July 1967: Rock Scully Interview

. . . Before Rock had been in the Haight, he'd had to go to many other places. He had to go to Earlham College, spend two years with the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (Snick), had to study philosophy in Switzerland, and get arrested for taking part in the civil rights demonstration against the Sheraton Palace Hotel and the franchise holders on auto row along Van Ness Avenue. "I served no real purpose in those demonstrations," he has decided. "I spent a good part of the summer of 1966 in jail, and I didn't serve any real purpose there, either, except I could listen to the colored prisoners talk about Malcolm X. I was in jail with one very militant young cat who's opened the Black Man's Free Store. I can remember the judge telling him he was a black son of a bitch." 

Rock was up in the morning. He and the band, The Grateful Dead, would be leaving soon, not to return till the fall. Until they went, Rock emerged on the streets in the morning during the hours of the friendly vibrations. Then he could half walk, half skip down the hill to Haight Street, walking along it without bumping into people, hailing his friends, stopping to chat with the ones who were there before the place became an international byword. 

"Actually," he said in a cheery tone that never deserts him, even when he talks about his disillusionments, "the band is a partnership, five musicians and two managers, and we've been in the neighborhood four or five years. About three years ago a bunch of us discovered LSD and the psychedelics [at least one member of the band doesn't use dope] and we learned what it was like to feel community and take care of our brothers. At that time there were about fifteen houses in the Haight with young people living without parental supervision. A lot of them were on hard drugs, but then something happened and we found what we called 'getting together.' Ding! Everybody was really excited then. San Francisco was a party town then. Everybody was going to parties in these big old three-story apartment buildings and the big band was the Charlatans. They were the originals. They played the first dances at the Longshoreman's Hall. Then we threw some dances at the California Hall with the Jefferson Airplane, and it was about then that Ken Kesey came to town with the Acid Test. Ding! Do I remember those days. Ding! Going from the Fillmore Auditorium and back to the California Hall. Ding! It was crazy. Sometimes I really thought the floor was going to fall through with two-thirds of the people high on LSD. 

"But we just can't keep up with these kids now. We were pioneers in LSD. We took it very sparingly. These kids coming in here drop it two and three times a week and go a little crazy. When we started, we read about it, talked it over, and tried to get into each other's heads. We didn't just take it anywhere but in the surroundings we were most comfortable in. Even with the Acid Test, when you had lights and drums and bells and paints, you did it so you could work and play together all night long. Right now I can't imagine taking acid and going to one of those shows. The Grateful Dead used to play high on acid, but under the present circumstances we couldn't get in contact with each other. 

"Ding! I remember. Ding, ding! The event that pulled a lot of us together was the Trips Festival [October 1966]. A thousand people were there for three days, all the rock bands, all the light shows, the San Francisco Mime Troop, the Committee Theatre. They were there to interact and grow together. It isn't true that people like Timothy Leary were listened to. They weren't...ever. We went back to the neighborhood here bound and determined to make it a better place. After that we started our friendship with the Diggers and helped them take care of people and people began to pour in. Ding! Just a few weeks ago it looked like there was going to be a riot - so many new kids, not knowing themselves or anybody else - so we quickly got a truck and put the band on top of it. Then we drove down Haight Street, right where the people and the cops were. We drove and the people followed until we led them into the park, where we had a dance. We went to New York. Ding! We played in Tompkins Square, where they'd had a riot the night before; but this time the Puerto Rican kids jumped up on the stage and started dancing instead of throwing rocks. 

"The Grateful Dead went from being an acid band to being a community band. We just refused to go the route of the Jefferson Airplane. [After the Airplane took off from San Francisco it became so successful that it's now doing singing commercials for network advertising.] We held out for a long time before we signed a contract with a recording company, a whole year we held out. Finally we signed with Warner Brothers, but only after we got artistic control, and that's something San Francisco groups don't do. They sign. Ding! Money. Ding, ding! 

"Then our band started falling apart. We'd been working all the time for free, and bands like ours that compose so much of their own music and style have to spend a lot of time alone together. Anyway, we've been driven out of our community. At the beginning of the summer we thought we could stick it out, but here it's just started to be July and the place is full of dope pushers. They have a cover charge at the Drogstore! Imagine! Fifty cents for a cup of coffee here in our community! Tourists all over. We used to be able to walk down the street and see our friends. We could be concerned about the neighborhood, help keep it clean and try and improve it, but now the sidewalks are full of these Tenderloin types. The only thing I can see to save it from its collective head is for us to withdraw for a while. 

"We have to get out of here to keep our heads. Since the summer began our doorstep has been littered - there's no other way to describe it - with every kind of freak. I can't use the word hippy. I was a hippy, but I don't have anything to do with what's going on here. We used to have one cardinal rule: Do not impose your trip on anyone else. Well, that's what these people are doing, and we don't want to go on their trip. Our neighborhood worked until the newspapers shot it up, and then the kids and the tourists came and imposed their trip on us, a sidewalk freak show. If it were a festival it would be great, but it's just another form of cruising up and down in your car, putting on a show bumper to bumper. 

"Ding!" Rock said in a voice that, for him, sounded woebegone. "We were happy and we were making other people happy, and as we saw it we were building an alternative society, a little one, here. We'll come back in the fall and start all over again. Maybe we'll have some other big powwow like the Trips Festival, but, I don't know, the city's no place to take drugs."

(from Nicholas von Hoffman, "We Are the People Our Parents Warned Us About," 1968)

Thanks to Paul Hebert.

1969: The Matrix

THE MATRIX AS ANARCHIC JOY

Is it possible to enter the Matrix, San Francisco's persistent musical stronghold, without immediately knowing it to be a most unusual institution? On the wall of the engineering booth is the answer: a photograph, magnificent in its rarity, of Jorma Kaukonen smiling. Smiling. Not smirking sarcastically, but smiling a big, boyish grin of innocent happiness, his guitar in hand. 

And such, in a capsule, is the pattern of existence at this club that gave birth to Jefferson Airplane, and with them, a community of feverish musical activity. Just about everyone started, or was helped to start here. The Grateful Dead did, after transcending Palo Alto; Steve Miller, upon arrival in San Francisco from Chicago, did; The Quicksilver Messenger Service, and of course Big Brother and the Holding Company, the Charlatans, the Final Solution, the Great Society, and on and on and on... 

Why does Jorma smile in his photograph? Because the Matrix is a fine gig to play, it possesses few of the pretensions of the ballrooms, and because it has retained those elements that were once essential to the city's atmosphere. Musicians here are human beings, not stage idols to be indiscriminately pawed and patronized. 

Sitting with Dave Martin, for all practical purposes now the club's manager, in the cramped tangle of the engineering room, talking in rambles and circles and digressions about the history. Half-empty glasses of beer occasionally sipped at, Dave doing his best to salvage his electronics while speaking from his head on the story of the Matrix. 

"The club was really built for the Airplane," he began. "Ted Saunders was the primary person; he financed the Airplane." They opened the club on August 10, 1965. Saunders scraped together the money to rent the building, and to pay the band's equipment and personal expenses. "He's suing them now, because they broke a contract they had signed with him to play here 15 times a year."

There are actually two halves to the Matrix. One is the U.S. Pizza Corporation, which Saunders still owns, and which handles the beer and wine concessions (yes, there is a bar); the other is Matrix Recording, the organization responsible for both of the Great Society albums, and more recently, the "Early Steppenwolf" collection on the Dunhill label. 

Peter Abram and Ray Bregante own the recording endeavor. "Pete had been here since 66," Dave continued, recording various groups." At the beginning of the next year, roughly January, he became the manager, and as June 67 was the co-owner, with Ray. 

Since then, the club has been gradually reasserting its financial strength. It had been so heavily in debt that on two separate occasions the gas and electricity were turned off. "We'd come in at 9:00, turn everything on, run till 2:00, and close up quick," said Dave. But nothing's been turned off since 67. 

Well, at least not for economic reasons. 

On October 31, 1967, the man raided the Matrix, convicted Peter on a charge of disturbing the peace, fined him $250.00, and hit him for a 30 day suspended sentence and a year's probation.

On October 4, 1968, once again, but this time there was no conviction. Harvey Mandel was tuning, and Pete walked into a cop's arms. The problem had been an open door, left so accidentally by the band, which had loosed the amplification to storm the neighborhood. The door is usually closed; do you think the residents could have been polite enough to phone the club and tell the owners that the door was open? Come now. 

After one added threat to bust for noise, the club shut down for a spell to soundproof the premises. But now there is a new ordinance: any sound is excessive that can be heard more than 50 feet from its source. In a commercially zoned area? 

"A new trauma every night," remarked Peter. 

In a time when musicians are charging higher and higher fees for their services, and when promoters are resorting to baseball stadiums in order to retain a good profit margin, how is a small (104 person capacity) club like this able to survive, and still present excellent talent, as it consistently does? 

Peter: "The groups realize that we're not making much money, and old people have a loyalty to the Matrix. They know that it's a relaxed place, and they feel that they can come in here and enjoy it." 

Thus you can come in on a Monday night and blow your mind over as stellar a collection of talent as you could encounter anywhere. You may see Earl or John Lee Hooker...or Jack Casady of the Airplane...or Michael Bloomfield...

The entire Airplane will occasionally play. Elvin Bishop is there quite often, Janis Joplin may drop by, or Jerry Garcia, and a lot of good black blues cats like Lightning Hopkins. 

Unfortunately, you have to be 21 to get in, because alcohol is very bad for anyone younger, and once you are inside no dancing is very feasible, as most the floor area is covered with tables and chairs. 

And you won't see the same audience you do at the ballrooms. Those who frequent the Matrix usually come, surprisingly enough, to listen to the music, not to hustle chicks or whatever. And it's not a very glamorous scene, stuck out in the Marina, with very little of the bright-light big-city feeling found at the Fillmore. 

Instead, a lot of good persons and music, with pastrami sandwiches and wine from the bar, and a lot of generally healthy vibrations. 

Finally, some few ecstatic words about Matrix Recording.

Because the club has served, as its name implies, as a fountainhead for the San Francisco rock community, it has compiled mountains of tapes, all of them cut in the club during performance, of a quite outstanding selection of musicians. Sitting casually on the shelf in the recording booth are some 20 reels of the Elvin Bishop group alone. 

This may serve as indicator of both the quality and quantity of the library. Just think what an album it would make. 

Guess what? 

A three record anthology of the San Francisco bands is now being readied for distribution. When the tapes are edited, and musicians' approval is had, the albums will be released, on a new label called Together (headed by Gary Usher, late of Columbia Records, who has produced, among others, the Byrds). Each of the three lp's will probably come out separately, though they may be packaged as a set. I think enough said.

The club itself, in the meantime, continues to present exceptional name talent, and to nurture local unknowns. It's a house of delightful colors, heavy with rich memories from the past and warm realities from the present.

(by Raymond Lang, from the Daily Californian, July 15, 1969)

* * * 

JOY, JOY: THE MARINES AT KELLY'S COVE (excerpt) 

Friday, August 8, sometime between 2 and 6 in the morning, someone ripped off the Matrix, San Francisco's oldest house of rock (this week is its fourth birthday). 

The theft was for about $4,000 worth of hardware, including some priceless tapes. The owners are in a very cramped corner and desperately need their merchandise. If anyone can supply a lead, a 10% reward waits, eager to be given. 

What's missing: two tape recorders (a TC 500 Sony - 2 and 4 track, and a 777 Sony); three mixers (one custom built, one Allied-Knight, and one Sony); ten microphones (six Electra-Voice, three Senn-Hauser, and one MB); two Dyna 70 amplifiers, and one pair of headphones. 

The tapes, though, are the big deal, fans. Precious music cut live in the club over the past two years, of Jefferson Airplane, The Steve Miller Band, The Blues Project, Elvin Bishop, Johnny Winter... 

Enough pain is enough pain. To the thief or anyone who knows him: copy the tapes if you like, but please don't record over them, and do return them to the Matrix somehow. No questions asked, no trouble needed, just the tapes, and desperately. If you have them, mail them COD, or phone anonymously and say where they can be picked up, or nail a message to the front door, but bring them back somehow. 3138 Fillmore, San Francisco, 567-0118.

Our atmosphere is increasingly feverish with negative energies. I will not be Ralph Gleason proffering bromide in the guise of explanation, but I will exhort us all to view the changes to which we have subjected our "movement."

(by Raymond Lang, from the Daily Californian, August 15, 1969)

For the outcome of Together Records, see:  

https://hooterollin.blogspot.com/2021/07/august-26-1969-family-dog-on-great.html 

https://deadsources.blogspot.com/2012/07/1971-sunflower-records-story.html

November 1, 1969 & February 28, 1970: Family Dog, San Francisco

11/1/69

NO DOUBT: THE DOG 

This is a pitifully inadequate space, both aesthetically and dimensionally, in which to attempt this communication, but here it unfolds: 

Tomorrow night, the fourth of November, Workshop: Family Circus, Rainbow Jam, Tracy Hite, free-form ballet - "Circus of the Stars," music by the Family of Mu. 

Wednesday night, the Family of Man, the Family of God. 

Thursday night, acoustic string night, Tup Fisher, "All God's Children."

This last Saturday night I found myself at the Dog, listening to three artists. The first was the Golden Toad, a preettty strange assemblage of musicians performing on instruments like conch shells, bagpipes, Swiss mountain horns, double reed flutes, an endless array of percussion, and on and on. They're fairly difficult to comment on at all. 

Next was a man whom I've heard nothing about - ever - I still don't know how old he is, where he's from, or how he learned to sing and play. All I can say is that he is a magic being on stage and emits energies warmer and stronger than any solo performer I've ever seen. His name is Danny Cox. 

The Grateful Dead ended the night, deflated my body, and nearly orbited the ballroom with an achingly powerful, energetic set that ran through tunes new and old. Man, this band has endurance.

Stop by the Dog soon, if you're willing to be part of it instead of merely looking at it.

(from the Daily Californian, November 4, 1969) 

https://archive.org/details/gd69-11-01.sbd.cotsman.6298.sbeok.shnf

See also: 

Lost Live Dead: Halloween Weekend 1969: Loma Prieta Room, San Jose State and Family Dog on The Great Highway (Oct 31-Nov 2 '69) [FDGH V] 

(More on Danny Cox.) (More on Golden Toad.)

* * * 

2/28/70

DILBERT'S CHOICE (excerpt) 

The Grateful Dead are amazing. All I know for certain is that last Saturday, at Family Dog, they completely blew my mind with an energy explosion the likes of which I have never experienced. 

They opened with "Love Light," and everyone was jumping... But then Garcia and Weir left everybody hanging by doing three numbers on acoustic guitars. I mean it was O.K., but so what? All it did was rip off everyone's (including their own) energy. It took about a half-hour of Country & Western songs before they could get it together again. They've changed a bit from the old days, they now do individual songs in a C&W vein; I find it boring.

"Good Lovin" then exploded and I completely forgot my boredom... It was like an elusive acid trip...a transcendental vision. It was unbelievable. 

(by Frederick Chase, from the Daily Californian, March 4, 1970)

https://archive.org/details/gd70-02-28.sbd.cotsman.9377.sbeok.shnf 

See also: 

Rock Archaeology 101: February 27-March 1, 1970 Family Dog on The Great Highway, 660 Great Highway, San Francisco, CA: Grateful Dead/Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen [FDGH '70 VII] 

1969: Aoxomoxoa review

THE GRATEFUL DEAD, LIFE AND JOY

It is very odd that consciousness presents so many obstacles for so many human beings. Why are there so many problems and why does life appear to burden so many of the vehicles in which it is carried? Gloom and war, frustration and destruction. 

Discover a falling leaf. Feel the softness of the earth and see the sun glance through the mist to pour itself on a hillside. Hear nature's welcome in the wind. Find the joy in your being; perception is simple and beautiful. 

In the thick of our little street war here, the Grateful Dead released a third album. It has eight songs, and lasts thirty-eight minutes in time. They've titled it Aoxomoxa, and once again perception is simple and beautiful. 

This is a mildly surprising collection of music, essentially because it is so mellowed. The tunes are soft and gentle, the lyrics graciously decipherable, the vocals hesitant and wavering. There is a remarkable lack of harshly inflected rhythms and scalding guitar, for which the Dead have been so justly famed. 

Instead, Axoxomoxa is a wider application of the ideas we saw in Anthem of The Sun: long, dreamy ballads, occasionally interspersed with rock passages, but more often content to float their own ethereal way. Very different, a bit sadly, from the driving power of the first album. 

But this third one is a delight. It's filled with surreal (What's Become Of The Baby) and romantic visions (Mountains Of The Moon), rural whimsy and funk, and some great old blues (Dupree's Diamond Blues and Cosmic Charlie). 

Somehow, the Grateful Dead have done the impossible. They've kept their standards in the face of white-hot pressures to change. Not only have they remained an intact musical unit, they've improved their skills and sharpened and adjusted their technique, all of which indicates that they have retained their sanity. I find that pretty amazing. 

Heavily in debt, much of it from back taxes, seeing their community fall down around them, the Dead have willingly and happily played innumerable benefits and free concerts in the park (Golden Gate), because they love the music. 

When a human being takes this course of action, when he faces and withstands the demands to mold himself to the social main-current, concentrating only on the realization of his constructive ideas, you call him by one word: artist. 

The Dead are artists. They've ignored packaging trends, preferring to wrap their albums simply, without folding covers and other little goodies. They've made no media appearances, save for three, which I can remember: a KPIX special on the Haight, some two years ago; an Irving Penn photographic essay, titled "The Incredibles," in Look; and about 10 seconds on a CBS documentary of Bill Graham. The Grateful Dead are considered, very simply, poor commercial material and a sight from which the eyes of America's children must somehow be shielded. 

How sad. 

Listen to Jerry sing Robert Hunter's lyrics to "St. Stephen." 

"Saint Stephen, with a rose, in and out of the garden he goes.

Country garden in the wind and the rain, wherever he goes,

The people all complain. 

Stephen prospered in his time, 

Well he may, and he may be kind 

Did it matter? Does it now? 

Stephen would answer if he only knew how." 

YEEEEEHHAAAA! Enter the guitars, in high-pitched vocal outbursts, tumble the percussion. Mick's bizarre technique (far out and ecstatic) intersects Bill's, the band is delirious with harnessed fire, Phil's bass line insane and cohesive. This is a song of mountain light and city heavy contrasts, played with perfect restraint and control. 

"Cosmic Charlie" is almost the vehicle it could be for Jerry's riff playing. The cut is well-directed and the statements drive hard but easily. Still, the fever of the early Dead has gone down a bit, and one wishes for a few decibels more (one gets it live). 

It's no use trying to alter a classic statement of existence. The Good Old Grateful Dead will always be just that.

(by Raymond Lang, from the Daily Californian, May 29, 1969)

See also Lang's reviews of Anthem of the Sun and Live/Dead

More Aoxomoxoa reviews: 

https://deadsources.blogspot.com/2012/02/1969-aoxomoxoa-review.html

https://deadsources.blogspot.com/2018/09/june-1969-aoxomoxoa-reviews.html

1968: Anthem of the Sun review

FLAWS FOUND IN DEAD'S NEWEST ALBUM

Despite their overwhelming array of talent, their magnificent percussion, their searing guitar riffs, and their unfailing power to excite, the Grateful Dead are flawed, specifically these three ways: 1) their attempts to construct any viable blues vocals consistently fail; 2) they have a mysterious and irritatingly unnecessary preoccupation with electronics; and 3) their scope of material is limited, sometimes severely so. 

The group's second album, Anthem of the Sun, incorporates all these shortcomings - each in a different tone. As for the first, its truth is essentially admitted outright, thus clarifying much of the late controversy over Pig Pen's voice. (Actually, many Dead freaks have for some time recognized his lackluster blues efforts. "Schoolgirl" is an old example.) But there is now a new development. Anthem makes no attempt to sing honest blues; instead, it employs a semi-comic approach that is seemingly indicative of the group's realization that they perform the art poorly. Alligator's vocal section best exemplifies this: the minimum frame of a Southern accent is present, but both the lyric itself - "creepy alligator, comin round the bend" and its musical contest - kazoos, an erratically thumping rhythm section, etc., are so humorous that the listener can do little more than laugh along. 

Because the Dead are basically a musicians' band, this flaw is trifling, but their electronics are not. They are superfluous. Electronics can be a legitimate vehicle, but not without intensely focused imagination, tedious studio labor, and an appropriate mood - this last being an admittedly nebulous concept. (A model synthesis of these elements is Lennon-McCartney's "Tomorrow Never Knows.") But the Dead are in a different vein; they work with electronics live, wielding amplification units as improvised instruments, producing droning, irrelevant passages that bore to frustration. Often, they will precede a blues classic like Bland's "Lovelight" with 10 to 15 minutes of this. The question is: why? Why give us, between the first and second cuts on Anthem's A side, a combination of SAC bombing runs and the bell tower of Notre Dame? 

The third problem - a narrow scope of material - strikes hard at the perennial fan. One tires, eventually, of hearing "Schoolgirl," "Morning Dew," and "Lovelight" each time the Dead appear; enjoyable as these songs are, some fresh ones are needed; Anthem supplies the long-awaited new works, some of them seemingly incongruous. Because they project, like the Rolling Stones, a harshly masculine image, the Dear [sic] appear rather silly singing a soft, sensual ballad like "That's It for the Other One" - in concept. In actual performance they are so exquisite that all thoughts of incongruity fade. Garcia's lovely, mournful vocal projects a mood of prayerful solemnity that is simply overpowering. 

What about good old Grateful Dead hard rock? Anthem gives us some, but rather grumpily, as if it doesn't deserve much exposure. "The Faster We Go the Rounder We Get" is an example: the cut is unwaveringly strong, thrashing out in the fashion we've come to expect from the Dead, but is disappointingly short. Garcia's guitar is taped at a nearly inaudible level, while the rhythm section steals the scene. This is both tragic and not: it does succeed in displaying the band's new drummer, Mick Hart, schooled in Eastern technique and a former student of Ali Akbar Khan. Making heavy use of the snare, he effects a quasi-military beat that, coupled with Kreutzmann, composes a percussion unit an experience unto itself. Everyone finally merges on the live portion of Alligator to produce an amazingly truthful reproduction of what the Dead are when they peel off their facade: the most exhilarating musical event in San Francisco - and maybe anywhere. 

(by Raymond Lang, from the Daily Californian, November 1, 1968)

Lang also reviewed Live/Dead with much more enthusiasm: 

Grateful Dead Sources: 1969: Live/Dead Reviews #2 

See also: 

Grateful Dead Sources: 1968: More Anthem of the Sun Reviews 

November 7-10, 1968: Fillmore West, San Francisco

RECORD STUDIOS MAY DESTROY MUSIC SCENE

If anything destroys the San Francisco music scene, it will probably be the recording studios. While some groups benefit from techniques first used in a recording studio - enhancing their live sets - most groups with less musical direction come out suffering from over-production and a deficiency of style. 

A comparison can be made in this regard between the Quicksilver Messenger Service and the Grateful Dead, who performed recently in Fillmore West. 

Quicksilver started out their two fine sets by playing some good and tough rock numbers (new to me). Duncan played through some fine guitar leads, very reminiscent of Bloomfield. The group has been criticized for being overly-influenced by the Electric Flag in their last album (in light of the fact that two Flag members co-produced it). But it would be tragic if a band which has been around as long as Quicksilver was influenced by a short-lived band that never developed any musical direction. 

Let us say that Duncan's and Cipollina's considerable skill cause them to borrow certain stylistic traits of Bloomfield, as well as Alkaunon and Garcia. 

Audiences tend to like things that are familiar, and the audience (dead as par) didn't warm up until they played a cut from their album (Gold and Silver). 

Now that the Dead have come to be comfortable in a recording studio, they can use their techniques as good tools in their sets. Their set got the warmest audience reaction. Where Quicksilver tends to be erratic because of problems in accommodating ordered songs to a live set, the Dead seems to have no problems in this regard.

Since "Anthem of the Sun," the Dead have gone into electronic music, using different types of feedback to climax their sets. But they also went through standards like "School Girl" and "Lovelight." 

Quicksilver's Gold and Silver is very carefully composed, and loses its effectiveness if it is not allowed to progress in a linear fashion so the intricately constructed climaxes can be developed. It is therefore, not a free enough cut to be effective in a live set. The best they can do for the number is to try to approach the technical perfection that the audience is familiar with from the album. They try to add interest by including a drum solo, but this only serves to stop the progression altogether. 

As their performance of "Gold and Silver" showed how bad the effects of such studio compositions can be, so their performance of the "Fool" showed a beautiful balance between the composition and the improvisation. With Frieberg's base as a catalyst, there is a very interesting reaction between the two guitars. 

There was a nice progression and use of false climaxes in almost classical style, yet it remained as a free vehicle for Cipollina's guitar leads.

Still, the best song of either set was their old standard "Who do you love?" (rough rock but it has some well-executed composition including some tinkling guitar effects). They rounded out their sets with some album cuts done pretty straight. It was appropriate that they finished off their first set with a Beau Diddley number a la Rolling Stone - "Hey, Mona."

(by Russ Stein, from the Daily Californian, November 25, 1968)

October 20, 1968: Greek Theatre, UC Berkeley

FIVE ROCK GROUPS PLAY HERE SUNDAY

Five of the greatest rock groups in the Bay Area will play at the Greek Theater this Sunday afternoon from 1 to 6 p.m. Canned Heat will head the bill with the Grateful Dead, Mad River, Linn County, and Stonehenge filling out the concert. Buddy Miles Express also will make a probable appearance for a special jam session. 

This is the largest rock "festival" ever held on the campus. Student prices for the concert have been reduced to $3 in advance and $3.50 at the door, instead of the $3.50 and $4 prices previously announced. Student tickets may be picked up at the ASUC box office.

(from the Daily Californian 10/15/68)

OUTSTANDING LOCAL ROCK BANDS PERFORM: 

GRATEFUL DEAD, MAD RIVER, CANNED HEAT

What is considered to be one of the country's finest rock bands will be playing the Greek Theatre Sunday, from 1:00-6:00, accompanied by several other fine groups; the Grateful Dead, faithful to the in life-style, promise to present an afternoon of unusual experiences and irresistible musical power. 

Canned Heat, an L.A. based group with three albums on the Mercury label, will appear, supposedly headlining the show. 

Three groups representative of San Francisco's reinvigorated musical scene will complete the program: Stonehenge, Mad River - a long time Berkeley favorite which has just released its first album on Capitol - and Linn County, originally formed in Chicago, now headquartered in S.F., and soon to begin their second album for Mercury. 

Tickets are on sale now at ASUC box office, and ticket agencies throughout the Bay Area, for $3 in advance and $3.50 at the door.

(from the Daily Californian 10/17/68)

*

ROCK AT YOUR LEISURE

There were a great many people who predicted complete failure for SUPERB's rock concert last Sunday. And in at least one category, they were correct: economically, the show was best left forgotten. In tacit testimony to the intensity of Bay Area audience competition, the Greek Theatre was at no time more than half-filled.

Quantitatively, the show lost that competition; qualitatively, it won. Despite its size, the crowd was a crazily cohesive patchwork of Gypsy Jokers, students, hippies, adults, groupies, animals, street-people, children, and musicians, all happily cavorting under a warm, glass-clear sky. In contrast to the city's ballrooms, those who so chose, danced all day long. Weed, of course, flowed freely through the ampitheatre, doing its substantial share of creating a picnic atmosphere. 

Although they were making little money, the musicians obviously enjoyed working in such a climate, thereby constructing a very loose, casual audience-performer communication. The first band to play, after an exasperating delay of nearly an hour, was Stonehenge: a trio from Palo Alto, their music is much in Cream's vein, complete with a rather tiring, Clapton-based lead guitarist, who is forced to compete against his over-volumed rhythm section. They are mildly enjoyable, but essentially undistinguished, brand of hard rock. 

Linn County, formed in Chicago, now San Francisco-based, were next. Their album will be reviewed next week: it is sufficient to say here that they are one of the very best reasons why this area is still a musical stronghold. All those who admire professional ability should see them soon - they're just beginning to climb.

The process of a concert's development is always fascinating; as each successive band appears, the audience warms with increased familiarity and enthusiasm. When established Berkeley favorite Mad River stepped onto stage, they received noisy welcome from their faithful; when they introduced their first song as "just good old-fashioned Mad River rock and roll," a good throng rose to dance. The show was gaining momentum. Their music is unquestionably rock, which they play in an exciting, very speedy style that falters only when the band becomes a dime-bag too eager. Of all surprises, their math duplication happens strongest in Amphetamine Gazelle, a number so quick it seemed to set Greek on a turntable - at 78 rpm. 

In typical fashion, nearly late, generally disorganized, but clearly undaunted, the Grateful Dead managed to arrive. Once set up, they proceeded to play a stormburst of music in their hardest fashion.

(by Raymond Lang, from the Daily Californian, October 25, 1968)

https://archive.org/details/gd68-10-20.sbd.miller.21441.sbeok.shnf

March 24, 1968: Parking Lot near 50 Green Street, San Francisco

STRIKE, THE PARK AND OTHER THINGS

Indigent rock music enthusiasts, barred from the $3 ballrooms, need not be left out in the cold on weekends these days. For the price of bus fare or just the energy consumed making it by foot to Golden Gate Park and other areas, a pleasant Saturday or Sunday afternoon of music is guaranteed at an inexpensive tab. 

The radio KMPX strike, which has sent everything from DJs to janitor to the street with picket signs, has brought both local bands and those from afar to their side with sympathy. As a result the KMPX picketeers have put together some fantastic street scenes to promote their walk-out and bring new campaigners to their feet. 

A week ago Sunday, for instance, it was one surprise after another around the corner from strike headquarters. It was a perfect afternoon: the sun was throbbing, the beer still cold, and the Sons of Champlin were rocking the stage. Their rhythms were sucking in crowds as if luring them with a siren's call. 

The portable generators which supplied the juice for the afternoon were still humming as the Sons of Champlin silenced the Vox amplification and made their way from the two flat-bed trucks that joined rears and acted as a temporary stage. Their big band rock sound was well taken with a befitting applause.

The crowd edged closer and closer to the stage as a small van pierced a layer of the assemblage [and] dragged out a massive hunk of organ caped with a coverlet inscribed "Stevie Winwood."

It wasn't long before Traffic, the outstanding English trio, was on the stage. Heaven Is In Your Mind started the wheel rolling, and by the time Dear Mr. Fantasy poured forth the crowd seemed overtaken by some strange trance. Drummer Jim Capaldi was drenched with sweat and Winwood's versatility was steaming unbelievably from guitar. 

Traffic didn't give much of a chance for the trance to break as the Grateful Dead's Jerry Garcia climbed the stage, jacked in his guitar (sending Winwood to organ), and an incredible jam session, with as many as eight musicians working out at once, was underway. 

A very short appearance by James Cotton on harmonica and a lengthy and impressive jam featuring guitarist Harvey Mandel with the Indian Head Band concluded one of the most unusual musical experiences this writer has ever witnessed. And it was all for free. 

Lately, each weekend has been graced with free open-air concerts somewhere in the city. Most are in The Park, and as long as the KMPX strike is on, their street scenes will be too. It might be a good idea for enthusiasts to keep eyes pinned to the press and ears to KMPX (but is that in poor taste?) and get in on these things. (The Haight Ashbury Switchboard (387-3575) is usually of reliable assistance.) They can become an experience more unique than the ballrooms themselves.

John Lee Hooker heads the bill at the Carousel this weekend along with Mother Earth and the Loading Zone. Eric Burdon and the Animals, Quicksilver, and the Sons of Champlin are at Winterland, while the Blues Project, Iron Butterfly, and the Nazarra Blues Band play at the Avalon.

(by Martin J. Arbunich, from the Guardsman, April 3, 1968)

See also: 

Lost Live Dead: March 18, 1968: Pier 10, San Francisco-KMPX Strike Rally (also: March 20, 1968 Avalon)

*

March 20, 1968: Avalon Ballroom 

FAR OUT KMPX BENEFIT (excerpt)

9 Long Hair Band Groups 

The Fruminous Bandersnatchers blared many a harmonious musical bar last night in Avalon Ballroom, sounding what may have been the reqiuem of old style strikes and labor negotiations. 

The Bandersnatchers were but one of nine long-hair (not in a musical sense), bearded, and sandal-less instrumental groups playing from 8 p.m. to 2 a.m. for the benefit of striking staff members of KMPX-FM, a local radio station which yanked itself upward via mod music from a practically no-listener rating to the well-to-do status of the paying voice of hippieland. 

Also electronically pulsating for out-of-work KMPXers were Blue Cheer, Charlie Musselwhite Southside Sound System, and the Grateful Dead.

What makes the four day KMPX strike different from other walkouts is that bread (which is pure Haight-Ashbury for money) is secondary in consideration to "artistic freedom." 

Freedom of the arts, according to KMPXers, is their right to ignore company orders about shaving, hair cutting, wearing shoes on the job, and bathing frequently. 

It also embraces ignoring orders to play those saccharine string melodies adored by the squares.

Because of such real and imagined grievances, KMPXers hit the bricks Monday against station owner Lee Crosby . . . 

The strikers are letting it be known that a bit more bread in the pay envelope could be instrumental in coaxing them back to the microphones. They note the highest paid disc jockey in pre-strike days earned but $125 a week. 

Meanwhile, the station hasn't dropped a broadcast bar with employees of square inclinations. [ . . . ]

(by William O'Brien, from the SF Examiner, March 21, 1968) 

Excerpt from the Berkeley Barb, 3/22/68: 

[On March 18] "at 3 a.m. the walk-out began as more than 500 people gathered outside the station at 50 Green Street and danced to rock music. Wednesday night the idea moved inside the Avalon as the Grateful Dead, Kaleidoscope, and others played a benefit to a packed house." 

"Further support from the bands came when Jerry Garcia of the Dead walked into the station and demanded the return of a tape of their new single and also asked that none of the Dead's other material be played on the air."

Excerpts from Rolling Stone: 

"At 3:00 on the morning of Monday, March 18, the entire staff of the nation's best rock & roll station walked out on strike - and right into the midst of an impromptu block party. [ . . . ] 

"The community turned out in force for a benefit at the Avalon Ballroom on March 20, where music was provided gratis by the Grateful Dead, Charley Musselwhite, Kaleidoscope, and three other bands. The Family Dog made the hall available without charge - even the light show was donated - and the strike fund netted $1800. . . .

"There was also a weekend fair (not to be confused with the first-night party of 500 people dancing in the street) outside the KMPX offices near North Beach, which was highlighted by Jerry Garcia of the Grateful Dead jamming with Traffic. It was supposed to be a street fair, but the San Francisco city fathers refused the strikers a permit, ostensibly because an announcement read over the air before the strike had caused an unauthorized closing of Haight Street two weeks earlier, so the action took place in a nearby parking lot."

[The Grateful Dead and other bands] "requested that KMPX and KPPC do not play their records as long as they are being operated by strikebreakers."

("FM Workers Strike For Rights," Rolling Stone, April 27, 1968) 

January 5, 1969: Fillmore West, San Francisco

BETTER DEAD THAN EVER

Win, lose, or draw, rock bands change rapidly; and their longevity is not a keynote to success. For wonder and amazement, the Grateful Dead have survived among the towers of rock. To some people, they never existed. Other persons, those who have not seen them in ages, may consider their survival a resurrection. I consider it a triumph!

THE GRATEFUL DEAD - 

The Dead are still very much the same as three years ago; back to the same old drive. They have added another drummer plus a new organist to replace "Pigpen," whose departure will further impoverish their vocal range. Having redoubled their enthusiasm for instrumentation, the Dead now resort less to song and more to the use of spoken imagery. On Sunday, the best singing was done by Jerry Garcia on "Death Has No Mercy." His guitar excellence far outdoes his voice and has definitely improved. The whole group works better, both as musicians and as a "family." The time spent together has especially proved fruitful in yielding some exciting double drumming. 

For two or three hours, the band played with but one intermission. Their reputation was gained after performing such long, "psychedelic" sets. To them, music is all one song, like a vision of the universe; it grows deeper into itself. "Pigpen" was "at home" to sing a nostalgic "Turn On Your Lovelight," that had everyone up and moving long before he finished. Children were on stage dancing. Insistent applause brought a warm response from the Dead, who finally put the evening to rest with an incredible "Good Night." For unexcelled rock entertainment, they proved again "Enjoy!" Enjoy the Grateful Dead!

BLOOD, SWEAT AND TEARS - 

Since Al Kooper decided to quit "his group," Blood, Sweat and Tears has succeeded without him. Perhaps, he was his own victim. The new singer, his replacement, comes on more strong and vigorous than the sickly-sounding Kooper. Both organ and piano fit more easily into the total sound. As a unit, the band performs old numbers with increased eagerness. Their former hit ("I Love You More Than You'll Ever Know") came off awkwardly; but "I Can't Quit Her" was super perfect in performance and arrangement. Their attempt at "God Bless the Child" was weak. However, they made up for their failure with an excellent adaptation of Traffic's "Smiling Phases." I sometimes resented the intrusion of a horn section; that was too loud and blatant. Otherwise, the band was in fine shape and good spirits. 

SPIRIT - 

As for these five, do not expect them to sound better than their records. Their music unfortunately lacks substance and thought. They produced a bit of theatre and plenty of electric gadgetry, including an echo machine. Yet, Spirit plays a la Hendrix and as a poor imitation at that. The guitarist was much too loud; singing was all right, though; and the drummer was very much in control.

(by Christian Mueller, from the Daily Californian, January 13, 1969) 

Alas, no tape!

See also:

Grateful Dead Sources: January 2-4, 1969: Fillmore West, San Francisco

Lost Live Dead: January 2-5, 1969 Fillmore West, San Francisco, CA: Grateful Dead/Blood Sweat & Tears/Spirit 

* * * 

BONUS REVIEW:

Fillmore West 1/12/69

MIND-BLOWING GUITARS AT FILLMORE WEST (excerpt)

[ . . . ] In its steadily ballooning influence over the past five years, the San Francisco musical environment has produced a truly imposing assortment of individual musicians. Exceptional lead guitarists seem to be especially bountiful. . . One wishes only that, somehow, these separate abilities could be occasionally pooled in collective presentation. Such a situation would be intensely stimulating in at least two general categories musically, so the listener might observe new relationships among performers who have played rarely, if ever, with each others' technique, and nostalgically, to view simultaneously a large contingent of those artists who have forged so much history here.

Sunday night's performance at Fillmore West was as representative a celebration as has ever been witnessed in San Francisco - and certainly one of the most exciting and unexpected. Led Zeppelin, a new, electric British rock-blues outfit featuring ex-Yardbird Jimmy Paige as guitarist, and Taj Mahal, the blues singer working out of LA, both played enjoyable sets. Both should ideally be commented on at length, but the third band . . . was so exceptional as to warrant near-exclusive focus. 

That band was, essentially, Country Joe and the Fish, playing what will likely prove to have been their last set. The personnel composing the "Fish" was a stellar collection of San Francisco musicians, the likes of whom no city could provide better. They were: Chicken Hirsch of Country Joe and the Fish, and Mick Hart, of the Grateful Dead, playing drums; Jack Casady of the Airplane on bass; Joe himself, vocal and rhythm guitar; Jorma Kaubonen, Gerry Garcia, Steve Miller, and Barry Melton, none of whom require any introduction, playing alternate lead guitars. 

The set began at two o'clock in the morning (the normal closing time), and under direct orders from the state, no dancing. This may yet qualify as one of man's mortal prohibitions. For the music rendered Sunday night was violently physical and emerging. The band traveled as through an overwhelmingly dense, yet fast-paced set of blues, a set that lasted an hour and one-half. While one guitarist, say Gerry, would make fully constructed lead statements, the others would fling sidelong, interspersed accompaniments, the sum effect of which was ideal rhythm and blues, utilizing with remarkable smoothness the various approaches peculiar to each guitarist. Not enough can be said about the performance, save to say thank you to the musicians and to Graham. A finer farewell the Fish couldn't have had if only there had been dancing allowed.

(by Raymond Lang, from the Daily Californian, January 16, 1969)

See also:

Hooterollin' Around: Fillmore West, January 12, 1969: Country Joe And The Fish And Their Friends (Plus Opening Acts)

December 20, 1968: Shrine Hall, Los Angeles

COUNTRY JOE AND FISH SINK IN SHRINE HALL SHOW

Country Joe and the Fish's set at the Shrine Auditorium Friday night was less fish than flotsam, and the resulting taste of ennui was nearly sour enough to sink the Berkeley group there on the spot. 

In fact, the most remarkable thing about the highly-touted evening were the uninspired, dull performances of the Fish and their Bay Area comrades, the Grateful Dead. 

Only Spirit came up with a completely satisfying effort.

That was sad, as the Fish have shown greatness before - on their first LP and in other live performances, especially at dances in San Francisco's Fillmore and Avalon ballrooms. 

Last weekend, however, they seemed bored and either unwilling or unable to turn the audience on to their highly original brand of psychedelia, politics, and paranoia. 

Leader Country Joe McDonald was a poor voice, yet kept the large crowd spellbound with his rendition of "Crystal Blues." The tune featured a shattering, ferocious guitar interlude with a stand-off between Barry Melton and David Cohen. 

Both instrumentally and vocally, the Fish can - when they're right - stand in the front rank of pop music, with the piercing, staccato guitar of Melton and the driving, heavy guitar and organ of Cohen contributing to the tough cohesiveness of the group.

Although this is so, the Fish have never quite reached the pinnacle of commercial success that has greeted other Bay Area rock groups like the Jefferson Airplane and Big Brother and the Holding Company. 

One reason for this may be the inflexible militancy of the group. They tell it like they see it - through hilarious satire ("Not So Sweet, Martha Lorraine"), outrageous black comedy ("Feel Like I'm Fixin to Die" - about the Vietnam War), and even an occasional four letter word. 

The purpose of this all is to shake their audience, to make them think. Mostly, it's a propaganda music - the group's name comes from a statement by Chairman Mao that peasants are the fish of the world - but beneath it all is an often healthy outrage at what this country has become, in the eyes of Fish leader, Joe McDonald. 

Though most of their performance Friday was fairly pedestrian and sluggish, every now and then the Fish had moments incredibly lyrical and funny enough to infect the most gelid listener. 

The best and most exciting performance at the rock-concert was given by Spirit, a local quintet. The group plays electronic music which slithers off occasionally to show signs of Indian, jazz, and freeform contemporary music. 

The guitar work of Randy California and the drum solos of Ed Cassidy were both innovative, subtle, and interesting, a difficult triad for other rock musicians to aspire for. 

And, happily, there was nothing cold or artsy about their performance. 

The same unfortunately cannot be said for the Grateful Dead, which led off the evening and gave the most disappointing performance of all. 

This means the group wasn't the best performing rock group extant that it can be - only nearly so.

The Dead is a heavy, jazz-blues oriented band (consisting these days of three guitars, organ, two drums, and lead singer). The group's songs are, more often than not, merely convenient hooks on which the Dead hang their usually brilliant improvisations. 

Two of Friday's numbers, however, were long on time (about 20 minutes each) and short on versatility. 

The usually tight, surging, full-bodied Dead sound was sadly missing, although the group's last number, "Turn On Your Lovelight" was generally exciting, except for an embarrassing, misled attempt at soul-singing. 

The funky white blues voice and organ playing of Ron (Pigpen) McKernan, who recently left the group, was sorely missed. 

Despite the paucity of excitement, it should be noted the fault doesn't lie with lead guitarist, Jerry Garcia. 

Always exciting, Garcia is perhaps the best "Live" guitarist around. He is a complete original, and still manages to hint Django Reinhardt, Eric Clapton, and Charlie Christian, while remaining himself. 

With the Airplane and Big Brother, the Fish and the Dead were among the founders of so-called "San Francisco acid-rock." It's unfortunate that neither's music last weekend could do very much to "stone" the Shrine, although the fine light show by Jerry Abrams' Head Lights certainly helped.

Once again, the sound system at the elephantine auditorium made the bands sound like they were playing from the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

(by Michael Ross, from the Los Angeles Herald-Examiner, December 24, 1968)

Thanks to jgmf.blogspot.com 

See also: 

Grateful Dead Sources: December 20-21, 1968: Shrine Hall, Los Angeles

https://archive.org/details/gd1968-12-20.sbd.miller.89663.sbeok.flac16