On The Fiftieth Anniversary Of The Jefferson Airplane's First Album -From The Archives
CD Review
Classic Rock: 1964, various artists, Time-Life Music, 1987
Scene brought to mind by the cover art that graces this CD. Said cover art showing in the background a motley foursome from some post- British invasion invasion group but in the foreground the object our, ah, inspection, one female earring bejeweled but more importantly day-glo, or if not day-glo then some non-toxic paint celebration, painted flower. Immediately bringing to my memory’s eye on Kathleen Callahan, a. k. a. Butterfly Swirl, Carlsbad (California, that’s important) Class of 1968 and Josh Breslin’s old flame from the summer of love, 1967 version, circa San Francisco in the merry prankster, yellow brick road night. Of course, as always in the interest of full disclosure, Ms. Swirl was my girl, very much my girl, until old Josh, Olde Saco High School Class of 1967 (that’s up in Maine, although that is not important to the story, or just a little) showed up on Russian Hill one fine day and, well, “stole” her from me. That too is not important to the story, except maybe to explain, a little, the kind of gal Kathleen was. What is important is how she came to be, not even out of high school yet, Butterfly Swirl.
No question in 1957 or 1977 Kathleen Callahan, brown hair, bright smile, good figure, great legs and an irksomely sunny disposition would have been just Kathleen Callahan, maybe the head cheerleader at some suburban school, some seaside suburban school like Carlsbad just norte of San Diego, Or, more realistically given that locale, some dippy surfer joe girl watching while they were hanging five or ten or whatever they did to those LaJolla, Malibu, Carlsbad waves that weren’t harming anybody as they slipped tepidly to shore. And, as she later confessed to Josh she actually had been a surfer joe girl, although the guy’s name was Spin Curley, nice right.
And then the 1964 British invasion came, and she, all of thirteen, although fully formed in lots of ways as she also told Josh and she was swept away, swept away from the silly little surfer girl life, small seaside everybody abode-housed Spanish fandango and the inevitably Spin. She told Josh it was really the Kinks that got her off-center. Not the Beatles or Rolling Stones as you might think. She said she was mad for their You Really Got Me, it kind of turned her on, turned her on a lot. A lot more than Spin could deal with what with his having to hang five or ten out in mother nature wave land. So naturally she headed to Los Angeles to check things out for a few days. Her and another girl, whose story can be summed up in one word-bonkers. Heavy metal pedal drug bonkers.
But she, that girl, get this, already had a moniker, Serendipity Swan, and knew some real cool people that she had met down at LaJolla where they were taking care of some rich guy’s estate (they are all estates in that zip code, then known as postal zones). This rich guy got rich, got very rich by “inventing” acid (LSD), or something like that. Or knew guys who invented it, or something like that. But in any case, the guy taking care of the estate, Captain Crunch and his confederates were always high, always on the move with their merry prankster yellow brick road bus and always welcoming to lost lambs, and ex-surfer girls. And that was how a couple of years before Kathleen, who had not then metamorphosized ed into Butterfly Swirl, kind of at wit’s end, eventually came up further north. And that is how I met her, and Josh too. Here’s the funny part though, as things got weird on the bus, or too weird for her and her embedded suburban girl manner (when she wasn’t high, high she was like a Buddha or Siva or whatever those divines are called) she hankered (my word) for home, and for her Spin and his hanging five or ten, or whatever he did to those waves. Like I said in 1957 or 1977 she wouldn’t have even been “on the bus.” But just for that 1967 minute, driven by those wicked Brits she broke free. Josh looked for her later but never caught up to her again.
Out In The Be-Bop 1960s Night- When Butterfly Swirl Swirled- A CD Review
Classic Rock: 1964, various artists, Time-Life Music, 1987
Scene brought to mind by the cover art that graces this CD. Said cover art showing in the background a motley foursome from some post- British invasion invasion group but in the foreground the object our, ah, inspection, one female earring bejeweled but more importantly day-glo, or if not day-glo then some non-toxic paint celebration, painted flower. Immediately bringing to my memory’s eye on Kathleen Callahan, a. k. a. Butterfly Swirl, Carlsbad (California, that’s important) Class of 1968 and Josh Breslin’s old flame from the summer of love, 1967 version, circa San Francisco in the merry prankster, yellow brick road night. Of course, as always in the interest of full disclosure, Ms. Swirl was my girl, very much my girl, until old Josh, Olde Saco High School Class of 1967 (that’s up in Maine, although that is not important to the story, or just a little) showed up on Russian Hill one fine day and, well, “stole” her from me. That too is not important to the story, except maybe to explain, a little, the kind of gal Kathleen was. What is important is how she came to be, not even out of high school yet, Butterfly Swirl.
No question in 1957 or 1977 Kathleen Callahan, brown hair, bright smile, good figure, great legs and an irksomely sunny disposition would have been just Kathleen Callahan, maybe the head cheerleader at some suburban school, some seaside suburban school like Carlsbad just norte of San Diego, Or, more realistically given that locale, some dippy surfer joe girl watching while they were hanging five or ten or whatever they did to those LaJolla, Malibu, Carlsbad waves that weren’t harming anybody as they slipped tepidly to shore. And, as she later confessed to Josh she actually had been a surfer joe girl, although the guy’s name was Spin Curley, nice right.
And then the 1964 British invasion came, and she, all of thirteen, although fully formed in lots of ways as she also told Josh and she was swept away, swept away from the silly little surfer girl life, small seaside everybody abode-housed Spanish fandango and the inevitably Spin. She told Josh it was really the Kinks that got her off-center. Not the Beatles or Rolling Stones as you might think. She said she was mad for their You Really Got Me, it kind of turned her on, turned her on a lot. A lot more than Spin could deal with what with his having to hang five or ten out in mother nature wave land. So naturally she headed to Los Angeles to check things out for a few days. Her and another girl, whose story can be summed up in one word-bonkers. Heavy metal pedal drug bonkers.
But she, that girl, get this, already had a moniker, Serendipity Swan, and knew some real cool people that she had met down at LaJolla where they were taking care of some rich guy’s estate (they are all estates in that zip code, then known as postal zones). This rich guy got rich, got very rich by “inventing” acid (LSD), or something like that. Or knew guys who invented it, or something like that. But in any case, the guy taking care of the estate, Captain Crunch and his confederates were always high, always on the move with their merry prankster yellow brick road bus and always welcoming to lost lambs, and ex-surfer girls. And that was how a couple of years before Kathleen, who had not then metamorphosized ed into Butterfly Swirl, kind of at wit’s end, eventually came up further north. And that is how I met her, and Josh too. Here’s the funny part though, as things got weird on the bus, or too weird for her and her embedded suburban girl manner (when she wasn’t high, high she was like a Buddha or Siva or whatever those divines are called) she hankered (my word) for home, and for her Spin and his hanging five or ten, or whatever he did to those waves. Like I said in 1957 or 1977 she wouldn’t have even been “on the bus.” But just for that 1967 minute, driven by those wicked Brits she broke free. Josh looked for her later but never caught up to her again.
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