Various media outlets on both sides of the Atlantic began publishing stories about Paul McCartney’s demise that supposedly happened on 11/9/66. He apparently hadn’t “noticed that the lights had changed” and “lost his head”. To read more about the back story and get hip to the various “clues” the Beatles dropped in song and photo sessions, click here. We are happy to report that as of September 17th, 3:42 EST, Paul is alive and well.
Jimi Hendrix joined Eric Burdon on stage at Ronnie Scott’s in what was to be Hendrix’s last public appearance.
The Doors started recording their second album, Strange Days.
Strange Days benefits immensely from the revisionist history of its new presentation, more so than any of The Doors’ other efforts. Unlike the restoration of the previously censored bits of The Doors’ self-titled debut, the adjustments that were made to Strange Days actually have improved the endeavor. Released in late 1967, just nine months after the group launched its opening salvo, the outing was a bold step forward, one that not only embraced the psychedelicized sounds of the era but also shoved them down a far darker, more demented path. In the liner notes to the recent reissue of the affair, engineer Bruce Botnick outlines how he had scored a pre-release, monaural acetate of The Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, and he tells how it had liberated The Doors to experiment in the studio. There always has been a spooky deliriousness to Strange Days, but the crisp, clarity of its new mix gives the collection’s contents considerably more room to unfurl their lysergic tentacles. Most of all, the interplay among The Doors’ members is highlighted magnificently, and the worlds that are conjured oscillate, at the flip of a switch, between being strikingly beautiful (You’re Lost Little Girl) and chillingly horrific (Horse Latitudes). (more…)
The Beatles played a sold out show at Atlanta’s Fulton County Stadium to 35,000 fans. Tickets went for $5.50
Man, this is a great acoustic/electric show. Great versions of, well, everything. Containing the band’s debut of Making Flippy Floppy, which they always nail, don’t they? I believe this is one of those essential shows to own by an artist. Above is the poster Jeff Wood designed for the occasion, which I’ve become very familiar with, as it hangs in our living room.
08/07/04 Skyline Stage at Navy Pier, Chicago, IL
Jake, Brendan, and Ryan were on acoustic instruments for the entire first set
Set I: Mediterranean Sundance1> In the Kitchen> Walletsworth, Nemo, The Pequod> Ahab2> The Pequod, August> Uncle Wally, Bullhead City3, 40’s Theme
Set II: Example 1> Jazz Odyssey> Plunger, Professor Wormbog, Roulette4, Uncommon, The Crooked One, Glory> All in Time
Set III: Wife Soup, Making Flippy Floppy5> White Man’s Moccassins, Anchor Drops, Miss Tinkle’s Overture> Mulche’s Odyssey> Robot World> Jimmy Stewart> No Ordinary Love, Bright Lights
Encore: Der Bluten Kat
1 only Brendan and Jake
2 first time played, original
3 with Elliott Peck on vocals
4 with Safety Dance tease
5 first time played, Talking Heads; with Hella Good (No Doubt) tease by Joel
The Doors hit paydirt when their Krieger penned single, “Light My Fire” went to #1 on the charts and stayed for three weeks. A little info on the song:
Once The Doors debut album was cut, Elektra’s marketing and promotion departments went into over drive, as they were pushing the pride of their label, the “new and exciting Doors”. Morrison was to be the cover boy for The Doors and he was sent directly to celebrity hair stylist, Jay Sebring (to be brutally murdered by Charles Manson’s minions 30 months later) for an Alexander The Great-inspired haircut. The Doors hit the circuit, ready to set the world on (cough, cough) fire. (more…)
Something happened on July 29, 1966. The New York Times broke the news a few days later: Dylan had been in a motorcycle accident and would be canceling his concert at the Yale Bowl. If you ever wondered whether rumors spread before the Internet, the answer is yes: fans traded stories that Dylan was horribly scarred, paraplegic, insane, or even dead. These stories proved not to be true, but one thing was certain: he was gone.
Dylan spent the next nine months in seclusion in upstate New York; as he recovered, he and the Band made the much-bootlegged music that would ultimately be released as The Basement Tapes. He didn’t put out a new album until 1968, the deliberately low-key John Wesley Harding. So what actually went down that July day? It’s fuzzy, but the gist appears to be that Dylan visited the home of his manager Albert Grossman in Bearsville, New York. Dylan picked up an old Triumph 55 motorcycle and was planning to ride it to a nearby repair shop.
As he left the property, however, he took a spill. The way he told the story in 1967: “The back wheel locked up, I think. I lost control, swerving from left to right. Next thing I know I was in someplace I never heard of—Middletown, I think—with my face cut up so I got some scars and my neck busted up pretty good.” The official story at the time was that he broke some vertebrae in the neck, was knocked unconscious, and was in critical condition for a week.
Later, however, witnesses—including Albert Grossman’s wife, Sally, famous as the girl on the cover of Bringing It All Back Home—would tell the tale differently. Apparently, Dylan had poor eyesight and was notorious for his lack of skill on the bike; as he left the Grossman property, he just lost his balance and fell off his motorcycle in an undignified fashion. Although he could have been driven to a nearby hospital, he was instead taken to a doctor who was an hour away.
Rumors circulated that he was secretly in rehab for drug addiction, but the accident appears to have been genuine, if not as serious as reported. Afterwards, people spotted Dylan in a neck brace; friends reported that he took up swimming and received ultrasound treatment.
So why did Dylan check out for so long, then? By 1966, Dylan was not just hailed as the voice of a generation, he was expected to lead folk and rock fans in a new direction with every album, and very possibly, redefine contemporary society as a hippie utopia. Plus, Dylan had been going virtually nonstop for a long time: he released five records in just over two years, from 1964 to early 1966. He had a full tour of sixty concerts scheduled, plus a contract renegotiation with Columbia Records. Fans and biographers have long assumed that Dylan seized on his injuries—real, if not as serious as reported—as an opportunity to step away from his white-hot celebrity and the pressure that came along with it.
Dylan said as much himself in 2004, in Volume One of his excellent autobiography, Chronicles: “I had been in a motorcycle accident and I’d been hurt, but I recovered. Truth was that I wanted to get out of the rat race.”