Here’s a first for the Recordmecca Blog–a guest columnist. Our friend Gene Sculatti, well known music writer & historian, former record and television exec, and all-around great guy shares my love of Captain Beefheart. On hearing of Beefheart’s passing this week, I asked Gene if he’d be willing to write a remembrance of the Captain. Happily, he agreed.
The Dust Blows Forward, ‘N The Dust Blows Back
by Gene Sculatti
It’s impossible for me to think what the world would be without Captain Beefheart’s music in it. Amidst the bad news, the good is that his music is, and hopefully forever shall be, in the world.
This reminiscence is strictly personal. I had a little one-on-one interaction with Beefheart; mostly the relationship was between me and his powerful, funny, touching recordings and performances. I first encountered him in the spring of ’66 at Frisco’s Avalon Ballroom, when he and the Magic Band were the latest in a line of surprise visitors on the underground railway that weekly shuttled north L.A. bands like Love, the Rising Sons, Sons of Adam, etc. My late cousin and I, teenaged blues-heads (whose knowledge store then extended to the first Butterfield LP, Muddy Waters at Newport and Howlin’ Wolf’s ‘rocking-chair’ album), were floored by Don’s act, which then consisted of spot-on versions of “Evil” and other catalog items, and his scary-good harp playing. We made it a point to catch him whenever his name appeared on a bill, and I bought the “Diddy Wah Diddy” single.
Some months later I hit the Avalon, and Beefheart and the Magic Band, like almost everything in those change-is-now days, had gotten magic-er and weirder and I-don’t-know-what. But it was great: same bottom-heavy voice and slammin’ band, but Beefheart was wearing Sun Ra-type shades and some kind of embroidered Music Man bandleader coat, knotting and retying the old blues chords into bizarre odes to confections like Abba Zabba and Kandy Korn (with the MB roaring behind him, he stalked the stage tossing the yellow and orange Halloween treats to the crowd). My God!
Then, sometime in ’67 in a Berkeley record shop, I stumbled across the previously unannounced Safe as Milk. I’d never—no, I have never seen a cooler LP cover. Here, in the year of that famous summer and long, long, longer hair and suspect platitudes, as unpretentious dress slid into medieval costumery and cultivated slovenliness, CB & TMB were dressed in ties and tailored suits, casual but formidable, staring out from those redwood slats in Guy Webster’s fish-eye photo as if to say, “What’re you lookin’ at?” The question would soon become “What’re you listening to?” as friends, just as immersed as I was in the orthodoxies of the wild new world of Dead/Airplane/Dylan/Doors, wondered what were these bizarre howls and growls spinning on the Sears stereo about “Autumn’s Child” and “Electricity”? Hey, what can I tell you? I was in love. With his voice, his inspired entanglements of verse and melody, the look, the aura of strangeness permeating the whole act, right down to the grinning-baby Safe As Milk bumper strip that fell out of that issue of Rolling Stone.
Like Jeff Gold, I count Safe as Milk as my favorite Beefheart set. But there is more. Strictly Personal upped the oddness ante but it also cooked (“Gimme Dat Harp Boy”). And Trout Mask!! This guy was giving notice: He was in the business of busting, following his muse to left turns no one else would even consider taking. So dazzled by Trout Mask was a roommate of mine that he kept a copy in his car—often instructing passengers to hold it up to the window as he gunned past slow-pokes, I guess to ‘blow their minds’ or something. Clear Spot: best meditation ever on female power (“Lo Yo Yo Stuff”)…Decals and that whole hair-stacked look of Spotlight Kid… the fleeting pleasures of those Mercury LPs (“Sugar Bowl,” “Upon the My-O-My”), and later Doc at the Radar Station and Shiny Beast (Bat Chain Puller).
I was working at Warners by then, and my boss, Pete Johnson, took on the job of producing Beast. His reports from the studio suggested Don was now Pete’s boss, and everybody’s, but rough times yielded an underrated classic, where the Captain cuts a mean “Candle Mambo” outside the lesbian-run canteen of “Harry Irene” and leaves the world one of his funkiest gifts in “Tropical Hot Dog Night.” Jesus!
It was around this time that I spent a bit of time with Beefheart. Frustrated that Warners wasn’t pro-actively marketing some acts, co-editor Joe Robinson and I decided to use the label’s house organ, Waxpaper, as a bully print-pulpit to pump up the volume on them: We’d utilize the publication’s back cover to do our own ads. Which led to us taking our art director and a photographer up to Antelope Valley, meeting Don at a Denny’s (he was already in a booth, sketching on a pad), then heading for cactus country, where we spent the day shooting away, enraptured by his rap and big heart. The ad ran in our Feb. 12, 1979 issue. “There’s a Voice in the Wilderness. Captain Beefheart’s,” read the head, over a shot of Don standing in the fading desert light.
May that voice go on forever.
My wife Jody calls it “shopping in your closet”–looking through stuff you already own, but haven’t paid any attention to in a long time–if ever. Just today she pulled out a sweater that she hadn’t worn in probably 20 years, but looks great today. And I had my own similar experience a few days ago, while going through the still large pile of stuff I bought from the family of Ralph J. Gleason, the late, lamented music critic. While going through his “Jefferson Airplane” file, I found the article below, from the August 29, 1965 issue of the San Francisco Chronicle. I’d never noticed it before, but this may very well be the first article ever written about the Jefferson Airplane !
The Airplane is one of my favorite bands, and their history is well documented; folk singer Marty Balin put the Airplane together to headline the Matrix, the San Francisco club he co-founded in 1965. This article is the only one I’ve ever seen that reviews the band’s earliest lineup–Balin, guitarist Paul Kantner, guitarist Jorma Kaukonen, singer Signe Toly (pre-marrage, as her last name is Anderson on the first Airplane album) along with soon to be replaced members Jerry Pelequin (drums), Bob Harvey (bass), and occasional conga drummer Larry Davis.
Balin, described in this article as bringing to mind “an undernourished Beatle,” famously spotted future Moby Grape legend Skip Spence at the Matrix, saying to him “Hey man, you’re my drummer.” Spence replied “No, I’m a guitar player.” Balin said “No, no, no, you’re my drummer.” Balin “gave him some sticks and said “Go home and practice and I’ll call you in a week.” I called him in a week and asked him if he could do it because I’d fired this other guy and I had no drummer. And he said, “Well, I’ll give it a try.” And he was great.”
Soon Bob Harvey was replaced by Kaukohen’s friend from Washington DC, Jack Cassady, and the lineup heard on the Airplane’s superb first album “Jefferson Airplane Takes Off” crystalized. If you don’t know the Airplane, you should. The classic Grace Slick lineup began with their second album, “Surrealistic Pillow“–but “Takes Off” is a folk rock masterpiece and to me an essential 60’s album. And how about that Beatles ad, too. Happy holidays everybody.
Here are two completely unrelated reunions that might be of interest to readers of this blog. First, this weekend’s Buffalo Springfield reunion at the annual Bridge School Benefit in Mountain View, CA, hosted by Neil Young. This was a big deal for Neil fans and those of the great Springfield–the first time surviving Buffalo Springfield members Neil Young, Stephen Stills and Richie Furay have performed together since 1968. I thought about going, I really did, but I’ve been on so many planes this year–with a few trips coming up in the next month–that I skipped it. When I saw the clips today on Youtube, I really regretted it. I should have known–my favorite show of the last 10 years or so was last year’s Eric Clapton/Steve Winwood de-facto Blind Faith reunion at the Hollywood Bowl.
Fortunately we can all enjoy the clips though, so I’m posting a few of the better ones here:
Reunion #2 will be of interest to far fewer, but was no less special to me–the reunion earlier this year of former employees and customers of Los Angeles’ legendary Rhino Records. From its birth in 1973, the Rhino store played a critical part in the L.A. music scene. The Rhino store gave birth to the Rhino label, which almost single-handedly begat the record re-issue craze, which continues unabated to this day. The store, which began in a tiny space shared with a Zenith Stereo repair shop, was founded by music fanatic and industry innovator Richard Foos (I was the first Rhino employee.) Many longtime Rhino staffers went on to greater fame, including Wilco guitarist Nels Cline, Dream Syndicate founder Steve Wynn, and Long Ryder/Coal Porter Sid Griffin. Should you be interested in knowing more, here’s a link to a photographic history of Rhino. Some great memories, and vintage Rhino visitations from the Ramones, Wild Man Fischer, the Pretty Things, Troggs, and others. Enjoy.
Record Collecting Adventures/Discovering a Previously Unknown Led Zeppelin Album
Every once in a while a previously unknown record surfaces; something longtime collectors have neither seen nor heard of. In the internet era this happens far less frequently. It’s easier than ever to research obscure titles, and usually if I haven’t seen something, somebody else has. These days one can usually find information about almost anything with a few clicks of the mouse–so it’s pretty rare to find something completely undocumented by a highly collectible band, especially if it’s a major label release. And so it was pretty mind-blowing to come across a previously undocumented Led Zeppelin album last month.
Led Zeppelin are among the most heavily collected rock bands, and their discography is extremely well known and documented. There are hundreds of websites devoted to them, their discography, and concert history. Their authorized website, LedZeppelin.com is quite good, reproducing many rare records, posters, concert reviews and other memorabilia. So this discovery was a pretty significant find.
In early August, my friend Gary Johnson of Rockaway Records and I travelled to Seattle to buy records from legendary collector Ken Barnes. Ken was thinning out his album collection, and we were lucky enough to be the first to peruse his 30,000 LP’s. I’ve known Ken since the mid-70’s, and his knowledge of records is truly unsurpassed (I don’t know anyone who knows half of what Ken knows about records, and I’ve met a lot of collectors in the 39 years I’ve been in the game.)
I spent 3 days combing through Ken’s collection. At the end of the first day, while looking through his Led Zeppelin LP’s, I pulled out a sealed copy of Physical Graffiti, which looked different from any I’d ever seen. It had unusual images in the die-cut windows, but after 8 hours of looking at records nonstop, I was a bit punch drunk, and not sure what I was looking at.
I showed the album to Gary and Ken, asking if they had ever seen a copy like this one before. Gary, a world class rare record expert who has seen pretty much everything at least once, was taken aback–he’d never seen anything like this before. Ken, a music writer for many years and former editor of music industry trade publication Radio & Records immediately picked up on the fact that the four letters in the top windows were the “call letters” of WMET, a long defunct Chicago rock radio station. While all of the images in the front windows on this copy are different to the released version, in every other aspect it is identical to an original first pressing of Physical Graffiti.
The previously unknown “Physical Graffiti”
Front cover close up.
A large percentage of Ken’s albums were promotional copies, acquired while writing for Bomp, Radio & Records, Phonograph Record Magazine and many other publications, most recently as music editor of USA Today. Nearly all Ken’s Zeppelin albums were promos, and while he didn’t remember who gave him this specific copy, he felt it very likely came to him while working at Radio & Records (he was there in 1975, when the album was released.) He was sure he’d had it since the 70’s, and wasn’t something he’d bought. Ken had another open copy of Physical Graffiti, so when he got this one, he’d just filed it with the rest of his Zeppelin lp’s. This copy must have been part of a special run that Atlantic/Swan Song made for WMET; it’s rather extraordinary that in the 35 years since the album’s release, no other copy has surfaced.
Ken Barnes with his rare album, just after its discovery.
The album on site.
Because the three of us had never seen anything like this, Gary contacted a few Zeppelin experts, none of whom knew anything about this album. I photographed Ken holding the album, and had him write a letter of authenticity to document the find, which reads:
To Whom it may concern:
This letter is to authenticate an original sealed copy of Led Zeppelin’s album Physical Graffiti, with the call letters of Chicago radio station WMET and alternate artwork visible in the windows of the album cover.
I have had this album in my collection for decades, and in fact until Jeff Gold found it among my other Zeppelin albums (mostly promo copies) in my 30,000 LP collection, I never noticed this was in any way different from the regular issue of the album. I very likely obtained this album while working at the radio industry trade publication Radio & Records around the time the album was released. I was an editor at Radio & Records and received thousands of promotional albums from record companies while working at R&R and writing about music for various publications over the years, most recently as music editor for USA Today.
Ken fortunately sold the album to us, and we’re proud to offer this unique Led Zeppelin album on the Recordmecca site; click here for more information: WMET Led Zeppelin LP.
There’s a lot of buzz in the Dylan community over the impending release of a previously unknown 1963 recording of Bob Dylan at the Brandeis University folk festival. Today’s headline at contactmusic.com proclaims “Lost Bob Dylan Audio Found at Late Rolling Stone Co-Founder’s Home;” with the story reporting “Crisp audio from a lost 1963 BOB DYLAN concert has been unearthed in an attic and will be released as a bonus to fans who snap up the folk rock icon’s new BOOTLEG SERIES VOL. 9 online.”
Well, that’s only partially true. It wasn’t found in an attic, but instead a basement. How do I know ? Simple; I was the one who found it. Here’s the whole (long) story.
|Ralph Gleason with the Beatles, backstage at Candlestick Park|
A number of years ago, I was introduced to Toby Gleason, son of the legendary Ralph J. Gleason. The late Ralph Gleason was the longtime music critic for the San Francisco Chronicle, and arguably the most important critic ever. Gleason joined the Chronicle in 1950, as the first full-time jazz and pop critic at an American newspaper. He interviewed Hank Williams and Elvis Presley, was one of the first critics to perceive the importance of Bob Dylan, Lenny Bruce and Miles Davis, and was a key player in the San Francisco rock scene in the ’60’s. Gleason was the only reporter to interview the Beatles at their final concert at Candlestick Park in 1966, and his liner notes to Miles Davis’ “Bitches Brew” won a Grammy Award. Perhaps his most lasting legacy is co-founding Rolling Stone Magazine with his protegee, Jann Wenner.
Gleason kept a vast archive of records, magazines, newspapers, posters, press materials and all kinds of ephemera. When he died in 1975, his family preserved his materials in their Berkeley home, occasionally making it available to writers and scholars. Toby Gleason has supervised the release of a number of the superb television programs his father made during his lifetime, including the highly lauded Jazz Casual programs (featuring John Coltrane and Duke Ellington) and Bob Dylan’s historic 1965 San Francisco press conference.
The Gleason family decided a few years back they wanted to selectively sell some items from Ralph’s vast archive, and I was very fortunate to be invited by them to discuss a possible purchase. They wanted to take it slowly, but we had good chemistry, and so I made an initial purchase, with the understanding that more would be made available as time passed. Every year or so, I’d visit them and make another purchase. Gleason’s collection was among the best I’d ever seen, and it was a real exercise in forbearance to be patient and respect their wishes to take it slowly–but I did. Toby Gleason is extremely knowledgeable and it was a pleasure to spend time with him, talking music and seeing the incredible history his father had collected, and his family had the good sense to preserve. Many of the magazines, newspapers, and papers they had saved had little commercial value, but a great deal of historical significance, and so I purchased them to donate to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame’s Archive and Library (opening later this year.)
Unfortunately Jean Gleason, Ralph’s widow, became ill last year and passed away at the age of 90. After her death, a decision was made to sell the family home, and I was invited up to buy anything that I wanted. For two or three days, Toby and I explored the deep recesses of the home’s multi-room basement, which was filled with magazines, records, newspapers and reel to reel tapes. When we came to the wall of tapes, we discovered many labeled “Bob Dylan.” Gleason had been one of Dylan’s early and most vocal supporters, and became close to him. He also had a number of friends at Dylan’s label, Columbia Records (I found letters to Gleason from Dylan’s discoverer, John Hammond, among his papers.) Looking at the 40 or so Dylan tapes in the Gleason collection, it was clear some were sent to him by Columbia, some by Dylan’s management, and some from fans and readers of Gleason. Many were explicitly labeled, some only said “Dylan.” Toby and I agreed that since we didn’t know what was on them, I’d take them back to Los Angeles and listen, to see out what was on each one (I also bought 30 or so non-Dylan tapes from the family.)
|In this house’s basement, the tape was found !|
If you’ve read this far, you probably are a Dylan fan and know of the enormity of that task. So many things have been bootlegged, in so many unending variations, that it was hard work figuring out what was what. I had to locate a reel-to-reel machine and an engineer to transfer everything to digital files, which I could then compare to various bootlegs. Some of the tapes were 7″ reels, some smaller; some 2 track, some 4 track; recorded at speeds from 3 3/4 ips to 15 ips. The first time I went to the studio, I brought a few of the tapes I thought most promising. One was labeled only “Dylan Brandeis” in light pencil on the edge of the box. We “put it up” on the machine, the playback started, and I was blown away. Superb quality–obviously professionally recorded–early Dylan, singing and playing wonderfully. And a recording I’d never heard of–and was pretty sure was unknown (which it was.) Over the next few weeks, I listened to many many hours of Dylan tapes, and of course, everything else had been released or bootlegged, save for a tape of a press conference from Austin, Tx. in 1965. Still, after all these years, to find an unknown Dylan tape, and one this good–I was astounded.
I called Jeff Rosen in Dylan’s office, to see if he knew of the tape–he didn’t, but was interested in hearing it. Jeff is someone all Dylan fans owe a big debt of gratitude to–among many other things, he’s responsible for the superb Bootleg Series, which in my opinion are the best compiled, annotated and illustrated albums a fan could hope for. Very quickly, I spoke to Toby Gleason, sent Jeff a CDR of the show, and he responded that he was interested in buying it for a possible future release. I worked out a deal with Jeff–very easy–and voila, about a year later, it’s coming out.
I’m very excited about the upcoming Witmark Demos/Bootleg Series album and the Mono Box Set, to be sure. But I’m absolutely thrilled that this great Dylan show–which I’m listening to right now–is finally seeing the light of day, thanks to Ralph J. Gleason, and his family.
Other items from the Ralph J. Gleason collection are available for sale on the Recordmecca website. And we’re always looking to purchase rare records and high-end music collectibles.
I’ve had a lot of enthusiastic response to my last post, about Jimi Hendrix’s record collection. As I mentioned in that post, the Experience Music Project in Seattle has the only other known group of records from Jimi’s collection. As people seemed truly interested in what Jimi was listening to, I reached out to the great Jasen Emmons, director of curatorial affairs at EMP, who graciously provided me with a list of their Jimi LP holdings (and some photos too.)
So courtesy of Jasen, here’s a list of the rest of Jimi’s records:
Jimi Hendrix Experience “Are You Experienced”; Muddy Waters “Down On Stovall’s Plantation”; Elmore James “The Best Of”; Various Artists “Chicago The Blues Today !, Vol. 1”; John Mayall with Eric Clapton “Blues Breakers”; Cream “Fresh Cream”; The Spencer Davis Group “Autumn ’66”; Little Richard “Vol. 2”; Bob Dylan “Blonde on Blonde”; Jimmy Reed “The New Jimmy Reed Album”; Lightnin’ Hopkins “Soul Blues”; John Lee Hooker “Live at Cafe Au-Go-Go”; Howlin’ Wolf “More Real Folk Blues”; Various Artists “Heavy Heads”; Muddy Waters “Electric Mud”; Junior Wells “It’s My Life Baby”; Various Artists “We Sing The Blues !”; Various Artists “Original Hits of the Great Blues Singers, Vol II”; Various Artists “The Original American Folk Blues Festival”; Various Artists “Blues Classics”; Sonny Boy Williamson “Down and Out Blues”; Lowell Fulson “Lowell Fulson”; The Free Spirits “Out of Sight and Sound”; Canned Heat “Canned Heat”; Lightnin’ Hopkins “Earth Blues”; Charlie Musslewhite’s Southside Band “Stand Back !”; Lightnin’ Hopkins “Something Blue”; Lightnin’ Hopkins “The Roots Of”; Lightnin’ Hopkins “Lightnin’ Strikes”; Albert King “Live Wire-Blues Power”; Leadbelly “Take This Hammer”; John Mayall “Crusade”; Jimi Hendrix Experience “Smash Hits”; Bill Cosby “I Started Out as a Child”; Bob Dylan “John Wesley Harding”; The Band “Music From Big Pink”; Pierre Henry “Le Voyage: D’apres le Livre des Morts Tibetian”; Johnny Cash “At Folsom Prison”; Friar Tuck “And His Psychedelic Guitar”; Original Soundtrack “The Trip” (featuring the Electric Flag); Jimmy Smith & Wes Montgomery “The Dynamic Duo”; Ravi Shankar “Sound of the Sitar”; Red Krayola “The Parable of Arable Land”; The Zodiac “Cosmic Sounds” and last but certainly far from least The Mothers of Invention “Freak Out !”
Once again, few surprises here–a lot of blues, some boundary challenging rock. Of course Dylan’s “John Wesley Harding” LP features his original version of “All Along The Watchtower,” which Jimi virtually made his own. And notice the collection contains a Lightnin’ Hopkins album titled “Earth Blues”–a title Hendrix used for a song of his own, which first appeared on the soundtrack to the film “Rainbow Bridge.”
I was happy to see many albums I own myself. And virtually all of Jimi’s picks have stood the test of time (ok, probably not “Friar Tuck and his Psychedelic Guitar” or The Zodiac’s “Cosmic Sounds.” But almost every other album here is a classic .) If you don’t know these records and you’re a Hendrix fan (and I trust you are if you’ve read this far) you’d be well served by Jimi’s choices. Many of these albums are still in print–some even on vinyl–and all of the music he owned is probably available on Amazon or through iTunes, if not your local record store.
And once again, if you have any rare records or music collectibles you’re interested in selling, let us know. We are always buying, and can pay very high prices for the right material. Email us at firstname.lastname@example.org or contact us through the Recordmecca website.
If I had to pick one artist who’s music meant more to me than any other, it would have to be Jimi Hendrix. I began obsessively collecting Hendrix records in 1971, and my desire to have everything Jimi led to a lifetime’s journey of collecting and working in and around music.
In June, 2000 I attended the opening of Seattle’s Experience Music Project (the music museum Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen founded.) Their collection of memorabilia—including clothes worn and guitars played by Jimi—was astounding. But the thing that touched me the most was a display of albums from Hendrix’s own record collection. These were a dozen or so albums, mostly blues, which Jimi had owned and which clearly had inspired him. It felt like I was looking at talismans, things that held whatever could be contained of Hendrix’s mojo.
And so when another group of 21 of Hendrix’s own albums came up at auction—consigned by Kathy Etchingham, Jimi’s longtime girlfriend—I resolved to do everything I could to buy them. These were included in a 2001 sale at Bonhams, the UK auction house, titled “The Jimi Hendrix Experience Auction.” Readers of this blog know I am obsessed with issues of authenticity. But this was the rare auction put together by Hendrix experts with the participation—and consignments from—Kathy Etchingham, the only person Hendrix lived with during the Experience years. So I went for it !
A few weeks later, my hands trembled as I unpacked the Fedex box from London which contained my new treasures. These were what we collectors called “well loved records.” They had been played many times and were covered with marks and fingerprints. Ordinarily the first thing I would have done was clean them—but these were Jimi Hendrix’s records—cleaning them would be heresy. So I carefully sleeved them, put the discs in new inner sleeves (keeping the old ones of course), and marveled. (con’t below.)
I thought people might enjoy knowing—and seeing—what Jimi was listening to during his London years. The collection I purchased included Jimi’s copies of these albums:
Robert Johnson “King of the Delta Blues Singers”; Muddy Waters “The Real Folk Blues”; John Lee Hooker “Drifting Blues”; Wes Montgomery “A Day In The Life”; The Roland Kirk Quartet “Rip, Rig and Panic”; Ravi Shankar “India’s Master Musician” and “Portrait of a Genius”; The Jimi Hendrix Experience “Electric Ladyland”; The Dream “Get Dreamy”; Howlin Wolf “The Howlin’ Wolf Album” and “Moanin’ In The Moonlight”; Bob Dylan “Greatest Hits” and “Highway 61 Revisited”; Elmore James “Memorial Album”; James Brown “Showtime”; Clara Ward “Gospel Concert”; Acker Bilk “Lansdowne Folio”; The Beatles “Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band” Various “Chicago The Blues Today”; Various “American Folk Blues Festival ‘66” and Bill Cosby “Revenge.”<
Overall, there were a few surprises, but if you’re a Jimi fan, the blues albums, Dylan, Ravi Shankar and jazz titles make perfect sense. Being a research obsessive, I’ve managed to find a few photos of Jimi with these actual albums. And if you’re in Los Angeles, the Grammy Museum currently has an exhibit of Jimi, Janis Joplin and Doors memorabilia, to which I’ve loaned 2 of Jimi’s blues albums and a photo of him holding them (above.)
Non-record collector nerds can now navigate to another site—or go to Amazon and buy some of these records if you don’t have them. Below are some notes for my fellow obsessive/compulsive collectors.
-Record collectors have long seen copies of “Electric Ladyland” with the inside gatefold type in blue offered as “first pressings.” I’ve never believed it. The blue type copies I’ve seen are all printed slightly out of register, leading me to conclude the blue is nothing more than a printing error. The fact that Jimi’s own copy has the white type further confirms this. I think it’s a logical assumption that the artist would have a first pressing, don’t you ? By the way, though it looks like he’s biting “Electric Ladyland” in the photo above, he’s just resting his teeth on it. Sorry, no tooth marks. But some other flaws visible on the cover can be seen on the copy in this collection.
-The copy of “Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits” has some psychedelic doodling on the back, clearly by Jimi. Somehow Bonhams didn’t notice this for the auction description—a very happy discovery for me.
-The copy of Dylan’s “Highway 61 Revisited” has some of Jimi’s blood on the cover—according to Etchingham, the result of a wine glass accident.
-The rarest album in the bunch was “Get Dreamy” by The Dream, a 1967 LP by a Norwegian psychedelic quartet. This album featured what has to be the earliest ever Hendrix tribute, their song “Hey Jimi” (Hendrix’s debut single, “Hey Joe” was first released in December 1966.) This copy was inscribed to Jimi by Dream guitarist (and later celebrated ECM jazz guitarist) Terje Rypdal, who wrote “With all the respect we can give a fellow musician, we wrote “Hey Jimi” as a tribute to you. We hope you like it and enjoy the rest of the LP too. On behalf of the Dream, Terje Rypdal.” In 2005 I googled “Terje Rypdal” and “Jimi Hendrix” and found an interview where Rypdal mentions sending a copy of the album to Hendrix through a friend of a girlfriend of Jimi’s, but never being sure it got to him. I found an email address for his manager and sent him a message that the album had indeed found it’s way to Jimi, and got a message back that Terje was thrilled to know that Jimi had received it—and letting me know that if I ever wanted to sell it, “mail us first !!!!!” However, this one’s not going anywhere !
Here’s a bit of public service blogging–a set of scans of the impossible to find “Libretto” booklet for the Frank Zappa & the Mothers of Invention’s second album, “Absolutely Free.”
Along with their 1966 debut, “Freak Out” and their third album, “We’re Only In It For The Money” the Mothers created some of the most experimental and enduring music of the 1960’s. Printed inside the gatefold cover of “Absolutely Free” was the note “Send money. As much as you can get. $1. minimum. All the words on the record..even little sneaky ones! Merely send money…as much as you can…how you get it we could care less (make sure it’s at least $1.00) for your very own libretto…..dump money into a shoebox & tie securely. Ship immediately…”
Now I’ve been collecting Zappa & Mothers records since the very early 70’s, and I’ve seen exactly one libretto in all those years–which came from the collection of his former manager, Herb Cohen–leading me to believe that these were never sent out. But I did manage to snag that one copy. I scanned it for a client last week, and decided I’d post it online, for others to enjoy.
If you don’t know these albums, click the links above, listen to the sound samples, and buy them all. You won’t be sorry. As good as it gets !
(and of course, if you’re a collector of rare records or music memorabilia–or have some to sell–please do check out our website, Recordmecca.)
Big Star. What a great great band. If you don’t know them, stop reading this now, open another browser window, and buy the single CD of their first two albums, #1Record/Radio City, and their 3rd, posthumous album, Third/Sister Lovers. You won’t be sorry–I promise. And read the Wikipedia page on them for the lowdown.
I’m writing this for those of you who know about Big Star, and their leader, the great Alex Chilton, who sadly died on March 17. I was moved by his passing, and thought I’d share some rare Big Star collectibles (pictured above) and some of my memories of this most unique band (sorry if this gets self-indulgent–but hey, it’s a blog.)
I found out about Big Star while working at L.A.’s Rhino Records, in the in the mid-1970’s. By the time I heard them, their first 2 albums were already out of print, but easily available as “cut-outs.” They were a revelation to me, a young (but fanatical) record collector, specializing in American and British 60’s rock. How could anybody interested in 60’s rock not LOVE these records. So great, so original, so obvious.
Rhino at that time had many rock-critic customers (and a few rock-critic employees) and so I heard all about the Memphis rock writer’s convention that Big Star played in 1973. Also much talked about was the legendary unreleased 3rd Big Star album, which was completed–evidently they had even made test pressings–but their label, Ardent, couldn’t find anyone to release it (their distributor, Stax, was having severe financial problems and wasn’t interested.) People knew about the 3rd Big Star album, but nobody in my circle had heard it–or even knew anyone who’d heard it. For record collectors, it was was one of those great, holy grail albums you fantasized about.
And here I have to give a huge shout out to Frank Gutch. Frank was a Rhino customer, friend, and employee at the local Licorice Pizza record store. Frank was a huge Big Star fan. Huge. He really wanted to hear that third Big Star album. Badly. So he did something no fan in their right mind would have even thought to do in those days. He called Ardent Studios in Memphis–owners of Ardent Records, and the studio where Big Star recorded. He somehow got John Fry on the phone, the studio and label owner. He asked if they had any extra test pressings of the 3rd Big Star album. And amazingly–AMAZINGLY–John Fry sent him one. Who would have had the nerve to do that. Or would have even thought to do it ? Only one man. Frank Gutch.
Well, we all heard Frank’s test pressing. It was incredible. Incredible. Maybe the best Big Star album of all. How could this be unreleased. It made no sense. And I must admit, I coveted that test pressing. Man, that was a rare, rare record. And a great one too. I asked Frank, half jokingly, half not, if he could call John Fry and ask if he had another one for me. And you know what ? Frank did. And one day, with no warning, Frank strolled into the Rhino store and gave me my own Big Star 3rd album test pressing. Unbelievable. I said it then, I say it again. Thanks Frank. Amazing.
A few years later, I was staying at the London home of my friend Colin Baker, and he played me a live tape of Big Star on a Long Island, NY radio station WLIR. Incredible. Big Star live ! They were great. Who ever thought that there might be a live radio broadcast of Big Star. Colin made me a copy–thanks, Col.
Jump ahead to the late 1980’s. I was working for A&M Records, and we had signed a band, Tora Tora, who were recording their album at Ardent Studios. I visited Memphis to meet the band, and was lucky enough to meet John Fry (who I belatedly thanked for the test pressing) and Big Star drummer Jody Stephens, who managed Ardent and worked closely with the band. I probably bored these guys to death talking about Big Star as much as Tora Tora, but hey, you only live once. I mentioned the WLIR broadcast and Jody Stephens told me he had a perfect copy and would send me a cassette. And he did ! These guys were as nice as it comes, and I felt truly honored to meet them. Thanks Jody and John.
Flash forward to 2009. In London, I met longtime UK music journalist Max Bell, who years ago had been friendly with the late, great Chris Bell of Big Star, when Chris was visiting London. Max was a Big Star fan too, Chris, who had already left the band, brought Max a signed copy of “Radio City” when he next visited London. Max had held on to it for many years, but I’m happy to say he sold me that signed copy (above) which is the only period-signed Big Star album I’m aware of. Thanks Max.
My final story involves my late father-in-law, legendary “record man” Larry Uttal, who owned and ran the Amy/Mala/Bell labels in the 60’s (Bell later became Arista Records), and Private Stock Records in the 70’s. Larry knew Alex Chilton from The Box Tops, who had recorded for Larry’s label, Mala. Alex, of course, had been the lead singer of The Box Tops (who’s hits included the classics “The Letter” and “Soul Deep.”) One day in the mid-80’s, I casually mentioned to Larry (then visiting from New York) that I was going to see Alex play live. Larry told me he’d like to come along; it had been many years since he’d seen Alex. I explained to him that Alex was doing some pretty different stuff–loud, dissonant, druggy music that couldn’t be more unlike the Box Tops hits. And that the club he was playing, Al’s Bar, was a real dive–not his type of place. Larry, always super enthusiastic, insisted it would be fine, that he’d love to see Alex again. I knew it would be his kind of scene at all, but there was no convincing him otherwise–so I told him to drive on his own “just in case” and I’d meet him there.
We met outside the club, and entered the tiny, very crowded, stiflingly hot, cigarette smoke filled room. Of course Alex didn’t appear for some time, and when he did hit the stage, he seemed pretty much out of it. He started playing some really discordant, unrecognizable music at an ear splitting volume. It was pretty hard to take even for me–and I was used to shows like this. Suffice to say, Larry lasted about two songs before turning to me and saying something like “OK, I get it” and heading out the door.
Happily, Alex seemed to pull it together in later years, re-uniting Big Star with Jody Stephens and some younger, talented fans from the band The Posies. Big Star belatedly received their due, had their catalog reissued many times, were feted and praised by the a new generation of fans, and their songs covered by many better known bands such as REM, Wilco and Cheap Trick. The Replacements recorded a song, “Alex Chilton” in tribute to him, which was released as a single from their 1987 album “Pleased To Meet Me.” And probably most lucratively, their song “In The Street” was used as the theme song for “That 70’s Show.”
His death is a sad loss to the world of music. But the cliche is true–better late than never–and Alex did receive the accolades while he was alive and could appreciate and benefit from them. So go listen to some Big Star and celebrate all the music this unique band left us to enjoy.
First, an apology–I haven’t put up a new post in a long time, for a variety of reasons–two international trips, buying some large collections, blah blah blah. So here’s a long one with a lot of unique images, to make up for it. The topic today is SET LISTS. A set list, for those who don’t know, is the list of songs that an artist or group puts together to play at a particular concert. These days, an artist or band member will put together a set list, and someone from the road crew will usually type it up, print out copies, and tape them on the stage in front of where the singer and musicians will stand. In the past, they were usually hand written, and the originals can be quite collectible. Some artists play different sets of songs every night of a tour–Bob Dylan is legendary for this and there is even an online competition to guess which songs he’ll play on a given night (“The Never Ending Pool”) and a listing of which songs he’s played at almost every show in his 49 year career (“Bob Links” ). Most artists will draw from a group of songs they’ve rehearsed, and while they usually include crowd favorites, they’ll try to mix up their sets, for their own amusement as well as that of their audience. I love collecting handwritten set lists, as artifacts and an insight into the creative process. Here are some of my favorites. First here is a Bob Dylan set list (with a great guitar drawing) from a very early show in New York sometime in 1961. This predates his first album, and is almost certainly from an early club date somewhere in Greenwich Village.
Next is a much later Dylan setlist, from a rehearsal during the 1980’s. It looks to have been written over a period of time, with Dylan formulating which songs he’s thinking of playing. He’s abbreviated most of the titles, writing “Shelter” instead of “Shelter From The Storm,” which is common for him and many other artists. And serious Dylan fans should definitely check out Alan Fraser’s absolutely incredible online discography, Searching For A Gem.
Next up is a very rare Velvet Underground set list written byJohn Cale with annotations by Sterling Morrison from one of the band’s shows at Poor Richard’s in Chicago during June and July, 1966. These were notable shows, as they took place without Lou Reed (who was in a New York hospital with hepatitis) and Nico (who was in Ibiza.) Angus MacLise, the
How about some (relatively) recent artists, you ask ? Well here’s a very rare Nirvana setlist, handwritten by Dave Grohl (Nirvana’s guitar tech, Earnie Bailey, told me he wrote most of them.) This set list is almost certainly from the Red Hot Chili Peppers/Nirvana/Pearl Jam tour date at Del Mar Fairgrounds on December 28, 1991. There are many websites which document Nirvana’s tour dates and the songs they played at each show, including the Nirvana Tour Guide at Nirvanaguide .
And here’s a Smashing Pumpkins setlist, handwritten by Billy Corgan, for their show at the Melbourne (Australia) Royal Agricultural Showgrounds on January 23, 1994. This was written on hotel stationery–as they sometimes are–but just which hotel is a mystery, as its name is obscured by the duct tape you often find on setlists (used to attach them to stages, monitor speakers or drums.) I’m sure there are websites documenting the Smashing Pumpkins tours as well, but I found the information for this one on setlist.fm, a great wiki for researching tour dates and sets.
And finally to the year 2000, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Californication Tour. We’re not sure which date this setlist comes from, but it’s in the hand of lead singer Anthony Kiedis, who wrote this on the reverse of the list for another show.
Every Dylan fan should check out Expecting Rain, Karl Erik Andersen’s excellent website which collects links to the Bob Dylan news of the day, as well as links that would be of interest to Dylan fans (see the links at the end of this post.) Today Karl posted a link to a site where people wrote their best Bob Dylan stories, and it made me think of my own encounter with Bob. I thought I’d add my story, but do it here….so here is….
My Bob Dylan story.
It must have been the end of 1977; I was eating lunch by myself at the Brentwood Country Mart, a complex of small shops and food stands in Los Angeles less than a mile from where I’d grown up. I’d eaten there hundreds of times, beginning when I was 2 or 3 years old. It was a weekday, and I was in the courtyard, eating my BBQ chicken and French fries, surrounded by mostly middle-aged women in groups of two or three, at small tables.
I was concentrating on my lunch when a scruffy man in a black leather jacket, with two or three little kids circling around him, walked through my field of vision. He was out of place—I remember his long curly hair, the beat up jacket, and his long nails with nicotine stains. Most everyone else in the place was well-dressed and upper middle class to upper class—so he really stood out. I glanced up and did one of the great double takes of my life—for it was Bob Dylan.
He walked into the toy store—my toy store—the one I’d grown up hanging around, where I bought my Matchbox Cars and Hardy Boys books. Unbelievable. Bob Dylan at the Mart. I looked around and it was clear that no one else has noticed nor recognized him. I thought quickly—did I have enough time to rush home to get an album for him to sign ? No, I’d probably miss him. I abandoned my lunch and hightailed it to my car, grabbing a felt-tip pen and a scrap of paper, and positioned myself outside the door of the store. I didn’t want to hassle him, but it was Bob Dylan– my hero–and I knew I had to at least try to get an autograph.
I looked inside, but couldn’t really see him. So I waited. It seemed about 15 minutes before he emerged, with his kids still running around, paying no attention to him. He was carrying a child’s twirling baton, with some gift wrap and ribbon wrapped around the middle, but not covering the rubber tips on the ends. It looked like he’d been shopping for a birthday party gift for one of his children’s friends. Nervous as hell, I made my move.
“Excuse me, Bob. I’m sorry to bother you, but could I get an autograph ?” He looked at me, weakly held up the baton, which was in his right hand, shrugged his shoulders and said “sorry, I can’t sign,” indicating that the baton in his hand prevented him from using it to sign my paper. Embarrassed, I once again apologized for bothering him, and said something to the effect that his music had had a huge affect on me over the years, and thanked him for it.
I fully expected that to be the end of my encounter, but surprisingly, he asked me when I’d first heard him. I told him it was when I was 10 years old, in 1966, at summer camp. He asked me what song I liked best, and I told him “Like a Rolling Stone.” I said I thought it was a groundbreaking song in many ways, and marked his great transition from acoustic to electric, and that I thought it was brilliantly produced. I probably told him that I had gone to high school with the son of Tom Wilson, who produced that epic track. And I mentioned that I’d heard he was going to go to Japan soon, for his first tour there.
He was very surprised that I knew that, and asked where I’d heard it. I told him I worked at a local record store, Rhino Records, and we had a subscription to Billboard Magazine, and I’d read it there. At some point it occurred to me that he probably had people approach him constantly, telling him how much his music meant to them. I felt like he was testing me, to see how much I actually knew about him and his music, and I was passing the test. We chatted for another minute or two, and then he said “well, I’ve gotta go. Nice to meet you.”
I figured I’d take one last shot and asked again for an autograph. He looked at me, shrugged again, held up the baton, indicating he still “couldn’t” sign, and said, “See ya.” I was in shock.
At the time, I was sad I hadn’t gotten a signature. Happily, 32 years later, I’ve got plenty of signed and handwritten Dylan things. But Bob gave me something far more valuable—some of his time and a memory I won’t ever forget.
Above is the first article ever written about Bob Dylan; a rave review in the New York Times by music critic Robert Shelton, written a mere 7 months after Dylan arrived in New York (and only 3 months after the young Bob Zimmerman began calling himself “Bob Dylan.”)
According to Clinton Heylin’s excellent “A Life In Stolen Moments/Bob Dylan Day By Day: 1941-1995,” it was on January 24, 1961 that the nineteen year old Dylan arrived in “a snowbound New York, accompanied by his friend Fred Underhill. He heads for the Cafe Wha. It is a hootenanny night, and he performs a couple of songs. The Wha’s owner, Manny Roth, asks the audience to provide them with a place to stay for the night.” The next day Dylan traveled to Greystone Hospital in New Jersey to meet his ailing idol, Woody Guthrie, suffering from the hereditary disease, Huntington’s Chorea. Meeting Guthrie is the ostensible reason that Dylan headed East.
It’s rather astounding to see, then, that in 7 short months Dylan had developed to the extent that Shelton–the nationally known music critic for the most important newspaper in the United States–devoted the majority of his review to Dylan, the opening act for the much more established Greenbriar Boys. And Shelton was so confident about the talent of this virtual unknown that he wrote “it matters less where he has been than where he is going, and that would seem to be straight up.” You’ve gotta hand it to Robert Shelton–he truly got Dylan, and he wasn’t afraid to say it.
I love reading articles like this, which show what people were saying as events were unfolding–before the revisionist history set in. I’m fortunate to have a very large archive of early Dylan articles, thanks largely to the prescience of two very early Dylan supporters, the late San Francisco music critic Ralph J. Gleason and the late 16 Magazine editor Gloria Stavers. Both collected clippings on Dylan for their files, and I was fortunate to buy their collections. Someday I hope to publish a compilation of the best of these–but for now, I thought I’d share this most important one. With the hundreds of books, thousands of articles, and millions of words written about Bob Dylan, it’s kind of amazing to think–this is where it all began.
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Last week my good friend in London, Bill Allerton (left), emailed to tell me that me that sometime next April he and Bill Forsyth would be closing their legendary side-by-side London record shops, Stand Out and Minus Zero.
In a follow up phone call, Bill told me the toll of “running a counter service shop” for 25 years had been “quite enough,” and he was very happy about the prospect of having some more time on his hands. For many years, record collectors have been doing more and more of their buying online, fewer people have been traveling to London to look for records, and of course Bill Forsyth had been talking about closing for some years. And so they finally decided the time had come. Bill told me he was “frankly thrilled” at the prospect of taking some time off, traveling, and shifting his record dealing to the web.
I can’t help feeling that what is good news for Bill & Bill, as they’re often referred to, is terrible news for their friends, disciples and customers. Their twin stores are an essential stop on any record collector’s pilgrimage to London.
I met Bill Allerton in 1975 on my first trip to London; I’d been corresponding with him and his best friend Colin Baker for some months (I found them through their ads in “The Rock Marketplace”; Alan Betrock’s primordial record collector magazine). When I wrote them I was coming to London, they arranged to meet me, and we’ve all been close ever since.
At the time, Bill was working in accounting for Virgin Records, but his true love was record collecting, particularly the Velvet Underground and Arthur Lee & Love. He lived in a one room flat in Clapham, filled with records, floor to ceiling piles of 60’s music newspapers, some pinball machines, and “fruit machines” (slot machines.) If you were careful, you could work your way around the room without hitting anything.
He sold rare records through the mail and on Saturdays in London’s famed Portobello Road market with Colin, under the “flyover.” His regular clientele made their way to him each weekend, looking for hard to find singles and albums, and hoping to absorb some of his and Colin’s tremendous knowledge. They knew more than anybody about 60’s records, and I felt lucky to have been adopted by them (over the years, I’ve probably made 25 or so trips to London, often staying with Colin, and chauffeured by Bill.)
Early on, I met Bill’s friend, Bill Forsyth, another collector/dealer who’s obsession was Bob Dylan, and in 1984 “the Bills” teamed up to open a record store, Plastic Passion, at 2 Blenheim Crescent in London (just around the corner from Portobello Road.) Plastic Passion was a vinyl wonderland, a long, very narrow space with heavy wooden doors at the front, a cramped office in the back, and walls covered with records even the most sophisticated collector had rarely if ever seen before. Immediately it became the prime hang-out for local collectors, and a must-visit location for anyone traveling to London. In those pre-internet days, most serious collectors visited London periodically, and they all turned up to see “the Bills.”
I spent countless hours there talking music with Bill & Bill and whoever happened to show up; one day many years ago an odd looking man with a top hat and leopard skin coat showed up and Bill A. introduced me to his regular customer, Screaming Lord Sutch (the legendary horror-rocker and early employer of Jimmy Page and Richie Blackmore.) Robert Plant was a regular customer too, as were many other “names.”
In 1990, Bill and Bill decided that while they enjoyed having a record store, working together just wasn’t working, and in a brilliant move, instead of closing Plastic Passion, they just split the long narrow space down the middle and opened two (very narrow !) record shops—Bill Allerton’s Stand Out Records on the right side (named after an Arthur Lee & Love song) and Bill Forsyth’s Minus Zero records on the left side (after a Dylan song, of course.) And so it has been ever since; two great record stores, each curated (I think that is the right word) by a very knowledgeable collector-dealer, filled with rare vinyl and for many years now, huge selections of obscure CD reissues that one could find nowhere else.
Their odd—probably unique—setup has been profiled in Mojo, The Wall Street Journal, Time Out London, The Guardian. But Adam Duritz, the dreadlocked singer of Counting Crows and another frequent customer, perhaps described best what makes the Stand Out/Plastic Passion setup so special, in an article in “Down The Rabbit Hole” magazine:
“Once upon a time, Immy and I were sitting in our favorite bi-polar record store in the world, London’s wonderfully schizophrenic two-stores-in-one Stand Out Records/Minus Zero Records, talking to the respective owners, the Bills (Stand Out’s Bill Allerton and Minus Zero’s Bill Forsyth), during one of our usual 2-4 hr visits to the tiny store(s). You see the way it works is that we go there with one or two ideas of things we think we want (and that’s all well and good) and then we end up spending the next two, three, or four hours endlessly listening to music as Bill and Bill compete across the two foot aisle that separates one store from the other to play us different music they’re sure we’ve never heard before (they’re often right) that they’re certain we’ll love (they’re pretty much ALWAYS right) and therefore purchase (they get us there too). We nearly always spend every penny we have and leave with several huge bags of CD’s each. Half the great music I’ve discovered over the past decade was played for me by the Bill’s in their tiny wonderland on Blenheim Crescent just off Portobello Road. It might seem strange to those of you who aren’t utterly obsessed with music, but they’ve been as big an influence in my life as any of my musical idols.”
The internet has been a mixed blessing for record collectors—sure it’s been great to find many of those records I’ve searched for fruitlessly, for so many years. But it’s hastened the demise of many a great record store—Rhino in LA (where I worked when I first met Bill Allerton), Beano’s in Croydon/London, even the Tower chain. And now Stand Out and Minus Zero.
I’m writing this as a requiem for two of the world’s great collector’s stores, but also to urge you, if you are in London or happen to be traveling there, to visit Bill & Bill before it’s too late. I’ll be there in November, and though Bill Allerton can’t wait for the end to come, I know it’s gonna be a sad sad day for a lot of record collectors around the world. Thanks guys, for so very very much.
Until they close, Stand Out and Minus Zero are discounting everything in their stores 25%.
Stand Out Records/ 020 7727 8406 /email@example.com
Minus Zero Records/ 020 7229 5424 /firstname.lastname@example.org /www.minuszerorecords.com
both at 2 Blenheim Crescent, London W11 1NN
Open Wed/Th/Fri/Sat 11-6
I’m a huge fan of Traffic, Blind Faith and Cream; but I must admit, I haven’t followed Steve Winwood or Eric Clapton’s solo work for a long time. But a year or so ago a friend gave me a copy of the DVD from the Crossroads Guitar Festival (2007), and the Clapton/Winwood Blind Faith semi-reunion absolutely floored me. Steve Winwood’s guitar playing on “Can’t Find My Way Home” was nothing short of a revelation (Jeff Beck’s two songs were also absolutely amazing, but that’s another story.)
I thought long and hard about going to New York to see Clapton and Winwood do their one-off series of shows last year, but didn’t get it together–so I was thrilled to hear they were doing a limited number of dates this year, and made it my business to get tickets to see them at the Hollywood Bowl this Tuesday. And by a stroke of luck, it was the last night of the tour (often the best, as the band has really found their groove.)
And they were absolutely incredible–hard as it is to believe, both of these guys are at the peak of their game. Winwood sang every bit as well as on the Traffic albums, and was equally fantastic on guitar, piano and of course organ. People in the audience who’d come to see Clapton said it over and over–Steve Winwood blew them away. And Clapton played like I’ve never seen him before–he sounded like he was in Cream again–not the tepid reunited Cream, but the Cream of 1967/68. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be channeling the music. Everyone I talked to that night said the same thing–“Clapton was on fire.” The sound was fantastic too, and the projection screens focused on Clapton and Winwood’s fingers as much as their faces, which was a great decision–so interesting to see these masters at work, close up.
Below are some Youtube videos from the show. While the camera work leaves something to be desired, the sound is great, and they’ll give you an idea of just how extraordinary these two artists are. There are more clips on Youtube, as well as clips from the Crossroads show (check them out–they’re tremendous.) Unfortunately there isn’t as yet a clip of “Pearly Queen,” which was never my favorite Traffic song, but was a highlight of the concert for me–a wild psychedelic jam that sounded as if it could have been recorded at the Fillmore in ’67.
The clips here are “Mr Fantasy” (great electric guitar from both Clapton and Winwood,) “The Low Spark Of High Heeled Boys” (Winwood alone on acoustic piano–there is a point where the screen goes black, but keep with it–it comes back after a few seconds,) “Can’t Find My Way Home” (Clapton and Winwood on acoustic guitar,) and the first half of “Voodoo Chile (Slight Return)” (it ends abruptly, but is great nonetheless–with Winwood reprising the soulful organ he played on the Jimi Hendrix original.)
If you don’t know this music, go out and get Blind Faith’s only album, and an album or two by Traffic–“John Barleycorn Must Die” is my favorite, but “Best of Traffic” is a good place to start. For me, these are absolutely essential 60’s rock albums.