Live Rock and Roll

Get Mod at Margate

The New Untouchables will be holding another excellent Mod festival called the International Modernist Meeting this weekend (August 27th – 29th) at Margate, Kent UK with an incredible line-up off bands and events including P.P. Arnold! Check out their website for all the details and have a Mod Bank holiday this year.

Live Rock and Roll

International Beatle Week Starts Today in Liverpool

Billed as the “biggest Beatle celebration in the world” International Beatle Week starts today and runs to August 31st in Liverpool, England. With over 200 bands participating it is considered the largest free city centre music festival in the world with up to half a million people expected. All Beatles and music fans should try and make this extravaganza once in their lifetime, especially as it takes place in the Beatles’ hometown of Liverpool. And if you can’t make International Beatles Week try and keep your schedule open for IPO Liverpool in October, another fantastic rock and roll festival for fans of power pop and beyond.

Rock Radio 2.0

The BBC’s “History of Psychedelia”

For a fantastic listen you must check out the BBC’s The History of Psychedelia which “looks at the progression of the psychedelic movement, examining the music, the drugs and the people who were instrumental in its development and success.” Excellent stuff which is par for the course with the BBC.

Rock Radio 2.0

Last Chance to Do the Dodécaphonique Twist!

Montreal will be losing a rock and roll radio legend when the wonderful Mimi la Twisteuse heads off to (gasp!) Toronto leaving a city in mourning and ending her incomparable run of great rock and roll radio. She will be taking one last stab at rock and roll glory on August 26th for a special 2 hour Dodécaphonique Twist from 7:00 to 9:00 PM on CIBL-FM so tune in and witness some great rock and roll radio, hopefully not for the last time. Merci Mimi. Bonne chance.

Odds & Sods

I’m (cough, cough) still here…

Well I’m battling a stubborn and nasty summer cold/flu bug and have been literally out of the loop for the last couple of days but expect some more rock and roll ruminations soon! Now pass me some more (sniff) Contact C.

Rock History

The Significance, or not, of Woodstock

Well, seeing as how this year is the 35th anniversary of Woodstock (do I really need to put “’69” in there?) it is interesting to read the yearly tributes and debates about what Woodstock really meant. Was it a blessed out hippie utopia or a drugged-out, youth-culture rip-off or just a really big concert? I am certainly not debating the significance of the event as I believe it was a watershed rock and roll event but it is interesting what Rolling Stone magazine wrote about the Woodstock triple album when it was released in their July 9th, 1970 issue. Check this out courtesy of the Bomp Refugees List and obviously not reprinted courtesy of Rolling Stone Magazine:

Bill hadn’t been to Woodstock that August weekend the summer before,
although Plattsburgh, his home, was less than 300 miles due north on
the Northway. He’d gone drinking at Filion’s Friday night, and when
he awakened terribly hungover the next afternoon, as did most of his
18-year-old buddies, it was too late to make the trip down to Bethel.
You couldn’t have convinced anyone in the months that ensued,
however, that not only was Bill not *at* the Music and Art Show in
the alfalfa fields, but that he hadn’t also played some integral part
in the whole proceeding – a dope runner for the Airplane, perhaps
(“Hey, Bill, you got a bomber?” Grace, resplendent in white, tits
high and firm, asked him standing behind the giant platform as the
Who finished up their set with the sun edging orange up the mountain
from its resting place), or a candy bar for Jerry Garcia. Bill
believed, too, and if pressed he had a whole Abbie Hoffman Rap about
the “actuality” of being there not actually being the important
thing, but only a minor side trip.

“I *live* in the Woodstock nation,” Bill told people when the topic
came up, “If you can dig it. I mean how many were actually there. You
don’t know. We’ll never know. But it doesn’t make any difference. The
Woodstock actuality has become a media trip. That’s where it’s at.
More cameras, writers, and that kind of shit than at Kennedy’s
funeral. Like the people on the outside probably knew more than those
who were actually there. What it’s come down to is Woodstock Nation,
and Woodstock Nation, man, is in your head if you want it to be.”

Probably. But Bill still knew a whole lot about the Music Show
itself, and took great pains to seek out said information. he had
clippings, articles, ads, the illustrious *Life* Magazine Special
Edition, *Rolling Stone’s Woodstock,* the *Village Voice* issue, and
now in late spring had seen the move three times at four bucks a
throw, and also had the album committed to memory. His head, in fact,
was a living monument to the whole Woodstock thing, even down to the
little things. Somehow Bill had found someone who had some of the
infamous “brown acid.” He paid ten bucks for the tab so that he could
find out “what was going down.” True to form, he took it the second
time he saw *Woodstock.*

“Man, that brown acid at Woodstock was a real bummer,” he told
assorted freaks at assorted gatherings. “A real bummer. Knocked me
out for hours. Paranoia personified.”

As time passed, Bill became more assertive in such situations. No one
now bothered to question him directly as to whether he had been
there, but merely what it was like. Bill went along with them because
he felt he really knew what it was like.

“Cocker was crazy, man, beautiful. And Alvin Lee, wow.”

“Were there really a lot of naked people,” a far out chick asked
handing him a joint, “like cunt and cock and everything?”

“Well,” Bill would smile, “you saw the movie didn’t you?”


“What else do you want to know?”

“Far out.”

Woodstock was now the new American Dream, a pipe dream, how it had
been those three glorious days of sun and rain, mud and music, and
the 500,000 patriots whose ranks were growing day by day, patriots of
Woodstock “flying their freak flags high,” Groupies, the Dope, and
good ol’ Rock & Roll, and the national anthem, understood for the
first time by Hendrix and his buzz saw guitar. It was all coming home
to rest now, and Bill, like many, was proud to stand up and be
counted, for his own People, for Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of
Happiness, for his Country. Woodstock Nation was a reality.

So it was, until one night at a party in West Chazy when the
conversation once more found its way to Woodstock as it always did
whenever Bill happened to show. Bill dropped facts and recollections
amidst the circle of listeners who sat rapt about him like Leary
dropped acid. They all shook their heads at the good dope being
passed and at the general incredulity of the whole Woodstock affair.
But they believed. That is, all but one believed, and this one hairy
ragamuffin of hipdom lay back against a sofa, hitting on his own
kief, and cooly taking in Bill’s polished exposition. He listened for
a long time. At some point, indiscernible to the rest of the
gathering, he apparently had head enough.

“Hey man,” he said, leaning his well-coiffed head into the
circle. “Did you ever understand what happened down front just before
the Band went on?”

Bill looked up and smiled.

“No, I wasn’t there when that happened. I must have been somewhere
else. What happened?”

“I don’t know. I was sitting about 50 yards out.” The kid leaned back
out again.

Bill eyed him for a moment and then continued on from the point where
he had disengaged. He had his stuff down.

Seconds later however, the kid again poked his head inside the circle.

“What happened, man, when that weird rumor…”

“About Dylan showing up?” Bill cut him off in stride.

“No, man, that was a media hype. No, the rumor just before Creedence
Clearwater went on about the latrines?”

Bill looked at the kid again and didn’t answer for the longest time.
And then it was only a reticent shrug.

“Well, where, man, did you take a dump after that? Where’d you spend
most of your time?”

Everyone turned and looked at Bill, but Bill had nothing to say, no
one to look at, nowhere to go.

“I mean,” the kid went on, driving his point home, “when I arrived,
the can situation, and that strange tale, well, it was weird. Right?
You do remember that, don’t you?”

“Sure, but…”

“Did you fork out any bread to get in?”

“No,” Bill answered, looking down at the flickering candle, “but…”

“Did you get back to Leon’s down the…”

“Groovy Way?”

“Wrong direction, man, wrong direction.”

There was a silence, a certain moment of embarrassment because now
everyone knew. Bill didn’t look up.

“You’re right, though,” the kid finally said, “the movie was pretty
far out. But it wasn’t like being there. Nothing was like being
there.” A second silence followed, and then the kid turned to the far
out chick. “Hey, you got anything to drink or eat, man? This is your
place, isn’t it?”

“Yeh,” someone echoed, and in seconds the crowd was on its feet,
eager to be up and away. Everyone but Bill. He was still on the floor
staring into the flame. The rest of the gang trooped into the kitchen.


“Look, man, it was clear he hadn’t been there if you’d been there.”

“And you’d been there,” the girl said.

“Yeh. Anyone who had would have known immediately he was shucking us.
It was obvious, if you knew.”

“Sure, maybe, but dig where it’s at. Two wrongs don’t necessarily
make a right, as my grandmother used to tell me, if there were even
two wrongs. You know what I mean?”

“But look. He’d been sold a bill of goods, man, a product that had
little to do with anything except money, and that’s what he was
selling. What, I’m supposed to feel bad for coming down on him for
fucking around with us? He’s an asshole, it’s that simple. I mean,
like he really believes it, and that’s weird.”

“Apparently you believe it too. Perhaps more so than Bill. But then
you *were* there. You are Woodstock Nation, and if it’s come down to
this, then that’s sad. That’s why there will never really be a
Woodstock Nation. You won’t let anybody live on your land. You were
there. Bill wasn’t. Bang bang. Sad. It’s too bad you didn’t remember
what Dylan said.”


“‘Those dreams are only in your head.'” She turned and walked away.
At the door she paused and looked back at the kid, and smiled. “‘I’ll
let you be in my dreams, if I can be in yours.'”

By J.R. Young

Groovy huh?

Odds & Sods

Too Good to be True for Beatlemaniacs

Well that apparent “lost trove” of Beatles material that some guy claimed he found in a suitcase at a flea market turns out to be a hoax. Surprise, surprise.

Rock on Film

Showtime to be Airing “Smile” Documentary

The “Smile” hype is growing. Showtime will be airing a documentary on the making of “Smile” on October 5th so get those VCRs and Tivo doo-hickies ready!

Live Rock and Roll

Time to Get Sleazy!

If you are looking for something to do this weekend (August 20th to the 22nd ) and you happen to be in Chapel Hill, North Carolina USA then you just might want to check out Sleazefest 2004, a pretty cool looking weekend of great rock and roll. Featuring everybody from Southern Culture on the Skids, The Fleshtones, The Woggles, Mondo Topless, The Swingin’ Neckbreakers, The Moaners and more, Sleazefest proves that you can be both good and sleazy at the same time!

Rock History

Before He Was a Super Freak

With the passing of Rick James last week (still unexplained apparently) most people don’t realize that before he was a “super freak” he was considered the “black Mick Jagger” of mid to late Sixties Yorkville, considered to be the Haight-Ashbury of Toronto at the time. Even more amazingly, the then Ricky James was in a band with not only various members of Steppenwolf and Buffalo Springfield but with ol’ “shaky” himself, Neil Young. The band was called the Mynah Birds and the Toronto Star has an excellent piece by John Goddard called Meet the Mynah Birds that is a fascinating description of a band that existed in the “before the gold rush” era of Canadian rock and roll. I believe that the link will expire before the end of the month so read while it’s free.