Why do any of us actually care about all of this psychedelic stuff? Is it because we’re all in need of healing or working through trauma, or is there something greater that attracts us to the kinds of experiences that psychedelic substances offer? Something that is so different from our ordinary waking lives surely has some kind of intrinsic wonder to it, and possibly some kind of embedded weirdness that exists purely by default of being so different from the kinds of experiences we usually have.
My personal interest in psychedelics has come from a cultural perspective, where I was raised on a lot of music inspired by drugs such as LSD, and found myself attracted to the possibility of changing something about my state of consciousness. The pure wonder and joy in experiencing something that was so different from an otherwise somewhat routine life was certainly a motivating aspect to my exploration with psychedelics.
In more recent years, the focus of the psychedelic space has shifted quite clearly towards clinical and therapeutic outcomes. We are becoming increasingly aware of the global mental health crisis currently unfolding, and psychedelic research is providing alternative avenues for treatment where more conventional methods might have fallen short. This way of doing things, when it comes to psychedelics, has undoubtedly brought them more towards the mainstream, but in doing so, might we be losing something of a weirder essence to these kinds of experience?
My personal relationship with psychedelics has traversed both the academic and creative world, where I have enjoyed the philosophical and spiritual inquiry alongside my pursuits as playing as a musician in psychedelic-inspired bands. A lot of the music I was raised on seems to have been inspired by these kinds of substances, and a lot of what drew me to these sounds was the musical experimentation. Psychedelic rock as a genre loosely refers to any band or artist who was inspired by the properties of drugs such as LSD and magic mushrooms, or even just consuming large amounts of cannabis. My favourite era of this genre began in the 1970s, where the sounds became heavier and more intricate, with the birth of prog rock, Krautrock, and heavy metal.
British bands such as Gong, Soft Machine, and Caravan, who were all formed in the 1960s, were part of something known as the Canterbury Scene (also known as the Canterbury Sound), which was largely associated with prog rock. I attended the University of Kent in Canterbury, where I didn’t know anything previously about the musical history of the city, but found myself feeling quite at home there. I still have some wonderful friends there, and almost all of the connections I have made are intimately linked to the psychedelic experiences I had in the natural surroundings of the city and university.
We were fortunate to have found liberty cap magic mushrooms growing close to our university campus, and these first encounters with mushrooms set the scene for a psychedelic-infused university experience. In my first year of study, I also encountered LSD and began playing music in a band called Bardo Thodol, which was named after the Tibetan Book of the Dead, and certainly inspired by our psychedelic experiences and general fondness for the weirder and slightly edgier side of life:
Bardo Thodol were based in Canterbury between about 2008 and 2011, terrorising venues with uncompromising volume levels, a blasting horn section and guitarists flailing around like ninnies. Times were carefree, noise was needed, sobriety was rare.
One of my bandmates turned me onto the book The Psychedelic Experience: A Manual Based on The Tibetan Book of the Dead, as it was related to the name of our band, and a book coauthored by Timothy Leary, Ralph Metzner, and Richard Alpert, which he thought I would find interesting against the backdrop of recent psychedelic experiences. This was the first piece of psychedelic literature I encountered, and I appreciated how it provided some framework for engaging with psychedelics within a context of religious or mystical experiences.
This introduction to psychedelic literature formed more of an interest with the academic side of psychedelics, and in 2009, I was introduced by my bandmate to another friend, which led to the three of us establishing the University of Kent Canterbury Psychedelics Society. The society (which is still running today) explores the dimensions of both psychedelic science and culture through discussions and presentations. Meeting on a weekly basis allowed us the opportunity to connect with other like-minded people and learn about different areas of research. There was a genuine curiosity that wanted to go deeper than simply consuming the psychedelics and having first-hand experiences – the desire to share our experiences and “eff the ineffable”. Coming together in this way allowed us to feel a sense of belonging and togetherness, where experiences that we had, which might be much weirder than anything we have previously encountered, could be given legitimacy and space to be explored and discussed without judgement.
Psychedelics Aren’t Just Fun
Since this time, I’ve found myself existing between the worlds of psychedelic academia and culture, and increasingly found a disconnect between these two, where the world of scientific research seems to be prioritised over the more artistic and creative sides to psychedelics. Our cultural interest in psychedelics created a space within the UKC Psychedelics Society for everyone from all disciplines to present their research in this field, and we welcomed the scientific research as something that could legitimise our fascination with these substances. But who were we legitimising things for? It didn’t necessarily feel like it was for ourselves, as we embraced the weirdness and appreciated it without the need for any further legitimacy; rather, it felt like, as psychedelics were becoming spoken about more, we needed to present them in a way that was respectable and research-focused.
We avoided holding any official social events for fear of how we might be perceived as a student society, and we wanted to demonstrate that desire for more of a research-focused ethos, despite what we might have gotten up to in our spare time. There was some sentiment that the more cultural or recreational side to psychedelics might have become too hedonistic, so we avoided any events outside of weekly lectures. The noise being made about the society led to the inaugural Breaking Convention multidisciplinary conference on psychedelic consciousness, held at our university in 2011: it seemed that Kent was on the map as an academic institution that took psychedelic inquiry seriously.
Despite this “serious” academic inquiry, there was no doubt that all of this was underpinned by people enjoying their psychedelic experiences, with a generally positive energy of exploration and sharing of what different people have encountered. There was some sense that a conference like this was a way for the psychedelic culture to be taken more seriously, and perhaps lay the foundations for more interdisciplinary research and cross-cultural collaboration.
As recent as this year, we have seen the establishment of institutions such as the Exeter Psychedelic Interdisciplinary Centre (EPIC), which has a focus that goes “beyond the individual and toward societal healing, cultural renewal, ecological awareness, and new forms of collective flourishing”, and joins other research institutions such as Imperial’s Centre for Psychedelic Research and the Johns Hopkins Center for Psychedelic and Consciousness Research. There is undoubtedly lots of excitement surrounding these research institutions, where innovations within psychotherapeutic treatments involving psychedelics have received more attention, along with more focus on the potential of these experiences to broaden our understanding of healing.
The increase in research has also led to more opportunities for clinical training and professional certificates within the field of psychedelics in recent years, with more people experiencing the benefits of these substances when it comes to managing mental health conditions. There’s no denying the benefits people have experienced from psychedelics, but it is beginning to feel like this has become the overwhelming narrative. Therapeutic frameworks and clinical discussions seem to have taken precedent over narratives relating more to community and culture – especially in somewhere like the UK, where we don’t have the benefit of the more relaxed laws we see in the USA, meaning that the entry point for the uninitiated or relatively new is often through science, rather than through cultural experiences.
But is there a divide between the science and the culture, or is it just that the necessity to legitimise these substances through the “appropriate” channels has allowed the scientists to take centre stage? Are the cultural experiences merely becoming tokenistic, so that the scientists doing the research and those funding it can have the veneer of being cool because they’re doing something a bit different?
The Curation of Conscious Exploration
The opposite might actually be happening, where we’re seeing a rise in what’s being called the “Festivalisation of Wellness”, with a new wave of events shaping the global wellness landscape that prioritise human connection, collective energy, and emotional release. These kinds of events are often inspired by rave culture, but potentially lend themselves more towards a more sober and healthy mindset, with a focus on wellness and community. While festival culture might have historically been more at odds with more of the academic side of things, there does seem to be something more intentional and focused about the way in which these events are curated. This might explain how this “festivalisation” has managed to take hold culturally, where people might want to experience something deeper than the academic discussion surrounding psychedelics, but don’t want to go headfirst into a regular music festival while being in the same vicinity as other people who might be on a totally different vibe to them.
These more carefully curated events often market themselves as being different from others and feeding into the demand for alcohol-free festivals, which has risen over the past decade. While these more sober events certainly receive a lot of praise for their intentionality, and festivals such as Medicine have grown considerably in size over the years, it’s interesting to note that these kinds of events are only alcohol-free because they can afford to be.
My friend and author of Sex, Drugs & Rock n Roll: The Science of Hedonism and the Hedonism of Science, Zoe Cormier, once pointed out to me that festivals that exist within the wider music industry have to sell alcohol to survive because the overheads are so big when you’re holding that festival on public land and ticket sales alone don’t cover the artist fees – festivals that are held on private land however, can afford the privilege of not having to serve alcohol to survive. Not everyone necessarily has access to these kinds of spaces, and often the price of a ticket for a wellness festival held on private land strangely costs more than a music festival…perhaps the music festivals should be charging more, but I think there’s something to be said for maintaining a sense of community with financially accessible events that don’t just cater to a certain section of society.
I have often found myself being drawn more towards the slightly weirder and edgier side of communities where people enjoy consuming psychedelics, and in my later years, I’ve very much embraced the joy I find in combining heavy music with these kinds of substances. This isn’t to say that I don’t appreciate the softer energy of the wellness community, but I’ve personally had some resistance (which I’m currently working on) and have preferred to be in situations that are more fun rather than intentional.
Interestingly, at the same time as Medicine Festival 2024, I was playing at ArcTanGent Festival – the UK’s largest festival for math rock, progressive metal, and experimental music. While I was there, I met an organisation called Heavy Metal Therapy, which acts as an online resource and community of individuals who find therapeutic benefits from listening to heavy metal. It was great to find an affinity with these individuals who also benefited from the music in this way, and I saw it as being comfortable with being a bit weird and out there with more experimental types of sounds, along with many people at the festival being comfortable with consuming a wide variety of substances. But how does this weirdness fit into the wider psychedelic narrative?
Cultural and Scientific Psychedelic Renaissance
Often, we might think that the cultural arm of the psychedelic renaissance preceded the wave of scientific psychedelic research, which might be true for research that has been ongoing since the early 2000s, but the therapeutic potential of psychedelics has been known about since the early 1950s. LSD in particular was utilised for its ability to treat alcoholism by psychiatrist Humphrey Osmond, who coined the term ‘psychedelic’ to mean “mind-manifesting”. Approximately 2,000 patients were administered LSD, and between 40 and 45 per cent of patients did not experience a relapse after a year. By the mid-1960s, influential figures such as Dr Timothy Leary and Dr Stanislav Grof were advocating for the potential of psychedelics to provide transformational experiences through deep psychological breakthroughs.
The psychedelic counterculture in the 1960s and 70s, which followed the wave of this research, was focused on artistic, societal, and musical change and was inspired by the psychedelic substances people were taking at this time. While many have thought about this counterculture in positive ways, with some sense of more open-mindedness within society, there’s also a feeling that perhaps this counterculture derailed scientific progress with too much of a focus on spiritual and artistic excess.
After US President Nixon signed the Controlled Substances Act in 1970, the progression of psychedelic research was pushed underground, but the counterculture still remained and has ultimately carried psychedelic ideas through decades of prohibition, and continues to do so. Without the music, art, literature, festival scene, underground networks, or spiritual communities, there might not have been such a fascination with the potential for psychedelics to enrich our lives on so many levels. This enrichment can provide healing by showing us new pathways and possibilities, especially when things take us by surprise and get a bit weird.
Embracing the Weird
“When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro” - Hunter S. Thompson
This quote is quite possibly my favourite one of all time, and I think it perfectly encapsulates where psychedelics can be a powerful tool in allowing us to embrace the weirdness in a world that often doesn’t make sense. During the times when society faces an uncertain outcome, or things generally just start getting a bit weird (or crazy…which might be a better word to describe what we’re seeing at the moment in the world), those of us who have been viewed as social outcasts or generally just seen as a bit weird might then become visionaries or trailblazers. We can offer solutions that might provide an alternative way of thinking and doing, which could create a better life in a challenging world.
In his book High Weirdness: Drugs, Esoterica, and Visionary Experience in the Seventies, Erik Davis examines the spiritual provocations of Philip K. Dick, Terence McKenna, and Robert Anton Wilson, which offered new ways of being through the emergence of psychedelic spirituality. Davis has argued that this emergence could provide us with the opportunity to become more flexible in a world that is becoming more technological, rather than us simply dropping out altogether. If the world is becoming more weird and ultimately difficult, can we utilise our weirdness to envision how life could be made better for everyone, rather than just existing because the world is too weird and challenging? This reminds me of a conversation I had once while travelling in my mid-20s, where someone asked what it would be like if all of the people in the world who are doing “van life” decided to instead engage with the system that catalysed them towards living out of it in the first place.
This isn’t to say that we should judge anyone for not wanting to mobilise their weirdness in this sense, but perhaps there’s something about psychedelics that makes us weird, and for some of us, we can utilise this weirdness for great things and connection with others who are of a similar worldview. When I spoke to Dr Andy Letcher on this topic, his feeling was that the weirdness in psychedelics is still marginalised, to the extent that even student psychedelic societies are now inserting “research” into their name to position themselves as something more than just a bunch of students enjoying the various avenues of exploration. When we established the UKC Psychedelics Society, it was very much underpinned by our weird experiences, which catalysed us into wanting to talk to others about it and invite speakers to share their findings about this thoroughly weird area of research!
For me personally, and I’m sure for others, the academic interest felt like it arose organically from pre-existing cultural curiosity. At the start of my first year of university, I found myself in a crowd of people who enjoyed taking different substances, but weren’t at the same point when it came to wanting to talk about their experiences. I felt like there was a lot more to discover, explore, and co-create with others who were on a similar vibe, and once I’d found friends who eventually became my bandmates, I knew I had really found my people. They were funny, interesting, intellectual, cared about nature, and loved being creative – I had met other people who were on a similar level of weirdness and went from feeling like a bit of an outcast (as I had done throughout school) to taking up more space and almost feeling like the star of the show, where I became a source of joy and humour, and learnt to embrace the weirdness.
I am grateful to be described often by my friends as a “funny bastard” and I only have psychedelics to truly thank for this – they have made a massive impact on my sense of humour and allowed me to find the funny in social situations where I’ve referred to substances such as LSD in particular as “joke fuel”, where I’m able to read between the lines and play with reality. This is where I find that weirdness provides fuel for creativity and where this weirdness should be taken more seriously as a key aspect of these kinds of experiences. I also had the pleasure of recently speaking to Dr Jack Hunter about his research into extraordinary experiences, where they can be defined as "a special, unusual, or unexpected event that is highly memorable and emotionally charged." Extraordinary experiences might be interpreted as paranormal, spiritual, mystical, psychedelic, or just plain weird! This weirdness might actually underpin these kinds of experiences, but often this makes people discount these kinds of experiences.
Jack has explored this further in some of his research, where we might have an experience that touches on the “Boggle Threshold”, coined by historian of psychical research Renée Haynes, where something so outlandish or strange is automatically discounted by researchers. This is understandable, and it might have informed the extent to which psychedelics have now entered into more of a professional place, where the research is touted as being more serious, but this has never been the whole picture.
If we can look towards our anomalous experiences, spiritual encounters, folklore, mystical or extraordinary states, and experiential knowledge within the context of a psychedelic community, it might be that we need to move towards the weirdness and embrace the enchantment that it can provide.