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blahblahwoofwoof



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PostPosted: Sun Dec 02, 2007 2:27 am    Post subject: Rock's Backpages Libraries Reply with quote

Quote:
Question Time with Jimi Hendrix

Keith Altham, NME, 13 May 1967

THE REAL JIMI HENDRIX is now beginning to emerge from behind that
skilfully placed publicity screen of early days when success was too
fragile to toss in the air and see what came down.

His retorts are more spontaneous and there is a "Jaggered edge" to
some which indicates a not unreasonable impatience with those
misguided people who think he is more of a freak attraction than a
gifted musician.

He is in fact an extraordinarily talented guitarist with a strikingly
ugly appearance trying quite sincerely to produce songs and sounds
which are reflective of today – his music – "NOW" music.

The sub-plot to this question-time was kindly provided by drummer
Mitch Mitchell on a phone aside, who was having the most fascinating
conversation with the Metropolitan Water Board in connection with his
stopcock!

Now that you have completed your first major tour with the Walker
Brothers, are you happy with the results?

Sure, the tour was good experience, but our billing-position was all
wrong. I was setting the stage on fire for everyone else, following
those pretty people like the Quotations and the Californians. I think
we deserved to close the first half – that Engel-flumplefuff hadn't
any stage presence. He never got anything going. Stopped it all stone
dead.

It was a good tour though – one guy jumped about twenty feet from a
box in the theatre at Luton on to the stage just to shake hands with
us. We'd step outside the stage door where the teeny boppers were and
think "Oh they won't bother about us" and get torn apart! We were good
in something called Leicester, too.

Why did you decide to change your stage numbers?

Because I realised you can't fight the whole world at once, but we
only brought in numbers that have some life of their own. We did
Dylan's 'Like A Rolling Stone' and 'Wild Thing' – you can get inside
the composer's mind on those things but we're not going in for any of
this 'Midnight Hour' kick – no "gotta, gotta, gotta" because we don't
have ta, have ta, have ta!

Are you concerned that a second single, 'The Wind Cries Mary' has now
entered the chart, while 'Purple Haze' is still selling so well?

We never thought 'Purple Haze' would be this big. Maybe we should have
waited for it to cool down before releasing 'Mary'!

(Mitch Mitchell, experienced guitarist, is explaining very carefully
to the authorities about his flooded flat on another phone in the
office: "The top came off the tap and there's a jet of boiling water
about six feet high hitting the ceiling and the water's so deep that
we can't open the door because of the pressure and the caretaker
doesn't know where the stopcock is. What was that? 'Oh dear!' is
right! Yes I'll hang on.")

Are you at all concerned that your unusual appearance will make you
someone to look at rather than someone to listen to?

Before I go on stage my road manager says to me: "Jimi, you scruffy
looking git, you're not going on looking like that tonight, are you?"
and I say: "As soon as I've put out this cigarette – I'm fully
dressed." This is how I like it. I feel comfortable like this.

(Meanwhile back at the stopcock! "Hello – yes. Yes I called the fire
brigade but that was two and a half hours ago and nothing happened!")

Met any nice folk lately?

Donovan. First, when I saw pictures of this sweet little guy with the
lacquered nails and all I thought "damnee," but when I met him he
turned out to be really groovy. It shatters me anyone could be that
nice. He's really beautiful.

Have you seen any other groups copying the Experience?

I haven't, but everywhere I go they tell me about one group who got up
like us and the fella tried to play the guitar with his teeth and his
teeth fell out all over the stage. That's what you get for not
brushing your teeth I tell 'em. You can't be too careful.

(Mitch, now slightly hysterical: "But don't you think someone should
do something – I mean you can't go in the bathroom or you get scalded
to death. I wouldn't mind but this is the second time this has
happened in a week. Are you still there?")

Can you tell us something about the new album?

First off I don't want people to get the idea it's a collection of
freak-out material. I've written songs for teeny boppers like 'Can You
See Me' and blues things. 'Maniac Depressive' is so ugly you can feel
it and 'May This Be Love' is a kind of "get your mind together" track.

It's a collection of free feeling and imagination. Imagination is very
important – there's one lyric line – "let's hold hands and watch the
sunrise at the bottom of the sea" – that's just pure imagination!

Have you encountered any deliberate hostility by the Press to you?

There are still a few who have been obviously sent to get me. They
come back to the dressing room with a kind of "let's strip him naked
and hang him from a tall tree" attitude. They don't bother me too much
– there'll always be someone who wants to nail you down. Most of 'em
go away stoned like the guy in Glasgow.

(Mitch in desperation on the phone: "I know it sounds funny but it's
not. If you don't do something quick I'm going to have no flat –
again. The caretaker? He's still looking for the stopcock.")

Do you think you can repeat your success in America?

The States is still very conservative – maybe the West Coast would be
easier to break than New York – you can play louder on the West Coast.
I like things the Mamas and Papas are doing.

Have you thought of augmenting the group?

No, but on the album Noel plays a £2 guitar that he bought off Alan
Freeman, which is held together with bits of sticky tape and makes a
great sound.

Noel and Mitch will go great in the U.S. – they'll love them so much
they won't have to wash their own socks.

Have you changed since your stay in Britain.

I've got older and I say more of the things that I want to say.

(As for Mitch Mitchell – he was last seen disappearing in the general
direction of Gerrard Street waving plunger and shouting, "A plumber, a
plumber, my kingdom for a plumber!")

© Keith Altham, 1967




Quote:
Hendrix Admits Lamp Is A Bit Smoky

Keith Altham, NME, 9 September 1967

TIME TO TUCK the tiny tots up and put them safely abed with a nice
Monkees' record! Why? Because "the electric bogeyman" is back in town!
He's taking another fantastic excursion into the realms of pop
nightmares with 'The Burning Of The Midnight Lamp'!

If you, too, are baffled by this latest piece of musical Voodoo from
Jimi Hendrix, you may take some heart from the fact that both Mick
Jagger and I are equally mystified by this disc. After having heard
the single a few times, I'm feeling like the man who, admiring a fast
car on the road, declares: "That was damn good. What was it?"

At his flat off the Edgware Road Jimi smiled when I expressed my
bewilderment as to what it was all about?

"I'm glad there is this kind of reaction," he said happily. "Maybe
it's a little murky in there, a bit smoky, but it's the kind of disc
you put down and go back to. When I first heard Procol Harum's 'Whiter
Shade Of Pale' the meaning was very muddy. I understood about the
first verse and that was all. But as you hear it again and again you
begin to put the thing together."

Started in plane

"I wrote part of the song on a plane between LA and New York and
finished it in the studios in America. There are some very personal
things in there. But I think everyone can understand the feeling when
your travelling that no matter what your address there is no place you
can call home.

"The feeling of man in a little old house in the middle of a desert
where he is burning the midnight lamp!

"It's a different record – like I do one thing and they say: 'That's
good – that's great.' Then I say 'well how about this then' and they
say 'yeah, that's a number one,' so I do something else. I guess
something has to come apart somewhere.

"I've never tried to establish one sound as a guitarist. You always
knew it was Chuck Berry or Duane Eddy or Bo Diddley when they played.
But I'm trying to get new things all the time.

"Some people are ashamed of their hit records but I'm proud to be
associated with mine. I think it's a very groovy record and if you
don't like it, well then turn it over. That's a very nice ditty on the
other side!"

We made a brief excursion to see Jimi's bedroom, which is like a kind
of Aladdin's cave, hung with lace shawls, tapestries and great
coloured balls of cloth pinned to the ceiling. The colour red
predominates. LPs are liberally sprinkled over the flower carpet and
suspended from the lamp shade in the middle of the ceiling are the two
little gilt figures of cherubs he bought recently in an antique shop.
One of the little angels had a broken arm.

"That's the groovy thing about him," smiled Jimi. "He can fly with a
broken arm!"

Back to the lounge where we talked about success and the changes hits
have wrought in Jimi's life.

"It depends what you think is success," said Jimi. "To me it's like
doing your utmost, achieving the ultimate. Well, I have not done that.
I think I shall always be looking for success.

"All the things I thought were important before I had a hit record are
just as important now. Trying to understand people and respect their
feelings regardless of your position or theirs. The beautiful things
are still the same – the sunset and the dew on the grass. No material
wealth changes the way I feel about these things.

"If your looking for real happiness you go back to the happiest days
you had as a child. Remember when playing in the rain was fun? I
remember one time when I was only four and I wet my pants and I stayed
out in the rain for hours so I would get wet all over and my mum
wouldn't know. She knew, though!"

We talked of the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, whom the Beatles have lately
adopted (or vice versa).

"I don't really believe that this transcendental meditation is much
more than day-dreaming." Jimi commented. "If you really believe in
yourself you can think it out on your own; you don't need someone else!"

We talked of flower-power, of course.

"Yeah! I wonder what's next!" smiled Jimi. "I suppose we'll get
weed-speed, and I can't wait for the winter when we'll get all those
fog-songs and 'sledge-heads' on the scene."

Jimi's latest contribution to the beautiful world are bells on his
apache-boots, hidden beneath the leather fringes. This device is
insured to drive everyone in listening distance mad because they
cannot find out where the tinkling is coming from.

Will Jimi be considering a film soon?

Special film

"I'd like to do one but it would have to be a special kind of film,"
Jimi replied. "I can't see me jumping up and down on trampolines and
things, or learning dialogue. It would have to be an art presentation."

Of Engelbert Humperdinck, the Dr. Jekyll to Jimi's Mr. Hyde, he says:
"I can't imagine the people buying Engelbert's discs are buying mine,
unless they are musical freaks who buy every record because it's in
the hit parade," Jimi told me. "I sat down and listened to Engelbert
one night – he really has a very good voice, it's flawless. Maybe if
you don't have a very good imagination you need good looks and a
flawless voice."

Before leaving, Jimi talked a little of his reputation (or rather his
notoriety) as the arch-villain of pop who has complaints from all
directions from the under fives and over sixties. Did it concern him
that the establishment considered his appearance that of a freak and
his act as being in questionable taste?

"I'm not trying to look like everyone else," said Jimi simply. "I'm
just trying to be myself. I'm not trying to entertain the
teeny-boppers who could not be expected to understand, or the very
old. I'm trying to be honest and I'm trying to be me. These are the
clothes I like and this is the way I like my hair."

And that, dear people, is Jimi Hendrix, the gentle-demon and the only
sheep I have ever met in wolf's clothing!

© Keith Altham, 1967



More Hendrix stories here:
http://www.rocksbackpages.com/artist.html?ArtistID=hendrix_jimi
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Christopher X



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PostPosted: Tue Dec 04, 2007 12:18 am    Post subject: Thanks Reply with quote

Thanks for posting this and the link blahblahwoofwoof.
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Christopher
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blahblahwoofwoof



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PostPosted: Tue Dec 04, 2007 3:48 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

No problem, glad you liked it.
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Christopher X



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PostPosted: Thu Dec 06, 2007 4:20 am    Post subject: Other stories Reply with quote

Well i did want to check some of the other stories too,but see have to join up,which i dont realy want to do.Like im on far to many forums and sites,some i dont even go to much to realy now.
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blahblahwoofwoof



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PostPosted: Sat Dec 08, 2007 5:33 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Wish I could post more of them for you Christopher. I don't have a subscription either, I just copied the stories from another poster on the voodoochile group. If he posts some more I'll be sure to paste them here.
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Christopher X



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PostPosted: Sat Dec 08, 2007 7:19 am    Post subject: No worries Reply with quote

No worries then,yea post them in this thread if there are more.
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blahblahwoofwoof



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PostPosted: Sat Dec 29, 2007 3:40 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Quote:
Jimi Hendrix: A Funeral In His Home Town

John Morthland, Rolling Stone, 29 October 1970

Seattle, Washington — It had been very hot and sunny the last few days
in Seattle, most unusual for this time of year. But on Thursday,
October 1st the sun didn't quite make it all the way out.

Down in the coffee shop of the Hilton Hotel, right by the airport,
Jimi Hendrix's friends and associates were slowly gathering for
breakfast. At the Hendrix family's house in South Seattle, the family
was getting ready. They would all meet at Dunlap Baptist Church on
Ranier Avenue South, where Jimi's funeral was to be held.

Nearly two weeks after his death in London, Jimi Hendrix was back in
Seattle, his home town, to be buried. The results of the inquest had
been relayed from London; it was an "open verdict" in every sense of
the word, but at this time nobody was really concerned with how he
died anyhow. The reality of the present situation — Jimi's funeral —
said all that seemed to be said.

The funeral was to begin at the church at 1 P.M. The Hendrix family
had requested a small, private funeral for friends and relatives only.
A pool reporter and pool photographer were allowed inside the church,
but that was all. Rope barriers had been strung along either side of
the walkway leading up to the church door, and press and onlookers
stayed behind it.

The Seattle longhair community was most respectful of the family's
wishes. They stood quietly behind the ropes and watched as people
walked into the church. They had also come to pay tribute to Jimi, for
no other reason, and they provided none of the problems with crowd
control that Seattle police had prepared for, just in case.

The church itself was very simple, even dull. A small building, the
chapel had no stained glass windows. At the front were the pulpit, the
coffin, and a floral arrangement dominated by a large and striking guitar.

Dunlap Baptist Church is attended by Janie, Jimi's nine-year-old
sister. The Hendrix family had determined funeral arrangements, and
chose to do it very traditionally. Participants were the Rev. Harold
Blackburn, Mrs. Freddie Maye Gautier, a close friend of the family,
who read the eulogy, and Patronella Wright, another family friend, who
sang three beautiful spirituals backed by a gospel piano.

In her eulogy, Mrs. Gautier read from Jimi's own works: 'Electric
Church' and 'Angel'. The latter is the last song Hendrix wrote and
recorded at Electric Lady, his New York studios, before he left for
Europe in August to play the Isle of Wight. It is an ominous song.
Even more so in the context in which it was read:

Angel came down from heaven yesterday.
She stayed with me just
Long enough to rescue me.
And she told me a story yesterday,
About the sweet love between the
Moon and the deep sea.
And then she spread her wings
High over me.
She said she's gonna come back tomorrow.
And I said fly on my sweet angel,
Fly on through the sky,
Fly on my sweet angel,
Tomorrow I'm gonna be by your side.

Sure enough this woman came back to me,
Silver wings silhouetted against a child's sunrise.
And my angel said to me,
Today is the day for you to rise.
Take my hand,
You're gonna be my man,
You're gonna rise.
The she took me high over yonder.
And I said fly on my sweet angel,
Fly on through the sky,
Fly on my sweet angel,
Forever I will be by your side.

At the end of the short service, the people filed past the open casket
and out of the church.

Then the pallbearers — Dave Anderson, James Thomas, Steve Phillips,
Herbert Price, Eddy Howard, and Danny Howell—came out, bearing the
coffin. With the exception of Price, who was Jimi's chauffeur and
valet in Hawaii this summer when a film was being made, all were
friends from Jimi's childhood.

From the church, the procession of perhaps 100 cars made the 20-minute
drive to Greenwood Cemetery, in nearby Renton, where, after a few more
words from Rev. Blackburn and a chorus of 'When the Saints Go Marching
In', Jimi Hendrix, age 27, was returned to the earth.

It had been a hectic week in Seattle prior to funeral. The ceremony
itself had been put back a few times because the autopsy in London had
been put back. Funeral arrangements — handled primarily by Michael
Jeffery, Jimi's manager, through his father, James Allan Hendrix — had
been sometimes chaotic, an endless series of meetings and phone calls
with Seattle officials.

Initially, there was talk of a huge rock and roll memorial service and
jam. That was scotched quickly, partly due to lack of time to organize
such an event, partly because the City of Seattle freaked at the idea.
"If we can't do it right, we won't do it at all," Jimi's father said,
and that settled that.

"It was never a really special thing when Jimi played Seattle,"
promoter Tom Hulett said Thursday as we were driving away from the
cemetery. "The press never played it up like the return of the home
town boy, it wasn't like a special gig for Jimi, and the kid's did not
really relate him to Seattle. When the press last week heard about the
possibility of a big memorial concert, I think they started getting
scared of something like another Woodstock. That was certainly one of
the things."

Hulett had promoted Jimi's four Seattle gigs, as well as other West
Coast dates. As one of Jimi's closest friends in Seattle, he had been
game to organize the memorial concert were it ever a real possibility.
He did get together the gathering and jam session for friends and
family that took place after the funeral.

Meanwhile, Jeffrey himself had come under much criticism after Jimi's
death, and, while he insisted he didn't want to "bad-rap" anyone, he
felt compelled to answer charges against him. That meant mostly to
answer Eric Burdon, as well as Buddy Miles.

Miles felt Jeffrey had cheated him financially when he was a member of
the Band of Gypsys, and, from that, he inferred that Jimi had been
cheated too. Jeffrey produced papers that bluntly disproved Buddy's
charges, and the rest of their dispute centered around basic
personality conflicts. The bad feelings between them had all but
subsided by Thursday, out of respect for Jimi, and Thursday night, the
drummer said he wanted nothing but to forget the whole unpleasant affair.

Burdon was something else. He had gone to BBC television shortly after
Jimi's death and made some statements that appalled Jeffrey and most
everyone else. He claimed that Jimi had "made his exit when he wanted
to"; that he used a drug to phase himself out of this life and go
someplace else."

He also said that he had a poem which Jimi had written just before he
died — it was not presented at the inquest, and he could be prosecuted
for withholding evidence — and added that Jimi was "… handing me a
legacy to continue the work of bringing the audio-visual medium
together." His first project, he says, will be a film called The Truth
About Jimi Hendrix, and he further plans to use the poem as the climax
of the film.

Burdon never showed for the funeral.

He was in San Francisco the next weekend, though, appearing with his
new group, War. He said that he didn't go to the funeral because Jimi
had told him before that he hated Seattle, and Eric thought it
improper to bury him there. He also says now that if he ever described
the poem as a "suicide note" — which he did — he meant it figuratively.

Burdon also claims Jeffrey, his former manager, took him to the
cleaners. Jeffrey, however, says that it was Yameta, a Bahamian
management firm, that is unable to account for the money that Burdon
says is missing, and that he, Jeffrey, lost out as well. Jeffrey also
says that he offered to jointly sue Yameta with Burdon, but Burdon
turned around and filed suit against him instead. The outcome of that
will be determined by New York courts.

As concerns Hendrix, though — for the constant inference, never stated
outright, is that Jeffrey was bilking Hendrix — his money all went
straight to an independent New York accountant (who also handles
finances for Barbra Streisand and Dustin Hoffman), and Jeffrey
produced more papers to show that he never sees a cent until the
accountant pays him the standard manager's fee, out of Jimi's
earnings, per the contract agreement. Such papers are pretty hard to
argue with.

All of this seemed pretty irrelevant to Jimi's friends and fellow
musicians, who started arriving at the Hilton in Seattle in large
numbers Tuesday, and continued coming in right up to the day of the
funeral.

Noel Redding and Mitch Mitchell — the other two-thirds of the Jimi
Hendrix Experience — got in from England Tuesday night, along with
roadies Jerry Stickles and the perpetually cheerful Eric Barrett.

"Look at the beauty in his music and lyrics; what more can you say?"
asked Redding.

"I think people are trying to make it like some kind of Judy Garland
syndrome. It's getting too fucking theatrical," said Mitchell. "All I
hope for is the man is in peace at last. All he ever wanted to do was
play his guitar, he just wanted to play music which says 'Here, I've
got this energy, and go and do what you want, but direct it somewhere'."

"Last week I was looking at a film script Jimi was working on, and in
the margin he had written 'Don't raise me up; I am but a messenger.'
That's definitely the direction he was going in," Jeffrey said. "He
realized the power of soul, as one of his own songs said. He was an
up, one of the highest people I've every known, and he was getting
more and more spiritual. To my mind, his music was the music of the
new religion.

"His stage image halted him, though, and that was frustrating for him.
That old ghost from the past — the humping the guitar, the 'Foxey
Lady' stuff. Because that wasn't the true Jimi Hendrix, that ballsy,
raunchy image. And as he was becoming more and more spiritual, he
wanted more to fling that image off, and just play his music."

Johnny Winter and his manager, Steve Paul, arrived. Paul's New York
club, The Scene, was one of Jimi's favorite places; he spent many
evening there jamming with whoever wanted to get up on the stage with
him. John Hammond Jr. slipped in quietly with Al Aronowitz, the New
York music writer whose column in the Post has included some of the
most lucid words about Jimi and his art. Miles Davis checked into
another hotel downtown, and came to the funeral Thursday. He said
afterward that Jimi's were the only albums he listens to at home.
Buddy Miles and his whole band were at the Holiday Inn.

Abe Jacob, who did the sound on two Hendrix tours, arrived. "He was
the easiest person in the business to do sound for," Jacob said. "He
was loud, but he was so careful himself with the sound."

Chuck Wein, who had filmed Hendrix in Hawaii several months earlier,
discussed the movie. "Jimi was extraordinarily sensitive; he could
talk to someone just a minute, and know right where their heads were
at. He was aware of the whole planet, and his relation to it," Chuck
said. "The movie will surprise a lot of people; it shows a side of
Jimi that few really knew at all." It's called Rainbow Bridge, and
Chuck is still editing. It will still be released, as a tribute.

And late Wednesday night, Eddie Kramer, the dapper chief engineer at
Hendrix's Electric Lady Studios, arrived. He has spent as much time in
a recording studio with Jimi as anyone — and Hendrix spent hours upon
hours in studios — and Thursday morning he was talking about the spate
of Hendrix albums that will undoubtedly be released now.

"I'm certain there's all kinds of unscrupulous people in the business,
who shall remain nameless, that will release tapes of Jimi now. We'll
just have to try to do our best with Warner Brothers to stop it. The
thing is, these people will put them on the basis that any Jimi
Hendrix music is good music.

"And that's not true! I know it and Jimi knew it. He had to have
everything just perfect by his standards, and he never did that same
thing twice. He'd lay down tracks, and every time he put his guitar
over it and played it different. Sometimes he'd take tapes home and
listen to them all night, and the next day he'd come in and do it
entirely different. You should have seen him — he'd be down there
grimacing and straining, trying to get it to come out of the guitar
the way he heard it in his head. If you could ever transcribe the
sound in a man's head directly onto the tape … Whew!"

Jimi left behind, according to Kramer, about two albums worth of
studio cuts, and a superb live album recorded at Royal Albert Hall.
They will be released soon. There's lots more Hendrix tapes that few
will ever hear, however; if they can't cut what's already cut, Jimi's
associates feel, it wouldn't be fair to his memory to release them.

The gathering that followed the funeral was described by many as a
wake, and it was certainly closer in spirit to Jimi Hendrix than what
had preceded it that day. The musical tribute was held in the Food
Circus building of the Seattle Center, directly below the Space Needle
left over from the World's Fair. Hulett had arranged for music, there
was food and the atmosphere was much lighter.

The Buddy Miles Express played a full set. From there, it turned into
a free-wheeling jam, started off by Miles, Redding, Winter and
Hammond. Pretty soon Mitchell took over on drums, the two guitarists
fell out, and it was like that for the rest of the afternoon, with the
musicians stepping in and out, or trading axes. Jimi's young cousin,
Eddie Hall, displayed a fast and fluid blues guitar, and the music
went on into the early evening.

© John Morthland, 1970
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PostPosted: Sat Dec 29, 2007 3:42 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Quote:
Jimi Hendrix: The Music

Richard Williams, Melody Maker, 26 September 1970

THE IMPORTANCE of Jimi Hendrix as a musician was sometimes forgotten
behind the man's sexuality and the flamboyance of his act and appearance.

Yet he, above all others, brought rock into the electronic age, and
his innovations were turned into cliches by a million lesser
guitarists and groups.

Such is the speed of "progress" and communications these days that,
very recently, Hendrix was sounding almost like a parody of himself,
thanks to all the diluters and copyists who'd succeeded in debasing
the currency he created.

In contrast to most of his contemporaries, he had a "feel" for rock
and blues which was undeniable, and which gave force and conviction to
his music. It's no accident that many well-respected guitarists, when
asked to name their favourite, unhesitatingly plump for him.

Possibly his greatest achievement was that he created a viable fusion
of black and white pop music, using his blues heritage on material
heavily influenced by Bob Dylan, and in this he was arguably the first
one (maybe still the only one) to succeed.

The Experience was a revolutionary band. Built on the solid rock bass
of Noel Redding, it was complicated rhythmically by the playing of
Mitch Mitchell, whose work in the early days was perhaps the best
drumming yet heard in rock, and topped off by the whining, wailing
guitar of Hendrix.

Their first album, Are You Experienced (Track), contains many
classics, including two tracks – 'Manic Depression' and 'Love Or
Confusion' – which have the trio working with exciting circular
rhythmic/melodic patterns, swirling and charging with fantastic impetus.

'Red House', a simple blues, has Hendrix showing where his roots lay,
in that familiar long-lined development of the B. B. King style, but
it was '3rd Stone From The Sun' which suggested the greatest scope for
development.

This track could be described as Sci-Fi Rock, a shimmering outing into
deep space which compares well with Pink Floyd's 'Set The Controls For
The Heart Of The Sun', and it represented an exciting departure which
he never really followed up.

Axis: Bold A Love was the second album, a refinement of the first
album, rather than a development. Among the best tracks were 'If 6 Was
9', a superb group performance with audacious drumming; 'Little Wing',
a delicate song which demonstrated that Jimi didn't have to shake the
room to make his point; and the title track, which had some of his
best lyrics.

His double-album, Electric Ladyland, became renowned more for the 21
nude chicks on the sleeve than for its music, but the two long tracks
– 'Voodoo Chile' and '1983 (A Merman I Would Turn To Be)' – were among
the best things he ever did in a studio.

The B-sides of Jimi's early singles are well worth investigation.
'Stone Free' (on the back of 'Hey Joe') is a wild personal declaration
of independence with a fantastic striding beat; '51st Anniversary' is
a really amusing cut with great words, on the flip of 'Purple Haze';
and 'Highway Chile' (back of 'The Wind Cries Mary') is his exultant
tribute to Dylan, the man with whom he seemed to have the closest
affinity.

But it seemed certain that, some time this year, he reached the end of
the road with the trio format, and he intimated as much in his last
interview, with the MM's Roy Hollingworth, where he said that he was
hoping to form a big band.

Listening to his records again, one is struck as much by the emotional
breadth of his approach as by the rolling note-clusters and shivering
high notes. Here was a man always striving to express himself as truly
and as honestly as possible and when the man concerned happens to be a
real innovator, we can't ask more.

It would be putting it too highly to say, in absolute terms, that Jimi
Hendrix was a genius. But he certainly did more than most to increase
the scope of rock and to improve its quality. That's quite enough.

© Richard Williams, 1970
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PostPosted: Sat Dec 29, 2007 3:43 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Quote:
Jimi Hendrix: The Cry Of Love

Charles Shaar Murray, Oz, March 1971

"Well I'm sitting here in this womb/lookin' all around, I'm looking
out my belly button window/and I see a whole world frowns, And I
wonder if they want me around..."

Jimi Hendrix's last 45 minutes of music. The product of a series of
sessions at his Electric Lady studios, broken for his loW gig. He died
the night before he intended to go back to lay down two more tracks
and do the final mix. Still, here it is, Definitely the last Hendrix
tapes, say Track, possibly to justify the price (£2.40/48/-).

If this album had been substandard, it would have been an unbearable
disappointment. As it is, it contains come shattering but nevertheless
worth while material. Hendrix being ho-hum is still better than most
people being brilliant.

Hendrix's infinite potential shines out of everything he ever
recorded, but sometimes he failed miserably to tap it. This dependence
on inspiration is what separates the Jimis and Janises, the Dylans and
Lennons from the hardy professionals. The likes of the Zep or, on a
much higher plane, Johnny Winter have their show so tight and together
that all they need to do is go out on stage and DO it. Inspiration
doesn't come in to it. Some gigs Jimi was terrible, some nights he was
as good as it ever gets. His records generally contained, an equal mix
of absolute killers, real total mindfuckers, and interesting little
also-rans, marking-time things, ultimately just fillers.

The Cry Of Love is very beautiful. Some of the cuts are messy and
inconclusive, but at least half of it is ultimate Hendrix. That
indescribable, incomparable sheet-lightning guitar is there all the
time, either softly curling into the cool darkened chamber back
recesses of your lobes or else strobing your head, electronically
galvanising your helpless reflexes. He can even take absolutely
shagged-out heavy riffs and build them into entirely new structures.
For instance, 'In From The Storm' takes Blind Faith's 'Had to Cry
Today' riff, builds into a tearing piece similar to Johnny Winter
And's 'Guess I'll Go Away' and finishes with Jeff Beck's 'Rice
Pudding'. And yet it all sounds brand new.

Basically, 'Drifting' and 'Angel' are gentle dreamweavers like 'One
Rainy Wish' from Axis: Bold as Love, 'My Friend' features Jimi
sticking to rhythm guitar, backed only by clinking glasses,
conversation and mouth harp as he recites a rather Dylanish tale of
being on the road. With one exception, all the other cuts are Hendrix
stormers of varying quality. The exception is the album's last track,
'Belly Button Window'. A solo track, with a Canned Heatish rolling
blues lick as its basis, overlaid with quirky wah-wah pedal work, the
song explores the thoughts of a baby in the womb waiting to be born.
Even without getting into any pseudo-mystical crap about premonitions,
it's hard to take if you're the least bit sentimental, or if you're as
emotional a Hendrix obsessive as I am. "If you don't want me, make up
you mind…"

All the way through this piece, I find myself referring to Jimi
Hendrix in the present tense. As Eric Burdon said, "I know Jimi
Hendrix is alive because I heard him on the radio".

© Charles Shaar Murray, 1971
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PostPosted: Sat Dec 29, 2007 3:45 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Quote:
Jimi Hendrix: The Cry Of Love

Lenny Kaye, Rolling Stone, 1 April 1971

MAYBE IT'S JUST my imagination, but the Jimi Hendrix section of my
local record bin seems to have been growing at an astonishing pace
lately. In recent weeks, we've been offered a bland semi-jam with
Lonnie Youngblood (who?) on Maple Records, a collection of ancient
tapes with the Isley Brothers (a product of Buddah, from whom it would
have been nice to say that they should've known better), and a large
assortment of bootlegs, all seemingly taken from the same series of
Los Angeles Forum concerts.

But The Cry of Love is the genuine article, Hendrix's final effort and
it is a beautiful, poignant testimonial, a fitting coda to the career
of a man who was clearly the finest electric guitarist to be produced
by the Sixties, bar none. This record seems more complete than the
album Janis left for us, but like Pearl, it too seems strangely
foreshortened, a venture caught in the process of becoming and
suddenly halted. The fact that The Cry of Love is still as good as it
is must serve as some sort of reminder as to just how large looms the
shadow of its creator.

As a pure musician — and this is not even touching his grace as a
performer, or his role as the first non-Top 40 superstar — Hendrix was
strangely unique in a field bred on familiarity. He was an intense
craftsman, of course, as one of his earliest sides, 'Red House',
attested; a fluid-fingered picker who could ripple off runs with an
unexpectedly perfect style, bursting out with phrases that filled up
every loose chink in a song as if they had been especially inscribed
for the occasion. But more than that, Hendrix was a master of special
effect, a guitarist who used electricity in a way that was never as
obvious as mere volume. He took his bag of toys — the fuzz-tone, the
wah-wah pedal, the stack of Marshalls — and used them as a series of
stepping-stones' to create wave upon wave of intense energy, proper
settings for a scene of wrath and somehow healing destruction. It was
rock and roll that was both quite in tune with and yet far ahead of
its time, and in a way, I'm not sure that we've ever really fully
caught up.

Still, and it's important to view The Cry of Love in this light, it
seems that Hendrix found it hard to sustain his creativity once he had
made his initial breakthrough. His first album, Are You Experienced?,
was as near a total statement as he made, each cut caught in its prime
and done in a way that allowed for no waste or superficiality, and try
as he might, he was never able to come as close to that completeness
on any of his subsequent releases. Indeed, the strengths that Hendrix
displayed in his debut effort were to remain his strengths throughout
his career. For one, he showed off an astonishing ability to construct
a song: the opening lines to 'Purple Haze' are not only remarkable in
their dumb simplicity but for the mayhem which logically follows. For
another, his music had an incongruous element of lyricism, a tender
second side that could hardly be explained in the context of 'Foxy
Lady,' such things as 'May This Be Love' or 'The Wind Cries Mary.' And
last, and probably most significant, he built a magnetizing presence,
an overwhelming personality which totally dominated each cut, creating
a flesh and blood image that had to stay with you long after you had
left the record and gone home.

There were other things involved, of course, but they have more to do
with the stream of rock and roll at that time rather than with Hendrix
himself. The concept of the rock trio, for instance, was just
beginning to strike gold, and it was bolstered by a dynamite
combination of English decadence over Seattle black man that helped
propel him towards success. In the end, though, even if that first
album had arrived at your door in a plain blank cover, we would have
known that here was something to be reckoned with, a massively
exciting interstellar achievement.

But the question was, and remains, what can you do for an encore? Very
early, it seemed that Hendrix had been almost captured by his
audience, trapped by the totality of that first release, and he was
never given room to grow. As in sports, every artist needs to work off
a challenge, to have a spur in his side that makes him top himself,
time after time after time. After Monterey, though, there was no
challenge. At concerts, he was applauded for even the meagrest of
performances, standing ovations at the most lackluster of guitar
smashings, and as a result, he just didn't try as hard. Perhaps if his
supporting musicians had been stronger (and this is not to slight
either Noel Redding or Mitch Mitchell, who backed Hendrix to the hilt
during these early years) he might have been able to work off them and
move onto some new and fresher ground. But Hendrix was a musical giant
who never found anyone quite as tall as himself, and so, like all
great men, he stood alone.

In actuality, Hendrix never made a bad record — his worst was usually
far above most anyone else's best — but increasingly his albums began
to break down into Good tracks and Not-So-Good tracks. Axis: Bold As
Love never really lived up to the promise of its cover, composed as it
was of refined explorations of some of the places 'The Wind Cries
Mary' had visited. Much of it was quite excellent — Hendrix was
obviously looking toward moving into a new style — but it lacked the
drive and kinetic force of Are You Experienced?, becoming an album to
be reserved for late night listening. Electric Ladyland, which came
out not too long a time after, showed that things were wearing thin.
The best cut on the double-record set was, almost ironically, a sort
of loose blues jam around 'Voodoo Child,' and despite such
silver-studded highlights as 'All Along The Watchtower' and 'Crosstown
Traffic,' the album never really got itself together.

Why? More of the reason is tied up with Hendrix's personality and
artistic temperament than we'll ever be able to guess. But the
problem, as I see it, appears to have been one of material, rather
than any disintegration in his style or approach to that material.
Hendrix learned his chops in blues and rhythm and blues, where a
musician is given a formalized, set structure to work with, and
operates within that structure, embellishing and interpreting as he
will. Hendrix, however, chose to make his stand in the dawning field
of rock, which though it was easily as formalized a music, still
carried a different set of traditions with it: for our purposes here,
the two most important being that you write your own music and that,
though it should always sound familiar, should never be note-for-note
the same as something you did before. Where Hendrix could spend two
years backing up Little Richard, who essentially did the same song in
a variety of minutely different ways, he wasn't about to be able to
pull off the same thing on his own.

And so after the first album and parts of the second, where his
creativity was able to function under the new ground rules, it was
becoming clear by the time of Electric Ladyland that he couldn't keep
it up. In that sense, it's interesting that when he took on other
people's material (such as 'All Along the Watchtower') he turned-in a
job that was nothing short of marvelous. But as for his own
compositions, it was as if he had lost the touch. They sounded
contrived, put together because he was bored with the old stuff and
needed something new, and the consequent artificiality only caused him
to fall back on his crowd-pleasing tricks, things that time had taught
him would generate some kind of response.

After Electric Ladyland, Hendrix seemed to retreat back into his
guitar. The Experience dissolved, there was talk of new bands, but
nothing that amounted to much. He seemed to move away from areas that
were troubling him, back to the things he knew best. In large part he
gave up studio recording concentrating on live appearances and jamming
instead. When he appeared with Buddy Miles and Billy Cox at the
Fillmore on the New Year's Eve spanning 1969-70, it was more with the
intent to be a member of a band than a solo star. Buddy did a large
part of the singing and clowning around, and Hendrix seemed content to
move in the shadow, working his guitar with a flair that brought all
his assets to the fore. He played his instrument better than anyone
else I could dream of that night, and his best moments came not in his
song solos, which tended to overextend themselves, but in his fills
and punctuations, the little added extras in which he most seemed to
delight.

This was the way he spent his last two years — playing around,
building a new studio, everything, in fact, but recording a new album
— and now, after the end, we have The Cry of Love. In the sense of a
breakthrough, it's not anything we might not have expected from
Hendrix. Still, the songs are all uniquely his, stylized in his unique
way, and after so long an absence, they are more than welcome. Because
of the general excellence of the engineering and production, it's hard
to say just how complete the album was before his death, but it is
clear that if these tracks were mostly finished and in the can, then
the only thing holding up their release must have been Jimi himself.
They are that good.

The album opens with 'Freedom', all flashes and exuberance, and it
pointedly sets the tone for the record. The tune is one of Hendrix'
best, full of straining tensions and masterful releases, ripping along
at a pace that is not to be believed, picking up spend as it goes.
Hendrix always knew how to kick a band, and he is at his peak here.
Mitch Mitchell follows him along perfectly, and shows a few of the
reasons why he was always Hendrix's greatest foundation.

If 'Freedom' exemplifies one side of Hendrix, the next cut,
'Drifting', aptly show off his other. As a composer (though that word
seems somewhat out of place in this setting), Hendrix had the uncanny
knack of molding his music perfectly to his lyrics. 'Manic Depression'
is the obvious example here, though this quality tended to come
through better on his slower, prettier material. 'Drifting' is no
exception. A beautiful guitar figure opens the track soft and
formless, and waits as the rest of the instruments slowly slide in,
seemingly revolving one around the other. Hendrix's vocal is right up
front, almost studied, filled with lovely images of 'Driftin'/On a sea
of forgotten teardrops/On a lifeboat...' and floating off from there.
It's a ghostly cut, one of the most moving pieces Hendrix ever
created, and it says much for the breadth and scope of his talent.

After these two opening classics, The Cry of Love seems to get down to
business. 'Ezy Rider' is a rocker, plain and simple, and Hendrix and
Co. light into it with a fury. The guitar leads are short and to the
pint, and there isn't a wasted moment. The cut fades at the end and
then returns with a sudden lick, almost as an afterthought — a nice
touch. 'Night Bird Flying' starts sluggishly, as if most of the
musicians weren't quite sure what to do with it, but picks up a little
as Hendrix begins to jam with his own guitar work on another track.

'My Friend', with its tinkling glasses and nightclub noises, could
just have been the usual end-of-side-one throwaway, except for a set
of lyrics which Hendrix almost casually injects. The style is
Dylan-esque, circa 'Subterranean Homesick Blues': slightly
surrealistic, a lot of friendly nonsense, and some very aware, deeply
personal lines. 'And, uh, sometimes it's not so easy, specially when
your only friend/Talks, sees, looks and feels like you/And you do just
the same as him...' Not much. Just a little something to think about.

'Straight Ahead' greets you as you turn the album over to side two,
and it's not a particularly noteworthy way to begin. Hendrix plays a
nice wah-wah guitar, but the song is dragged down by some fairly
obvious Socially Significant lyrics and a lethargic reading. 'Astro
Man' is a whole different story, however. Of all the cuts on the
album, this one has the most incomplete feel, with nobody really sure
of where the song is heading. Yet building from the same science
fiction chords that the Jefferson Airplane used to open 'The House on
Pooneil Corners', it easily overcomes any of its deficiencies, loose
limbed and rocking at every turn.

If whoever put together the pieces of The Cry of Love had a flair for
the melodramatic, 'Angel' might have been placed at the end of the
record, its death-like images of salvation and resurrection providing
the final touch to a memorial album. But programmed as it is, side
two, band three, it stands on its own merits, a beautiful piece of
work. It moves nicely into a frantic 'In From The Storm', Hendrix
shining at his most furious, changing the structure of the song three
or four times until things finally run out of steam. The final touch
is saved for 'Belly Button Window,' a kind of slow and mellow blues
which Hendrix performs accompanied only by his guitar, a sly smile on
his face, a few light whistles as the fade comes in. You can almost
see him waving as he moves the distance.

So there you have it. The Cry of Love had come out while Hendrix was
alive, we probably would have said it was a good album, bought a
million copies, and left it at that. but now that he's gone, it has to
become that much more precious, something to savor slowly because
there'll be no other. It does him justice — no mean feat — and I don't
think we could have ever wanted anything more than that.

I once knew a guitarist who could, upon request, imitate any and all
of your favorites. Ask him for Danny Kalb, and his fingers would fly
so fast that they'd be a blur on the fretboard. Jeff Beck? He could
play anything from Truth, note for note, with or without the record.
Request Eric Clapton, and You'd have 'Spoonful,' complete even to the
hint of a Jack Bruce bass line underneath. Jimmy Page? Alvin Lee?
Jerry Garcia? He had them all down, one by one.

I asked him once upon a time to do Hendrix for me. He smiled a little
bit, set up his fuzz-tone, hooked up an echo unit, threw a few
switches here and there, and gave it a try. He couldn't do it.

And neither, for that matter, could have anyone else. Whatever his
secrets, Jimi Hendrix took them with him.

© Lenny Kaye, 1971
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PostPosted: Sat Dec 29, 2007 3:48 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Quote:
Super-Scot Eric Barrett

Keith Altham, Record Mirror, 15 May 1971

AMONG THE very few road managers who have put their heads, hearts,
hands and feet into their work is Super-Scot Eric Barrett who hit the
rock scene some seven and a half years ago as the Koobas' roadie –
worked all through the good, the bad and the sad times with Jimi
Hendrix and has just recently transferred to James Taylor's working party.

I asked the man who was so close to Hendrix and certainly the most
visibly upset by his death at the time what he felt about the old
tapes being issued now to cash in on the guitarist's passing.

"What can you say about those people?" said Eric, "They're beneath
contempt – Hendrix put his arse into everything he recorded with the
Experience and after. To cheapen the memory of that effort and
attention is despicable.

"The people who really cared about Jimi are working on his recent
unreleased material giving it the time and care it deserves. I hope
people realise that Mitch Mitchell mixed the Cry Of Love album and
just how much work he put into it – I think he's a genius.

"Mitch is also burning the midnight oil in New York at present working
on the sound track for Jimi's movie Rainbow Bridge which was largely
filmed on the side of a volcano in Hawaii at a Meditation centre where
he did a free concert.

"There was some great dialogue involved. I remember one little
freaked-out cat, he goes up to Jimi and says that he felt like
listening to Jimi was like listening to Jesus Christ. Jimi just looked
up from his meal for a fleeting second and said straight faced 'Well,
dig it!'"

Mr. Barrett lost all interest in the interview at this point as the
television set in the drinking club where we were was depicting a
nubile young lady demonstrating various Yoga positions.

"lN-CRED-IBLE" bellowed Mr. Barrett as the lady knotted herself into
something approximating a step over toe hold. "I'd like that and I
haven't even seen her face yet."

© Keith Altham, 1971
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PostPosted: Sat Dec 29, 2007 3:51 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Quote:
Jimi Hendrix: Experience – Original Soundtrack/Isle Of Wight/Rainbow
Bridge – Original Soundtrack

Charles Shaar Murray, Cream, January 1972

A CONSIDERABLE amount of Hendrix material has surfaced over the last
six months. In addition to these three albums, there's a side each on
Woodstock Two and the forthcoming Monterey. All on different labels,
all crediting Jimi's manager Mike Jeffery as either co-producer or
executive producer. Just so you don't miss the point, the Ember album
has a little seal in the top left-hand corner, reading `Memorial Album
– Never Before Released', which is about as hip and subtle as one
would expect from the only record company in the country who still
press thick, heavy discs suitable for throwing at demonstrations.

One wonders how much of this would have been put out if Jimi was still
alive to have control over his own material. Rainbow Bridge is
probably the strongest musically, the two live albums owing most of
their impact to their poignancy rather than their content. Which
doesn't mean that they are bad albums, far from it. It's just that
their sloppiness and raggedness would have deterred Jimi himself from
releasing them.

Experience dates from February, 1969, six months after Electric
Ladyland, and nine months before Band Of Gypsys. Jimi is backed up by
the old firm of Noel Redding on bass and Mitch Mitchell on drums, with
Dave Mason and Chris Wood on one cut. Just as Picasso used to amuse
himself by painting his own variants on, say, Velasquez, here Jimi
paints his own impressionistic vision of `Sunshine Of Your Love', a
witty, respectful and energetic tribute from one of the great power
trios to the other. `Room Full Of Mirrors' also occurs on Rainbow
Bridge, but here it's a little too attenuated, despite Chris Wood's
fine flute. It ends with the first line of `The Star Spangled Banner'.

The second side contains a few surprises. `Bleeding Heart' is a very
long, superbly mellow slow blues, absolutely classic in conception. No
freaking or electronics, simply some of the loveliest post-B.B. King
blues guitar I've ever heard. Jimi does some awesome things here, and
not just speed tricks. At one point he holds a note while rippling the
same string two frets higher, then bends the string up three
semi-tones, still rippling in perfect time and pitch, letting it down
and then pushing it back up a couple more times. Ask your fave rave
guitar hero speed freak if he can do that.

The last cut is simply entitled `Smashing Of Amps', and the label
describes it as `non-musical'. It's a lot more than that, though. As
near as I can tell, this is what happens. The audience howl for
encores. Jimi tries hard to tune his axe. He fucks with the instrument
for many long and painful minutes, trying to get it right, as the
audience gets more and more restive. Finally, he launches into `Purple
Haze', which disintegrates almost instantly. He plays the opening
lines of `The Star Spangled Banner', but that, too, collapses, and
then the electric holocaust begins.

Rainbow Bridge is a patchwork quilt of outtakes and new material
recorded at various studios between October of 1968 and July of 1970.
Here, Jimi is accompanied by various combinations of Experience and
Gypsys, the most frequent combination being Billy Cox on the Fender
bass and Mitch on drums. It's good – at least as good as Cry Of Love,
better than Axis Bold As Love – and contains one thoroughly amazing
cut, a studio version of `The Star Spangled Banner', laid down in New
York in March of 1969.

I will admit to considerable misgivings when I saw it listed on the
sleeve, for the Woodstock performance of `Banner/Haze/Coda' is my
nomination for the finest rock performance on record, but I needn't
have worried. The version included here is more concise (at 4.07) and
very different both in sound and in ideology. On Woodstock Jimi played
acapella except for some random thrashings by Mitchell, but here he
takes advantage of the electronic shelter of the Record Plant to
overdub x guitars. The sound he achieves has a Moogy grandeur, and the
cathedral splendour of the first choruses is brilliantly dissipated as
the overdubbed lines gradually disagree with each other until they
reach final atonal conflict, musical warfare. The allegory is
beautiful, especially when taken in context with the searing challenge
of the later version. It's probably the closest Jimi ever got to
recording the sounds inside his head.

Among the other tracks, `Pali Gap' is a reflective instrumental, `Room
Full Of Mirrors' is a condensed version of the Experience cut,
featuring Buddy Miles on drums, `Earth Blues' features the Ronettes
singing back-up and `Hear My Train A'Comin'' is a long live
exploration of an `eavy blues progression. It's mainstream Hendrix,
which is to say that even at its most conventional, it's better than
the laughable efforts of a lot of bands whose current album will sell
more than all three of these combined.

Finally, the IoW album. For those of us who were there, this will
probably become one of the most precious records we own. To others,
it's just a fairly sloppy run-through of some of Jimi's greatest hits.
I was there, and I find Jimi Hendrix At The Isle Of Wight moving
beyond description. Though two of the cuts are duplicated on CBS'
mammoth Iow/Atlanta package, there's really no comparison. Since U.S.
Columbia had recently acquired Ten Years After, they naturally gave
them nearly a whole side. Since Hendrix was `on loan' from Kinney,
they cut the ending of `Midnight Lightning' and the beginning of `Foxy
Lady' and segued them, a gesture of monumental, blinding crassness,
insensitivity and downright dumb-ass stupidity. To sacrifice the
integrity of Jimi's set to the advantage of Modest Little Alvin and
the 3 Stooges is about where CBS's collective head seems to be at.

This package is a fairly accurate memento of what went down that
night, though of course the hideous amplifier distortion is missing.
This renders the album a lot easier to listen to, though it sounds
slightly less apocalyptic. In general, the second side is better than
the first, and Mitchell's thoughtfully vicious drum solo does add some
light and shade to the proceedings. I can't apply conventional
critical standards to this album, though; the contents transcend them.
All I'd really like to know is why the cover photo is from some
totally different gig.

So there you are. The serious Hendrix collector will probably do
whatever is necessary to own all three of these, the more casual
Hendrix freak will probably be best off with Rainbow Bridge. Mike
Jeffery gets paid whichever you buy, so don't let that enter into your
calculations. There's probably going to be more quite soon. `These are
probably the last recorded sounds of JIMI HENDRIX,' reads part of the
sleeve note to Experience. The other two albums soon proved Ember's
anonymous scribe wrong, so brace yourself for a flood of Hendrix
albums. The most absurd of all has been out in the States for some
while, though. A 1965 session with The Isley Brothers has been remixed
so that Jimi's rhythm guitar chops are up front. That, as Felix Dennis
once remarked, is showbiz in Woodstock Nation.

© Charles Shaar Murray, 1972
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PostPosted: Sun Dec 30, 2007 7:28 am    Post subject: Thanks Reply with quote

Thanks blahblahwoofwoof for posting all these up. Cool
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