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I'm standing on a stage at the annual fair in Hoorn. Behind me two
guitarists who have not taken the effort to tune their guitars. There is no
bass player, but I don't realize this is abnormal. I start a cassette tape
containing a pre-recorded rhythm box and synthesizer. I cannot sing so I
declaim, I cannot write so I use slogans from Charles Manson, I cannot dance
so I stand stiff as a rod on the stage.
The guitarists turn their their back to the public. I seek confrontation
with the audience by staring at them as vacant as they stare at me. Our
sounds are thrown against the big brick buildings across the square,
everything comes back to us resulting in a delay system that confuses
everyone.
Most of the public runs away, protecting their grocery bags and baby-filled
prams. Some stay, on a safe distance. I have forgotten my lyrics so I
start improvising. After some minutes we get a response: tomatoes are thrown
to us. But even when I am the target of this fruit bombardment I do not
doubt myself. They do not understand, but that will come in time. This is
the future of music and to that everyone will admit. I am right and they are
wrong. I am Ultra!
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How this way was possible, and what has become of it later, is the subject
of this site. There are many tales concerning Ultra, the most probably more
captivating than mine. I was standing in the slides, far from the Ultra's
magical centre Amsterdam. Yet I cannot imagine that my experiences was less
intense than that of the Ultra Leaders.
This is the
tale about the ultra Boy from Enkhuizen. |

Rob van Wijngaarden wearing his Sony Walkman Headphone in
this photo from Vinyl Magazine
(Issue 8, Nov 1981).
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