Thursday, May 24, 2018

Tom Wolfe-Fashionista Of His Own Kind-And A Hell Of A Writer When The Deal Went Down Has Cashed His Check-The 50th Anniversary Of The Summer Of Love, 1967- The Ebb Tide- The Rolling Stones- Altamont 1969

Tom Wolfe-Fashionista Of His Own Kind-And A Hell Of A Writer When The Deal Went Down Has Cashed His Check




By Bart Webber

I had been, strangely enough, in La Jolla out in California attending yet another writers’ conference which seems to be the makings of my days these days when I heard Tom Wolfe (not Thomas Wolfe of Look Homeward, Angels, etc.) the writer of tons of interesting stuff from acid trips in the 1960s to space flights in the 1970 to Wall Street in the reckless 1980 and back had cashed his check. The strange part of the “strangely enough” was that on Monday May 14th 2018, the day he died,  I was walking along La Jolla Cove and commenting to my companion that Tom Wolfe had made the La Jolla surfing scene in the early 1960s come alive with his tale of the Pump House Gang and related stories without knowing he had passed.

I don’t know how he did at the end as a writer, or toward the end although I note he did an interesting take on the cultural life at the Army base at Fort Bragg down in North Carolina but pound for pound in his prime he could write the sociology of the land with simple flair and kept this guy flipping the pages in the wee hours of the morning. RIP, Tom Wolfe, RIP.   




The 50th Anniversary Of The Summer Of Love, 1967- The Ebb Tide-  The Rolling Stones- Altamont 1969




Zack James’ comment June, 2017:

You know it is in a way too bad that “Doctor Gonzo”-Hunter S Thompson, the late legendary journalist who broke the back, hell broke the neck, legs, arms of so-called objective journalism in a drug-blazed frenzy back in the 1970s when he “walked with the king”’ is not with us in these times. In the times of this 50th anniversary commemoration of the Summer of Love, 1967 which he worked the edges of while he was doing research (live and in your face research by the way) on the notorious West Coast-based Hell’s Angels. His “hook” through Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters down in Kesey’s place in La Honda where many an “acid test” took place and where for a time the Angels, Hunter in tow, were welcomed. He had been there in the high tide, when it looked like we had the night-takers on the run and later as well when he saw the ebb tide of the 1960s coming a year or so later although that did not stop him from developing the quintessential “gonzo” journalism fine-tuned with plenty of dope for which he would become famous before the end, before he took his aging life and left Johnny Depp and company to fling his ashes over this good green planet. He would have “dug” the exhibition, maybe smoked a joint for old times’ sake (oh no, no that is not done in proper society) at the de Young Museum at the Golden Gate Park highlighting the events of the period showing until August 20th of this year.   


Better yet he would have had this Trump thug bizarre weirdness wrapped up and bleeding from all pores just like he regaled us with the tales from the White House bunker back in the days when Trump’s kindred one Richard Milhous Nixon, President of the United States and common criminal was running the same low rent trip before he was run out of town by his own like some rabid rat. But perhaps the road to truth these days, in the days of “alternate facts” and assorted other bullshit    would have been bumpier than in those more “civilized” times when simple burglaries and silly tape-recorders ruled the roost. Hunter did not make the Nixon “hit list” (to his everlasting regret for which he could hardly hold his head up in public) but these days he surely would find himself in the top echelon. Maybe too though with these thugs he might have found himself in some back alley bleeding from all pores. Hunter Thompson wherever you are –help. Selah. Enough said-for now  



DVD REVIEW

Gimme Shelter, The Rolling Stones Altamont Concert 1969, 1970


I have written elsewhere in this space that when it comes to musical influences in my youth that the Stones played a key role in developing my tastes. I have also mentioned elsewhere that my youthful alienation was reflected in the language and sound of the group. I mentioned Street Fighting Man and Tumbling Dice, as well as an earlier cover of Little Red Rooster as important. All this is by way of saying that I looked forward recently to re-watching the old Stones documentary Gimme Shelter reviewed here, despite my knowledge of the tragic and unnecessary incidents that occurred at Altamont and marred the whole experience.

If one is to recount the nodal points of the too short counter-cultural explosion of the 1960’s one could arbitrarily assign the Summer of Love in 1967 as the height and Altamont as the start of the decline. We can argue that point endlessly but clearly something or some things happened at Altamont that exposed the ugly side of the dope/counter-cultural scene. Moreover, on reflection no one can deny the unreasonableness of having the notorious California Hell’s Angels, despite favorable press from Tom Wolfe in Electric Kool Aid Acid Test and Hunter Thompson in his classic study Hell’s Angels, as security for a 300,000 person event.

Now, we finally get to the music and the film. And I think that this is about the right place for such comments about the event itself in the scheme of things. There have been many, many Stones concerts during the past forty years but none have had the cultural significance of Altamont. Most of the film is about how the Stones, good-naturedly if ultimately naively, tried to put the event together. A fair portion of the film is footage of the reaction by the Stones to the events that they witnessed from the stage including the one that led to a death. These segments are interspersed in between parts of the performances by the Stones and others.

This film has not aged well, although Mick has. His voice comes off tinny here reflecting an earlier, more primitive sound technology that does not do justice to how Mick and the boys could whip up an audience. A nice surprise though is a very sensual Tina Turner (backed by Ike) performance. Unfortunately, the Jefferson Airplane's afternoon performance is marred by the same kind of violence that doomed the event. But here is the skinny. If you need to look at rock and roll history watch this one and one half hour documentary. If you want to hear the Stones at their best then purchase any one of about ten greatest hits albums available. That’s the ticket.

3 comments:

  1. I have mentioned, in passing, on previous occasions that during my youth in the 1960’s there were, beside the various political currents committed to social change, elements who saw the cultural changes occurring at the time as the harbinger of the revolution. Centrally these were elements that saw music as the revolution. That may be too facile a way to condense what they were advocating. I know full well, since many of them were my musician friends, that they meant not only music but the things that were accompanying, let us say, the average rock concert- communal distribution of food, drugs, places to stay, health services, rides, etc. Nevertheless, what brought people together in the final analysis was the music, and frankly, to be entertained by the music- and then move on. One could understand, however, that something like Woodstock that went off rather well (and was the prime example given by my friends for their hopes) would on the face of be a strong argument in favor of fighting for such an outcome. Well, as I have also said in passing, life and its sometime arbitrary cruelties have exposed that theory as false. Altamont can serve as the alternate case. That does not mean that there is not always a continuing undercurrent fighting its way to survive expressing those long ago sentiments?

    That is really why I am writing on the subject today. In a recent book review that I read in the local newspaper a later generation, apparently, has had some expectations that the hip-hop movement would serve as the structure for this generation’s ‘revolution’. The two books reviewed- All About The Beat: Why Hip-Hop Can’t Save Black America by John McWhorter and Party Crashing: How The Hip-Hop Generation Declared Political Independence by Keli Goff- obviously by their counterpoised titles explores this idea from both sides. The merits of such arguments I will leave to the reader. What I want to do is, once again, to throw cold water on the notion that music-hip-hop, rock, folk- and its accompanying cultural accoutrements will make the revolution. Music is a powerful cultural force and one should be left to one’s own musical predilections but in the end music is entertainment. Listen to your favorite music, but read Marx. That would make a really powerful argument that would then impress me mightily.

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  2. Here are the lyrics for Street Fighting Man. Compare them with John Lennon's Working Class Hero. I'll stick with Mick, thank you.

    Stree Figthing Man

    Everywhere I hear the sound of marching, charging feet, boy
    cause summers here and the time is right for fighting in the street, boy

    But what can a poor boy do
    Except to sing for a rock n roll band
    cause in sleepy london town
    Theres just no place for a street fighting man
    No

    Hey! think the time is right for a palace revolution
    But where I live the game to play is compromise solution

    Well, then what can a poor boy do
    Except to sing for a rock n roll band
    cause in sleepy london town
    Theres no place for a street fighting man
    No

    Hey! said my name is called disturbance
    Ill shout and scream, Ill kill the king, Ill rail at all his servants
    Well, what can a poor boy do

    Except to sing for a rock n roll band
    cause in sleepy london town
    Theres no place for a street fighting man
    No

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  3. Here are some more great lyrics from Jagger/Richards.

    "Sympathy for The Devil"

    Please allow me to introduce myself
    Im a man of wealth and taste
    Ive been around for a long, long year
    Stole many a mans soul and faith

    And I was round when jesus christ
    Had his moment of doubt and pain
    Made damn sure that pilate
    Washed his hands and sealed his fate

    Pleased to meet you
    Hope you guess my name
    But whats puzzling you
    Is the nature of my game

    I stuck around st. petersburg
    When I saw it was a time for a change
    Killed the czar and his ministers
    Anastasia screamed in vain

    I rode a tank
    Held a generals rank
    When the blitzkrieg raged
    And the bodies stank

    Pleased to meet you
    Hope you guess my name, oh yeah
    Ah, whats puzzling you
    Is the nature of my game, oh yeah

    I watched with glee
    While your kings and queens
    Fought for ten decades
    For the gods they made

    I shouted out,
    Who killed the kennedys?
    When after all
    It was you and me

    Let me please introduce myself
    Im a man of wealth and taste
    And I laid traps for troubadours
    Who get killed before they reached bombay

    Pleased to meet you
    Hope you guessed my name, oh yeah
    But whats puzzling you
    Is the nature of my game, oh yeah, get down, baby

    Pleased to meet you
    Hope you guessed my name, oh yeah
    But whats confusing you
    Is just the nature of my game

    Just as every cop is a criminal
    And all the sinners saints
    As heads is tails
    Just call me lucifer
    cause Im in need of some restraint

    So if you meet me
    Have some courtesy
    Have some sympathy, and some taste
    Use all your well-learned politesse
    Or Ill lay your soul to waste, um yeah

    Pleased to meet you
    Hope you guessed my name, um yeah
    But whats puzzling you
    Is the nature of my game, um mean it, get down

    Woo, who
    Oh yeah, get on down
    Oh yeah
    Oh yeah!

    Tell me baby, whats my name
    Tell me honey, can ya guess my name
    Tell me baby, whats my name
    I tell you one time, youre to blame

    Ooo, who
    Ooo, who
    Ooo, who
    Ooo, who, who
    Ooo, who, who
    Ooo, who, who
    Ooo, who, who

    Oh, yeah
    Whats me name
    Tell me, baby, whats my name
    Tell me, sweetie, whats my name

    Ooo, who, who
    Ooo, who, who
    Ooo, who, who
    Ooo, who, who
    Ooo, who, who
    Ooo, who, who
    Ooo, who, who
    Oh, yeah


    Gimme Shelter
    (M. Jagger/K. Richards)


    Oh, a storm is threat'ning
    My very life today
    If I don't get some shelter
    Oh yeah, I'm gonna fade away

    War, children, it's just a shot away
    It's just a shot away
    War, children, it's just a shot away
    It's just a shot away

    Ooh, see the fire is sweepin'
    Our very street today
    Burns like a red coal carpet
    Mad bull lost its way

    War, children, it's just a shot away
    It's just a shot away
    War, children, it's just a shot away
    It's just a shot away

    Rape, murder!
    It's just a shot away
    It's just a shot away

    Rape, murder!
    It's just a shot away
    It's just a shot away

    Rape, murder!
    It's just a shot away
    It's just a shot away

    The floods is threat'ning
    My very life today
    Gimme, gimme shelter
    Or I'm gonna fade away

    War, children, it's just a shot away

    It's just a shot away
    It's just a shot away
    It's just a shot away
    It's just a shot away

    I tell you love, sister, it's just a kiss away

    It's just a kiss away
    It's just a kiss away
    It's just a kiss away
    It's just a kiss away
    Kiss away, kiss away


    "Backstreet Girl"


    I don't want you to be high
    I don't want you to be down
    Don't want to tell you no lie
    Just want you to be around

    Please come right up to my ears
    You will be able to hear what I say

    Don't want you out in my world
    Just you be my backstreet girl

    Please don't be part of my life
    Please keep yourself to yourself
    Please don't you bother my wife
    That way you won't get no hell

    Don't try to ride on my horse
    You're rather common and coarse anyway

    Don't want you out in my world
    Just you be my backstreet girl

    Please don't you call me at home
    Please don't come knocking at night
    Please never ring on the phone
    Your manners are never quite right

    Please take the favors I grant
    Curtsy and look nonchalant, just for me

    Don't want you part of my world
    Just you be my backstreet girl

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