Ritchie Havens

So sorry that the world has lost Ritchie Havens. He was an icon of the music festivals of the 1960s (where I saw him quite a few times), and if you've seen the movie "Woodstock" you must have been moved by his "Freedom." He was sooo wonderful. He wrote many songs, but was also a master of the cover song, he would make a song his own. We both got to see him as recently as 2003, during SXSW he played an official showcase at the Cedar Street Courtyard where we watched him from a few feet away on a warm night. This is probably my favorite listen from Ritchie Havens, "Follow."



Follow
Words by Jerry Merrick

Let the river rock you like a cradle
Climb to the treetops, child, if you’re able
Let your hands tie a knot across the table.
Come and touch the things you cannot feel.
And close your fingertips and fly where I can’t hold you
Let the sun-rain fall and let the dewy clouds enfold you
And maybe you can sing to me the words I just told you,
If all the things you feel ain’t what they seem.
And don’t mind me 'cos I ain't nothin' but a dream.

The mocking bird sings each different song
Each song has wings - they won’t stay long.
Do those who hear think he's doing wrong?
While the church bell tolls its one-note song
And the school bell is tinkling to the throng.
Come here where your ears cannot hear.
And close your eyes, child, and listen to what I’ll tell you
Follow in the darkest night the sounds that may impel you
And the song that I am singing may disturb or serve to quell you
If all the sounds you hear ain’t what they seem,
Then don’t mind me ‘cos I ain’t nothin’ but a dream.

The rising smell of fresh-cut grass,
Smothered cities choke and yell with fuming gas;
I hold some grapes up to the sun
And their flavour breaks upon my tongue.
With eager tongues we taste our strife
And fill our lungs with seas of life.
Come taste and smell the waters of our time.
And close your lips, child, so softly I might kiss you,
Let your flower perfume out and let the winds caress you.
As I walk on through the garden, I am hoping I don’t miss you
If all the things you taste ain’t what they seem,
Then don’t mind me ‘cos I ain’t nothin’ but a dream.

The sun and moon both are right,
And we’ll see them soon through days of night
But now silver leaves on mirrors bring delight.
And the colours of your eyes are fiery bright,
While darkness blinds the skies with all its light.
Come see where your eyes cannot see.
And close your eyes, child, and look at what I’ll show you;
Let your mind go reeling out and let the breezes blow you,
Then maybe, when we meet, suddenly I will know you.
If all the things you see ain't what they seem,
Then don’t mind me ‘cos I ain’t nothin’ but a dream .
And you can follow; And you can follow; follow…

Gotta Dance!

I love the British Invasion!! Even today I still love these bands and the pop culture that surrounded them. During the early Sixties, many variety shows seemed compelled and required to feature dancing with musical performances. These are some of my favorite British Invasion bands, subjected to different types of dancing incorporated into their TV spots.

The Zombies
A rare "live" performance on the Hippodrome that is not lip-synced, included very weirdly-misplaced burlesque dancers.

The Yardbirds
This is Hullabaloo, and featured caged as well as floor dancers, and they are wild and wonderful. The music is a combination of pre-recorded and live, and is, in my opinion this cover is one of the meanest, wickedest blues-rock songs ever done.

The Moody Blues
Top of the Pops. This is the 'Mark I' version of the band - the founding members, (before Justin Hayward and John Lodge joined the band), and this one features Denny Laine on vocals. Denny went on to be a member of Paul McCartney's Wings. You will also see Mike Pinder, Ray Thomas, Graeme Edge and Clint Warwick. Clint is the only one (other than Denny) who didn't continue to the most famous and enduring version of the band. The dancers are not professionals like the others, but they are surrounding the band and very much part of the show!

Don't trust anyone over 30

Wild in the Streets (1968) / Gas-s-s-s (1970)

This is one of those vintage B-movie DVD pairings, and these two were combined because their plots involve the adult generation either dying off through a killer gas, or being hauled off to prison camps by the ruling young, where they are kept under control through LSD in the water supply. They are both absolutely silly, extremely dated, and both intentionally and (mostly) unintentionally funny.

These came out a few years before the more well-known and well-done movie with this theme came along: Logan’s Run (1976).

Both movies feature actors, some famous and some who got a lot more famous later but not sure if these appearances were stepping stones or hindrances. In WITS, the famous ones are Shelley Winters and Ed Begley. Just barely getting started in movies were Hal Holbrook and Richard Pryor. The movie is also loaded with uncredited cameos. The star, Christopher Jones ("Max Frost"), had a real James Dean quality. He was a rising star for awhile but then dropped out of the Hollywood scene - then turned down a comeback opportunity in the form of the character 'Zed' in Pulp Fiction. Frost and his movie entourage all wore these identical teardrop peace necklaces, and it was kind of weird for me because when my Mother and I took one of our odd little vacations to the Sunset Strip/Hollywood in 1967, I got a very similar design (pictured) at a boutique on the Strip. I still wear it.

Wild in the Streets trailer:


Gas-s-s-s (alt-title: Gas! -Or- It Became Necessary to Destroy the World in Order to Save It.)

All the way on the left there is Cindy Williams, and from the right there's Ben Vereen, Tally Coppola (later known as Talia Shire) and Bud Cort ('Harold & Maude'). I enjoyed seeing a performance from Country Joe and the Fish in this one. I liked that band and got to see them up close in 1968. No deep thought required for watching this movie. Sil.li.ness.

I think it's safe to conclude that the under-25 crowd aren't really capable of running things better than their parents' generation. I also think that this same generation of Baby Boomers (m-m-m-my g-g-generation) isn't so hot at governing now that they've grown up, either. {sigh}

The more things change, the more they stay the same remain insane.

Obscure DVD review

Jimi Hendrix: Rainbow Bridge

IMDB
Wikipedia


The movie is about an outsider (Pat Hartley) visiting a religious hippie cult on Maui in 1970. It called itself (or at least its location) the “Rainbow Bridge Occult Research Meditation Center.” It’s like a 60s* version of Slacker. Her journey starts in LA with the Jesus Freaks making their pitches, then continues on to Maui with these really cosmic, beautiful people who are searching for spiritual enlightenment through any means necessary. Then Jimi Hendrix shows up, lays a cosmic rap on his hosts including something about hanging with Cleopatra, flirts with Pat a lot, then plays this outdoor show at the mercy of the winds of the volcanic landscape. They called the concert the “Rainbow Bridge Vibratory Color/Sound Experiment.”

This movie is categorized as a documentary. Not really sure if the definition holds, as there is a rough script. People are playing themselves and often (or mostly) seemingly ad-libbing – just saying whatever they, themselves, would say at that moment. The fact that they are mostly not actors and are playing themselves creates lots of unintentionally hilarious dialogue. If everybody is high and the cameras are rolling, you are bound to capture some crazy crap.

Hendrix’s manager was into this group, and invested. They decided to make a film and Chuck Wein (from Andy Warhol’s Factory bunch) got involved and brought along Pat Hartley, who was another Warhol star and all-around foxy lady.

This is not really a Jimi Hendrix concert film, but it does contain some very interesting and important footage of Hendrix, both in concert and candid. It was his second to last ever American performance (July 30, 1970**) – an outdoor show set up near a Maui volcano – but him being part of it is just a sprinkle of flavor. It’s a small piece of the whole.

This is a good article written by something who was there and involved with the film. I recommend reading that, and watching this film too - especially if you don't mind the B-movie quality and want to have a laugh or two. Very trippy. Couldn't help wondering how many of these people ended up in the Tea Party or something.

*And it’s a 60s movie even though it was shot in 1970 and released a few years later. Culturally it's definitely 60s.

** I got to see Hendrix myself just a little over 3 weeks earlier than that at the Atlanta Pop Festival.

Art and music: It's All Too Much

Peter Max has an exhibition going at a gallery here, and this weekend they had a couple of "meet the artist" events. I haven't attended any events like this before even though the opportunities arise. As we walked in, the crowds were still fairly light, and there he was, Peter Max, sitting right there on the window display ledge!

The entire gallery was filled with gorgeous color. He paints many very similar paintings, and the one above was there twice, both originals. I believe it is (they are) from 2007 to celebrate the 40th anniversary of the Summer of Love. This is the style of his that I love, the psychedelic pop art that was animated in Yellow Submarine. He also has a style that is Fauvist/Expressionist that is much more unconstructed-looking than the ones I generally associate with him, and you can see several examples of those here.

I think what really inspired me to go see his work in person was picking up the "ACL 2010" special issue of the Austin Chronicle. He created this art especially for the ACL Festival [more on that], and I really loved it. It captures a very important part of the festival experience, in that there are 2 sides to Zilker Park, each with a headlining stage, and the acts on those stages will be playing at the same time. Then there are 2 smaller but-still-pretty-big stages at each end that are going when those are not. You can stand in the middle and get a cacophony of both at any one time. (I will reserve the rest of my usual sound-bleedover rant for another time)
While we were visiting the gallery (red circle) we could easily hear the music coming from one of the big stages (larger red shape).That's OK. I love loud music. I just don't like being able to hear several bands at once (they have 8 stages, not 4, it's way too many in my opinion) [must. not. rant.]

I thought beforehand that autograph-seeking might be considered tacky, and that was so true... nobody did it, he did not really mingle while we were there (although he walked right past me at one point), and I believe that the security people would have prevented such a thing. I found out the next day that at another show he was signing copies of his coffee table book if you brought them with you. If I had known that in time, it would have happened. A Peter Max art book would be delightful to have, especially with an added doodle. I did bring my copy of the Chronicle, just in case, and hoped that they might be selling posters that could be autograph-able. As it turns out, there were posters, but the posters were there as a gift to anyone buying a piece of art. If you bought something, then he would sign a poster for you and even pose for a photo with you and your prize.

As for these prizes, they were well out of our price range. Most of the big attention-getters and ones I'd love to own were priced between $20,000 and $50,000. There was another level of much smaller or lower-profile things that you could get for about $5,000. There were many delightful things in that range, but some others that bring on a different kind of rant when it comes to art. For example, there was a series of paintings of the Texas flag, which is very simple and highly recognizable. I think that when it come to establishing the value of art, so much of it is merely the who and not the what. Here is a series of paintings depicting the Texas flag. Some of them are quite expressive. Some are less so.






One of these can be had for about $5,000, and the others, I would imagine, for quite a bit less.

Other artist links: [Timothy Raines] [Mark Merrill] [KAT]

The question of what is art/not art, and what is valuable/not valuable is a very loaded question that you can stay up all night talking about but will never resolve it. There is no right answer. Sometimes, it's just about the signature. Sometimes, it's so much more!

* title is a reference to a song from Yellow Submarine.

I think we're done here...

Jimmy Page will be pricing his autobiography at $685. It will be made up of a series of photographs rather than text. [edit: includes autograph.] [link]

Crosby, Stills and Nash are recording an album of classic rock covers. [link]

The Rolling Stones may or may not be planning a Farewell Tour, depending on the boredom level of Mick and Keith (Charlie’s words, not mine). [link]

All tidbits via Paste.

If you've seen one nuclear war, you've seen them all

Ok. Well... this might is the weirdest public service announcement about avoiding nuclear holocaust that I've ever seen. Us boomers all had to sit through the cartoon turtle and his "Duck and Cover" where they told us if we got under our desks after being nuked that we'd probably be fine. Hay Joe here (the puppet) explains how to build your bomb shelter and what pamphlets you'll need. I was wondering why I hadn't seen these before, and now I think I know. These are off the scale, and the scale goes way out there. Running time, 10:30.

[source LINK]
found via my EJlist, FB, and blog friend RG.

Here's another one from Archive. org. This is your standard gov'mint issue PSA explaining how it's no big deal so stop worrying. The specific topic is radiation. Running time 20:14.

Beginning: Nuclear radiation, it's like the sun, it's natural, and it's your friend.
16:47 your biggest worry might be... baldness!!
9:48 A nuclear blast is not going to break up that card game - and keep on smoking, you may as well...
19:40 Mutations can be a good variation, an improvement... face the facts, your principal worry ought to be that your offspring *will* look just like you. Har har har.
Nuclear war is very much like conventional warfare, but with radiation, so try to be someplace else.
[source LINK]

Dirty Freaky Commie Pinko Fag Hippies

There's the soundtrack for this post --Our House by CSN. I googled-mapped the house where I lived in Sarasota, Florida in the late 60s, which was a very special time. The Air Force offered us a free move one-way anywhere in the world after my dad died in 1967, my mother picked Boston (long story). We were there for less than a week when we changed our minds, hailed the moving van en route, and told them to head to Florida instead. Wheee! Close your eyes and stick a pin in the map. This is about the house on Magnolia.

There were many cultural changes happening during that time, and my mother, although still grieving, was feeling emancipated from the Air Force and loving not having a boss anymore. She was around 50 yrs. old. Here she is hamming it up for the camera. Someone spray-painted that ceiling tile green! It could have been me… not sure…

She felt like she could live anywhere and do anything she damned well pleased for once. She had already been playing mother hen for years; she would gather young people around her in droves, many of them cast-offs of their real families and of society in general. Tired, poor, humbled masses yearning to breathe free*… let’s party! Come on over, come on in. Stay all night, stay a little longer. Dance all night, dance a little longer. Kick off your shoes and throw them in the corner, don’t see why you don’t stay a little longer**. She had done it already in Albuquerque and in Greece… now it was the late 60s in Florida. The kids looked a little different, but we did too by then. Here she is sitting in the middle of our typical weekend crowd.

The kids were mostly around my age (15-16) to 19. We mostly didn’t drink (drinking wasn’t considered that cool, except for occasional wine), but drugs were plentiful. Mostly pot, LSD, and a few others. She hated needles and didn’t allow anyone to bring them into the house. Also, no sex allowed. Amazingly, everyone respected the house rules. Everybody was peaceful and got along. Nobody had guns (except my mother had a stupid little .22 handgun). There were no fist-fights, rather there were trippy debates about the meaning of life, the universe and everything... mostly everything. The different social sub-groups partied together with us and didn’t have problems with each other (gay, straight, Pagan, Christian, biker, whatever). Here she is with some folks just sitting around chatting.

We covered our domain with contact paper (the tacky velvet flocked or mosaic for windows) and sometimes I did paintings on walls or ceilings. The rest was decorated with posters, more of my art, or weird finds. Like that orange plate with the devil’s head. She was a Christian but was fascinated and open-minded about anything mystical or spiritual. “You want to have a séance? Let’s do it! You worship Satan? What’s that like? Your house is haunted? Wow. Who's haunting it?” The bookshelves were lined with everything to do with the spiritual: Josephus, Anton LaVey, Aleister Crowley, the Lost Books of the Bible, Edgar Cayce, Egyptian Book of the Dead, even Criswell.

The centerpiece of the room – the record player. It was one of those kind that folded up into a suitcase. That Jefferson Airplane poster would probably be valuable now. Also featured, our beloved Rolling Stones. She always carried a teensy crush on Mick. Mine was for Brian. I was a very bad girl and stacked the records up vertically, many not even in their cardboard sleeves – but what a stack of great records they were! Now all worn out, of course.

Here’s the kitchen. More contact paper!

Me, sitting in front of one of my paneling paintings.

This is our friend, BW.

This is GP, I think he was BW’s cousin. He’s wearing a getup that we bought in our favorite theatre costume shop. GP loved to cause a stir using nudity. He and another friend (a girl) went into the burger place in the wee hours of the morning, both dressed in see-through gauzy robes with nothing underneath. Anything to freak people out and get some laughs!

This is my charcoal drawing of Jim Morrison. Behind it is a chicken I painted on the wall.

We bought this big school bus, even though neither of us drove. We relied on others to drive it for us, which wasn’t that easy! We took out most of the seats, padded and upholstered the walls, carpeted it like a crazy-quilt using free scraps, and made fringe to hang over the windows. I painted some Yellow Submarine art here and there on the inside, and decorated the sign with an Egyptian circle and wings (the name of the bus was “The Flying Void”. Cosmic!).

The freak flag on wheels, with the gang.

Our spaciest friend, SK, painted this “Jesus and the flying saucers” thing on the back. I hated it.

Here is SK and another friend, MM2, goofing it up for the camera in the yard.

SK liked to sit in trees for hours, and sometimes he would be running around in the yard naked, rather embarrassing later on when we were trying to sell the house. We didn’t always know if he was there or not, he just hung around. He enjoyed chanting and making buzzing sounds. Last I heard of him, he had gone to join the Children of God cult. Here I am with another friend, MB (SK can be seen behind us in the doorway), and I am wearing SK’s wonderful jester hat.

My mother always took an “in your face” attitude, especially during this time. She decided to paint the house with horizontal stripes, royal blue with one orange stripe.

We lived in a fairly conservative neighborhood (with a big church across the street!!), and the local lawmen kept a close eye on us. As you can imagine, we were under surveillance, and unsurprisingly one day (it was on Valentine’s Day) there was a bust. Turns out that one of the kids who had spent the night on our couch had told us that he was 18… and he wasn’t… and he was on probation… and his dad was in law enforcement. They charged my mother with contributing to the delinquency of a minor, and others were busted there too, but I can’t remember what for. The whole affair dragged on and on for many months, court dates postponed, I’m sure they were hoping for something bigger to happen but my mother was progressively more and more freaked out with paranoia. They really WERE out to get her, so it wasn’t unfounded, but after the bust, the fun was mostly replaced with worry. It was kind of a death of innocence, the party’s over, time to clean up, wake up call. Nobody with any sense wants to be in jail. And of course, after a bust, people tend to hang around less so our inner circle got smaller. After a year of having the white cars parked in front and the black suits with face shields cruising the house on motorscooters (and after the contributing charges petered out) she decided to move us up to Carbondale IL so she could be close to her parents. Another chapter begins there.

So, getting back to where this post started, I googled-mapped the house, and noticed that they provide street views for that area. Here is the house now. It’s GONE. The shopping center that was a couple of blocks away has grown, and our old house is part of the parking lot. If there are any old-timers who still attend that church that was across the street from us, I know they are thanking Jesus that the notorious abomination was torn down. Praise the lawd!

My mother (whose name was Lola) always counseled young people that they were responsible for their actions, and would have to live with the consequences of them, and if they needed help or a place to stay or just wanted to talk, she was there. The door was open. Comments welcome, and I know it will be tempting for a lot of people to be judgmental about this post concerning youth, drugs and parenting. Believe me, there’s absolutely no point in preaching. There’s no situation described here that can be corrected by any amount of that. It is just part of my history.

*Lady Liberty
**Bob Wills

Somewhat related:
My mother and Pop Festivals

Another of BW's cousins, and Led Zeppelin

...thinking of Brian Jones, deceased.

I remember hearing that he died. I was at the Atlanta Pop Festival in 1969 and it was July 4th. Let it Bleed had just been released and they were playing it over the loudspeakers in the non-stage areas, it was incredibly good. Then they announced that Brian had died on the 3rd. He was 27 years old.

He was probably my biggest teenage crush, although John Lennon was first. Man, can I pick 'em? John was murdered, and Brian Jones was more than likely murdered as well. His "Death by Misadventure" will never be truly solved, and he certainly wasted and ruined enough by substances to have been his own victim. When you are too stoned and messed up for Keith Richards to put up with... well... although Keith's real beef probably had more to do with a woman (Anita Pallenberg, who later married Keith).

Brian created the Rolling Stones, it was his band that the others joined, and he thought up the name. He was innovative in adding unheard-of instruments to rock music in radical new ways, and making it work. He was also a fashion pioneer, and was largely responsible for inspiring the wild 60s fashion trends (starting it early enough to have inspired The Beatles). This was my drawing from a picture of him at the Monterey Pop Festival of 1967.

Jim Morrison wrote a poem for Brian after his death. July 3rd is also the death anniversary of Jim Morrison. There are those who believe that he is not, in fact, dead... that he faked his death, and I've heard some speculation that the day July 3rd was not just a coincidence. Morrison was also 27. (27 was apparently a tough age to get past, Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix also died at age 27.)

Poor, tragic Brian. I always wonder who really could have saved him.

- Music - Brian Jones wiki - Rolling Stones -