July 2000 The Psychedelic News Music Ezine

Inside. . .

The Fish File
Slade in Concert
By David Fisher

Our Resident Hippy
Remembers . . .
Real life stories from
the 60s and 70s.
Subscriber Contribution
The Doors and The Nazz in Philadelphia 1967

Sam Andrew has been described as the "musical director" of Big Brother and the Holding Company and is an integral part of their sound and success. He shares his colorful experiences and vivid memories of Janis Joplin and the San Francisco music scene he helped make legendary as a member of one of the era's most memorable and intense musical sunbursts. Big Brother and the Holding Company remains one of the most energetic examples of the lively West Coast music scene of the mid-sixties.

Andrew explains the environment that gave birth to the San Francisco scene, Big Brother's first rehearsals with Janis Joplin, his tenure and dismissal from Janis' Kozmic Blues Band and his memories of The Grateful Dead, Jimi Hendrix and Otis Redding. He also updates us on the band's current tour and latest CD, "Do What You Love" as well as his involvement as musical director in the production "Love, Janis".

Andrew agreed to allow The Psychedelic News to use actual audio of the interview to accompany the transcribed text. We thought this would add a unique dimension to the conversation, we hope you agree.

A wealth of information and a fantastic raconteur, his stories and recollections are sure to fascinate. The Psychedelic News and classicrockpage.com thanks Sam Andrew for generously sharing with us a slice of music history.

To visit the Big Brother and the Holding Company website www.bbhc.com

Note:When you see this icon, you can click on it to hear Sam's response.

Tell us about some of your musical influences. Did you come from a musical family?
I know you spent some time overseas when you were younger.

Yes I did. My father played guitar real well in more of an academic manner. He read music and that kind of thing. All of my mother's people where musicians but none of them read music, they were just kind of intuitive musicians. So I got a little bit of both.

You had a lot of jazz and classical influences while growing up and you were actually playing rock and roll professionally while you were still in your teens.

That's right I had a rock-and-roll band very early on. But by this time in life I kind of played almost everything. Like you said, I had a rock and roll band when I was in my teens and we wrote original music for that. And then when I started in university I played classical guitar. So those were two big musical seeds that were planted when I was young.

What did you call your first band?

The Cool Notes. Spelled just like that. No two K's or anything like that.

There was quite an eclectic mix of genres being absorbed by the musicians and artists in and around the San Francisco Bay area in the mid sixties. You had folk, bluegrass, blues, Eastern influences, a little bit of everything it seems. What were you listening to in the mid sixties, just before Big Brother was formed?

We had just gone through a big folk phase, so those of us who were kind of serious about that really got into it and started listening to a lot of music from Appalachia, Native musics around the world and then right before that we started listening to a lot of Jazz and Blues like Lightnin' Hopkins, Mance Lipscomb, Furry Lewis and that kind of thing. Kind of a real serious enquiry into the Blues. So I think those two things, folk music and Blues were probably the big influence on that first classic San Francisco sound.

In 1965 , Chet Helms was putting together jams at 1090 Page Street.

Yes, That's where Peter (Albin) lived and he had a beautiful basement with a proscenium arch, it was a theater in an old Victorian house. We would go down there and jam. We figured why not invite people as long as we're playing.

As word spread those jams turned into quite the events after a while didn't they?

Yeah, but it was still real quiet in a local neighborhood kind of thing though. It wasn't that large. Just a lot of multi faceted people from around the neighborhood would come in. There'd be African-Americans, poor students, you know, a lot of different people. Real wide open.

And you would get together and jam with other local musicians?

We'd get together on Wednesday night or something, we'd have regular rehearsals and then Chet started inviting people and charging them to get in. Members of the Quicksilver Messenger Service would come by�

Mr Cippollina and Mr Valente?

Yes, and Gary Duncan.

Was it at those jams at 1090 Page Street where you met Peter?

Before all that was happening, I was walking by one day and heard him playing the guitar out of a window and he sounded really good. And he still does, he still plays like that.

I read somewhere that described you as the "musical director" of Big Brother. How did you see your role in the band?

Well, at first I saw myself as more brand new to that whole thing than anyone else in the band, with the most to learn about where that scene was going to go. I was very unexposed to it. I'd been in university in a real academic environment and very far away from Pop music at all. I mean I hadn't even heard it at all, I'd stayed in the library for two or three years and so I was real unexposed and had a lot to learn, so everyone had a lot to teach me when I came in. On the other hand, I was the only one who had been in a band that made money so I understood that part about playing, you know, how songs had to have a beginning, middle and an end, where a chord was going. I knew more about chords and that part of music, the theory part of music, harmony, than anyone else in the band. So, just kind of by default I became the one who would know, like someone would say "Do you know this song?", I would be the one who knew it.

So while you were attending university, what was it that made you devote yourself to music and make it a career?

Well, I was always serious about it from real young but never thought about it as making a living at it. It was always a real serious pursuit. But I guess meeting Peter, and when I met him and heard him play I said 'Let's start a band' and he kind of wasn't for it. Very similar to our relationship today. I had to work on him for months, you know, keep asking him and it finally happened. He didn't go, "Yeah, that's a great idea, let's go do that!"

There was some serious mainstream attention focused on The Haight-Ashbury district around 1966, culminating with Time magazine declaring "The Younger Generation" to be "Man Of The Year". What was the musical community like at that time? It sounds like it was a musicians' Utopia.

Well, in a way. But the thing about San Francisco in general was the music was unspecialized and unprofessional. In a good sense of those words and a bad sense of those words. Musicians in Los Angeles and New York were real professionally oriented and they were going to record and they knew which manager they wanted and they saw their career path and that kind of thing. We just weren't doing it that way in San Francisco. It was more like people who went to art school and they would pick up the guitar to express themselves and didn't really care if they were playing something that was correct or polished or professional, that was not the idea at all. The very first band in San Francisco, The Charlatans, aside from Dan Hicks, they almost couldn't play at all. They were far more interested in making a statement. Kind of like a conceptual art thing, than a professional thing of going and playing. No one wanted to go play clubs. The very idea of going to Broadway and playing behind strippers was very far away from what anyone was thinking about. Which was the only real professional outlet at the time.

It seems that the attitude towards music and the business side of things spilled over into the freeform music styles and loose arrangements that many of the bands at that time employed.

The only choice we had was to be freeform because we couldn't be tight formed. No one knew enough to do that. So by default, it was a real freeform, a kind of seeking after a new sound. The same thing happened in the Punk era where a lot of people were totally untutored on an instrument.

The only thing that came even remotely close to that, as much as it is different, was the Seattle scene where guys couldn't really play all that well but had the heart.

Yes, I think that will always be the case with young people. Thank God! They are young and have all this juice.

And you don't mind sleeping in a van or not sleeping at all.

Yes, for two weeks!

Full Interview

Read and listen to Sam Andrew's recollections of Monterey, the classic Cheap Thrills album, The Kozmic Blues Band, The Grateful Dead, Jimi Hendrix, Otis Redding and what's happening with Sam Andrew and BBHC today...

Click here to go to the full interview.

Slade in Concert - 1975

By David Fisher

The Fish File

Citizens of Penticton, B.C., small town western Canada, generally waved at the tour jets as they flew over. We dreamt of the trip to Vancouver to see the real groups; the Zeppelins, Deep Purples, Black Sabbaths, et al.

As fate would have it, Wolverhampton's notoriously loud boys (bo eeeez), Slade graced us with their presence one hot summer evening in 1975. The audience gathered in what is known as the Peach Bowl, not a bowl at all, rather a large convention barn, named after the fuzzy fruit grown on the fertile hills surrounding town. Penticton was to be the envy of western Canada for a summer.

Now, Penticton has a reputation of being the California of Canada, a strip of arid land between two magnificent lakes. It is a quaint town of 25000 which swells to 75000 for July and August, attracting: California biker gangs, Airstream trailer conventions and international softball tournaments. Even Cheech and Chong spent their juvenile summers partaking in the liberal and frequent drug culture of the Okanagan.

Now, I think Slade had just released their peak-of-style-cum-end-of-era opus, Nobody's Fool months before. (don't chastise me if I'm wrong, it was a quarter century ago; hell, I can hardly remember what I had for dinner last night) Suffice it to say, the boys were in peak touring form and remain the loudest band I've ever heard. (eat your hearts out Blue Oyster Cult and Who fans)

The Peach Bowl was packed, 3500 screaming eager fans sweating and stomping, awaiting the band's arrival. We were briefly entertained by the opening act, the young and greenhorn Sweeney Todd, led by the glam-stickman, Nick Gilder. Sweeney Todd would later become local faves, even garnering national status, but they were under appreciated and overlooked by the Slade-thirsty mob.

Finally the moment arrived; the flashpots, the smoke, the roar of the crowd and finally, the noise. Music loud enough to stand your hair horizontal; like an erstwhile Maxell commercial; we stood bravely in the onslaught of wind-generating sonic music.

Dave Hill, seeming seven feet tall in his towering boots, oval forehead of red hair, took front stage left and squelched out chords to the adoring crowd. On several occasions, kindly fans held their sweetly smoking joints up to Dave, an offering in exchange for his aural assaults. He looked perplexed, not sure if he should accept the weed, or stand cool and maintain his celebrity/fan phantom safety-zone. (these were the days before steel barricades and beefcake security drones betwixt the audience and the band) He chose to remain chaste and, in honor of his smoke-free stance, fans decided to throw unlit spliffs onto the stage, much like fans toss gladiolas to Morrissey these days.

Noddy Holder was his impish gesturing self; resplendent in tartan trousers and suspenders, shorty tophat perched on his wild flaming red moptop, looking every bit the psychotic leprechaun. His gravelly, octave-higher-than-expected screams were perfect fodder for Hill's squelching riffs. Every song seemed to have those ill-spelled, sing-a-long "oyz" and "eez" sounds in them.

C'mon feel the noize, Nobody's Fool, Gudbuy T'Jane, Darlin' be home soon (an old Lovin' Spoonful ballad) all chang-ged out, ringing inside the mammoth hall as the joints rained onstage.

Everybody left happy, hot and ears a-ringing. The bikers returned to their flop houses on the beach. The wide-eyed kids returned to their bewildered parents who were waiting in their slick silver trailers. (lined up like a makeshift trailer-park awaiting a tornado) The soft-ballers returned to their tent trailers and motels, delving into what was left of their beer and pot and kkeping the party spirit alive.

Slade alive.

I'm sure the pimply-faced kid with the broom made a clean sweep of the stage after the band had said its goodnights.

Fishmum

Philadelphia - The Doors
It was, I believe, the summer of 1967. August, as I recall. I was 15 years old. I was the rhythm guitarist and singer in a local band called Thuh Sqwamps (that's how we spelled it!) Our organist Steve's, Uncle Jerry owned a record store in downtown Philadelphia, and also dabbled in artist management and concert promotion. He and his partner managed a band called The Nazz, which featured a brilliant young guitarist and writer named Todd Rundgren. The Nazz used to rehearse in the loft that was the upstairs of the record store at 16^th and Chestnut Street (it's not there any longer.) Steve and I, and different Sqwamps, used to sit on the floor of the loft and watch these "big kids" rehearse. They were actually cutting an album for a real label, which we thought was so cool!

Uncle Jerry knew we were hip to all of the new music, and he used to give us new releases like "We Ain't Got Nothing Yet" by The Blues Magoos, "I Had Too Much to Dream" by The Electric Prunes and "Incense and Peppermints" by The Strawberry Alarm Clock for our opinions. One day Steve brought us each a copy of a new album Uncle Jerry had given him for us: "See what you think of these guys." It was The Doors' first album, which featured "Light My Fire," "The End," "Soul Kitchen" and all of the other amazing songs and sounds that added to the creative fire that was the 60's rock scene. Well, we were blown away by the music we heard.

Uncle Jerry told us that he and his partner were bringing The Doors to Philadelphia at the end of the summer, because they got them for a good price and it seemed like they were going to be a hot commodity (good call, Uncle Jerry!). Also, he figured he could put The Nazz in as the opening act to get them some performing experience and get some buzz going on them. Another good move. Uncle Jerry wanted to know if we would like to be ushers at the show. "Ushers? Cool! What do we have to do?" Well, we'd be in charge of taking tickets and showing people to their seats. And, could we get there early and maybe help The Nazz and The Doors with their equipment? Cool! Sure! We certainly had enough experience hauling, setting up and wiring gear, so that wouldn't be a problem. They were even set to use the same kind of Bogan P.A. system that we used.

On the day of the gig Steve, our drummer Mitchell, and I showed up at Town Hall on North Broad Street (my father drove us there and dropped us off). Town Hall had not been previously used as a rock concert hall. Most of the bigger acts played The Electric Factory, The Trauma or even The Second Fret or The Main Point. However, Town Hall was an inviting place with a nice stage. We were appropriately dressed to usher. I clearly remember that I wore a gray herringbone sport jacket (Beatle-style, natch), black knit tie, white shirt, black pants and Beatle boots. The other guys were similarly dressed, we being rock musicians and such. The Nazz had gotten there before we did. Tommy, the drummer, had a kit that was creatively covered in a Scotch plaid material. Stookey, the singer-keyboardist, had a big Hammond B-3 and Leslie cabinet that, mercifully, had already been set up onstage, too. Todd and the bass player, Carson, had their big amps plugged in, too. I recall them being Acoustics. Someone said, "The Doors are pulling up." We walked across the stage and out the stage door, and looking down the street to our left, saw a blue and white Volkswagen minivan coming down the narrow alley. It pulled to a stop at the stage door. I don't recall who was driving, but I remember three very nice fellows, who I clearly recognized form the album, stepped out of the van and greeted us. Ray, Robbie and John looked amazing - long hair (we dressed cool, but our folks still made us have fairly respectable haircuts!), scarves, velvet jackets, bell-bottoms, boots and, of course, Ray wore those ultra-cool wire spectacles. And, this was just to drive to the gig! Jim, however, was nowhere in sight.

The Nazz and The three Doors discussed logistics, and it was decided that John Densmore would use Tommy's drums since they were already set up, and the amps could be used, as well. The Nazz were agreeable, so all Steve, Mitchell and I had to carry in were Ray Manzareck's organ and bass keyboard and an extra amp for the organ. Robbie Krieger carried his guitar case, planning to plug into Todd's amplifier. It was all very agreeable. We walked to the back of the van, popped the back door, and gasped three at once! There was Jim Morrison, sound asleep in the back of the van, lying across the equipment. We carefully pulled things out from around him, and he ultimately came to. I had never seen anyone who was actually stoned at that point in time, but Jim clearly was not of this world. He was very sluggish, but very kind and friendly. He gave us a big smile and a hello. We greeted him back. He eventually followed us into the theatre, floating behind us.

All of the equipment got set up. I was eyeing the keyboard set-up, having never seen a real Vox organ in person before.Ray saw me, and said, "Sit down." I sat behind Ray's organ. His glasses were laying on the top of the Vox and I stared at them. He said, "Wanna try them on?" I said, "Yeah! Can I?" What a cool guy he was to such a young rock fan! I remember feeling like he was like a cool big brother. I sat there behind Ray Manzarek's keyboard rig, wearing his hip wire frame glasses, and pretended I was playing "Light My Fire." It was so, so cool!

The theatre doors eventually opened, and about 75 hippies floated in to hear The Doors. Even though "Light My Fire" had been a chart hit for about two months, there wasn't really much of a turnout. I don't know if the show had been poorly advertised, or if The Doors were just so erudite that they attracted, at that time, a small, art crowd. We sort of collected tickets, exchanged peace signs and "wow, mans," and showed people to seats they never occupied. It seemed most people chose to sit on the floor, or lounged against the walls. A few took seats, putting their legs up on the seat in front. It was all very laid back, and very comfortable.

Our job done, we sat back to cheer on The Nazz. They came out looking very psychedelic - flowing paisley shirts, scarves, striped bell-bottoms, Edwardian jackets and such, all purchased from The Lions Den, a tres chic store on Walnut Street, where Thuh Sqwamps also bought their latest stage clothes. We felt very validated seeing as how the "big kids" sanctioned our outfitters!

The Nazz went on to fame with brilliant tunes such as "Hello, It's Me, "Wildwood Blues" and more amazing music, and Todd Rundgren's contributions are, of course, legendary. But, on that mild summer evening, they were a group of young guys trying to find their faces. I grimaced as The Nazz did dance steps - I'm talking Motown-style dance steps, as performed by white guys who couldn't, and shouldn't, have been doing them - as they sang "Ooh, Baby, Baby." It was really weird! The rest of their set was pretty good, though, and I was relieved. Their new act was met by moderate applause.

Then, it was time for The Doors. The lights were dimmed as the guys took the stage. Jim wore what he had been wearing in the van - black boots, black leather pants, and a black and purple suede and leather jacket over a cream-colored ruffled crepe shirt that was tucked in but un-buttoned. He looked amazingly hip, and he also looked incredibly warm. It wasn't a typically hot August night, but it certainly wasn't leather-weather! He dripped sweat throughout the entire show, ultimately taking off his jacket. I, personally, felt relieved.

At the end of the first song, Jim asked that the spotlight be turned off - it was burning his eyes� The rest of the set was the most amazing display of performance art I think I've ever seen since. Certainly, I had never seen anything like it at the time. The Doors were absolutely brilliant, squeezing sounds out of their instruments, the likes of which I'd never heard performed live. Remember - they had no bass player. Ray played left-handed bass on a little two-octave keyboard unit (Carol Kaye told me she played bass on the single of "Light My Fire." She's a brilliant musician and a major player in the 60's scene. I certainly have no reason to doubt her, and I am indebted to her for her contributions and her generosity in sharing her experience with me. But I have to tell you - The Doors sounded the same live as they did on the album, the bass tones being no exception.) It was the darkest, most profoundly eerie music I had ever heard. And it was completely and totally enjoyable.

The audience was in ecstasy (not doing Ecstasy, as that was not around. But I don't think they were exactly only "high on life" that evening!) It was a magnificent night. I can still hear the music, feel the strange thrills, smell the incense and remember the overall good vibes and kindness that permeated the entire experience. At the end of the show, Steve, Mitchell and I helped the bands break down their gear. A girl I knew had been there, and she came onto the stage. We walked to the back where the scrims were folded, and she suddenly screamed. I looked down to see what had startled her, and there was Jim Morrison, sound asleep on the folded backdrops! I don't recall how he got into the van to leave, but I also don't remember saying goodbye to him. The others were very grateful for our help. They thanked us as we and The Nazz bid them goodbye. They were headed to, I believe, Washington, D.C. (or maybe New York City?), for another show the following day.

That experience changed and enhanced much of my musical outlook, and the sound and performance of our band. The Doors, even as unknowns, were a powerful artistic experience. I was personally saddened to hear of the death of Jim Morrison a mere four years later, and I have the kindest memories of the rest of the band. I wish them well, and I thank them, and Uncle Jerry, for the music, the experience and the memories.

� Robert Rush, 2000

	The Trip Continues . . . Expand Your Mind visit classicrockpage.com	July 2000 - Issue 10