No offense, but does anyone know if a member of Jefferson Airplane was a lapsed fundamentalist of some faith or another? The composition and performance of this song seem to be an attempt at filling some tremendous spiritual void. Please discuss.
So what have we learned? What happened to the dream of the ’60s San Francisco scene?
The burnout was inevitable, but of all rock scenes, who would have thought Haight-Asbury would turn into a bedrock of Winner Rock?
Here’s a running theme that veterans and probably even newcomers to the Halls of Rock will notice in the otherwise piercing and wise posts of Townsman Hrrundivbakshi: “Hippies weaken rock ‘n roll!” I cannot fully subscribe to HVB’s anti-hippie stance, although like others, I find it fascinating. Hippiedom seemed to me such a logical and necessary extension of where rock ‘n roll had been heading. Sure it ran its course after the musical equivalent of the eighth day without a shower, but I still treasure the injection of Flower Power and poor grooming that their long weekend in the hot, stinking sun brought to rock.
An interesting unfinished part of this story, which is only hinted at in the original comments this post generated: Mike Rabon of The Five Americans came across this essay through his feed, or whatever it’s called, and agreed to an interview. I quickly came up with what I thought would have been some cool questions, but after repeated requests for replies and numerous delays, I finally gave up on hearing back from Mike. Too bad, but I know how life can get busier than expected. Maybe I’ll try once more to get a true hero of the anti-hippie scene’s take on all this. Enjoy!
This post initially appeared 11/14/07.
Starting today, I offer a series of short posts that I hope will help illuminate how and why things went so very WRONG ’round about 1967.
Those of you who’ve been following RTH for while now have probably come to understand that I have a visceral dislike for much of what has come to be labeled “hippie” culture. And, if you’ve been following RTH, you probably know that Mr. Mod has never stopped busting my balls for not donning the white lab coat and providing a detailed taxonomy of all the toxins mixed into my beloved rock and roll music by that messy generational burp.
And so it is that I’ve decided to meet Mr. Mod halfway on the field of cultural battle. Starting today, I offer a series of short posts that I hope will help illuminate how and why things went so very WRONG ’round about 1967.
In today’s essay, I hope to let others do much of the talking, and to allow some of hippie music’s main offenders hang themselves on a rope they painstakingly twisted themselves. In the opposing corner, I present my surprise champions of the day, The Five Americans.
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