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Ever
Heard Of . . . Golden
Nugget Interview Our
Resident Hippy Remembers . . .
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Ever Heard Of . . . The Koobas
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 The
same music scene that inspired The Beatles in the early sixties also gave
birth to a quartet called The Koobas. Formed in Liverpool in 1962, The
Koobas shared more than musical influences with The Beatles. They would
share the formidable management skills of one Brian Epstein and even
supported the Fab Four on a tour of England in 1965.
While many groups suffer from lack of media exposure, poor management and an inability to get out and play to significant numbers of people, The Koobas could not bemoan their good fortune on all three fronts. Having Epstein as manager alone guaranteed the band more than their fair share of exposure, and indeed more than any other amateur band could hope for. Their recording history displays their progression from a mod/pop band to a harsher R&B style. Unfortunately for them, their success was not to be. In fact, during the Koobas’ four-year recording career, not one of their singles entered the charts. Much as the Seattle scene in the early 1990s saw major label A&R types flock to the US West coast in hopes of discovering the next big grunge phenomenon, so too was the scene in Liverpool in the mid sixties. Shortly after the Beatles craze, the music clubs of Liverpool were routinely scoured by talent managers in hopes of finding the next Fab Four, and dozens of group signings were based solely on accent, haircut and looks. Brian Epstein discovered The Koobas in the midst of all the Liverpool hype in the early part of 1965 and handled management of the quartet until his death in 1967. The Koobas' association with Epstein made for immediate consideration from record companies when their demos were being shopped to major label distributors. The group's affiliation with Epstein also caused a stir in the British music press, garnering the band considerable exposure both in print and on television. Pye Records signed the Koobas in the Spring of 1965 and their first single, a Kim Weston Motown number titled “Take Me For A Little While” b/w “Somewhere In The Night” was released shortly thereafter. Their early Beatles’ influence is more than evident on this reworking but it is more than a competent debut cover. The Koobas spent the mid part of 1965 touring with The Beatles in England and over the course of the next six months would appear in two movies, “Ferry Across The Mersey" and “Money Go Round”. Despite all the publicity, their first outing did little in terms of sales and radio airplay. Released in early ’66, their second single, “You'd Better Make Up Your Mind” b/w “Place I Know”, fared no better than their first release as its’ sound was very similar to what was being produced by many of Britain’s aspiring bands. While their first two singles were far from embarrassing, their lack of commercial success led Pye records to release the group in the Spring of 1966. Without a recording contract, the foursome embarked on a tireless gigging routine throughout England and in the process, was successful in securing a deal with EMI/Columbia. The first single for their new label, “Sweet Music” b/w “Face”, had an early Who feel to it, an interesting but far from unique blend of Mod and Brit pop. "Sally" b/w "Champagne and Caviar" was released in February 1967 and was typical Top 40 British pop and generally went unnoticed. May 1967 saw the band beginning to experiment and integrate new techniques and influences with the release of "Gypsy Fred" b/w "City Girl". The A side to this release saw The Koobas' initial attempts at expanding on its sound by utilizing fuzz and distortion on the lead guitar parts. The flipside displays the first signs of the quartet adopting R&B influences and they manage to integrate that style successfully into this track. Although television exposure continued, it was far less prestigious as June 1967 found them promoting "Gypsy Fred" on a weekend children's series called "Mickey Dunne". At year's end, the four recorded what would be their final single, but yet would not spell the end of The Koobas. A very capable adaptation of Cat Stevens' "The First Cut Is The Deepest" was released early in 1968. Layered guitar work and dominant use of distortion coupled with a much heavier rhythm section gave the cover a psychedelic quality and demonstrated the band's continuing evolution to a grittier sound. Although the single suffered the same commercial fate as previous attempts, Columbia had enough faith in the group's talents to book studio time and the band was given the go-ahead to record an album. The Koobas spent the latter part of 1968 recording their one and only album which ended up being an eponymous release that hit the market in January of 1969. With some great lead guitar work courtesy of Stu Leatherwood and some confident R&B covers, the album seems to have captured the band at its’ zenith and is a solid play that makes for enjoyable listening. Even though it was the coda of their career, their transformation from a run-of the-mill pop sound to a gutsier, harder-edged style was complete. The album failed to sell in any great numbers and perhaps may have been a case of 'too-little-too-late' as the heavier blues sound was beginning to take hold of the music scene. The Koobas disbanded in late 1969 after attempts at promoting the album failed to generate any response from an uninterested British public. Their album is worth searching out and is much easier to find since its reissue in 1985 by Ben-Caruso Records. Renamed after one of the premier tracks on the album, "Barricades”, the album includes both sides of their first Columbia single as bonus tracks. British compilation album, “The Great British Psychedelic Trip Volume 3", features their best single, “The First Cut is The Deepest”. The Koobas . . . Ever heard of 'em? |
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| Picture This . . . Buffalo Springfield and Eric Clapton Arrested and Jailed |
| March
20, 1968 |
As recently as March 1967, Buffalo Springfield was riding a surge of commercial and critical acclaim. Their single, "For What It's Worth", released in December 1966 and written by Stephen Stills in response to clashes between youths and the police on Sunset Strip, had just entered Billboard’s top ten. In a September 17, 1967 LA Times interview, Stills was asked about the song and the songwriting process, "When I write about something like that, I'm separating myself from the whole thing. I'm an observer because I'm a songwriter and I'm here to spread the news like the minstrels of the 15th century." The band had begun drawing impressive crowds to venues across the US and many critics had heralded the LA based quintet as, "America's answer to The Beatles and Stones", citing the multiple talents within the group and the fact that most were very capable songwriters and singers. Still, with all the showering of acclaim and with the band still in its infancy, the strains within Buffalo Springfield were intense and the feuding was in high gear. Stills and Neil Young, both strong writing talents, were having a tough time as each fought for more creative control of the group and demanded more of their compositions on the band’s albums. Tensions grew to the point that Neil Young quit in May 1967, on the eve of a trip to New York for an appearance on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson that was later cancelled. More importantly for the group, Young’s departure came days before their scheduled appearance at The Monterey International Pop Festival, forcing the remaining members to recruit David Crosby from The Byrds to take his place at the show. Young returned to the group in November, but after a relatively peaceful and uneventful holiday period, bassist Bruce Palmer was arrested in New York for marijuana possession and deported back to Canada. The band’s search for a suitable manager during this time only added to the instability as they hired and fired three in a row before settling on Beach Boys manager Nick Grillo. Certainly no stranger to internal strife and turmoil was England's power-trio Cream. The perpetual squabbling between bassist Jack Bruce and piston-limbed drummer Ginger Baker had grown increasingly more vicious despite the band’s meteoric rise and enormous popularity. In the beginning, the group was successful in harnessing the friction and releasing their tensions onstage and on record in a furious display of genius musicianship. However, the disputes continued throughout the height of their popularity in 1967, and now, barely two years into its existence, Bruce and Baker were hardly speaking, and the mighty Cream was coming apart at the seams. In an interview in 1998, Eric Clapton recalled that he was once reduced to tears because of his rhythm-section's incessant bickering and wondered how he made it through that period without a complete mental collapse. March 20th, 1968 found the fractured and bruised trio touring the US West coast on the last leg of what would be their final US concert appearances. With the night off in LA before a gig the following evening, Eric Clapton was more than happy to receive an invitation from Stephen Stills.
Assisting in the pulverizing of this almost soundless evening was the Gibson Les Paul of Clapton, as he joined them for what would be a night of jamming and partying. As the evening wore on, it seems the musicians and fellow partiers partook in the smoking of some potent mighty green, and the wine was flowing endlessly. As the Rock and Roll storm continued to rage throughout the valley's rolling hills, the guitar thunder increasing in volume and intensity, the neighbors had had enough. A phone call to the local authorities was made. The Police dispatched a couple of patrol cars to investigate the disturbance. As they neared the offending abode at 1174 Old Topanga Canyon Road, the powerful, high voltage bedlam continued. It was 10:15 pm. The officers knocked repeatedly on the door. Each knock went unanswered until a sudden break in the music allowed for the rapping to be heard by the pupil-dilated bunch within. An unsuspecting Neil Young opened the door and was unceremoniously pushed aside as the officers burst into the smoky haze of the living room. Buffalo Springfield guitarist Richie Furay remembered the rude entrance, "the cops were coming in from everywhere, they just swarmed in like a SWAT team." Officer Andrew Yobuck recalled in his notes that later served as evidence at a future court appearance, "the marijuana smoke just rolled out". With the sudden realization that their nocturnal visitors were police officers, a mad scramble of Keystone Cops proportions erupted. Buffalo Springfield's road manager Chris Sarns, able to think clearly in this moment of sheer panic, bolted for the nearest bathroom, bag of stash in hand, in a desperate attempt to flush the evidence away. His frantic efforts were foiled when a quick thinking policeman caught him, hand in toilet and mid flush. While the others did their best to look sober and innocent while the officers went to work, Stephen Stills made a clumsy yet successful exit through a side window, running at full speed through the moonlit woods to Sarns' nearby home. He called The Beach Boys' Dennis Wilson, who in turn contacted the group's manager Nick Grillo to inform him of the predicament his newly acquired rock and rollers had gotten into. None of the usual and degrading procedures were spared for this group of rock and roll elite. Furay remembers, "we went through the whole routine of processing, which was ugly; spraying us down, delousing us, getting our clothes and being taken to our cells." Neil Young was so distressed by the whole process that he suffered a severe epileptic fit. Inexplicably, and unfortunately for Clapton, he was separated from his fellow culprits shortly after arrival at the detention center, Furay commenting, "I don't know what happened to Eric!" It seems "Slowhand" had the misfortune of being lumped in with three refrigerator sized, hard-core Black Panther members. Meanwhile, bail was set at $1,250, the boys having to wait until morning when Grillo was able to gather the appropriate bail money. After an uncomfortable evening in the cells, certainly more so for Clapton, everyone was released. While Eric Clapton was onstage the following night with Cream, Buffalo Springfield decided to cancel the two shows it had scheduled for that weekend at the Kaleidoscope Club. At a trial date the following month, everyone involved pleaded guilty to disturbing the peace in return for the dismissal of the drug charges. Ultimately, both bands weren't big enough to satisfy the creative talents of its individual members and neither would survive the year. On May 5th, Buffalo Springfield played their final show at the Long Beach Civic Auditorium in California, while Cream brought down the curtain with a show six months later at London's Royal Albert Hall on November 26. Just another day at the office! |
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The Death of The Haight - Ashbury Scene?
continued The same article labeled the Dead an “acid-rock group second only to the Jefferson Airplane in national popularity." In fact, it was the release of Jefferson Airplane's album “Surrealistic Pillow " in February 1967 that created the initial ripples about San Francisco and put the city on the international map, both musically and culturally. Along with the arrival of poets, artists and other genuine participants and contributors to the scene, the current has brought with it a swell of bottom feeders ranging from harmless hustlers and panhandlers to dangerous and violent criminals. The crime rate of the district has seen a marked increase and a rash of violent muggings have recently made headlines. Over the span of twelve months this fruitful landscape of peace and love, once precious and innocent, has become somewhat unfriendly, even hostile. The waters of the youthful, human stream that continues to arrive and empty itself into the vibrant cultural ocean at the intersection of Haight and Ashbury have become somewhat murky, and at times, downright dangerous. As crime, open drug use and panhandling increase, The San Francisco Police Department is paying more attention to the district. The policy regarding the policing of the area has done a complete about face, from feel-good tolerance to in-your-face confrontation. It was just last Summer when Monterey police chief Frank Marinello informed the press after the Monterey Pop Festival, "I feel the hippies are my friends, and I am asking one of them to take me to the Haight-Ashbury". Now, one season later, increased foot patrols and marked police cruisers seem to be everywhere. On October 2nd of last year, The Grateful Dead themselves felt the pressure of this increased police attention when their communal home was targeted and raided by narcotics agents. Four days later, a mock funeral procession and ceremony was held in the streets of Haight-Ashbury marking the “Death Of The Hippie”. Now, just shy of two years later, the hippy dream looks to be unraveling, and The Dead seem to be officially signifying its demise. Yesterday afternoon they bid a fond and memorable farewell to the area with a free concert in the middle of Haight Street. Next month…The Dead plays what would be their final performance in the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood - …Several thousand pushed and shoved danced and boogied for prime viewing space. Some passed out in the heat. An elated Grateful Dead fan remarked, "Man, we were digging some cool beads and crafts when we hear The Dead playing just up the street, man we just ran!”… . . . see ya next month!
|
classicrockpage.com |
San
Francisco - The gleam on the hippy dream has begun to tarnish.
Gone are the days when leaders of the Haight-Ashbury district were
declaring, “Go to the Haight, they'll take care of you”. Almost
forgotten are the days of late 1966, when Mime Troupe actors “The
Diggers”, longtime goodwill administrators, were saying “bring a
bowl and spoon to the Panhandle at Ashbury Street…free food everyday…it’s
free because it’s yours”. Earlier this year, the group stopped
handing out food and has moved on. The sheer numbers of young people
now converging on this district has become overwhelming. Local
authorities estimate that the number of young people that have
relocated to the area has ballooned to a staggering 100,000 since last
summer. What local goodwill groups remain, are taxed to the point of
futility. Many say the hippy dream won’t survive. That it can no
longer sustain the massive influx of young people, nor some of the
seedier and unsightly aspects this Cultural Revolution has borne.
Picture
this... How
quickly things change in the frail and fragile world of rock and roll and
the musical and personal relationships it spawns within groups. The
delicate balance between harmony and strife, creativity and stagnancy, is
often times upset as the pendulum swings and impetuous personalities clash
causing irreparable rifts. Sometimes it's money. Other times it's drugs.
Frequently, it's a case of swelling egos. And in rare instances, it's a
matter of full-sized talent crammed into an economy class vehicle: there's
just simply not enough legroom and the occupants are bound to get
uncomfortable. In the early months of 1968, many of the above-mentioned
dilemmas were at play within both Buffalo Springfield and Cream, and
things were on a fast track to a complete implosion of both groups. So
it's only fitting that the two battered and beleaguered groups' paths
would meet in a most unusual way in March 1968. But first a bit of history…
Clapton was invited to the Topanga Canyon home of
Stills, a long time fan, to jam with Buffalo Springfield as they rehearsed
material for their next album. The group was in the final stages of
remixing their soon to be released single, “Uno Mondo”. Clapton
arrived at Stills’ secluded home in the early evening, guitar in hand
and ready to jam. Nestled far back from the road, the rustic home was all
but invisible behind a wall of towering pine trees. Although the home was
not within eyesight of neighboring homes, much to the dismay of nearby
residents, they were definitely within earshot. Over the past few nights,
the infinite calm of this picturesque setting was displaced and replaced
with the roar of an army of fully cranked Marshall amps as Buffalo
Springfield rehearsed at full volume into the wee hours of the morning.
Last June’s Monterey Pop Festival
prompted Time magazine to devote the July 5th
cover story to the hippy movement, featuring this
cultural and musical phenomenon whose epicenter is in San Francisco, but
whose radius of influence is far reaching and affecting many urban centers
along with many sleepy, Pleasantville, USA-type towns throughout the
country. Many here feel that the mainstream media and the ensuing
attention brought on by the Time magazine story, whose headline
screamed, "The Hippies: Philosophy of a Subculture - The Highs and
Lows of Hippiedom”, is to blame for the neighborhood's current
state. The article's content contained no hints of flippancy and it
portrayed the movement as a big and important one. Yet, most inhabitants
of the Haight feel the media spotlight has cheapened and exploited their
pristine, utopian vision, where community and culture, music and
lifestyle, are a part of everyone, and all participate in the growth of
the community. The Grateful Dead’s Jerry Garcia, his group a mainstay
and remarkable wonder of the area itself, recently said of the article, “When
the big media flash came out - when the Time magazine guys came out and
interviewed everybody and took photographs and made it news, the feedback
from that killed the whole scene.”