Manic Depression is a Frustratin' Mess!
Still rainin', still dreamin'... still bone chillin' cold. It's April, Winter-- Cantcha' take a hint??
Thinkin' bout how life sucks. My life... or "LIFE"?
Writer's Block... Emotion Block... Freedom Block--Wait!
I'm drawn to biographies, hungrily digesting inked-in summations of others' lives, hoping their triumphs and defeats can disperse my blankness, by proxy. Is the Great Formula encrypted somewhere within the human ant farm... in wait of the passive observer?
I can't explain, even to myself, why I still long to have my photo taken on the corner of Haight and Ashbury-- I just do. Suddenly faced with major choices and potential last chances, I'm paralyzed with indecision. One of these choices seems frivolous within the vast scheme of things: A dear friend's recent offer of a trip to San Francisco. Considering I was born just outside that magnetic city and relocated, as an infant, to St. Louis, to return far exceeds a thirty year dream. I feel the pull, but can't go-- Circumstances (the capitol C kind) don't allow...
Ironically, I bury myself in biographies of those who met their fates en route to change: Edgar Allan Poe, James Douglas Morrison...
I find it hard to think of JDM without another James taking shape, by association. One week in November, 1968, is engraved in my memory banks as a surrealistic blur. On November 3rd, St. Louis was gifted by the presence of The Jimi Hendrix Experience... November 9th, The Doors. I had no desire for San Francisco that week. I was in Psychedelic Heaven.
Many claim Jimi was at his apex of energetic creativity, balanced on the brink of a musical breakthrough during the '68 tour. No argument from me! Overall, "The Experience" stood out as the supreme concert experience of my life. On the other hand, the Doors concert was the single-most haunting.
Especially, in contrast... an impression relived last year when I happened upon a double-CD, simply titled "JIMI HENDRIX" (Wisepack). Recorded live at The Scene Club sometime in '68 (NY), it immortalizes an impromptu jam occurring when a whiskey-blitzed Jim Morrison stumbled on stage during Jimi's performance. The result was "Morrison's Lament", a stream of comically inept obscene rambling and frightfully bad harmonica playing (Jimmy!), ending when Morrison reportedly knocked over Hendrix' mic stand and returned to the audience. Hmmm... Voluntarily?? *LOL*
On November 3rd, Hendrix was Mr. Charisma. I truly believe he enjoyed his audience as much as we were enjoying him. His face and body lingo alternately teased and smoldered, while his guitar evoked a continuously dazzling full range of emotion-- From mindblowing rabid ecstasy... to soul-wringing sorrow and grief. A "contact high", shared by all.
Experimenting with new musical directions, Jimi communicated ,with finesse, his need for change. The concert's highest peak was the long, long version of Voodoo Child, for which he enlisted the back-up of "Cat Mother". The creation wove and spun to a spellbinding crescendo of improvisation, leaving us poised in pin- drop silence, on verge of tears, before zapping our own trance with thunderous applause.
Jimi was a complex and fascinating individual. Beholding him in- person, one felt witness to the supernatural. Could a mere mortal conjure such exquisite magic from an instrument of wood? A shy, sensitive man from humble beginnings, he shrugged off such earthly misnomers as racial identity. His genetic mix of African, Cherokee, and Irish was met with equal respect as well as regarded with an air of distinct nonchalance.
In attempting a glimpse at the elusive "flesh 'n blood" Jimi, I recommend the following biographies:
The Inner World of Jimi Hendrix, by his fiancee Monika Dannemann. Published in 1995 (with the blessings of Jimi's family). The woman who personally witnessed the end of Jimi's life story shares a poignant and loving presentation, particularly of his final days. She illustrates lavishly with paintings of Jimi, in which she interpreted his expressed perceptions of himself and his music, as well as his visions of future existence. Included are photos of Jimi she took the day before he died. Her labor of love, many years in the making, fulfilled her promise to him. As a sad footnote, Monika commited suicide shortly after the book hit the shelves. Obviously, she wanted no monetary profit...
Cherokee Mist, The Lost Writings compiled by Bill Nitopi. A stunning collection of poems, lyrics, and personal correspondence reproduced from Jimi's own handwriting. Most enigmatic is the poem/lyric composed hours before his death.
Electric Gypsy by Harry Shapiro and Caesar Glebbeek. The absolute superlative of biographical completeness. Has a comprehensive discography and film account, even an absorbing list of Jimi's guitars and other equipment... and a fascinating analysis of his musical technique. Also a chart of concert dates/locations. The authors made a valiant effort to provide unbaised accurate info, with the possible exception of much disputed events at the time of Jimi's death. Jimi's family is partial to Monika Dannemann's version, and so am I...
September 18, 1970
Robbed by the stilling of a voice we yet hear
Futility resurrects you...
No tribute of word nor moving image
captures
The Experience
Spine-tingled, chilled...
Devil be damned voodoo spellcastin'
via Fender Strat
Electrified halo encircling your head
Earthbound.. Heaven destined
Longing for sleep
unemcumbered by dreams--
Peace Cradle
Freed of astral wanderings, you live
forever
We cherish you
freeze-framed in our hearts...
Until we meet again
On November 9th, 1968... still floating free on Jimi's vibes, I came face to face with the dying stage persona of Jim Morrison. The man I saw was deeply troubled, battling demons within and without. I was born in May... and hope to do a fitting tribute to Jimmy in that month's Tribe.
My heart is welded to both JDM and JMH... Forever. Somewhere in San Francisco.
"I don't want to be a clown any more. I don't want to be a rock and roll star." Jimi Hendrix, Rolling Stone Interview, Nov 1969
