Christine at the Tea Party

[michelej1]

[This Article mentions Christine's entrance into the band]

Boston Globe (MA) April 4, 1982

Section: ARTS/ FILMS

THE WAY IT WAS: ROCK NOTES FROM '60S

Steve Morse Globe Staff

Fascination with music from the 1960s has become a national pastime. Vaunted '60s acts like the Doors, Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix keep being revived through the press, radio, cover bands and reissued records, while a new generation wonders, "What did we miss? Was the music really better back then?"

There is an almost obsessive need to compare and contrast the generations. The '60s were a period of musical optimism, while the '80s are a commercial, cynical era without heroes - or so many popular theories go, especially among older, nostalgic critics.

The truth is that there are no black-and-white answers. There is more big- business hype and confusion these days, but there is still quality. You just have to look harder for it by searching independent record bins, alternative radio stations and word-of-mouth sources.

Good music is good music in any age. Probably the biggest difference is that people are more jaded these days. Many think they've heard everything. That notion didn't exist in the '60s, when concerts were still a new phenomenon.

The concerts were on a much different scale, rendering comparison impossible. "There are a lot of clubs around now that have bigger sound systems than were used in the '60s in buildings like Boston Garden," says Gerry Stickells, who is now Queen's tour manager but traveled with Jimi Hendrix back then as a truck driver.

Growing up in the suburbs of Boston, I was a music addict who went to every show I could afford. What follows is not a weighty pronouncement on the '60s - perhaps we've all had too many of those - but just a personal memoir of concerts I attended.

My biggest regret was that I never saw the Beatles, but I was luckier than most to see the Rolling Stones, Jimi Hendrix, the Doors and Led Zeppelin twice each. I went strictly as a fan, never knowing I'd been writing about the music some day.

Many of the shows were at the Boston Tea Party (now the Metro), along with various sites in Providence (where I went to college) and England. There I spent a summer at a bogus archaeological dig, arranged partly so I could stick around and hear some music.

The following have been arranged in alphabetical, not chronological, order:

Beau Brummels - They played at Cape Cod's Yarmouth A-Go-Go, which is now a fundamentalist church. I didn't catch their whole show, and I was sorry I didn't. A California version of the British Invasion bands, they were exceedingly professional, led by conscientious singer Sal Valentino.

Bloodwyn Pig - One of the better bands I heard in London. They were a hard, in-the-trenches, blues-rock act spearheaded by guitarist Mick Abraham, who had just left Jethro Tull.

James Brown - The Godfather of Soul, who had been a star since the late '50s, was a revelation. Today he's a shadow of himself (when he shows up at gigs at all), but back then he stoked a furious pace, stutter-stepping, screaming, falling to his knees, donning capes, directing his Famous Flames orchestra and adding an arsenal of man-child vocal sound effects.

Buffalo Springfield - The preeminent electric folk-rockers appeared on a television taping in Providence, which I attended because of a ticket giveaway. But I wasn't impressed. Their albums were great, but they were distant and never cut loose. Perhaps they were nervous.

Byrds - When Jim McGuinn, who later changed his name to Roger McGuinn, cranked up his electric 12-string guitar, the effect was spellbinding. The band really rocked back then (they didn't move much on stage, but didn't need to), as opposed to the more timid, commercial sounds of their recent reunion years.

Joe Cocker - An unforgettable evening. Famous for a woozily alcoholic R& B image, Cocker took breaks during his erratic show to vomit in the wings. Definitely a legend in his own time. For sheer emotion, though, he was unbeatable.

Judy Collins - She had the most beautiful voice, and the most ethereal stage presence, I encountered. I heard her outdoors in Providence on a warm spring day. It was magical. Today she's more of an art-song stylist, which is worlds away from her folk-country past.

Cream - The supergroup featuring Eric Clapton, Ginger Baker and Jack Bruce, was not a supergroup when I saw them in Providence. It was their last concert together, and was a nasty, unfriendly affair lasting maybe 30 minutes, most of which was flashy soloing. Egotripping of the worst kind.

Doors - No one was prepared for his or her first Doors concert. Singer Jim Morrison was like an unleashed psychopath, staggering around and sprawling on the stage, looking to be in a shamanistic frenzy (bigger eyeballs I've never seen) and establishing an explosive tone of hurt and anger, ending in catharsis. Pianist Ray Manzarek played his dapper opposite - a Van Cliburn character who acted straight enough to be in a classical piano competition until you looked further at his granny glasses, and realized he was an emissary from Pluto. Guitarist Robbie Kreiger, meanwhile, was a shy, poetic figure in the background. The first time I saw them was at the shortlived Crosstown Bus in Brighton, a psychedelic atmosphere complete with absurd silver foil covering the walls and go-go girls in cages. An eye-opener.

Electric Prunes - The Prunes' big single, "I Had Too Much to Dream Last Night," still gets played on Boston college radio stations. As THE underground band of underground bands at the time, the Prunes were a mock-serious Northwest group that gave a truly weird performance at the Yarmouth A-Go-Go. Singer James Lowe sang "Too Much to Dream" from behind a stage curtain. He just wandered back there and didn't come out. Very strange.

Fleetwood Mac - As an electric blues-rock band, they had no peers. They often cranked up three lead guitarists - Peter Green, Jeremy Spencer and Danny Kirwan - and the long jams and tradeoffs were ecstatic. Many fans booed when pianist Christine McVie was added to the group, because she brought a softer, ballad approach. I saw her first gig at the Tea Party with them, and she really had to struggle with the crowd.

Grateful Dead - Would co-vocalist Pig Pen, who was to die of alcoholism, be in control or out of control? That was always the question at an early Dead gig. When I saw him, he was out of control - especially during his version of "Turn on Your Love Light" - and he literally fell off the stage, but dragged himself right up again. A wild time. Much more on the edge than the Dead shows of today.

Jimi Hendrix - Dressed in black, Hendrix cut a mysterious, almost satanic figure, with a perpetual cigarette in his mouth. At the now-defunct Carousel Theatre in Framingham (a theater-in-the-round which catered mostly to Las Vegas acts), Hendrix was out of place from the start. He was completely uninhibited in the formal setting, and sure enough, he made his famous humping motions at the speakers in the rear. Women in the crowd were shrieking.

Jethro Tull - Britisher Ian Anderson brought the flute to rock 'n' roll. He played it while hopping on one leg for most of the night (he rarely does that anymore), and was a master showman. The concert also had the longest drum solo of the era. Such solos later became tired cliches.

Janis Joplin - Lurching around the stage, Joplin, who later died tragically, never came to life until she sang, and then she could move mountains. At an arena in Providence, she spat out her whiskey-soaked tales of love in a wrenchingly physical display. At the end of most songs, she also nipped from a bottle of Jack Daniels. Her hedonism was out of fantasy land.

King Crimson - To be honest, this band, in one of their first gigs together, went over my head. They opened for the Rolling Stones in London's Hyde Park, receiving a lukewarm response from the 400,000 in attendance. Their cerebral, progressive style and their cold, distant presentation, were too radical for the tone of the day.

Led Zeppelin - Probably the single most exciting band I heard. As unknowns, they played an outdoor festival in Bath, England, (playing in the middle of the day, followed by John Mayall, Fleetwood Mac and Ten Years After), and stunned a crowd of 75,000. Plant's "Communications Breakdown" was the forerunner of all speedrock. The group played the next day at London's Royal Albert Hall, and I had hopped an all-night train to get there, too. Guitarist Jimmy Page blended acoustic and electric sounds, and when they rocked out they had fans standing on the railings in the balconies.

Lovin' Spoonful - Appearing in a small gym at Holy Cross College, they sounded and acted like a campy version of hootenanny performers. They were bubbly, but didn't leave a lasting impression.

John Mayall - An odd, introspective man back in those days. Ahead of his time, he had moved on from blues bands to a jazz trio when I heard him. He was very formal.

Moby Grape - A talented West Coast band that never received their due, the Grape were linked with the psychedelic movement, but were more versatile than that. They were unpredictable in concert - depending on how Skip Spence, who later logged time in a mental institution, was feeling - but I caught a hot night in Providence.

Van Morrison - Having moved from England, Morrison resided briefly in Cambridge, where he wrote his acoustic-flavored "Astral Weeks" album and did some occasional gigs. I heard him at the now-defunct Unicorn coffeehouse on Boylston street, with a meager six other fans. He was his typically awkward, but stupendous, self.

Gram Parsons - A tall, gangly kid from the South who knocked me out with his country voice. Likable and wildly unpolished, he fronted an early version of the Flying Burrito Brothers, whose music had an alien but exotic appeal at the time.

Peter, Paul & Mary - Just so you don't think I was only a rock lover, I did hear a folk concert or two. PP&M were a strip of pure velvet, with matchless harmonies and polite class.

Procol Harum - Don't remember much about them, except that their lush, symphonic keyboards were a new sound for me. They were reserved, and fostered an otherworldly mystique.

Rolling Stones - Ah yes, the Stones. I saw them twice - at the famed Manning Bowl show in Lynn when police, who seemed to be acting prematurely, fired tear gas after only 20 minutes and ended the show; and in London's Hyde Park, right after guitarist Bryan Jones had been found dead in his swimming pool. Mick Jagger read an Shelley elegy in honor of Jones, and released a thousand butterflies into the air. It was an emotional gig and was new guitarist Mick Taylor's debut, but it never really took off. It was also a 90- degree day, and that might explain why. Fans passed out from sunstroke right and left.

Smokey Robinson & the Miracles - My first exposure to choreographed dancing, the Miracles were ultra-smooth. And Robinson had an even higher falsetto than he has today.

Spirit - A very popular band in Boston, Spirit was a curious group with psychedelic overtones. Singer Jay Ferguson has gone on to make intermittently interesting, commercial rock records, but what ever happened to drummer Ed Cassidy? He was a shaved-headed 40-year-old back then (who looked much older) and was a charismatic presence.

Stone Poneys - This was Linda Ronstadt's first band, and they had a hit of "Different Drum." They were essentially light and fluffy, but Ronstadt was riveting. She wore a micro-miniskirt (playing up a flirty, though frozen-at- the-mike image), and had an angelic voice.

Ten Years After - Another British blues-rock band, who turned the juice on in concert with Alvin Lee's supersonic riffing (not that difficult to play, but the speed dazzled). Organist Chick Churchill was the first artist I saw to jump atop the speakers to incite the crowd.

Dionne Warwick - So much better then than now. What happened? Today, she's a cautious professional. Then, she really had soul, and didn't hesitate to show it.

Yardbirds - Punky, bar-band blues, played with high-voltage, no-tomorrow intensity. They were at the Surf Nantasket (now Uncle Sam's), and featured Jimmy Page, who later founded Led Zeppelin. An all-out night.

Young Rascals (later called the Rascals) - Delirious dance rock, with a garage-band, guys-next-door drive. I saw them on a college green in Providence, and they had people up and moving from the start. A happy-go-lucky crew.