Friday, August 14, 2015

He Saw Starlight On The Rails-With The Irascible Bruce “Utah” Phillips in Mind

He Saw Starlight On The Rails-With The Irascible Bruce “Utah” Phillips in Mind

 
 
 
 

From The Pen Of Bart Webber

 

Jack Dawson was not sure when he had heard that the old long-bearded son of a bitch anarchist hell of a songwriter, hell of a story-teller Bruce “Utah” Phillips caught the westbound freight, caught that freight around 2007 he found out. That “Utah” moniker not taken by happenstance since Phillips struggled through the wilds of Utah on his long journey, played with a group called the Utah Valley boys, put up with, got through a million pound of Mormon craziness and, frankly, wrote an extraordinary number of songs in his career by etching through the lore as he found it from all kinds of Mormon sources, including some of those latter day saints. For those who do not know the language of the road, not the young and carefree road taken for a couple of months and then back to the grind but the serious hobo “jungle” road like Jack had been on for several years before he sobered up after he came back from ‘Nam, came back all twisted and turned when he got discharged from the Army back in 1971 and could not adjust to the “real world” of his Carver upbringing in the East and had wound up drifting, drifting out to the West, hitting California and when that didn’t work out sort of ambled back east on the slow freight route through Utah taking the westbound freight meant passing to the great beyond, passing to a better place, passing to hard rock candy mountain in some versions.

Of course everybody thinks that if you wind up in Utah the whole thing is Mormon, and a lot of it is, no question, but when Jack hit Salt Lake City he had run into a guy singing in a park. A guy singing  folk music stuff like that he had remembered that Sam Lowell had been crazy for back in the days when he would take his date and  Jack and his date over to Harvard Square and they would listen to guys like that guy in the park singing in coffeehouses. Jack had not been crazy about the music then and some of the stuff the guy was singing seemed odd too but back then it either amounted to a cheap date, or the girl actually like the stuff and so he went along with it. So Jack, nothing better to do, sat in front of guy and listened. Listened more intently when the guy, who turned out to be Utah (who was using the moniker Pirate Angel then, as Jack was using Daddy Carver, monikers a good thing on the road just in case the law, bill-collectors or ex-wives were trying to reach you and you do not want to reached), told the few bums, tramps and hoboes who were the natural residents of the park that if they wanted to get sober, if they wanted to turn things around a little that they were welcome, no questions asked, at the Joe Hill House. (No questions asked was right but everybody was expected to at least not tear the place up, which some nevertheless tried to do.)                   

Jack, not knowing anybody, not being sober much, and maybe just a tad nostalgic for the old days when hearing bits of folk music was the least of his worries, went up to Utah and said he would appreciate the stay. And that was that. Although not quite “that was that” since Jack knew nothing about the guys who ran the place, didn’t know who Joe Hill was until later (although he suspected after he found out that Joe Hill had been a IWW organizer [Wobblie, Industrial Worker of the World] framed and executed in that very state of Utah that his old friend the later Peter Paul Markin who lived to have that kind of information in his head would have known). See this Joe Hill House unlike the Sallies (Salvation Army) where he would hustle a few days of peace was run by this Catholic Worker guy, Ammon Hennessey, who Utah told him had both sobered him up and made him some kind of anarchist although Jack was fuzzy on what that was all about. So Jack for about the tenth time tried to sober up, liquor sober up this time out in the great desert (later it would be drugs, mainly cocaine which almost ripped his nose off he was so into it that he needed sobering up from). And it took, took for a while.        

Whatever had been eating at Jack kept fighting a battle inside of him and after a few months he was back on the bottle. But during that time at the Joe Hill House he got close to Utah, as close as he had gotten to anybody since ‘Nam, since his friendship with Jeff Crawford from up in Podunk Maine who saved his ass, and that of a couple of other guys in a nasty fire-fight when Charley (G.I. slang for the Viet Cong originally said in contempt but as the war dragged on in half-hearted admiration) decided he did indeed own the night in his own country. Got as close as he had to his corner boys like Sam Lowell from hometown Carver. Learned a lot about the lure of the road, of drink and drugs, of tough times (Utah had been in Korea) and he had felt bad after he fell off the wagon. But that was the way it was. 

Several years later after getting washed clean from liquor and drugs, at a time when Jack started to see that he needed to get back into the real world if he did not want to wind up like his last travelling companion, Denver Shorty, whom he found face down one morning on the banks of the Charles River in Cambridge and had abandoned his body fast in order not to face the police report, he noticed that Utah was playing in a coffeehouse in Cambridge, a place called Passim’s which he found out taken over from the Club 47 where Sam had taken Jack a few times. So Jack and his new wife (his and her second marriages) stepped down into the cellar coffeehouse to listen up. As Jack waited in the rest room area a door opened from the other side across the narrow passageway and who came out but Utah. As Jack started to grab his attention Utah blurred out “Daddy Carver, how the hell are you?” and talked for a few minutes. Later that night after the show they talked some more in the empty club before Utah said he had to leave to head back to Saratoga Springs in New York where he was to play at the Café Lena the next night.         

That was the last time that Jack saw Utah in person although he would keep up with his career as it moved along. Bought some records, later tapes, still later CDs just to help the brother out. In the age of the Internet he would sent occasional messages and Utah would reply. Then he heard Utah had taken very ill, heart trouble like he said would get the best of him. And then somewhat belatedly Jack found that Utah had passed on. The guy of all the guys he knew on the troubled hobo “jungle” road who knew what starlight on the rails meant to the wanderers he sang for had cashed his ticket. RIP, brother.

In Boston-Committee for International Labor Defense Panel Discussion and Organizing Meeting

In Boston-Committee for International Labor Defense Panel Discussion and Organizing Meeting


Saturday,
August 15th | 2:00-5:00 PM
Encuentro5
| 9a Hamilton Place Boston


 
 
 
International
Labor Defense was an organization founded by the Communist Party USA in Chicago
in 1925 (when we were known as the Workers Party of America). By 1926 it had
20,000 dues-paying members. The ILD worked to build solidarity and unity in the
world labor movement. It mobilized to defend persecuted labor organizers and
members of oppressed nations under attack from the exploiters and their state.
Its defense of the Scottsboro Boys in the 1930s turned into a worldwide campaign
and also facilitated organizing the Sharecroppers Union.


Other
high profile ILD cases included the case of black communist Angelo Herndon
facing a death sentence for involvement with the Atlanta  Unemployed Council
(1932-1937); jailed west coast labor organizer Tom Mooney (1931-1939),
Massachusetts anarchists Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti facing execution
(1926-1930), the case of the Gallup, N. Mex., coal mine workers, (1933-1938),
and Los Angeles Times bomber John McNamara.  


Repression
breeds resistance.  As with the crises of the 1920s and '30s, capital's
deepening contradictions and crisis today is resulting in rising police
brutality and prison hells, in the US, Mexico, Colombia, indeed in most
capitalist countries. And as with the 1920s, this may be a good time to revive
International Labor Defense. It is certainly a necessary task of the
period.


Please
join us for a panel discussion on the history of International Labor Defense and
the need for similar mass organizations to defend political and class war
prisoners today. Following the panel discussion we will have an organizing
meeting for all who are interested in this organizing effort.


Meeting
Schedule-


2:00-4:00
PM Panel Discussion featuring organizers speaking on the history and current
necessity of International Labor Defense and similar efforts, participants in
struggles to free political and class war prisoners, and reports from
international efforts to revive ILD.


The
speakers on the panel are Wadi'h Halabi (Center for Marxist Education and
Economics Commission of CPUSA), Steve Kirschbaum ( United Steelworkers of
America Local 8751 Boston School Bus Drivers/Team Solidarity), and Tom Whitney
(political journalist, writes on Latin America, especially Cuba and Colombia,
member of Maine Veterans for Peace and Let Cuba life of Maine, formerly worked
as child health care worker).


4:00-5:00
PM Organizing Meeting will follow the Panel Discussion. All who are interested
in working towards a revived ILD are encouraged to attend and contribute ideas
that help in this effort.





ILD
Solidarity Statements



“Dear
brothers and sisters of the "International  Labor Defense" :
We
want to express our support and solidarity to the "International Labor Defense"
in this struggle for the freedom of our polítical prisoners all over the globe.
Please keep us updated and count on us always.
Five
big hugs!
"The
Cuban Five".
                         
Ramon
Labañino Salazar.



"The
murders, frame-ups, and repression of trade unionists today are just as vicious
as were in the days of Sacco and Vanzetti.  Sure, perhaps, the sites have
changed from Brockton, MA to the streets of Barrancas, Colombia, Tehran, Iran
and a myriad of other locales.  But the struggle for freedom of association and
to withhold one's labor continues.  For too long ideology has divided
international support for the defense of trade unionists.  I welcome the new
initiative to unite workers, regardless of ideology, in the global defense of
trade unionists in their struggle against the power of
corporations."


David
Campbell
Secretary-Treasurer
USW
Local 675



"International
Labor Defense not only allowed workers all over the world to join forces in the
face of repression but also get to know each other as allies, share our
knowledge, feel victories or defeats anywhere in the world as our own. Its
rebirth now reminds us of our history of solidarity."


Richard
Levins
Marxist
ecologist and one of the architects of the ecological transformation of
agriculture in Cuba in the 1990s.



“As
the bad old days for worker rights return, more vicious than ever, there is no
better time to revive the idea of international solidarity, international help
for our fellow workers. The catalyst is the outsourcing and shifting of jobs
from one country to another to increase massive profit, and to avoid the puny
labor laws that remain. We must reject the idea that workers are “stealing our
jobs”. If work has no borders, then all workers are brothers and sisters. And
all deserve fairness and support. It’s good to see the International Labor
Defense being revived so as to be ready with that support.”

Barbara
and Bob Ingalls
Detroit-area
labor and social justice activists.





Further
Reading-



Reviving
International Labor Defense - Wadi'h Halabi, Sandy Rosen, and Tom
Whitney*


International
Labor Defense was an organization founded by the Communist Party USA in Chicago
in 1925 (when we were known as the Workers Party of America). By 1926 it had
20,000 dues-paying members. The ILD worked to build solidarity and unity in the
world labor movement. It mobilized to defend persecuted labor organizers and
members of oppressed nations under attack from the exploiters and their state.
Its defense of the Scottsboro Boys in the 1930s turned into a worldwide campaign
and also facilitated organizing the Sharecroppers Union.


CPUSA
leader Sam Dlugin, the father of our comrade Lee Dlugin, participated in the
original ILD.  His agitational pamphlet, "Blood on the Sugar", written in
defense of Cuban workers, can be found on the web.  In fact, the Communist Party
of Cuba organized ILD branches in 1933.


Repression
breeds resistance.  As with the crises of the 1920s and '30s, capital's
deepening contradictions and crisis today is resulting in rising police
brutality and prison hells, in the US, Mexico, Colombia, indeed in most
capitalist countries. And as with the 1920s, this may be a good time to revive
International Labor Defense. It is certainly a necessary task of the
period.


Already,
there are many prisoner defense efforts around the world. Our own comrades have
participated in efforts in defense of Mumia and other African-American and
Puerto Rican political prisoners, the Cuba 5, Los Mineros and electrical workers
in Mexico, David Ravelo and other Colombian political prisoners, and many more.
In Massachusetts, a remarkable Jobs not Jails coalition has developed in recent
months.


In
addition, there are thousands of campaigns worldwide in defense of prisoners,
some large, some small. Reviving International Labor Defense can help join these
many campaigns and build international labor solidarity.


The
CPUSA was the organizing center of the original ILD. Today it may be best if an
international union federation or grouping of unions in an industry, such as
transport or metal, serves as the ILD's organizing center. CP leadership and
guidance of course remains essential.


As
Communists, we can build on our historic connections and special access to CPs
(and many unions) worldwide to help develop ILD. There are indications that the
CPs of China, Cuba, Portugal, Colombia, and several other states could lend
support to reviving ILD.


One
important task of the ILD will be selection of prisoners to be defended and the
corresponding class education. This is in part because the capitalist class is
certain to attempt to weaken or neutralize a revived ILD by promoting
anti-working class prisoners held in states such as Cuba, Vietnam and
China.


(*excerpt
from CPUSA 30th National Convention discussion document “Two ideas to Build the
Party Today: REVIVE INTERNATIONAL LABOR DEFENSE AND DEVELOP A YOUTH/UNION
ALLIANCE FOR GOOD UNION JOBS AND AGAINST DEBT SLAVERY” available here:
http://www.cpusa.org/convention-discussion-two-ideas-to-build-the-party/
)




Considerations
on forming a unified organization dedicated to the cause of political prisoners
worldwide. The model is International Labor Defense (ILD)  

From
Tom Whitney, May 12, 2014

ILD
will undertake to organize, publicity, political education, agitation,
facilitation of legal assistance, administrative capabilities, and recruitment
of supporters on behalf of selected political prisoners, especially those
victimized as members of the working class or in struggle to defend the working
class

Purposes:

1.
A revived ILD undertakes to respond to needs not presently being met due to many
difficulties. They include: waning socialist internationalism, reverses
affecting the labor movement, divisions among now tiny leftist political
parties, and residual impact of demagogic anti-communism. Currently, political
prisoner campaigns are often only as large as political parties, single issue
campaigns, and organizations they were affiliated with.  Advocacy and organizing
that cross international, political, and organizational borders would be an
advance.

2.
ILD, by its nature, implies political work broader than defense of political
prisoners alone. As such, and as long as its membership is drawn from a variety
of political groups, ILD should serve as a focus for recruitment of class –based
activists as yet undifferentiated by particular political groupings.

Methods:

1.
IWD will comprise national leadership formations and local chapters. They will
be joined by activists representing groups and campaigns already involved with
political prisoners.


2.
IWD may leave considerable autonomy to local chapters. Chapters would act under
the aegis of centralized and collective leadership.


3.
Prisoner selection would be an orderly and collective process.


4.
IWD activities will include: the gathering, analyzing, and dissemination of
relevant political news; public education and advocacy efforts; organizing of
appropriate direct action modalities, and active recruitment of
members


5.
Methods of prisoner selection, recruitment of leadership, organization of
chapters and central governance remain to be determined.

Assumptions:

1.
    ILD will provide support for other groups already involved with a particular
prisoner or prisoners, contributing political education, recruiting, publicity,
direct action, coordinating, and general advocacy. Important strategic decisions
ought to be left to the initiative of groups already involved.

2.
    Criteria for selecting prisoners ILD would support include the class-based
nature of their political struggles, the political significance of the fight for
which they were incarcerated, dangers threatening to prisoners or their cause,
special humanitarian needs, and prospects for their release.  

3.
    ILD’s contribution to the liberation of selected prisoners would be more to
encourage popular mobilization on their behalf than to join in their legal
fight, although IWD would, if necessary, help secure and maintain adequate legal
defense.


4.
    The role of ILD, in general, will be to facilitate, support, and coordinate
campaigns for prisoners. Usually ILD will not undertake primary direction of
individual campaigns for prisoners.

5.
    Advocacy on behalf of prisoners will, if possible, be integrated into the
larger struggles for which they were detained.

6.
    Taking pains to remain non-sectarian, ILD will endeavor to recruit members
and leaders from a variety of organizations working on behalf of the working
class.

Questions,
to begin with:

1.
Do material and personnel resources exist to begin an IWD? Where does money come
from?


2.
What is the constituency for IWD in terms of existing organizations,
campaigns?


3.
How does IWD steer clear of becoming sectarian amd promoting
division?


4.
How should ILD approach existing organizations and political prisoner campaigns
to benefit from their ideas and/or gain their eventual
participation?


5.
What categories of political prisoners are off limits for the
IWD?


6.
 How would IWD deal with political figures unjustly imprisoned by progressive or
left-leaning states?  


7.
 Are imprisoned members of objectionable labor unions candidates for ILD
support?


Commentary:


1.
In contrast to our present situation, ILD developed within the context of mass
left- leaning political movements and amidst ubiquitous labor mobilizations. It
was a situation providing plenty of victims. At the time, 1925 – 1940, many
popular resistance movements were aligned more or less with the rising
international communist movement. ILD materialized within that framework.  Lack
of mass political mobilization today is a handicap.


2.
The need addressed by ILD, of mobilizing large-scale support for victims
particularly of judicial abuse, remains. The need likewise remains for resources
being available in support of campaigns of political solidarity on their
behalf,


3.
Founders of the original ILD counted on mass support not necessarily attached to
participants’ primary political affiliations. They seemed to regard ILD as
itself a means for building a mass left-leaning political movement, that is to
say, a tool.


4.
Certain political developments of recent decades may be relevant to refashioning
an ILD, among them:  development and persistence of anti-communist bias against
class-based workers’ defense, the splintering of movement for democratic change
into single-issue mobilizations, pervasive fear of U. S. state security
apparatus, diminished understanding of historical antecedents of struggle,
weakening of both the U.S. labor movement and worldwide labor federations, and
responsibility for defending victims increasingly taken on by their own
organizations.


5.
Organizations purporting to defend political prisoners have proliferated
worldwide. They operate within circumscribed boundaries of action often defined
by national, religious, and/or political identification.


6.
Progress in forming a renewed ILD will depend, it seems, on engaging newer
generations of activists.
Considerations
of feasibility:


1.
    Existing organizations that defend political prisoners may resist
intervention presented as friendly but is perceived as
interfering.


2.
    People and financial resources are lacking essential for creating and
organizing a new ILD with ambitious goals.


3.
    Leadership capabilities presently seem thin.

Brief
Historical Addendum
 
The
Workers Party of America – later to become the Communist Party – formed the
International Labor Defense (ILD) in 1925 as a “consolidated legal defense mass
organization.” Its headquarters were in Chicago, Ill. The idea was a
“non-partisan body that would defend any member of the working class movement,
without regard to personal political views.” Victims “under the thumb of
persecution by the capitalist legal system would be supported legally, morally,
and financially.” Of note is that initial planning seemed to envision help for
members and non-members alike of the organized labor movement. And ILD would not
confine its help exclusively to victims of judicial processes.


“The
ILD was a membership organization [with] the holding of regular local meetings.
There were 20,000 dues-paying ILD members by late 1926, with 75,000 other
supporters of ILD goals and actions who were members of affiliated
organizations,. Local branches conducted mass meetings and fundraising events.
 ILD published a monthly magazine in Chicago called Labor Defender. The editor
was a Workers Party member, the business manger, a member of the Socialist
Party.  Circulation boomed, rising from about 1,500 paid subscriptions and 8,500
copies in bulk bundle sales in 1927 to about 5,500 paid subscriptions with a
bundle sale of 16,500 by the middle of 1928. Of 38 original National Committee
members, 12 of them belonged to the Workers (or Communist) Party. The nine –
member ILD Executive Committee included six party members.


According
to founding Executive Director James P. Cannon, reporting on a survey:  "There
were [initially] 106 class war prisoners in the United States -- scores of IWW
members railroaded in California, Kansas, Utah, and other states under the
criminal syndicalist laws. We located a couple of obscure anarchists in prison
in Rhode Island; a group of AFL coal miners in West Virginia; two labor
organizers in Thomaston, Maine -- besides the more prominent and better known
prisoners... They were not criminals at all, but strike leaders, organizers,
agitators, dissenters -- our kind of people. Not one of these 106 prisoners was
a member of the Communist Party! But the ILD defended and helped them
all."


High
profile ILD cases included the “Scottsboro Boys” 1931-1936,”  the case of black
communist Angelo Herndon facing a death sentence for involvement with the
Atlanta  Unemployed Council (1932-1937); jailed west coast labor organizer Tom
Mooney (1931-1939), Massachusetts anarchists Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo
Vanzetti facing execution (1926-1930), the case of the Gallup, N. Mex., coal
mine workers, (1933-1938), and Los Angeles Times bomber John McNamara.
 


ILD
backed labor organizing in southeastern United States:  “Working through a
variety of communist-led mass organizations, from the International Labor
Defense to the Congress of Spanish-Speaking Peoples, the Communist Party
eventually produced a noteworthy group of Mexican American women leaders.”
(Vargas, 2004). ILD in the late 1920’s defended striking coal miners in Ohio,
Pennsylvania, West Virginia, and Illinois, also jailed textile workers in New
Bedford, MA.  According to Jules Robert Benjamin (1977), “the Communist Party of
Cuba established ILD branches there in 1933, as well as branches of the
anti-imperialist League.”  In 1946 the ILD was merged with the National
Federation for Constitutional Liberties to form the Civil Rights
Congress.

On Reviving The International Labor Defense-(ILD)- In Boston-Free All The Class-War Prisoners

On Reviving The International Labor Defense-(ILD)- In Boston-Free All The Class-War Prisoners  


Committee
for International Labor Defense Panel Discussion and Organizing
Meeting


Saturday,
August 15th | 2:00-5:00 PM

Encuentro5
| 9a Hamilton Place Boston
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Some statements in support of reviving ILD, August 2015
 



Dear brothers and sisters of the International Labor Defense:




We want to express our support and solidarity to the International Labor Defense in this struggle for the freedom of our polítical prisoners all over the globe. Please keep us updated and count on us always.



 



Five big hugs!



 



"The Cuban Five"
Ramon Labañino Salazar



 



----------------



 



"The murders, frame-ups, and repression of trade unionists today are just as vicious as they were in the days of Sacco and Vanzetti.  Sure, perhaps, the sites have changed from Brockton, MA to the streets of Barrancas, Colombia, Tehran, Iran and a myriad of other locales.  But the struggle for freedom of association and to withhold one's labor continues.  For too long ideology has divided international support for the defense of trade unionists.  I welcome the new initiative to unite workers, regardless of ideology, in the global defense of trade unionists in their struggle against the power of corporations."



 



David Campbell
Secretary-Treasurer
USW Local 675
1200 E. 220th St.
Carson, CA 90745-3505



 



-------------------



 



"As the bad old days for worker rights return, more vicious than ever, there is no better time to revive the idea of international solidarity, international help for our fellow workers. The catalyst is the outsourcing and shifting of jobs from one country to another to increase massive profit, and to avoid the puny labor laws that remain. We must reject the idea that workers are “stealing our jobs”. If work has no borders, then all workers are brothers and sisters. And all deserve fairness and support. It’s good to see the International Labor Defense being revived so as to be ready with that support.     Barbara and Bob Ingalls, Detroit-area labor and social justice activists



 



(Barbara was the leader of the remarkable Detroit newspaper workers' struggle. She was known as 'Barbarian' for her relentlessness and courage; her husband Bob, a lifelong union auto worker, also played a big role in the strike. Through Jobs with Justice, Sandy and I worked on organizing labor support across New England for the Detroit workers, and we often hosted the workers at our house.)



 



-----------------------



 



"International Labor Defense not only allowed workers all over the world to join forces in the face of repression but also get to know each other as allies, share our knowledge, feel victories or defeats anywhere in the world as our own. Its rebirth now reminds us of our history of solidarity."  Richard Levins



 



(Richard Levins is the great Marxist ecologist, probably the most consistent scientist in the US. He was one of the architects of the ecological transformation of Cuba's agriculture. He is a strong supporter of ILD.)



 

Thursday, August 13, 2015

Happy Birthday David Crosby-From The Summer Of Love Alumni

Happy Birthday David Crosby-From The Summer Of Love Alumni


 
 
 
 
 
 

On The Fiftieth Anniversary Of The Jefferson Airplane's First Album -From The Archives-From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- Out In The Seals Rock Inn Frisco Town Night –Take Two

On The Fiftieth Anniversary Of The Jefferson Airplane's First Album -From The Archives

 
 
 
 
 
From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- Out In The Seals Rock Inn Frisco Town Night –Take Two
 
Funny he, Adam Evans, thought, a little sweaty and overheated from the turned too high thermostat put on earlier to ward off the open- eyed chill of the room, as he laid in his toss and turn early morning Seals Rock Inn, San Francisco bed, the rain pouring down in buckets, literally buckets, at his unprotected door, the winds were howling against that same door, and the nearby sea was lashing up its fury, how many times the sea stormy night, the sea fury tempest day, the, well, the mighty storm anytime, had played a part in his life. He was under no circumstances, as he cleared his mind for a think back, a think back that was occupying his thoughts more and more of late, trying to work himself into a lather over some metaphorical essence between the storms that life had bestowed on him and the raging night storm within hearing distance. No way, too simple. Rather he was just joy searching for all those sea-driven times, times when a storm, a furious storm like this night or maybe just an average ordinary vanilla storm passing through and complete in an hour made him think of his relationship with his homeland the sea and with its time for reflection. And so on that toss and turn bed he thought.

Funny, although not humorously funny like his nymph tryst with Terry that he had just finish thinking about, or ironically funny like his bonding with the sea from birth that got him started on this think, but kind of sad sack funny how he and Diana had met, met in Harvard Square in the summer of love, 1967 (check it out on Wikipedia for the San Francisco version of that same year but basically, in both cases although more flagrantly in ’Frisco, it was the winds blowing the right way for once when make love not war, make something, make your dreams come true with sex, drugs, music had its minute, has its soon faded minute via self –imposed hubris and the death-dealing, fag-hating, nigger-hating, women-hating, self-hating bad guys with the guns and the dough leading, and still leading, a vicious counter-attack), she from Podunk Mid-West (Davenport out in the Iowas if you need to know) far from ocean waters, but thrilled by the prospect of meeting an ocean boy (okay, okay man, twenty- three, she twenty-one)who actually had been there, to the ocean that is.

Oh yah, how they met in that Harvard Square good night for the curious, simplicity itself (his version), she was sitting about half way across the room, the cafeteria room, the old Hayes-Bickford awful dish- water coffee out of necessarily sturdy ceramic mugs , runny eggs, steamy to perdition everything else room, although the food and its conditions was not why you hung out there, just up from the old Harvard Square subway stop (and no longer there, long gone and missed, nor is that subway stop the end of the Red Line), if that name helps (and it did , did help that is, if you had any pretensions to some folkie literary career, some be-bop blessed poet life, or just wanted to rub elbows with what might be the next big thing after that folk minute expired of a British invasion of sexed-up moppets and wet dream bad boys and poetry died of T.S. Eliot and rarified air, or, maybe just a two in the morning coffee, hard pressed sudsy coffee, but coffee, enough to keep a seat in the place, after a tough night at the local gin mills, and hadn’t caught anybody’s attention), sitting by herself, writing furiously, on some yellow notepad, and she looked up. He, just that moment looked up as well (although he had taken about six previous peeks in her direction but she ignored them, studiously ignored, with her furious pen), and smiled at her. And she gave him a whimsical, no a melt smile, a smile to think about eternities over, about maybe chasing some windmills about, about, about walking right over and asking about the meaning of, well, that smile. And he did, and she did, she told him that is. And in the telling, told him, that she had half seen (her version) him peeking and wondered about it.

All this peeking, half- peeking(her version, remember) , got him a seat at her table, and her a cup of awful coffee and a couple of hours, where are you from, what do you like, what is the meaning of existence and what the hell are you writing so furiously about at two o’clock on Sunday morning. And one thing led to another and eventually the sea came in, although, damn age against he couldn’t for the life of him remember how that subject came up, except maybe something triggered when she mentioned Iowa, and he said please don’t bury me there but near some seaside bluff, or something.

And what did she look like, for the male reader in need of such detail, especially since she was sitting alone writing furiously at two in the morning, maybe she was, ah, ah, a dog. Nah, she was kind of slender, but not skinny, slender in that fresh as sweet cream Midwestern corn-fed way that started to happen after the womenfolk, not prairie fire pioneer women any longer, had been properly fed for a couple of generations after those hard Okie/Arkie push on days of eating chalk dust and car smoke trailing dreams. With the long de riguer freshly- ironed (really, after the Joan Baez fashion or just some college girl fad) brown hair pulled back from her face (otherwise she would have constantly had to interrupt her furious writing to keep it out of her face as she wrote). And a pleasing face, bright blue eyes, good nose, and nice lips, kissable lips. Nice legs from what he could see when he went over. But who was he kidding, it was that whimsical, no, melt, smile, that smile that spoke of eternities, although what it spoke of at two in the morning was gentle breezes, soft pillows, of that Midwestern what you see is what you get and what you get, well, you better hang on, and hang on tight, and be ready to take some adversity, to keep around that smile. But that was later, later really, when he had figured it out better about why he tossed and turned all that night (really morning) and that smile thought would not let him be.

Memory bank of their first time up in ocean’s kingdom, the next day actually she was so anxious to see the ocean, or maybe anxious to see it with him, they talked about it being that way too but let’s just memory call it her anxiety, the rugged cross salvation rocks that make up Perkin’s Cove in southern Maine, up there by Ogunquit. There are stories to be told of his own previous meetings with Mother Perkin’s but this is Diana’ s story and those stories, his stories, involved other women, other treacheries, other immense treacheries, and other angel-sized delights too. That day thought she flipped out, flipped out at the immensity of it, of the majestic swells (and of her swaying, gently, but rhythmically to the rise and fall of each wave) of the closeness of a nature that she, she of wind- swept wheat oceans, of broken-back bracero wet back labor to bring in the crop, of fights against every form of land injury, dust, bugs, fire, drought had not dreamed of. And as if under some mystic spell, or some cornfield ocean mistake, she actually plunged fully-clothed (not having been told of the need for a swimsuit since the ocean itself was the play, the hugeness of it, the looking longingly back to primordial times of it, the reflection in the changings winds of it), in to the ocean at that spot where there is just enough room if the tide is right, just ebbing enough to create a sand bar to do so (today there is no problem getting down there as the Cove trustees have provided a helpful stairs, concrete-reinforced, against old time lumber steps breakaway and lost in some snarled sea) and promptly was almost carried out by a riptide.

He saved her, saved her good that day. Saved her with every ounce of energy he had to take her like some lonesome sailor saving his shipmate, save just to be saving, saving from the sea for a time anyway, or better, saving like the guy, that long gone daddy, who did or said some fool thing to his woman and she flipped out and make a death pact with old King Neptune (and wouldn’t you know want to bring long gone daddy along for the ride) from that song Endless Sleep by Jody Reynolds. But get this, and get it from him straight just in case you might have heard it from her. That day she was so sexed-up, there is no other way to say it, and there shouldn’t be, what with the first look ocean swells and her swaying , and her getting dunked good (with wet clothes and a slight feverish chill), and her being so appreciative of him saving her (the way she put it, his version anyway, was that save, that unthinking save, meant that whatever might come that she knew, knew after one day, and knew she was not wrong, that he would not forsake her for some trivial) that she wanted to have sex with him right there, right in the cove. (In those days there was a little spot that he knew, a little spot off a rutted dirt path that was then not well known, was unmarked , and was protected by rows of shrubbery so there was no problem about “doing the do” there and frankly that thought got him sexed-up too. Today there are so many touristas per square inch in high season and that old rutted path now paved so that the act would be impossible. It would have to wait hard winter and frozen asses, if that same scenario came up again.)

Here’s the thing thought she, Diana, from the sticks, from the Iowa fresh-mown fields, new to Harvard Square summer of love and Boston college scene school didn’t take birth control pills or have any other form of protection that day, although she was fairly sexually experienced (some wheat field farmer boy and then the usual assortment of colleges guys, some honest, some, well, one- night stands). And he, he not expecting to be a savior sailor that day carried no protection, hell, condoms (and, truth, his circle, the guys anyway, and really the girls knowing what the guys expected too, left it up to their partners to protect themselves. Barbarians, okay). So before they could hit the bushes, before they could lose themselves in the stormy throes of love he had to run up (yes, he ran, so you knew he was sexed-up too) to Doc’s Drugstore (no longer there, since Doc passed away many years ago and his sons became lawyers and not pharmacists) on U.S. 1 right in the center of Ogunquit. And red- faced purchased their “rubbers” (and wouldn’t you know there was some young smirky high school sales girl behind the counter when he paid for his purchase, jesus, with that knowing look of I know what you are up, mister). So as the sun started blue –pink setting in the west and to the sound, the symphony really, of those swells clanging on those rugged cross rocks they made love for the first time, not beautiful sultry night pillow love in some high-end hotel (like later), or fearfully (fearful that her prudish dorm roommate would bust in on them) in her dorm room but fiercely, fiercely like those ocean waves crashing mercilessly to shore. The time for exotic, genteel, gentle love-making (“making it,” out of some be-bop hipster lexicon their want to way of expressing that desire) would could later, later intermingled with the seventeen differences and sixteen almost reconciliations.

Funny too in that same sad sack love way they early on had vowed, secular vowed (no, not that Perkin’s Cove love day, sex is easier to agree to, to make and unmake than vows, religious, secular, or blasphemous), that they would not, like their parents fight over every stupid thing.. That night in her dorm room after that full day of activity they stayed up half the night (hell with a little benny that wasn’t hard, and perhaps they stayed up all night, and although her roommate never showed that night they did not, his version, did not make love) remembering his Velcro Ma wars and, as she related that night and many night after, her Baptist father repent sinners weird wars. He related in detail his various wars, wars to the death that left him with no option, no he option except to leave the family house and strike it on his own, on his summer of love terms if possible, since he had sensed that wind that storm swell coming for a while and was as ready as any “hippie” (quaint term, although he did not, and never did, consider himself a hippie but rather traced his summer of love yearnings to beat times, to be-bop boys and girls with shaded eyes and existential desires). She related in detail her devil father, with seven prayer books in all his hands on Sunday and a thwarted creep up to her room every other day, and of his bend bracero hatred short-changing the wages of the wetbacks who came via train smoke and dreams to bring in the crop (or have the complaisant county sheriff kick them out wage-less, or with so many deductions for cheap- jack low rent shack barely held together against the fury of prairie winds room and board, food just shy of some Sally (Salvation Army) hand out in some desolate back street town (and Adam knew of such foods, and of kindly thanks yous but that was give away food not sweated labor food) that it made the same thing. Justified of course by some chapter and verse about the heathens (Catholic heathens and he, the father , still fighting those 16th century religious wars out on prairie America and, and, winning against hard luck ,move on to the next shack and hand-out worthy food harvest stop, endlessly), and their sorrows .


And they didn’t , didn’t act like their parents, their he and she parents, that summer of love, that overblown ,frantic , wind-changing summer of love, when they sensed that high tide rolling in, hell, more than sensed it, could taste it, taste in the their off-hand love bouts not reserved for downy billows (and he glad, glad as hell, that she, his little temptress she, had freely offered herself to him up on those rugged cross rocks so that he, when he needed a reason, coaxed her to some landlocked bushes, or some river, some up river ,Charles River, of course hide-out and she, slightly blushing, maybe, with the thought of it, followed along),taste it is the sweet wines handmade in some friend experiment , hey try this (and experiment yogurts, ice cream, dough bread, and on and on, too) , taste it in the tea, ganga, herb, hemp smoke curling through their lungs and moment peace, or later, benny high to keep sleep from their eyes on the hitchhike road, or later too, sweet cousin cocaine, cheap, cheap as hell, and exotic to snuffed noses to take away the minute blues creeping in, taste it in the new way that their brethren, that small crowd (after all not everybody got caught up in the summer of love minute, some went jungle-fighting, some went wall street back-biting, some went plain old ordinary nine to five- routining, some went same old same, old love and marriage and here come X and Y with a baby carriage , and mortgages , and saving for junior’s college and ,and, and…, offered this and that, free, this and that help, this and that can I have this free, taste it in, well, if you don’t want to do that, hell, don’t and not face Ma, or kin, or professional wrath (or she father fire and brimstone), taste it out in those friendly streets, no not Milk Street, not Wall Street, not the Loop, but Commonwealth Avenue, Haight Street, Division Street, many Village streets, many Brattle streets, many Taos streets, Venice Beach streets, all the clots that make the connections, the oneness of it all, the grandness of it all, the free of it all.

They, they made the kindness, the everyday kindness of it, the simple air-filled big balloon kindness of it like some Peter Max cartoonish figure, and when they filled that balloon with enough kindness and against the sluttiness remarks of high Catholic Ma disapproving of heathens (see not all bigots were out in the prairie wheat field strung out on the lord and, wheat profits) and she Pa disapproving of hippie (never was , beat, beat, yes) they married , justice of the peace high wind Perkin’s Cove consummated married, she all garlanded up like some Botticelli doll model picture (Botticelli’s mistress, his whore, from what they had heard, and she blushed at that knowledge), flowered, flowing garment, free hair in the wind and he some black robe throw around , and feasting, feasting on those rugged cross rocks . Too much.

And for as long as they could see some new breeze blowing that they felt part of they were kind to each other (and others, of course). Then the winds of change shifted, and like the tides the ebbs set in, maybe not obvious at first, maybe not that first series of defeats, that Loop madness in ’68, that first bust for some ill-gotten dope and some fool snitch to save his ass from stir turned on him, some brethren (he hated snitch, the very word snitch, from that time down in that rolling barrel slope in the water episode as a kid with his older brother, and he didn’t snitch on his older brother now name etched in black marble in Washington along with other old neighborhood names), that first Connecticut highway hitchhike bust as they headed to D.C. for one more vain and futile attempt to stop the generation’s damn war, that several hour wait in Madison for some magnificent Volkswagen bus to stop and get them from point C to point D on their journey to this very storm- driven San Francisco spot (a few blocks up over in North Beach the old beat blocks, Haight Street hippie having turned into a free-fire zone, that” no that is six dollars for those candles , not free anymore brother” sea-change, and the decline of kindness, first casualty their own kindnesses, their own big balloon kindnesses more less frequently evoked, more tired from too much work, more “sorry but I have a headache ,”he too, and less thoughts about trysts in hidden bushes, or downy billows for that matter. Worse, worse still, he went his way, and she went hers, trying to make it (no longer their “make it” signal to chart love’s love time) in the world, hell, nine to five routining it but it was the kindnesses, those big ball kindnesses that went (and that they both spoke of marriage counselor spoke of missing), and seventeen differences, substantial differences, and sixteen almost reconciliations, they grew older and apart, and…

She left him for another man, another non-sea driven man, a man who hated the outdoors, hated the thought of the ocean (he grew up in lobstertown Maine and had his fill of oceans, of fierce winds, of rubber hip boots, and of rugged cross rocks thank you, she told him non-ocean man had told her) when she called it seventeen times was enough quits after they had spent a couple of months up in that storm-ravaged Maine cottage that he insisted they go to reconcile after the last difference bout where she, quote, was tired as hell of the sea, of the wind, of the stuff that the wind did to her sensitive skin ( big old sadness at that remark by him for he never said, kindness, said anything about that, or never said he could stop the ravages of time), and, and, tired of him playing out some old man of the seas, some man against nature thing with her in his train, unquote. Yah, she up and left him. Damn, and he had had thoughts of eternity, of always being around that smile, that quizzical smile, or the possibility of that smile, that he first latched onto that first Harvard Square night when he had smiled at her across the room, and she had smiled that smile right between his eyes at him.
 

On The Fiftieth Anniversary Of The Jefferson Airplane's First Album-From The Archives

On The Fiftieth Anniversary Of The Jefferson Airplane's First Album -From The Archives

 

Break Just Another Little Piece Of My Heart-----The Lost Photos Of Janis Joplin's Last Concert

Break Just Another Little Piece Of My Heart-----The Lost Photos Of Janis Joplin's Last Concert 

The “Blues Mama” Of “The Generation Of ‘68”- The Music Of Janis Joplin 


CD REVIEW

Janis Joplin: 18 Essential Songs, Janis Joplin with Big Brother and The Holding Company, Columbia Records, 1995

It is virtually a truism that every generation has its own cultural icons, for better or worst. The 1960’s, the time of this reviewer’s “Generation of ‘68”, was no exception. Although there were no official creeds in the matter, in fact we scorned such thinking, a rough translation of what we thought we were about then could be summed up as follows- live fast, live young and live forever. Other, later generations have put their own imprint on that theme although I sense without our basically naïve and hopeful expectations of that phrase. All this is by way of saying that the artist under review, urban white blues and soul singer Janis Joplin, was one of our icons. That she crashed and burned well before her time, and well before forever, only adds poignancy to her fate.

The role of “blues mama” for a generation is certainly no task for the faint-hearted, as Janis’s life, life style, and fame attest to. That she was able to translate the black blues idiom and style of the likes of her idol “Big Mama” Thornton, of necessity, had to take its toll on that tiny hard scrabble Texas-raised body. But that is the fundamental tragedy (and beauty) of the blues. Not only must you ‘pay your dues’ but this genre cannot be faked. If you have not lived a hard scrabble existence, faced the depths of what society has to offer and come out swinging you flat-out cannot convey that message the way it is suppose to be done. Janis could. Other white women blues singers as fine performers as they are, like Tracey Nelson and Rory Block, approximate that sound but there is just a little too much “refinement” in the voice to pass this test.

So what did Janis (and her fellow musicians of Big Brother and The Holding Company who generally rose to the occasion and created great sounds to go with that Joplin voice) leave us? Well, as contained in this above average CD compilation of her work, most of the essential woman’s blues numbers of the 1960’s that will stand the test of time. Not bad, right? Start off, as always, with ‘Big Mama’s” “Ball and Chain” (that blew them away at the Monterrey Pops Festival). Move on to the classic Gershwin tune “Summertime”. Feast on her own “I Need A Man To Love” and “Kozmic Blues”. And close out with Kris Kristofferson’s 1960’s traveling anthem “Me And Booby McGee”. And in between a dozen more memorable tunes. I defy anyone to find a song in this compilation that is less than above average. And that kind of says it all. Janis Joplin’s star burned out far too quickly and those of us from her generation are now coming to terms with the fact that, despite our youthful beliefs, we will not live forever. Her music, however, will.

Ball And Chain lyrics

Sittin’ down by my window,
Honey, lookin’ out at the rain.
Oh, Lord, Lord, sittin’ down by my window,
Baby, lookin’ out at the rain.
Somethin’ came along, grabbed a hold of me, honey,
And it felt just like a ball and chain.
Honey, that’s exactly what it felt like,
Honey, just dragging me down.

And I say, oh, whoa, whoa, now hon’, tell me why,
Why does every single little tiny thing I hold on to go wrong ?
Yeah it goes wrong, yeah.
And I say, oh, whoa, whoa, now babe, tell me why,
Does every thing, every thing.
Hey, here you gone today, I wanted to love you,
I just wanted to hold you, I said, for so long,
Yeah! Alright! Hey!

Love’s got a hold on me, baby,
Feels like a ball and chain.
Now, love’s just draggin’ me down, baby,
Feels like a ball and chain.
I hope there’s someone out there who could tell me
Why the man I love wanna leave me in so much pain.
Yeah, maybe, maybe you could help me, come on, help me!

And I say, oh, whoa, whoa, now hon’, tell me why,
Now tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me why, yeah.
And I say, oh, whoa, whoa, whoa, when I ask you,
When I need to know why, c’mon tell me why, hey hey hey,
Here you’ve gone today,
I wanted to love you and hold you
Till the day I die.
I said whoa, whoa, whoa!!

And I say oh, whoa, whoa, no honey
It ain’t fair, daddy it ain’t fair what you do,
I see what you’re doin’ to me and you know it ain’t fair.
And I say oh, whoa whoa now baby
It ain’t fair, now, now, now, what you do
I said hon’ it ain’t fair what, hon’ it ain’t fair what you do.
Oh, here you gone today and all I ever wanted to do
Was to love you
Honey you can still hear me rock and roll the best,
Only it ain’t roll, no, no, no, no, no.

Sittin’ down by my window,
Lookin’ out at the rain.
Lord, Lord, Lord, sittin’ down by my window,
Lookin’ out at the rain, see the rain.
Somethin’ came along, grabbed a hold of me,
And it felt like a ball and chain.
Oh this can’t be in vain
And I’m gonna tell you one more time, yeah, yeah!

And I say oh, whoa whoa, now baby
This can’t be, no this can’t be in vain,
And I say no no no no no no no no, whoa,
And I say whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
Now now now now now now now now now no no not in vain
Hey, hope there is someone that could tell me
Hon’, tell me why love is like
Just like a ball
Just like a ball
Baaaaaaalllll
Oh daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy
And a chain.
Yeah.

Call On Me lyrics

Well, baby, when times are bad,
Now call on me, darling, and I’ll come to you.
When you’re in trouble and feel so sad,
Well, call on me, darling, come on call on me, and I’ll help you.
Yeah!

A man and a woman have each other, baby,
To find their way in this world.
I need you, darling, like the fish needs the sea,
Don’t take your sweet, your sweet love from me.

Baby, when you’re down and feel so blue,
Well, no, you won’t drown, darling, I’ll be there too.
You’re not alone, I’m there too,
Whatever your troubles, honey, I don’t care.

A man and a woman have each other, baby,
To find their way in this world.
I need you, darling, like the fish needs the sea,
Don’t take your sweet, sweet love from me!

Please! So baby, when times are bad,
Call on me, darling, just call on me.

I Need A Man To Love lyrics

Whoa, I need a man to love me.
Don’t you understand me, baby ?
Why, I need a man to love.
I gotta find him, I gotta have him like the air I breathe.
One lovin’ man to understand can’t be too much to need.

You know it
Can’t be now
Oh no
Can’t be now
Oh no
Can’t be now
Oh no
Can’t be now
Oh no
Can’t be now
Oh no
Can’t be this loneliness
Baby, surrounding me.

No, no, know it just can’t be
No it just can’t be
There’s got to be some kind of answer.
No it just can’t be
And everywhere I look, there’s none around
No it just can’t be
Whoa, it can’t be
No it just can’t be, oh no!
Whoa, hear me now.

Whoa, won’t you let me hold you ?
Honey, just close your eyes.
Whoa, won’t you let me hold you, dear ?
I want to just put my arms around ya, like the circles going ‘round the sun.
Let me hold you daddy, at least until the morning comes.

Because it
Can’t be now
Oh no
Can’t be now
Oh no
Can’t be now
Oh no
Can’t be now
Oh no
Can’t be now
Oh no
Can’t be this loneliness
Baby, surrounding me.
No, no, no it just can’t be.
No it just can’t be
Oh, baby, baby, baby, baby, just can’t be.
No, no, no
No it just can’t be

And why can’t anyone ever tell me, now ?
No it just can’t be
I wake up one morning, I realize
No it just can’t be
Whoa, it can’t be.
No it just can’t be
Now go!

Whoa, I need a man to love me
Oh, maybe you can help me, please.
Why, I need a man to love.
But I believe that someday and somehow it’s bound to come along
Because when all my dreams and all my plans just cannot turn out wrong.

You know it
Can’t be now Oh no
Can’t be now Oh no
Can’t be now Oh no
Can’t be now Oh no
Can’t be now Oh no
Can’t be just loneliness
Baby, surrounding me

No, no, no, it just can’t be
No it just can’t be
Oh, baby, baby, baby, baby, it just can’t be
No it just can’t be
And who could be foolin’ me ?
No it just can’t be
I’ve got all this happiness
No it just can’t be
Come, come, come on, come on, come on, and help me now.
No it just can’t be
Please, can’t you hear my cry ?
No it just can’t be
Whoa, help ...






Newly Found Photos Show Janis Joplin's Final Concert — 45 Years Ago At Harvard

sounds

Peter Warrack's photo of Janis Joplin performing at Harvard Stadium, August 12, 1970. (House of Roulx)
Peter Warrack’s photo of Janis Joplin performing at Harvard Stadium, Aug. 12, 1970. (House of Roulx)
The evening of Aug. 12, 1970, was a warm one. Harvard Stadium had been transformed into a concert arena with the addition of rows upon rows of seats onto the field. An estimated 40,000 spectators were crammed inside. After it was discovered that some sound equipment had been stolen, the show was delayed. According to several accounts, the crowd was restless, near rioting.
They were waiting for Janis Joplin.

“Oddly, while we were sitting there—and the crowd was getting into something, it became very smoky and sweet there, let’s put it that way—we could see, straight ahead, the open-scaffolding stage,” says Kevin McElroy, who was seated near the front with his boyfriend, Peter Warrack. “Janis was underneath. And she had a bottle of Southern Comfort, and she was just in a world of her own there. She just was doing what she wanted to do in the moment. After another hour-and-a-half or so—it was really quite a delay—she literally burst onto the stage. It was just electric.”
Peter Warrack's photo of Janis Joplin performing at Harvard Stadium, August 12, 1970. (House of Roulx)
 
Peter Warrack’s photo of Janis Joplin performing at Harvard Stadium, Aug. 12, 1970. (House of Roulx)

Two months later, Joplin was dead. That near-disaster concert at Harvard Stadium, it turned out, was her last public performance.

It was a special night for Warrack as well. An amateur photographer who liked to photograph celebrities and collect autographs, he shot almost a whole roll of film from down in the front, a telephoto lens aimed upward at the star as she threw herself across the stage. Concerts weren’t documented as thoroughly back then as they are now, thanks to Instagram and Twitter and a camera on every smartphone, so those 24 black-and-white close-ups are, seemingly, some of the few existing relics of the historic concert.

The Liverpool-born Warrack died in 2008, but nearly his entire collection of photographs—around 15,000—remained unpublished during his lifetime. Until recently they languished in a vast collection of binders in several closets at McElroy’s residence in Boston’s South End. House of Roulx—a Danvers-based operator of an online boutique selling celebrity photos, reproductions of funny sci-fi art and copies of curious old photos—acquired the entire collection this year. Individual prints as well as a limited edition box set of the Joplin series are available for purchase on the House of Roulx website.
Peter Warrack's photo of Janis Joplin performing at Harvard Stadium, August 12, 1970. (House of Roulx)
 
Peter Warrack’s photo of Janis Joplin performing at Harvard Stadium, Aug. 12, 1970. (House of Roulx)

“This wasn’t just a guy who was celebrity star-struck who snapped pictures, he was actually a really good photographer,” says House of Roulx’s Jared Gendron. “Because there’s a difference between someone who just runs around snapping pictures paparazzi-style in the 1970s, versus somebody who has that artistic eye.”

Taken together, Warrack’s photographs of Joplin are like a flip-book of the 27-year-old singer that capture a few fleeting, candid moments onstage. They are portraits, really, set against a black background, zoomed in close enough to count the bracelets on her wrist. In one shot, she holds a finger pensively to her lips. In another, she radiates, smiling as she looks over her shoulder. One photo captures her in motion, a blur of sweat and song.

“She was feeling no pain, literally,” says McElroy. “She was interacting with the audience in almost a—well, it wasn’t almost, it was, it was a sexual banter back and forth. They were calling up to her, they wanted her, and she wanted them. At one point in time she says, ‘Yeah, I’ll take you on. One at a time. One at a time.’ That was part of who she was.”
Peter Warrack's photo of Janis Joplin performing at Harvard Stadium, August 12, 1970. (House of Roulx)
 
Peter Warrack’s photo of Janis Joplin performing at Harvard Stadium, Aug. 12, 1970. (House of Roulx)

When Joplin died on Oct. 4, 1970, Reuters ran an obituary that spent as much time detailing her boozy, contentious persona as her actual musicianship. In the years since, she has become something of a feminist icon, in addition to a bona fide rock ‘n’ roll legend. Her voice—that gravelly, SoCo-soaked voice—epitomizes the capacity of a rare kind of greatness to translate pain into art.
“I think people today might not understand—you know, Janis was young, she was only 20-odd, and she was one of our current rock stars,” says McElroy. “She was just somebody who was touring, and somebody who was good, and somebody you wanted to see. Over the last 45 years, Janis has become something else, in a way most people who die young do become. And I think young people today would look at Janis and not see her in the same light that we did.”

In McElroy’s telling, Warrack’s work was driven by a fascination with both the glamour of celebrity as well as the humanity behind it. The photographs of Joplin, he says, show a side of her that has been largely erased by her iconic status and all that she symbolizes now.

“I think we see something different when we look back,” says McElroy. “I don’t think we see just Janis herself. [That night] was just Janis, performing. It was wonderful.”
Peter Warrack's photo of Janis Joplin performing at Harvard Stadium, August 12, 1970. (House of Roulx)
Peter Warrack’s photo of Janis Joplin performing at Harvard Stadium, Aug. 12, 1970. (House of Roulx)