When In Nome

Christmastime's acomin!

            Just like the summer of 1967, great music was everywhere during the Madisonville Summer of Love in 1971. Via the Record Club of America I was able to catch up on some really incredible stuff I’d missed the first time around. Buffalo Springfield comes immediately to mind. I had its Retrospective: The Best of…album and listened to it throughout the summer. I’d heard For What It’s Worth and had seen the band perform it on The Ed Sullivan Show, but when I got a taste of the other music I was knocked to my knees. The songs Rock and Roll Woman, Mr. Soul, Kind Woman, and On the Way Home inspired my greatest appreciation, but Bluebird and the mind blowing Broken Arrow rank, in my mind, among the best of a type of rock that, presents a band in the studio role of chamber orchestra, turning the five piece and sidemen into double their number through overdubbing. The Moody Blues, using the studio and a Mellotron, took the idea a step further by producing the sound of an entire orchestra, not unlike the Phil Spector Wall of Sound (King Crimson went so far as to use multiple Mellotrons and a horn section and a piano to bring that concept to the live stage [check out the new surround sound mix of Lizard to get an idea of what the band was after]).

            Albums from former members of Buffalo Springfield, Stephen Stills and Neil Young, also soaked up a goodly amount of my listening time. Stephen Stills produced the great radio hit Love the One You’re With, and also contained one of the last studio performances by Jimi Hendrix, and overall was backed by some of the best singers and musicians from American pop music (and Ringo, too). The song Black Queen, with Stills singing while accompanying himself on guitar, knocked me over, too. Neil Young’s After the Gold Rush, on the other hand, employed a more campfire/folkish approach to achieve its effects (though on songs like Southern Man, Young churned out some fairly gritty, almost freeform guitar). Of course both Stills and Young played in Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young which was another group I’d been listening to for awhile. I owned the first two albums, and borrowed Four Way Street for an extended period. Billy D had a copy of David Crosby’s If I Could Only Remember My Name, and I really got into that weird musical combination of the highly structured vocals smacking into the incredibly loose arrangements and execution of the accompaniment. Crosby employed members of The Grateful Dead, The Jefferson Airplane, Santana, all of CSNY, and singers to make the record happen. I think it’s a masterpiece.

            My pal Luke came into the equation when he mail ordered a Warner Brother’s/Reprise sampler entitled The Big Red Ball. The album was released to promote new acts (it sold at the bargain price of $2 for a two record collection), with an emphasis on progressive music from folk influenced acts like Tim Buckley, Joni Mitchell, and James Taylor, to hard rockers like Neil Young, The Faces, and Fleetwood Mac (and the nine minute version of Mac’s song Oh Well), to wild fringe acts like Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band, The Mothers of Invention, and Ed Sanders (with his great anthem to American values, Iliad), and even an edited jam of Turn On Your Love Light by The Grateful Dead. It was just the sort of album to attract The Crabs (its songs reaching out like inviting pubes) who latched onto it and the anarchy it promoted (strange, since the release was designed to stimulate capitalist responses [which, at least in my case, was successful] that it contained such subversion) without hesitation. The Crabs passed the album from member to member as though it contained secret instructions for the destruction of the status quo. Rocked, too.

            Another bombshell whose fragments hit The Crabs was Hooker N Heat. Not only did John Lee Hooker’s singing and playing prove to be highly influential to me and my crew, but his commentary between the songs on that release is nearly as important as the music, and perhaps more influential than almost anything else to a troublemaker like me. After living in a family where women ran everything, I was glad to hear old John Lee say, “You talk too much, woman.” Now there’s a man who knows something, I thought. Everything John Lee said was a revelation, a mind blowing expression of common sense and life experience. Quoting John Lee after a night of hard living, I once told my grandmother, “Whiskey and women’s just about wrecked my life.” “You better stay away from em, then,” she said without batting an eye. I guess there’s plenty of wisdom to go around.

Snow & Sun

A good day to all.

            I was out of the gospel gig after the second performance, an afternoon event at a nursing home, and was more or less free to pursue my girlfriend and spend more time on Juicy Root. Actually, things started to heat up on the band front after Tig bought a new Gibson SG guitar and an amp with twin cabinets that stood nearly eight feet tall when one cabinet was stacked atop the other. It was an impressive looking rig. Tig and I had become very close and hung out while listening to records, or rode around in his car (which had an 8 track player through which we listened to a stack of cheap 8 tracks Tig had bought from the Kayo service station). Things were getting very groovy during the Madisonville Summer of Love.

            We got hold of the guys who’d been jamming with us, The Cobbler and Ears, and added OJB as lead vocalist and began to practice. The guys were really swell and fun as band mates. We concentrated first on songs we all knew, then worked our ways out toward learning new and potentially popular songs. Rehearsals had not been going on very long before Tigs announced a couple of gigs at Hiwassee College, where Tigs dad, and a bunch of his relatives, worked. Tig’s dad was the financial manager of the college, so anything to do with money passed through his office. Hiwassee held camps for high school marching bands every summer. Lots of wonderful young girls, many my own age, came there. That’s where Juicy Root came in. The band was hired to perform at two dances, both held in the gym, on consecutive weeks. I think we made $75, or $15 for each member, for each show. That doesn’t sound like much, but in 1971, $15 had about the same purchasing power as $100 now, so the members were pretty happy about the gigs.

            The turnout for the first of the two dances was the biggest crowd I’d played for at that time. I enjoyed performing, but overall the band sounded uninspired. Who knows why things like that happen? When we played to a much smaller crowd the following week, the band perked up and managed a good, enthusiastic performance. Not that it really mattered since none of the people attending knew us nor would likely ever see us again. That’s show biz.

I Knew the Japanese

My first year at TMG began in 1991. The kids were shipped home for Christmas on Dec. 5 to avoid any conflict that Dec. 7 might dredge up. Sweet, long vacation.

            Quite out of the blue, in May of 1971, I was suddenly invited to join a gospel group. The baritone singer/guitarist and leader of the group owned a recording studio, and that’s where I was taken that cold spring evening. Why they members of the group chose me is a mystery yet. I’m no fan of gospel music, but I was fascinated with the idea. The singers were all kin, two sisters, a brother, and the oldest lady’s son (sang tenor, played bass). A classmate of mine played piano, and another classmate (an incredibly good looking girl) was the bass player’s girlfriend. The band had recorded an album at the studio, which was released on the studio’s label. I’d heard the main singer, the oldest sister, sing harmony on a demo Billy D had made of My Sweet Lord.

            The rehearsal took place at the studio. I struggled on my little Gem organ to learn the songs, and was nervous that they wanted me to play the next day, Decoration Day, at Hopewell Springs Baptist Church. I knew I’d be terrible because I didn’t really learn the changes or the song titles, but that’s rock n roll. The important thing, however, was not the rehearsal, nor the group, nor the gig, but what happened when practice broke up.

            The young people and the sisters left, but I stayed behind with the leader and tuned his guitar. We’d not been at it long when one of the sisters burst in and announced that bass player and crew had wrecked on their ways home. We quickly lit out.

            I don’t remember much about the crash except that it happened on a straight, level stretch of Niles Ferry Road. My classmate, the piano player, banged her knee under the dash, and the other classmate had a panic attack. The injuries were determined to be minor, and no ambulance was called.

            While the wreck was processing round, I spied a girl standing in the driveway of the house in front of which the crash had occurred. Damn, I thought to myself, she looks good. I wondered how I could get to know her a little better. It was getting up toward 10:30 p.m., so I approached the girl and inquired about the use of her telephone to call my parents. She led me into her kitchen and I saw her in the light, then I saw the light. I flirted with her through the whole of the phone conversation with my mom, and talked to her every second until the wreck cleared and all headed home. She’d told me she planned to be at the church the next day.

            I played the church gig, but no girl. In a way I was glad because my playing had been not merely bad, but erratically bad, lagging, a total mess. The band should have fired me on the spot and put me before the firing squad as the closing entertainment to Decoration Day, but to my surprise seemed nonplused and invited me back for another time. All I could think about was the girl.

            I began to feel sorry for myself and thought I’d somehow blown the chance to impress my personality upon the life of such a good looking, unsuspecting girl. Something like that could never have happened in Madisonville, where I was just too well known, but in another town (Vonore) a chance existed. For a change I didn’t just give up, but pushed ahead until I got her phone number and talked my way into her life. Not only was she a babe, but a cheerleader, too. Hell, I hadn’t been within ten feet of a cheerleader since that cold football game my freshman year, and dating one was not going to happen, but Vonore was an island of dreams.

            My new little girlfriend was a music lover, a piano and guitar player, one of the top students in her class and school, a cheerleader, a Christian, and a model citizen, about half the things that I wasn’t. Somehow most of the opposing sides were planed away for a number of years before everything fell apart. The entire experience, with its rough and smooth qualities, was part of growing up. I hadn’t quite done that by the end of the romantic run.

Born One Morning

A little storm is cracking over Madisonville this morning. The Banana is still happy.

            Near the end of spring, quite apart from Juicy Root, I heard Emerson Lake and Palmer’s song Lucky Man on a car radio. The synthesizer got to me. I’d heard Switched On Bach (both Crowbar and The Cobbler had copies of it), and limited use of Moogs by The Beatles and The Doors, but synths had never been stuck up in my face the way ELP did it. I read a magazine interview with the band and decided I had to have Emerson Lake and Palmer. I bought the album, and though it was vastly different from what I expected, and pretty different from Lucky Man, I grew to love band, album, and synthesizer.

            Discovering ELP was a step toward moving me into the position of becoming a bigger fan of progressive music. Shortly after discovering the synthesizer, I also discovered Bill Chandler’s show, Till 2, on WUOT in Knoxville. Chandler’s taste was pretty wide, including many of the progressive bands around in the early 70’s, and I enjoyed listening to the show, especially since nearly every night I sat up late after everyone else had gone to bed. The radio couldn’t be louder than a whisper or my parents might wake. The low volume actually forced me to pay closer attention to the music than if played at a regular level while I fiddled with something else. Chandler introduced me to King Crimson and Frank Zappa. I listened intently nightly.

            Somehow I came to join The Record Club of America. I talked it over with my parents before doing so, and they were ok with it since the number of required purchases was very low (I think just three records), and the club gave each member three records for joining. One of my first purchases was Let It Bleed, by The Stones. That one’s definitely a winner. The records the club offered were little more expensive than from the drug and dime stores in town, and the selection was much better.

            At the beginning of summer The RCOA ran a membership promotion whereby three records would be awarded to anyone who signed another to a membership. The idea struck me that if I really went to work I could get a large pile of records. My goal was to sell 10 memberships, but my drive petered out at 9. Still, 27 vinyl discs would boost the shit out of my collection (at that point becoming respectfully large), so I happily sent in the order and waited for my prizes. The wait was short and several packages arrived over the course of a week or so. It was better than Christmas. As can be expected, some of the titles were duds, but most were exactly what I’d wanted. I got the ELP album, a Uriah Heep LP, the greatest hits of The Buffalo Springfield, and more. I listened for hours every day.

Dark Winds

Dark winds are blowing over this great land. Perhaps reading The Banana will bring a needle point of light.

Phase 12

            Tig and I began to jam more often together until I became the keyboard player in the remnant of his old band. The singer I’d previously replaced got tossed again, and the guy who’d played keyboards moved over to bass. What a waste. The Cobbler (not his real name) could play rings around me with just his thumb. The Cobbler had a musical gift, and instantly played any instrument he happened across. He also allowed me to use his incredible double keyboard Whitehall organ (from which The Cobbler could coax a symphony) and was game for any crazy shit the band conceived. OJB came on as the singer and brought a wide open fuck you attitude that suited the rest of us very well. We chose Juicy Root (suggested by Hook) as the band’s name, and began to practice in earnest.

            I think one of the reasons Tig and I had started to bond was that we like a lot of the same music. We sort of competed to out-trump each other on album and artist finds. I really got him on Johnny Winter. I remember playing him Be Careful with a Fool. He got me with Derek and the Dominos (though he confessed he’d had the album, via the automatic function of his family’s record club contract, for several weeks before realizing that Eric Clapton, one of Tig’s favorites, was Derek). We were also huge fans of Vanilla Fudge (as stated earlier).

            Another reason we were such good musical buddies was that I loved (still love) great guitar playing. Until 1971 my favorite instrument wasn’t organ but guitar, especially if pushed loudly through an amp and/or other devices. I could list many reasons, but I think mine closely resembles Frank Zappa’s when he described the electric guitar as the most blasphemous thing on the planet. “It spews blasphemy,” he was quoted as saying. Whether mean, ugly, smooth, sweet, raw, or refined, the guitar just cannot be suppressed. But it can be used for good or ill, right? Hell, no. The power of a guitar to possess a human soul should never be underestimated.

            The summer of 1971 was the Summer of Love in Madisonville. Young longhaired males became more common. The hippie ethos and fashion flooded into town in all directions at once. Marijuana, despite the efforts of crusading editors and overly zealous police chiefs, appeared in commercial quantities for a growing marketplace. Total acceptance of the tenants of hard, improvised/extended song parts flew because the range of what was considered dance music had widened because of this new attitude. Face it, The Pusher is hardly a club mix, but people stood and stared as a little band of high school geeks hacked away, so bands could get by with quite a bit. Needless to say, for good and ill, personal expression became important.

Monkey Man

When ya lost one, ya really lost one.

            After the stage setup was complete, before the band came out, John Kay, the lead singer and slide guitar/harmonica player, walked onto the stage wearing dark sunglasses, black leather pants. and a collarless pullover with a raised replica of Saturn across the chest, and fiddled with something on the stage floor. Since no spotlight came on, no one was quite sure it was Kay, but when a cheer finally went up he acknowledged the crowd with a wave and left the stage.

            Two Dan Armstrong Plexi guitars waited suspended from a metal stand. I’d seen several pictures of Keith Richards playing a Dan Armstrong in a paperback about The Stones. The guitars were single pickup deals with bodies made of a clear, heavy, acrylic material. The sound system also impressed me. The bands of the concert I’d seen at the Coliseum a little over a month before had used the house PA (the sound rained down from metal speakers hanging from various rafters), the same as an announcer for a hockey game might. Steppenwolf stacked a wall of speaker cabinets on either side of the stage.

            The members of Steppenwolf appeared relaxed and ready to play when they took the stage. The album the band was touring to support was Steppenwolf 7 (Cowpuncher gave me a copy for Christmas), and the opening song of the show, Foggy Mental Breakdown, opened Side Two of that LP. Between songs John Kay talked to the audience, and while he tuned a guitar (the Dan Armstrongs belonged to him) someone yelled out for The Pusher. “We’ll get to that in a minute,” Kay said. The crowd went nuts (I told you the song had power.).

            The concert, including encore, lasted about ninety minutes, during which time the band played 11 songs. The lineup was the same as on the 7 album, and the players were very good. I was surprised that Kay played slide and second lead guitar as much as he did. He wore and utilized a device called The Bag that acted like a filter, similar to a wah wah pedal.

            The 1971 show was a triumph and I really enjoyed myself. Hook and I have revisited that day in conversation many times since.

Late of Late

December came on like a cold dagger. It was so cold my internet was down early in the day. Everything's better now.

            Steppenwolf was not just a cool looking band, but a political band as well. As were many others at that time, the band was firmly anti-establishment, against the Viet Nam War and the various hypocrisies of modern politics, and was pro pot. The members of Steppenwolf were crack studio players who knew their ways around the blues and country music. Their songs were often very eccentric, at times even comic, due as much to musical arrangement as lyrical expression. Consider the example of the evolution of elements that sprang from The Pusher. The earliest version I’ve heard of Steppenwolf’s cover of Hoyt Axton’s iconic anti-drug anthem was a jammy, 21 minute version that came from the Early Steppenwolf LP (recorded when the band was still know as The Sparrow). Instead of the tight arrangement of the song that made it onto the vinyl of the Steppenwolf album, on Early Steppenwolf it begins with a tribal drum part supplemented by a wooden sounding flute. That goes on for awhile before evolving into The Pusher. The drum/flute piece was later recreated in the studio and released as Mango Juice (from At You Birthday Party), and parts of two songs, Round and Down (which begins with a heavily tremoloed guitar playing Wildwood Flower) and the huge hit Rock Me, were seemingly derived from those ideas. Even as late as the Monster album, those same techniques, such as displayed on the tricky song Draft Resister, continued to appear.

            Though kinda tired after the long wait, I was excited by the time we had taken our seats. The opening band was a group of local short hairs who won over much of the audience with a cover of Okie from Muskogee, wherein the word ball was emphasized to some comic effect. Damn me for saying it, but the band (I don’t remember its name) was just to regular and square for my taste. I thought the band played pretty well, and produced a rather seamless show, but I wanted edge, and the band had none.

            I saw several fellow Madisonvillions during the changeover between the bands. A pair of football (one basketball also) teams of mind and Crowbar’s came walking by. “How’s it goin, queers?” I said to them. A security officer in a police uniform stood between me and the guys so that I didn’t clearly see him. The guys stopped dead in their red faced tracks. As the guys passed by I heard the cop say, “He must know em,” to a female usher also standing there. I stayed quiet during the remaining intermission.