Turning Points

The Beatles hit here in the US late in 1963, just after Kennedy got shot, and British pop followed in its wake. When I first heard the Beatles, I was blown away by a number of extraordinary things. The first three were their really great voices, superb harmonies and brilliant musical structures. I hadn’t been previously much impressed with English pop, but I had liked Lonnie Donegan, who hit the American charts simultaneously with Elvis Presley in the spring of 1956. The English called what Lonnie Donegan was doing skiffle music. American folk music had been as popular in the UK in the early ‘50s as it was over here, but unlike in the US, folk music hadn’t been suppressed in 1952 (as it was by the House Un-American Committee). Young people there continued to love folk––after all, all you needed to do it was a cheap guitar, a washboard to play with thimbles on your fingers and a one-string washtub bass. It was old-time American jug band music, but without the jug. Lennon and McCartney both bought copies of Lonny Donegan’s 1956 breakout record, “Rock Island Line”, and soon went on to form their own skiffle group, the Quarrymen. Other future rockers, like Jimmy Page, started in skiffle groups as well. But when I heard the Beatles I wondered if they were an anomaly. But then the next British hit I heard was Dusty Springfield’s “I Only Want To Be Want To Be With You”. Then I knew. The Brits had cracked the code. I had previously assumed that no other country besides the US was capable of producing rock ‘n’ roll. I had no idea––no one had any idea––that the music and what it would eventually evolve into would spread throughout the world.

After the Beatles hit, it was no longer necessary for us to try convincing anyone that something interesting was going on with pop music, especially after the Hard Day’s Night movie came out. Dave and Terri decided to take a trip to the UK to “see what was going on.” Upon returning, he said, “You know who’s big there? Paul Simon.” I had taught him how to play guitar! This was a year before “Sounds Of Silence” hit.

Let me divide the ‘60s into periods:

’60 &’61: Doo-wop is hanging on. The post rock-hero-crash era, still.
’62: Breakthrough/pivot
’63 to ’65 British/longhair invasion; folk music jumps on bandwagon; bandwagon gets bumrushed (see Sonny and Cher). Antonia and I are gobsmacked by Jeff Beck.

’66 & ’67 Another pivot period

When Antonia and I had previously heard a new group, we could always tell if they were going to hit big. Every time. Then, in the summer of 1966, we’re sitting at the Night Owl, watching Lothar and The Hand People (we had recently become friends, and Antonia went on to co-write the B side of their first single, “Let The Boy Pretend”, with Hand Person Paul Conley.) Sitting next to us happened to be Gloria Stavers, editor of 16 magazine from 1958 to 1975. We both respected her because she, unlike most teen/music magazine editors, had obvious respect for her readership. She was gratified that we didn’t consider her or her magazine uncool. We discussed that fact that we were certain that Lothar and The Hand People were going to be The Next Big Thing. They made us think of a more R&B influenced Loving Spoonful. The joy they radiated while playing was off the charts. Lead singer John Emelin made constant hand gestures while singing which seemed to describe the music perfectly. I know how twee that sounds, but it wasn’t. It was perfect, adorable even, in the best way. Joe Marra, who ran the Night Owl and who had seen the Spoonful play there for months and go on the great success, saw Lothar as his big chance to make shitloads of money. He signed them up with what they eventually discovered was a very, very bad contract. Unfortunately they made that discovery just before they were to perform for the first time for the executive staff of Capitol Records, which they had been signed to. Their performance was basically rage-fueled, in a bad way. Capitol Records had heard this group was supposed to be fun, and they didn’t get behind the group, feeling that someone had pulled a fast one. Besides their bad managerial luck, Lothar and The Hand People were from Colorado and had been deciding whether to go to New York or San Francisco, where, if they had gone there instead, I believe they would have made it big-time. But getting to the point, by the summer of 1966, for the first time, there were too many really good up-and-coming groups for them all to succeed. The code had been cracked by hundreds of bands.

Another pivotal aspect of 1966 was the wide open anything-can-happen spirit that followed the Beatles was in full flower was to come to an end with…

’68 & ’69 The end

And wouldn’t you know, it would be the Beatles’ fault. Up to this time making an album, even making a couple a year, was no big deal. It was what you did. You went into the studio for about three weeks and you came out with an album. But the Beatles had taken an unprecedented eight months to make Sargent Peppers, using a state-of-the-art, four track, recording machine. Making pop music was now an “Art”, capital A. Uh-oh. I’m of two minds about this. Make it three. One, it was probably inevitable since, with the advent of FM album-oriented stations in 1966, the pop music demographic was skewing older. The label “bubble-gum music” was then coined to describe the teen market that had been assumed to be the where highest pop music interest lay. Two, the concepts of Pop and Art had been converging since the advent of, you know, Pop Art. Three, this caused the quickly fulfilled possibility of pop music becoming, for the first time, pretentious. On one hand, yuck. On the other hand, you had amazing records like “My World Fell Down” by Sagittarius. Arty. Pretentious. Magnificent. And, too bad, pop music started to take itself seriously, yuck, again. But, oh, well. Some people are just serious. As long as they aren’t fucking with my goofiness I guess I shouldn’t be bothered by their seriousness.

As I pointed out in the individual song notes, by 1970 pop music was well on its way into Balkanization, breaking and splintering into genres, sub genres, and sub-sub genres. Listeners were starting to separate into tribes. Glam Rock was a reaction to the ‘60s musicians-on-stage-look-like-the-audience esthetic. The larger venues that the suddenly larger audiences required that costumes––like those worn by Kiss––pyrotechnics, stage props and effects were all “necessary”. Punk rock was, among other things, a reaction away from this. But then, Disco was getting started. Then, there was Funk and Southern Rock, with Abba bringing Euro rock to the US. And there was Art Rock, Progressive Rock, Smooth Jazz, Jazz Fusion, Heavy Metal, Country Rock, Reggae, New Wave (after Punk) and Hip Hop. Another big recommendation: The Song Of The Machine, from Disco to DJs to Techno, a Graphic Novel of Electronic Music, by Dave Blot and Mathias Cousin, with a Forward by Daft Punk. It’s been translated from the French and was published by Black Dog & Leventhal, New York. 

My best music watching of 1968 is possibly “the best music to watch” I’ve ever watched, except for music hallucinations I had on speed in 1966. Ok, wanna hear? I’ll tell you one. I’m in the Second Avenue subway stop, on my way to a gig at the Gaslight. It’s July, I think. Maybe June 1966. I’m facing west. A guy walks towards me, whistling. He passes me, on my right. The instant he passes out of sight, I hear another whistler join him, then another. They are whistling amazing melodies, spectacular harmonies and such hot rhythms! Another and another join in, then it becomes a cascade of joining whistlers––with an increasing number of them being birds. As the (in real life) original single whistler recedes in the distance, his whistling gets increasingly faint, while the number of new whistlers and birds seems to grow. The sound is joy and excitement beyond anything I had ever imagined. It continues to grow until it becomes the sound of all the birds in the world going to the best party that could ever be. And the level of pure joy and excitement continued to increase. It reaches a peak, and holds there. I can’t remember how long it held there. But eventually it slowly faded away. It felt like a level of happiness I had never imagined. If you say that’s just the drug, I say fuck you.

Anyway, back in real life. In the summer of 1968, three-fifths of us Holy Modal Rounders and two girlfriends were sharing a house in North Hollywood. It was what I eventually came to call “the Beck-Stewart Trapezoid”. Here’s how it worked. The lead singer, Rod Stewart, is in the back row, instead of the front row where lead singers always are. He’s stage left. To his right is the drummer. In the front row, there is Jeff Beck on the left and Ron Wood to the right, but these two are far apart, while those in the back are closer together. Beck is to the left enough so that audience members on the right can see Stewart ok although he’s in the back row. See, a trapezoid. Here’s where it gets good. No one in the band ever looks at the audience. Just at each other. And each has three others to just watch: the one to the side; the one in front or back; the crossways one. To say everyone is always in sync does not even begin to tell you how in sync they constantly are. When there are words, Stewart sings them directly to whomever he faces. When there are no words, he dances to whomever he faces. They all get a different dance. Yes, it was the best music I ever watched. No, I wasn’t on speed. It was bourbon and weed.

They all returned some weeks later and we were really amped. They were coming with Nicky Hopkins, who we had heard on various tracks by The Rolling Stones, The Kinks, and The Who. That sounded like a perfect blending, however, I found some time later there were pissed-off feelings among band members as to how the money was shared. We got to the club and had a bad premonition. The keyboard was facing away from the other musicians. The other four were still in the trapezoid, but Stewart looked at the audience. No one else looked at anyone else, not once. They just looked down. Oh, god, the difference. Oh, god, the difference.

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