an independent network”

Garry, let’s go back to the early days — what was it like growing up in your hometown? What were some of the records that really made you feel something? The ones that got your blood pumping or maybe made you see things differently?

Garry Moonboot Masters: I grew up in Acton/West London in the ’60s/’70s, and that era was the best of times. I could see the famous Post Office Tower from my bedroom window, and as I entered my teens and started going to concerts, my friends and I would often end up walking to the center of London if no buses came. As for music, I grew up in a musical family. My dad played piano in the social clubs, my grandmother played piano in the pubs, and my Uncle Eddie plays bass guitar in blues bands, so there was always music around.

As a young teen in the early ’70s, I was into the whole T. Rex, Slade, Bowie, and Alice Cooper thing (back when good music was in the charts!). Knowing I liked T. Rex, my uncle lent me a couple of Tyrannosaurus Rex albums. After hearing those and seeing Hawkwind perform ‘Silver Machine’ on Top of the Pops, my musical inspiration took a dramatic turn. It was also around that time I started frequenting Portobello Road and hung out with the freaks there — many became like older brothers to me.

You mentioned discovering a whole other scene outside of the pop charts. Can you tell us more about that experience?

Being somewhat of a “black sheep” in my family, discovering this whole other scene outside of the pop charts felt like a whole new world opening up for me. I felt like I’d found my tribe. After hearing Tyrannosaurus Rex and Hawkwind, I set about discovering other bands from the same scene — Pink Fairies, Gong, Edgar Broughton, Mighty Baby, Canterbury stuff — and, of course, the American counterparts like Hendrix, Grateful Dead, and Jefferson Airplane. I’m still discovering music from that period even now!

Of course, all of this synched up with me getting my first electric guitar. There was no looking back after that.

If we were to step into your teenage room, what kind of records, fanzines, posters, etc., would we find there?

In my early teens, my bedroom had T. Rex, Slade, Alice Cooper, and Bowie posters, along with a couple of Kung Fu posters (since that was just becoming popular at the time). After my “epiphany,” my posters were Hendrix, Hawkwind (I also painted the ‘Space Ritual’ album cover on my ceiling), Gong, and the fold-out poster from Pink Fairies’ ‘Kings of Oblivion’ album. I also had a large poster of Budgie that I “liberated” from The Roundhouse when they played there.

My record collection was growing at a rapid rate, especially after I got my first job after school. I hardly ate — all my money went on concerts, records, and guitar gear. Luckily, I had a Record & Tape Exchange shop nearby in Shepherd’s Bush or Notting Hill Gate, and that’s where most of my money went. I could get older stuff for a reasonable price, plus record reviewers from the music press would often sell “preview” copies of albums for beer money, so I’d sometimes find promotional copies — even before they were released.

One of the most exciting things for me, especially when discovering the “Holy Trinity” (Hawkwind, Gong, Pink Fairies), was finding the related offshoots of those bands. People like Robert Calvert, Inner City Unit, Motörhead, Daevid Allen, Steve Hillage, Khan, Arzachel, Tim Blake, Here & Now, The Deviants, and Larry Wallis. It was like putting together pieces of a large puzzle.

As a kid, I loved collecting things like bubblegum cards and toys, so this was just an extension of that. After discovering Portobello Road and all the “head shops,” I built up a collection of old underground papers and mags like IT, Frendz, and Oz, as well as underground comix from Robert Crumb, Freak Brothers, etc. There weren’t really any fanzines until punk hit, but then two great ones came out as the freaks’ answer to the punkzines — Penetration and Sniffing Flowers.

Did you go to a lot of concerts back then? What was the scene like when you were just a kid with a guitar and a dream? Was there a particular show that made you think, “I’ve got to be up there doing that”?

Living so close to central London, I got to go to lots of concerts. The Hammersmith Odeon was just a short bus ride away — or a good walk if necessary — and I saw many amazing bands there. Probably the first real big show I saw was Yes at my local QPR soccer stadium, and that blew my mind. So many people, all into the same thing, and the stage show with the lights and props was out of this world. It’s on YouTube, I believe.

But I also loved the many other venues around at the time — The Roundhouse, The Marquee, The Electric Ballroom — and smaller cool pub venues like the Fulham Greyhound, Hammersmith Red Cow, and Dingwalls. It was all very inspiring to this “kid with a guitar,” and I soaked up as many influences as I could.

Before The Magic Mushroom Band came into being, were you involved in any other bands or projects? What were those like—were they stepping stones or just wild experiments?

Both. The first real band with a drummer was called Speed Machine (circa 1977), and as the name suggests, we were all about being hard, fast, and loud—had a lot of youthful energy to burn off!

But then the mushrooms kicked in, and I formed a new band, the original Magic Mushroom Band. We did lots of spacey, echoey jams and played some nice benefit gigs and parties. Toward the end of that band, I met a new synth player called Thamby. He had a bank of EMS synths, a Mini Moog, and a silver jacket, so he was in. We formed a band not long after called The You Band, playing and jamming stuff very much in the style of Gong’s ‘You’ album. We did some nice shows, culminating in a live performance at the 1980 Stonehenge Festival. We were one of the first bands to arrive that year, so we had the whole crowd to ourselves. The bassist in The You Band was Wayne Twining, who would also be in the next incarnation of The Magic Mushroom Band and many other projects. After The You Band, I had a band called Psychic Attack—a great jamming band featuring Clive Baxter on bass and Nigel Tubb on drums, who later went on to play with Mournblade.

The formation of The Magic Mushroom Band—how did it all come together? What was the initial idea behind it?

It was a happy coincidence, really. It was late 1982 when bassist Wayne contacted me, asking if I’d like to come up to his hometown of Bracknell for a jam. He had his brother Craig on guitar and Jim Lacey on drums. I’d just passed my driving test, so I stuffed all my gear into my little Mini and drove up there. We had such a good time that we made plans to do it again. We managed to book the basement of an arts centre in Windsor to rehearse and play. After we’d finished, the promoter of the venue came down to see us and said he really liked what he heard. He asked if we’d like to do a concert there at the end of December, which was about a month away. He asked us what the band was called, and we all scratched our heads for a while. I said, The Magic Mushroom Band, and we were booked right then and there.

We squeezed in a couple more rehearsals, adding Kim Oz and Laura on backing vocals. We worked out some tunes I’d written for the original Magic Mushroom Band along with some choice cover versions, timing the set at just over an hour. We were also lucky to have the Dancing Shiva Lightshow offer to do the lighting with coloured slides and projections, many of which were used during the free festivals of the ’70s. Considering it was 1982 and what we were doing was completely against the current musical trends, we were pleasantly surprised to see the venue packed that night. All manner of freaks and misfits came out, curious to see what we were doing. Like us, they were looking for something different and found it in that vibe that few other bands were offering at the time.

What was the chemistry like between you and the rest of the original lineup—Kim Oz, Craig Twining, Wayne Twining, and Jim Lacey? Was there an unspoken vibe, or did it all just fall into place after a few jams?

When we first got together, we were all in different bands at the time and getting nowhere. I think because we approached the idea casually, with no big plans for the future, it all came together naturally. We jammed well together. Jim Lacey was one of the best and most versatile drummers I’ve ever played with. The jams were tight, and they picked up on my songs quickly, bringing a fresh new vibe to them.

How about the concept behind the band? “Psychedelic space pop” isn’t exactly a genre you hear every day—what inspired that direction? And when you started exploring ambient-dub territory with Astralasia, did it feel like a natural evolution or more like taking a leap into the unknown?

There was never really a concept as such. As I said, we jammed well, but I’m a songwriter too. I’ve always had a lot to say, and I layered those catchy riffs and hooks with psychedelic flavours. When you think of early Pink Floyd, for example, the spacey jams were great, but it was Syd’s lyrics and choruses that stayed in your head.

As for the Astralasia ambient-dub stuff, we were all fans of reggae and dub (The Magic Mushroom Band did some of that too). In particular, the album ‘Revenge of the Mozabites’ by Suns of Arqa was way ahead of its time. So when Swordfish, who was the current drummer/producer for The Magic Mushroom Band at the time, decided to form Astralasia, it was the perfect outlet for that kind of thing.

Fungus Records, your own label—what was it like running that? Was it a DIY necessity, a labor of love, or a way to maintain control over the music?

All of the above, really. At the time, there was quite a scene building up, but like it was in the ’60s for a time, we were an underground scene. The music press wouldn’t have anything to do with us. As far as they were concerned, we shouldn’t even have existed. They were too busy scrambling around, trying to find the next big thing. So, because of that, we and other bands of our ilk created an independent network. We sold cassettes, posters, and fanzines either at concerts or via mail order.

As for releasing records, our first three albums were released by independent record companies who promised the world but did nothing when the records actually came out—no advertising, poor distribution, etc. When the Mark 2 Magic Mushroom Band formed in 1990, we decided that the only way to properly get our stuff out there was to release it ourselves. We wanted to go all out with fold-out covers packed with info and fun extras, but the costs were too high. So we decided to do limited editions of 1,000, all signed and numbered. ‘Politics of Ecstasy’ and ‘Spaced Out’ were both released that way. We were really pleased with how they turned out, and we sold them at concerts, via mail order, and to local independent record stores.

As those releases were getting close to selling out, Caroline Records stepped in and released them both in simpler covers for the European market. It was a lot of work, but it was worth it.

Can you take us through some of the venues and bands you shared the stage with in those days? What kind of places were these, and what was the energy like?

We were very lucky that, literally after our first show, the offers to play elsewhere started rolling in. The free festivals were the most fun — we played both the 1983 and 1984 Stonehenge festivals and many others until that all came to an abrupt end. In between, we played lots of colleges, rock pubs, and eventually traditional venues like The Marquee and Dingwalls. As the band grew, so did the size of the venues.

Once the scene was at full strength, we’d often play at “All-Dayers” along with many other bands of the same flavour, often headlined by Hawkwind or Gong. When the free festivals were stopped, we managed to bring that vibe to many venues, with the lightshows and sympathetic line-ups.

Three important venues began in the mid-80s to help counteract the lack of festivals, namely “The Crypt” (a psychedelic club under a church), “Club Dog,” and “Alice in Wonderland.” These clubs eventually organized much larger affairs in bigger venues, with The Crypt hosting their “Stoned Out of Your Head” tour (!), Alice in Wonderland running their Magical Mystery Trips, and Club Dog putting on the Megadogs.

Apart from us, you could see such bands as Ozric Tentacles, The Treatment, Webcore, The Ullulators, Dr. & The Medics, and many, many more. It was a very vibrant scene.

When you think about the records you put out with The Magic Mushroom Band, which ones stand out the most to you? Maybe tell us about a few of your favorites and what was going through your head while writing or recording those tracks.

I guess the first time is always a bit magical. Even before the release of our first album, it was always about getting something out on vinyl — kind of proof that you were a going concern. So when Psycho Records in Margate got in touch with me and asked if we’d like to provide two tracks for a compilation of new psychedelic bands called ‘The Waking Dream’ that they were putting out, we jumped at the chance.

They organized a studio in London for us to record our tracks, and the premise was that the band who got the most positive feedback from the release would get an album of their own released by them. The album actually got reviewed in the music press, and for once, we got the best comments. We did some shows to promote it, including one at Dingwalls, where John Peel happened to be in the audience. We gave him a copy, and he played both tracks the next night. It was nothing short of magical hearing your stuff played over the radio, especially by Mr. Peel.

Sadly, the idea of an album in our own right with Psycho never happened, but the reviews and airplay gave us a real lift.

As for the following albums that we released, my favourites change all the time — they were all products of their times. Our first album, ‘Process of Illumination,’ had many of the songs popular in our live set at the time, but the recording was marred by bad mixing and production. Our second, ‘Bomshamkar!’, was much better — the first of Swordfish’s productions — and it felt more like our first proper album. We were given a very limited time in the studio but managed to record it all, including mixing, in 33 hours.

On our third, ‘Eyes of the Angel,’ we (insisted on) having more studio time, and the whole session was wonderful. We could even bring in extra musicians — a slide guitarist, a keyboard player, and a passing three-piece string orchestra. The finished sound was lush.

By the end of 1989, both drummer Jim and guitarist Craig had left the band for various reasons, but the demand was so great for us to carry on that we formed Mark 2, with Swordfish on drums, Ed (Bones) on slide and rhythm guitar, and Sam on fiddle.

Together, we released ‘Process of Illumination,’ ‘Spaced Out,’ ‘Re-Hash,’ ‘RU Spaced Out 2,’ and ‘Magic’ — all wonderful albums, well produced, and featuring many of my favourite songs and pieces.

“The early years were certainly the most chaotic.”

What’s your wildest memory from a Magic Mushroom Band gig? We’re talking chaos, weirdness, or just plain unforgettable. Was there a show that felt like the whole thing could come unglued at any moment?

Many, and often! Too many to list here, but I’ll cite a few examples.

The early years were certainly the most chaotic. We were operating on a zero budget and managed to buy a cheap old box van that eventually fell to pieces — often held together by copious amounts of gaffa tape. We tried building our own PA, but often things would explode or speakers would blow. One time, a bouncer caught someone trying to leave the venue with one of our speakers — he’d disconnected it while we were still playing!

At one of the Stonehenge festivals, we’d secured a generator and were playing in the “main drag.” I’d just written a new song called ‘Big Bombs.’ It was a very hot, sunny day, and as we got to the chorus, a guy’s motorcycle exploded right near the stage.

Then there was the time when Porij (one of our lighting guys) warned us as we went on stage that he’d set some smoke bombs to go off during our set. He’d placed them under the drummer’s stool. Unfortunately, he didn’t notice on the box that it said “for outdoor use only,” and we were back at the Arts Centre in Windsor. Sure enough, about three songs in, there was a huge bang and an ever-growing mushroom cloud appeared from under the drum kit and out across the stage, eventually filling the whole venue with acrid smoke. The promoter got onstage and told us all to evacuate as the fire brigade were on their way. We all shuffled out into the car park. The funniest thing was that the smoke was red oxide-based, and people were putting their fingers to their noses, thinking they had nosebleeds.

Another time, we turned up to a college gig and admired all the freaky hippies in the audience — until we noticed on the poster that it was a 60s fancy dress night. By the end of the set, they’d taken their wigs and kaftans off.

Then there was the time we were due to play a free festival near Milton Keynes, but the farmer who owned the field put a stop to it. So we all — bands, stage, everything — moved on and settled in the car park of the Milton Keynes Bowl. We were only onstage for about ten minutes when I happened to notice that the first few rows were all cops. They eventually dragged us offstage one at a time and put a stop to the whole show.

What influenced the Magic Mushroom sound?

Pretty much everyone who played in the band and all the bands I’ve mentioned that inspired me. But I’ve always kept an ear open to what’s happening at the time too. Although I guess there is a Magic Mushroom Band “sound,” for me, variety has always been the spice of life. So within that “sound,” you’ll hear psychedelia, acid rock, funk, punk, reggae, and folk. When I write songs, I try to keep an open mind. I never force it—when something comes out, I just let it flow. I’ve often felt more like a conduit for the music in my head to pass through.

Is there any unreleased material from the very early days?

Not really. All the best stuff was released on cassette before we could release albums, and they were just live recordings—not the best quality.

I would love it if you could share some of the strongest memories from recording ‘The Politics Of Ecstasy.’

Not all good memories, sadly. We were very excited, obviously, when approached to do our first album at a recording studio in Reading. We were told it was “state of the art” and that the album would get good distribution. The studio itself wasn’t quite what we expected, being the dining room of an old house, and the two guys who ran it had very little experience with recording and pretty much left us to it. We had even less experience than they did, but we did the best we could and managed to cobble it together.

After finally getting a decent-ish mix, one of the guys decided to put the whole recording through an “aural exciter” to brighten the mix. It was my job to take the finished tape to Abbey Road Studios for mastering. I was very excited to be going there. I met the guy who was to master it, and he told me he’d worked on the early Pink Floyd stuff, so he knew where we were coming from. But when he played it, he looked at me sternly and said, “Has someone used an aural exciter on this?” I said yes, and he told me it was a bad move as it would sound awful. I left with my tail between my legs, humbled.

When the album eventually came out, we had to send a lot of copies back to the pressing plant as there were labels stuck halfway across the records, and some were warped. It turned out there were no distribution deals, so with the limited amount we had left, we sold them at concerts—hence the scarcity and rarity of copies of that album.

How would you compare it to albums that followed?

Apart from the recording quality, it did feature some of our best tunes at the time. But I guess, like a lot of bands’ first albums, the influences are very easy to spot. We hadn’t quite found our niche—that was to come as the albums progressed.

What kind of effects, guitars, and general gear did you have in the band?

I’ve used the same Fender Stratocaster (1969 model) that I’ve had since I got it in 1977—still going strong! I had an SG backup guitar and an Ovation acoustic. In the early days, I used a Watkins Copycat echo unit, which was replaced by an Echoplex and eventually a digital delay pedal. Other effects were a distortion pedal, volume pedal, and the occasional wah-wah. I originally played through an Orange amplifier but switched to Marshall further down the road.

‘Pictures In My Mind – Anthology 1984-1994’ brings together tracks from a decade-long journey, including rare and unreleased material. What was it like revisiting those songs? Did any of them hit you differently or bring back memories you’d almost forgotten?

I’m sure most musicians would agree that you rarely listen to a lot of your own stuff, especially if the recordings were intense mix-wise. By the time the album is out, you’re ready for the next one. So when this compilation arrived on my doorstep, I stuck it on and listened all the way through. Literally every single tune took me back to those times. Songs really are the ultimate form of time travel, aren’t they? I was very proud, and it made me realize just how much stuff I’d written.

The release has been described as a comprehensive overview of the band’s evolution, from the more freeform, jam-heavy early years to the more song-focused period. How do you see those two phases of the band?

Evolution is a good description. As I said before, I’ve never been into staying in a musical rut, and the styles evolved organically rather than in a forced way. I think Richard Allen summed it up well when he said we were better live than recording in the first phase and better recording than live in the second phase. I can live with that.

You were sharing stages with bands like Ozric Tentacles and playing iconic venues like The Crypt, Club Dog, and Alice in Wonderland. Can you share a story or memory from those days that stands out—something that really captures the vibe of that scene?

One night at The Crypt, both the Magic Mushroom Band and Ozric Tentacles were sharing the bill. It was a tiny venue, and we could fit all our gear on stage together. So we set up at one end, and the Ozrics set up at the other. We did our sets, then at the end, both bands jammed together.

Richard Allen, who put together this anthology, followed the band from the start and mentioned seeing you play live a hundred times…

Richard has always been there for us, and he was a very important cog in the machine. He gave a lot of bands their first break.

After all those years, why did you eventually decide to leave The Magic Mushroom Band? What were the factors that led you to step away from it, and how did you feel about the project afterward?

The Magic Mushroom Band had been in existence for twelve years—many highs and lows—but we kept the flag flying. There were lots of changes within the music scene. The whole rave/dance/techno thing was becoming huge, as were Astralasia, and a lot of the venues were switching to those kinds of acts. As I mentioned before, as the Magic Mushroom Band grew, so did the size of the venues, but there came a time in the mid-90s when fewer and fewer good concerts were being offered.

We’d recently lost the Fruit Salad Lightshow as they were offered more lucrative shows. The final nail in the coffin was when we did a concert in Wales. We had signed contracts, hired a van and lightshow, and, when we eventually got there, the promoter hadn’t done a good job of advertising it, so there weren’t many people at all. We still put on our full show, but at the end, when I saw the promoter, he said he could give us what he’d promised in the contract. I insisted that he did—I had a lot of people to pay—and eventually, he had to pay us out of his own pocket, but not without calling me a “f***ing breadhead” first.

Anyone who knew or experienced the band would know that we did many, many free festivals and benefit concerts wherever and whenever we could. That really got to me. By the time we got home, I said, “That’s it, no more.”

Of course, there’s a positive side to it. Just before the Wales concert, we’d done a live BBC Radio One show with Mark Radcliffe, and the album at the time was doing well. So I felt it best to leave the band on a high, and in hindsight, I think it was a good decision. I’ve seen many a once-good band turn bad and bitter just because they didn’t stop when they should have.

Astralasia had this whole other-worldly vibe to it—what was the transition like from the Magic Mushroom Band to the ambient-dub sounds of Astralasia? Did you find it freeing, challenging, or maybe a bit of both?

Well, first and foremost, Astralasia was (and still is) Swordfish’s project. It’s his baby, and we (the rest of the Magic Mushroom Band) would add our parts as and when/if needed. It was a different way of working for me—kinda more like session work—but it was fun to do in the beginning.

Your projects span quite a range—from Moonboot Oz to solo works like Electrified Moonboot and Bone Idol. What’s been the thread tying all these creative endeavors together, or do you see them as completely separate explorations?

It’s all me, just doing what takes my fancy at the time. Moonboot Oz was my all-acoustic antidote to the digital stuff, and my solo albums were a good excuse to rock out.

Let’s talk about Moonboot Oz. What was the vision behind that? How did it differ from the more spaced-out, ethereal tones of Astralasia or the original psychedelic edge of the Magic Mushroom Band?

After leaving Astralasia, where my role was becoming increasingly minimal, I found myself with a headful of songs and felt the need to break away from those rigid structures. So I decided that my next project, Moonboot Oz, would be all-acoustic. The band comprised myself on vocals and guitar, Kim Oz on vocals and harmonium, and original drummer Jim Lacey back in on percussion.

It was actually a lot of fun, though a bit scary at times, as my guitar was the band! The recordings were fun, and best of all, our equipment fitted in the boot of our car. We got to play at lots of festivals and do some big shows as support since we could get on and off stage very quickly. Eventually, more people joined, and we became a full band, culminating in a great show on the Avalon stage at the Glastonbury Festival. Not long after that, band problems arose again, so we laid it to rest.

How do you look back on the ’90s rave culture and the Goa/Trance explosion, especially with the influence that Astralasia had on that scene? Did you see it as an extension of the psychedelic spirit, or did it feel like a different beast altogether?

It was a very exciting time at the beginning, for bands and audiences alike, and some great music came out of it. A room full of people dancing to a cosmic lightshow wasn’t unfamiliar to us. I like to think that we, as the Magic Mushroom Band and Astralasia, helped build that bridge to bring the two scenes together. Ozrics begat Eat Static, Webcore begat Zuvuya, Steve Hillage begat System 7, etc.

You were deeply involved in the UK Free Festivals movement—a scene that’s become almost mythical over the years. There’s a fantastic book, Festivalized: Music, Politics, and Alternative Culture by Ian Abrahams and Bridget Wishart, that captures a lot of that spirit. Looking back now, how do you see the movement and its impact? Has your perspective on those times changed, and what do you think their legacy means in today’s world?

The free festivals were certainly of their time. There’s no way they’d be the same now, even if they were allowed. The best thing about them (apart from being free) was that anything went, so they became a huge melting pot where cultures melded under one sky. Bands could set up and play wherever and whenever they could. Lifelong friendships were forged—it was a magical time.

I’d like to think that, looking back, they were a good example of how good a time you could have with just the basics of necessities.

Do you think the mainstream ever really “got” what you were doing? Or was there always that tension between what you wanted to create and how the scene perceived it?

The mainstream wasn’t interested in what we or other bands in the scene were doing. Like I said, they were too busy looking for the next big thing. Bands like us just didn’t compute with them.

Of course, the Magic Mushroom Band would never have been on Top of the Pops. The name was a double-edged sword for us. We’d have Christians with placards outside some venues protesting, and some concerts got canceled if we were on the bill.

I’ve always done what I wanted to do at the time, regardless of what’s currently hip.

It’s been a while since those heady days—what occupies your life now? Do you still find yourself picking up a guitar late at night or working on new material in the studio?

I relocated to Australia in 2002. Since then, I’ve released two solo albums and written my autobiography, Mushrooms & Moonboots (available via Amazon). I’ve also guested on a couple of other people’s projects. I still pick up a guitar most days and am always writing new stuff, so there may well be another solo album down the line.

Looking back, do you think there’s anything you’d do differently—maybe a record you’d tweak, a tour you’d take, or a moment you’d seize if you had the chance again? Or are you more of the “no regrets” kind of guy?

Definitely the latter. Apart from re-recording the first album, I wouldn’t change anything we did. I seized all the moments that became available to me and enjoyed them all. No regrets here.

Talking about Magic Mushroom Band and Astralasia, tell us about a moment where you felt like, “Yeah, we did something special here”?

Every time I hear one of my tunes on the radio, I still get a thrill—it never gets old. There are too many special moments to list here. Of course, all the benefit gigs we did mean a lot. We were doing African famine benefits long before Live Aid. I got to share a stage with a lot of my favorite bands, and some of my ‘heroes’ remain good friends to this day. It was a scene all of its own, and we, along with all the other bands and lightshows, made it happen. I still get messages from people saying how they met at one of our gigs or how much one of my songs got them through a hard time. You can’t buy that stuff. I’m proud of all I achieved and of all the people who shared that vision with me.

What’s the next chapter for you? Any new projects in the works or ideas you’re itching to bring to life?

It’s the easy life for me now. I’m always working on new ideas. Let’s see what the future brings. Thank you.

Klemen Breznikar

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Headline photo: Magic Mushroom Band photo shoot before heading out to the infamous 1989 Treworgey Fayre Festival – Garry Moonboot, Kim Oz, Wayne Twining, Jim Lacey

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