Johnny Otis and That Crazy Hand Jive

Johnny Otis (center), shown playing with his band The Johnny Otis Revue/ Capitol Records

When Johnny Otis passed away on Jan. 17, 2012, the Los Angeles Times obituary described him as this: “singer, musician, composer, arranger, bandleader, talent scout, disc jockey, record producer, television show host, artist, author, journalist, minister, and impresario.” And over on the History of Rock website, they begin their biography of the man like this: “A pioneering figure in the development of R&B following the demise of the big bands in the late ’40s, Johnny Otis was the most prominent white figure in the history of black R&B.”

Ionnnis Alexandres Veliotes was born to Greek immigrant parents in the North Bay region of San Francisco in 1921, and he grew up in a black neighborhood of Berkeley, where his father owned a grocery store. In his biography, Midnight At The Barrelhouse, written by George Lipsitz, Otis explains his heritage and cultural identification this way: “Everybody I came into contact with as a kid, all my playmates were black. I was around thirteen when the ugly head of racism really reared up. I was told very diplomatically at school by a counsellor that I should associate more with whites. After that I left and never came back to school. I never felt white. I wouldn’t leave black culture to go to heaven. It’s richer, more rewarding and more fulfilling for me.”

During his teens he started playing the drums and eventually learned piano and vibraphone. In the late ’30s he made his professional debut with the West Oakland House Rockers, changed his name to Johnny Otis, and moved to Los Angeles, which he made his base of operations while playing in a number of big bands. Fronting his own band by 1945, he recorded several songs for the Excelsior label, and their version of “Harlem Nocturne” was popular enough to support several national tours.

In the late 1940s he opened the Barrelhouse Club in the Watts neighborhood of LA and picked up an A&R gig with King Records. At this point he made his transition from jazz and jump blues to becoming a pioneer in rhythm and blues, credited with discovering and working with Willie Mae Thornton, Jackie Wilson, Little Willie John, The Robins (later becoming The Coasters), Hank Ballard. Mel Walker, and Little Esther Phillips. The Johnny Otis Rhythm and Blues Caravan he put together crisscrossed the country and was the forerunner of the later traveling rock and roll revues.

By 1950 Otis was recording under his own name, and he began producing sessions and leading the studio bands for Little Richard, Willie Mae Thornton, and Johnny Ace. He also wrote “The Wallflower” (aka “Dance with Me Henry”) with Etta James, which was an answer record to Ballard’s “Work With Me Annie,” and he co-authored “Hound Dog” with Thornton. In 1958 he wrote and recorded “Willie and The Hand Jive” for Capitol Records, using the “Bo Diddley beat” based on the phrase “shave and a haircut, two bits.”

History of Rock describes his stage shows in the late 1950s and early ’60s like this:

“They would open with him doing a solo on the drums and vibes that would last ten minutes before the rest of the band would come on stage. There were always female vocalists (Little Esther, Willie Mae Thornton, and Marie Adams) that could really shout the blues. They would then be followed by a male vocalist (Mel Walker) who was smooth with the ballads. The show climaxed with a vocal group, usually The Robins, followed by a number or two by the band with Otis frantically switching back and forth from the drums and vibes. All the while his dark Greek complexion led most in the audience to believe he was black.”

Following the Watts riots in 1965, Otis became very involved in the civil rights movement. He ran unsuccessfully for political office and then wrote the first of four books, Listen to the Lambs, which was a discussion of the significance of the riots. He was a radio disc jockey and later had his own television program. In the late ’60s he would tour with his son Shuggie Otis, who at 15 was an accomplished blues guitarist with a contract at Epic Records. Often joining his dad’s groups, Shuggie and Johnny were guests on Frank Zappa’s Hot Rats album, and below is from a gig they did with guitarist Roy Buchanan in 1971.

Johnny was ordained as a minister in the 1970s and opened a nondenominational church, working to help feed the homeless. He moved to Sonoma County and became an organic farmer in the ’90s, opening a grocery store to sell his produce. The store also doubled as a club where he and the family band performed, and he continued with his weekly radio show and occasional tours. During this period he also published three books: a musical memoir, Upside Your Head!: Rhythm And Blues On Central Avenue (1993); Colors And Chords (1995) which was devoted to his artworks; and Red Beans & Rice And Other Rock ‘n’ Roll Recipes (1997), a cookbook. He passed away in 2012, just three days before Etta James, his ’50s collaborator.

I’ve been wanting to write about Johnny Otis for a long time, and this serves merely as an introduction and thumbnail sketch of the man. Dave Alvin, who along with his brother Phil would frequent the black clubs on Central Avenue in Watts, has recorded a really nice recollection of Otis and those times, which you can watch here. Wish there were more live video clips of the man, but I’ll close this out with a profile that appeared on The Today Show in 1983. Hats off to reporter Boyd Matson for posting it and keeping the story and memory of Johnny Otis alive.

This was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music’s website.

Many of my past columns, articles, and essays can be accessed at my own site, therealeasyed.com. I also aggregate news and videos on both Flipboard and Facebook as The Real Easy Ed: Americana and Roots Music Daily. My Twitter handle is @therealeasyed and my email address is easyed@therealeasyed.com.

 

Woodstock 50 (#RIP) And The Reality Distortion Field

Peter Kraayanger – Pixabay License

I originally published this on March 8, 2019. On April 29th Woodstock 50 was cancelled, with $30,000,000 spent on pre-production costs.

If you aren’t aware of it, you soon will be. This August will mark the 50-year anniversary of the music festival we all know as Woodstock. The three-day festival was a counterculture zeitgeist, reflecting the rapid changes in society and culture from a generation that swelled in number after the second world war, questioning and redefining many of the values, mores, and behavior of those before them. It is viewed as a touchstone in time not merely for the music, but for the unplanned forces of the sheer size of audience, disruption of service, weather, and perhaps most importantly, a perceived lack of chaos.

It’s been noted that if you believe all the people who said they attended Woodstock, it would add up to well over ten times the number of those who were actually there. Through the news coverage, the film and its subsequent soundtrack, and countless books and recollections, it has been seared into our collective memory banks. Studied, dissected, altered, memorialized, commoditized, monetized, and taken far beyond what it really was: three days in the rain with a lot of people and some great music.

A man named Bud Tribble who worked in software development back in 1981 used the term “reality distortion field” to describe Steve Jobs. He said he picked up the term from a Star Trek episode. It is also said that Jobs himself studied the concept when he attended college in 1972. Andy Hertzfield, another early tech dude, described it as “the ability to convince himself (Jobs) and others to believe almost anything with a mix of charm, charisma, bravado, hyperbole, marketing, appeasement and persistence. It was said to distort an audience’s sense of proportion and scales of difficulties and made them believe that the task at hand was possible.” (Folklore)

Earlier this year it was announced that during the third weekend of August there would not simply be one 50th anniversary festival, but two. The first would be at the original site in Bethel Woods (no, Woodstock did not take place in Woodstock) and the second would be the “official and authorized” event held at Watkins Glen, over 150 miles to the west. I didn’t find this surprising, but I did wonder how long it would take for a Broadway show to get produced, a holographic tour to be announced, perhaps one of those cruises on a ship in the Caribbean with some of the original performers, a special to be aired during a PBS pledge drive, and of course a Time-Life infomercial hawking something, anything … it doesn’t matter what.

In a matter of weeks there was a change in the wind. The Bethel Woods Center for the Arts, the nonprofit organization that bought the 800-acre farm where the 1969 festival took place and has since created a “unique educational, performance, and retreat environment focused on building creative capital to inspire individuals to contribute positively to the world around them,” pulled out of the announced festival and replaced it with a series of smaller events to be held throughout the year. There will be new exhibitions at their museum, weekend concerts that sometimes will include wine and craft beer tasting, and on that August weekend they’ll show the director’s cut of the film and have two concerts. One will feature Ringo Starr and his All-Starr Band, Arlo Guthrie, and Edgar Winter. The next night will be Santana and The Doobie Brothers. A third concert has yet to be announced.

Meanwhile, a group called Woodstock 50 is licensing the name and rights for the official Watkins Glen event from Woodstock Ventures, which is owned by three-fourths of the original team: Michael Lang, Joel Rosenman, and the family of the late John Roberts. The other original co-producer, Artie Kornfeld, will also join the group in some capacity. This was Lang’s statement when he announced this year’s event:

“It’s time to put the speculation to rest and officially announce that Woodstock 50 is happening. The original festival in ’69 was a reaction by the youth of the time to the causes we felt compelled to fight for – civil rights, women’s rights, and the antiwar movement, and it gave way to our mission to share peace, love, and music. Today, we’re experiencing similar disconnects in our country, and one thing we’ve learned is that music has the power to bring people together. So, it’s time to bring the Woodstock spirit back, get involved and make our voices heard.

The Woodstock 50th Anniversary will be about sharing an experience with great artists and encouraging people to get educated and involved in the social issues impacting everyone on the planet. It’s so inspiring to see young people today channeling their passion into causes they care about. That’s something that’s always been a part of Woodstock’s mission, and it’s a big focus at the 50th festival.

The original site in Bethel is wonderful, but much too small for what we’re envisioning. Watkins Glen International gives us the ability to create something unlike any other commemorative event and something uniquely Woodstock. It’s a beautiful location and an ideal site.”

For the record, Watkins Glen International is not a bucolic farm with rolling hills and meadows. It’s where they hold NASCAR events and is known as the mecca of North American road racing. It’s also hosted several extremely large concerts, including the 1973 Summer Jam and two Phish fests.

Lang has also produced two previous Woodstock anniversary concerts, in 1994 and 1999. The latter event, at Griffiss Air Force Base in Rome, N.Y., ended with riots, fires, and allegations of sexual assault. “Woodstock ’99 was just a musical experience with no social significance,” Lang told Rolling Stone. “It was just a big party. With this one — Woodstock 50 — we’re going back to our roots and our original intent. And this time around, we’ll have control of everything.”

I’m an admitted cynic and skeptic, so race car tracks and rock music just remind me of the Altamont concert. Sorry, don’t mean to rain on the parade.

Earlier this week, following reports that the event was having financial issues, representatives for Woodstock 50 confirmed that organizers had wired several million dollars to several major talent agencies representing acts playing Woodstock 50, and one agency boss confirmed to Billboard that, as of Monday evening, their artists had all been paid in full. A source also confirmed to Billboard that festival organizer Superfly, which is handling the logistics of the massive camping festival, had also received full payment.

The festival lineup has yet to be announced, but the rumors suggest Dead and Company, Chance the Rapper, Imagine Dragons, The Killers, and up to possibly 80 acts will be taking the stage. With few nearby hotels, there is quite a bit of work to be done to prepare for an expected 100,000 campers. And as we already know from past history, the weather at that time of the year in New York is always a crapshoot.

Again, from the Billboard article: “There’s also a larger question of how the event will fare in a crowded festival space, and whether Woodstock will be able to attract a millennial audience interested in spending three days with older music fans. One industry insider told Billboard, ‘The next step is to put it on sale and then see if anyone cares enough to buys tickets.’”

For myself, I’d rather stick to the memories of 1969 and forgo a manufactured event that is cloaked in the political-correct ad-speak of “encouraging people to get educated and involved in the social issues.” Let’s at least be real: It’s simply an event to make money, and if you choose to go, please stay safe and be aware of overdosing on the orange Metamucil. Now that could be seriously dangerous.

Postscript: A week after this was posted, Woodstock 50 announced their lineup: The Killers, The Raconteurs,  John Fogerty, Miley Cyrus, The Lumineers, Run the Jewels, Santana, Robert Plant, Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats, Akon, Dead & Company, Sturgill Simpson, Margo Price, The Black Keys, Greta Van Fleet,  Chance the Rapper, Portugal. The Man, Jay-Z, Janelle Monae, Common, Imagine Dragons, Cage the Elephant, The Zombies and Brandi Carlile.

On April 29th Woodstock 50 was cancelled. $30,000,000 had already been spent in pre-production costs.

This was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music’s website.

Many of my past columns, articles, and essays can be accessed here at my own site, therealeasyed.com. I also aggregate news and videos on both Flipboard and Facebook as The Real Easy Ed: Americana and Roots Music Daily. My Twitter handle is @therealeasyed and my email address is easyed@therealeasyed.com.

Tossing Quarters In The Jukebox

Wikimedia Commons CC 3.0

My two sons, our relatives, and most of the people who know me are well aware that when it comes to holidays, birthdays, and other momentous occasions, I’m a loser. Sometime after my second divorce I stopped buying greeting cards. I don’t set up a Christmas tree, I turn the lights off at Halloween, and I have generally never been able to remember any dates of importance. It’s gotten to the point that my first wife has taken on the responsibility to notify me via email of every significant event in my life that I need to know about, and she and I split up close to 40 years ago. And if it wasn’t for her and my very first girlfriend from back in my high school days, I probably would forget my own birthday. But this week is different, and nobody knows the significance other than me.

Ten years ago this week I published my first article on the No Depression website. The title was “The Value of Creation”and it was a pity party for myself, having just ended a successful career in music distribution that began in 1972 and withered away with piracy running rampant and national record store chains and wholesalers filing bankruptcy one after another. Finding myself unemployed in the midst of the greatest financial meltdown of modern times, I had time on my hands to walk the dog, listen to a lot of music, and stare at a screen for hours.

All that coincided with the original magazine going out of print after 15 years and shifting to an online community content site; I was among the first group of 500 to sign up, log in, and participate. For several months I was probably spending half my day on the site, joining a lot of the discussion and interest groups we used to have here, watching the videos that were posted, reading reviews, and making online friends. As we’ve recently shut down the comments’ section with the new web design, it’s nice to see a lot of the ND OGs migrating over to my Facebook page so we can continue our seemingly endless discussions on roots music and HoJo fried clams. (Don’t even ask.)

Our first community manager, Kim Ruehl, encouraged me to start posting my own articles and on March 3, 2009, I took the plunge. With an educational background in journalism but absolutely no experience beyond writing memos to my staff, I was pretty green. For those who have been following me all these years, you are either masochistic or really enjoy watching a grown man make a fool of himself. Unlike my fellow contributors, who actually appear to have the skill sets in writing that I lack, after 482 articles, essays, and columns under my belt, I’m still just a guy who just likes to listen to music and enjoys sharing it.

If y’all are still wondering what I perceived as the “value of creation” ten years ago, it’s interesting that not a lot has changed. Here’s a brief excerpt:

I’m beginning to think that the value of creation is zero. Be it newspaper or song, information or entertainment…it’s free for the taking. I sit on the computer most of my days now and although I was looking for a second life in music, I can’t figure out a way to do it anymore. 

Look…I have always shunned all the free and illegal ways to acquire music, as it struck both my income and to the artists who were being ripped off. But the dirty admission I make here is that a few weeks ago I started to research why 90% or more of the music downloads on the internet are illegal, and the answer is because it’s both free and easy. Duh….I know…..kind of late to the game. So in trying to see how easy it was, I started to experiment and see what’s what.

And the envelope please….everything is out there and it’s all yours to take. From Steve Earle’s show in Madrid last month to the entire Dylan catalog, from the most popular of today’s music to the third (not the first nor second) Ultimate Spinach album…I find it with a click and a search, and get it free…for not even a cent. I’m sorry to sound so surprised…but it’s unbelievable. The value of a song is now nothing. Zip. Zero.

Ten years later and we’ve legitimized digital streaming and/or downloads of almost everything: music, TV, films, books and apps that can do anything we need done. Hell, yesterday I saw a new app where you can buy fruit and vegetables so damaged and ugly that even the local markets won’t sell it and you only have to pay $30 for 20 pounds. Music? Not even close to that type of revenue.

While I haven’t hunted down the latest numbers, last year CNBC reported that one of the digital streaming platforms paid out “$0.006 to $0.0084 per stream to the holder of music rights. And the ‘holder’ can be split among the record label, producers, artists, and songwriters. In short, streaming is a volume game.” That calculates out to one million streams of one song yielding only $7,000.

I wish I could report that all the problems that musicians and other creatives faced a decade ago have been solved, but we’re still stuck. What is truly surprising is that while the ability to earn a living without a day job has become more elusive to most folks in the game, the quality of what’s being produced continues to grow and thrive in other ways. While the monetary “value of creation” may result in small revenue, the value to our culture and well-being is astronomical. I know this sounds like a bumper sticker from the ’60s, but maybe we should all hug a musician today and buy them a meal. Fried clams sounds about right.

This was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music’s website.

Many of my past columns, articles, and essays can be accessed here at my own site, therealeasyed.com. I also aggregate news and videos on both Flipboard and Facebook as The Real Easy Ed: Americana and Roots Music Daily. My Twitter handle is @therealeasyed and my email address is easyed@therealeasyed.com.

Ryan Adams and the Appropriate Aftermath

Wikimedia Commons; Modified

I was driving to work several days after the New York Times story on the accusations against Ryan Adams broke, and my music was in shuffle mode, letting the algorithms pick my tunes. About four or five songs into the ride I heard a favorite of mine from Cold Roses begin to play and it didn’t get past 30 seconds before I instinctively just hit the button to skip to the next track. In that moment before his voice stopped singing, I glanced toward the dashboard and read his name on the screen just before it disappeared. Even though I’d abdicated my choice of music for the morning to a processing chip, I couldn’t help feeling both guilty and ashamed. Rolling down my window and letting the air rush in, it felt like an act of cleansing to stop the music.

Should you have somehow missed the media coverage in the past several weeks, the Times has reported that “seven women and more than a dozen associates described a pattern of manipulative behavior in which Adams dangled career opportunities while simultaneously pursuing female artists for sex.” These were not simply anonymous allegations; three women, including his ex-wife, Mandy Moore, spoke out for themselves. One woman, whom the paper chose not to identify because of her age, frequently communicated with Adams via text and Skype on the premise of him mentoring her career, beginning when she was 14. For the next two years they exchanged over 3,200 texts that began to turn sexually graphic. In November 2014 he told her “I would get in trouble if someone knew we talked like this,” and on another occasion he texted “If people knew they would say I was like R Kelley lol.”

His anxiety and fears may come to fruition as the FBI confirmed that its Crimes Against Children team has taken the first steps in launching a criminal investigation into Adams’ behavior. In addition to those 3,200 texts, The New York Times reported, there were explicit photographs sent, and on a Skype call he exposed himself. Over the next few days several other women came forward to acknowledge experiencing similar behavior, and Adams’ guitar player Tom Wisenbaker issued this lengthy statement on Instagram:

“There were times when I chose to believe his insane version of the truth because it was easier than believing that anyone is capable of being this much of a monster. It’s sickening and embarrassing. I’ve recently learned that pretty much everything he’s ever told me is a like upon a lie upon a lie. There are excuses and denials for everything. Some time ago I told him to get help and he asked me to help him. I don’t regret and will never regret trying to help someone in real need- I believe in forgiveness, redemption and recovery, but my life has become a complete shitstorm of someone else’s utter delusion. I didn’t want to say anything because I’m actively afraid for the safety of my family, but I do realize that I have a responsibility to speak up. The women that spoke out are brave beyond words.”

As we’ve come to expect in such situations, Adams initially denied the charges and threatened to sue the Times. He then took to Twitter to apologize “deeply and unreservedly” and through his lawyer, Andrew B. Brettler, has denied that he “ever engaged in inappropriate online sexual communications with someone he knew was underage.” (NY Times)  That sounds about right: “If people knew they would say I was like R Kelley lol.”

Adams’ label, Pax-Am, put three of his albums scheduled to be released this year on indefinite hold. There’s no word yet if his distributor, the Don Was-helmed Blue Note label through Universal Music Group, will continue the relationship, but multiple musical instrument endorsement deals have been cancelled. As I write this, less than two weeks after the first story broke, Variety reports that he is also being silenced on the radio. “Stations are quietly dropping him from their playlists,” says John Schoenberger, longtime Triple A editor at All Access, a leading radio trade website. “They’re not making any public statements because of the legal ramifications.”

In Los Angeles, radio station KCSN has pulled his latest single, “F– The Rain,” as well as his entire catalog. Assistant program director Jeff Penfield told Variety that what prompted the station’s response was “the emotional damage he is alleged to have done to a number of his female peers, including Phoebe Bridgers and ex-wife Mandy Moore, by creating havoc with their musical creativity and ambitions.”

Women journalists and musicians have been publishing thought pieces on Adams’ behavior and taking to social media. Here at No Depression, Ellen Adams (no relation) published a very powerful essay on what it is like being a female musician. Another excellent article on why women are underrepresented in music can be found at Pitchfork, written by managing editor Amy Phillips.

Going back to the opening paragraph of my column, my reaction to unexpectedly hearing an Adams song has led me to thinking about what an appropriate aftermath will be. And I don’t mean in the legal sense, but in the concept of separating an artist from their art. Whether it’s Whiskeytown albums or his own solo music, can I — or we — be able to listen to it again with the same pleasure we may have once had? Or will it be shunned forever, getting locked up in a safe with Bill Cosby and Louie CK sitcoms, and films by Woody Allen and Roman Polanski? I know that I shudder a bit when I happen to come across a movie produced by Miramax or The Weinstein Company, and if I see the logo at the beginning I’ll flip to something else.

I’ve been reading a lot about this complex philosophical subject and there isn’t a simple answer. Whiskeytown was a band with multiple members. A film’s director may be a predator, but the film was made through the efforts of many. Perhaps another way of looking at it could be that once a book has been written, a painting completed, a film released, or a song performed, it no longer belongs to the predatory creator, but to the audience. It is we who decide as individuals if we want it in our lives or not.

Last year, Constance Grady surveyed literary critics on this question for Vox, and it’s a long and academic discussion. But what really hit home for me was the notion of taking away something of value to the living artist: money and fame. So instead of making a moral or emotional choice, it becomes economical. In the case of Adams, it means I won’t buy his music or pay to see him in concert. I’ll do nothing that will benefit him. It makes no sense to burn his albums, although it might release some anger for some, and I may or may not choose to ever listen to his music again. I don’t have the answer yet, but I know my stomach turns as I look at this: “If people knew they would say I was like R Kelley lol.”

This was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music’s website.

Many of my past columns, articles, and essays can be accessed here at my own site, therealeasyed.com. I also aggregate news and videos on both Flipboard and Facebook as The Real Easy Ed: Americana and Roots Music Daily. My Twitter handle is @therealeasyed and my email address is easyed@therealeasyed.com.

Hologram Concerts for the Morbidly Curious

Feb. 11, 2019, Kendall Deflin, LiveForLiveMusic.com: “The Bizarre World Of Frank Zappa” is set to launch in 2019 with a Frank Zappa hologram, alongside members of the Mothers of Invention. The newly-announced tour will kick off with nine U.S. dates in April followed by seven European dates in May, with additional dates set to be announced in the coming months. Approved and organized by the Zappa Family Trust, Ahmet Zappa, a co-trustee and the trust’s executive vice president of business development, enthused in a statement: “We’re excited to world premiere a handful of Frank Zappa compositions; these mind-melting concerts we’re putting together celebrate the music, often surreal imagery and humour synonymous with Frank.”

If I were to make an educated guess, it had to be the estate of Elvis Presley that was the first modern music entity to understand the financial potential in building assets on the work and memory of a celebrity who is no longer with us. Countless articles have been written about how the estate, worth an estimated $4.9 million when Elvis passed away, had increased to $100 million by 1993 when his daughter Lisa Marie turned 25, the age she inherited the trust as his sole heir.

Today it’s valued at over three times that number, and last year Elvis Presley Enterprises earned $40 million, primarily from Graceland tours and a new entertainment complex called Elvis Presley’s Memphis. It also includes the licensing of Elvis-related products; development of Elvis-related music, film, video, television and stage productions; the management of music publishing assets; and more.

In 2018 Michael Jackson’s estate sold off his stake in EMI Publishing for $287 million to Sony, which brought his annual revenue to $400 million, putting him at the top of Forbes’ annual Highest-Paid Dead Celebrities list. Bob Marley’s family earned $23 million on headphones and Marley Natural cannabis and smoking accessories. And while Prince’s estate took in $13 million after selling 250,000 physical albums and CDs, XXXTentacion, the 20-year old rapper who was murdered, racked up over 4 billion streams to generate $11 million. I’m sorry, but who said you can’t make money from Spotify?

I share this with you not because I’m trying to get a job with the Wall Street Journal, but rather to put into context the nexus of celebrity death and money. It’s big and going to get even bigger, especially when technology and entertainment companies such as Base Holographic, Hologram USA, and Eyellusion beginning to crank out touring shows beyond just Roy Orbison, Ronnie James Dio, and Frank Zappa.

If the idea of paying money to watch a hologram avatar sing and play along with a live group troubles you, maybe it’ll make you feel better knowing that it’s not really a hologram. The technology, which most people think only goes back to the 2012 Coachella appearance of Tupac Shakur, is really a 2D optical illusion trick that dates back to the late 1800s. I’m not going to go into the weeds with the explanation, but if you’ve ever been to Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion and seen the ghosts dancing in the ballroom, that’s what it is.

Right now there are huge legal issues surrounding the hologram business model, which is why you haven’t seen more shows go out on the road. But the concept will likely be interesting to enough paying customers that you can imagine a future where you can see just about anybody. If people pay hundreds of dollars for tickets to hear an unknown actor or actress sing Carole King or Four Seasons songs on Broadway, it makes sense that the market will expand once the various kinks and challenges are straightened out.

And beyond that, I envision a world like the Jetsons lived in. With a click of our remote control devices, any of our favorite musicians or bands will come perform in our living room in their make-believe 3D lifeforms. And it’s way better than a house concert because you won’t have to feed anybody, find them a place to sleep, or share your bathroom with strangers.

This was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music’s website.

Many of my past columns, articles, and essays can be accessed here at my own site, therealeasyed.com. I also aggregate news and videos on both Flipboard and Facebook as The Real Easy Ed: Americana and Roots Music Daily. My Twitter handle is @therealeasyed and my email address is easyed@therealeasyed.com.

Earth Opera: Americana Lost and Found

The first Earth Opera album / Elektra Record

After the British Invasion led by The Beatles brought forth hundreds of new English bands, American record labels began aggressively looking for homegrown talent in the mid-1960s. Fanning out across the country as if it were a military operation, they looked at geographic pockets where club scenes developed that would support a thriving music scene from which to draw talent and fans. For example, I grew up in Philadelphia, and not too long after the 1967 Monterey Pop festival took place, local bands such as Woody’s Truck Stop, Mandrake Memorial, Sweet Stavin’ Chain, Edison Electric Band, American Dream, High Treason, and Nazz were signed up and had albums on the shelves.

Up north in Boston there was a similar situation, but with a twist. A producer named Alan Lorber came up with a marketing strategy for MGM Records that put the groups under the umbrella term of the “Bosstown Sound” as a counterpoint to the wave of albums branded as the “San Francisco Sound.” Some of the more well-known Boston-based groups included Ultimate Spinach, Beacon Street Union, Orpheus, Eden’s Children, and one that sounded so very different than the rest: Earth Opera.

Peter Rowan was born in 1942 and learned to play guitar at an early age. In 1956 he had a rockabilly band called The Cupids, and eventually switched over to acoustic guitar after hanging around the Boston blues and folk scene. Eventually he fell in love with bluegrass, and through his friend banjoist Bill Keith found himself in Nashville auditioning for Bill Monroe’s band. He recorded 14 tracks with Monroe in October 1966 as a guitarist and vocalist, and together they co-wrote “Walls of Time” which has become a country classic covered by many.

A year later Rowan left Monroe’s band and was back in Boston with a whole bunch of songs that he had written that were anything but bluegrass, more in keeping with the more experimental music of the time period. Reaching out to mandolinist David Grisman, who had played in the Even Dozen Jug Band with John Sebastian and Maria Muldaur when he was attending classes at NYU, they soon connected with Peter Siegel, a mutual friend who was a producer for Elektra Records. Getting them an audition with label head Jac Holzman led to a signing in early 1967, and they returned home to put together a full band.

They added John Nagy on bass and Bill Stevenson, who filled out their sound with piano, organ, harpsichord, and vibes, which outside of a studio was not a common instrument for a rock band. After playing some local gigs, the still nameless group traveled to New York in October to record an album, utilizing Billy Mundi (a session player and member of Frank Zappa’s Mothers of Invention) and Warren Smith on percussion before adding jazz influenced Paul Dillon as their full-time drummer. Earth Opera released in April 1968, and Billboard magazine noted that the songs “soar in lyrical content, more so than others” and added it “should take off in short order.” It never charted, but the group performed at clubs often with their labelmates The Doors, and they ended the year opening for Michael Bloomfield, Al Kooper, and friends’ Super Session at the Fillmore East for two nights in December.

“The Red Sox Are Winning” was the first song on side one of the album and probably the best known, at least in Boston. As you can hear, there are multiple layers of instrumentation and sounds that blend elements of folk, jazz, and chamber orchestra textures to create a very distinctive sound. In the summer of 1968, Paul Williams, who founded Crawdaddy!magazine published an article titled The Way We Are Today: Earth Opera and Joni Mitchell” that contrasted, in what must have been a crazy drug-fueled night at his typewriter, the debut releases of each. What he writes is long and dense, but here’s just a brief observation:

“Joni Mitchell (Reprise 6293) and Earth Opera (Elektra 74016) are recently released record albums, and it may be important that they are extremely textured, soft and rich albeit specific and even abrasive at places (last cuts on the first sides), comfortable. They fill the air — you can relax and bury your face in what they have to sing. They don’t bring up other problems; they are self-contained, and indeed obscure other matters, smoothing them over in your mind, consciously directing you toward concerns of their own. Earth Opera/Joni Mitchell are an aspect of experience, as well as the product of same; what we are today and soon is shaped by what we hear of them. And we are you and me.”

Despite the lack of chart success the first time around, a second album was released in 1969 titled The Great American Eagle TragedyDiscogs tags it as both psychedelic and country rock, and much of the lyrical content delivers a strong anti-Vietnam War message. The cover has the US presidential seal with a superimposed death skull and what looks like blood stains. The album made it on the Billboard Top 200 chart, reaching #181, surrounded by Porter Wagoner, the Incredible String Band, and Pacific Gas and Electric. The single “Home to You” also got a Top 60 Pop Spotlight. “Their current album is making a big radio dent and this potent blues rock item has it to put them into a singles disk race and fast. Could go all the way.” It didn’t.

The pedal steel on this song is played by Bill Keith, and throughout the album Velvet Underground’s John Cale contributed viola. While the single didn’t bring them any success, the lyrically powerful, over-ten-minutes-long anti-war song “The American Eagle Tragedy” received a lot of airplay on the FM underground radio format. I’m not going to post it in the column because of its length, but if you’d like to check it out, here’s a YouTube link. The band split up soon after.

Peter Rowan quickly hooked up with an old friend, fiddle player Richard Greene, for Seatrain’s second, self-titled album and then The Marblehead Messenger, both produced by George Martin. The two left in the early 1970s to form Muleskinner with Bill Keith, Clarence White — the former guitarist for both the Kentucky Colonels and The Byrds — bassist John Kahn, and drummer John Guerin, another ex-Byrd. Rowan also worked with his two brothers, putting out three albums. And after Muleskinner he formed Old & In the Way with Greene, Kahn, and Jerry Garcia.

Grisman, who had played the mandolin on the Grateful Dead’s American Beauty album, also was added to the Old & In the Way lineup and Greene left, to be replaced with Vassar Clements. When the band ended, Grisman began recording both solo and group albums with a variety of players, and his friendship and collaboration with Garcia lasted for decades, until the latter’s passing.

John Nagy continued a long career as producer, engineer, and session player working with Tom Paxton, Judy Collins, Mimi Farina, Chip Taylor, Hazel Dickens and Alice Gerrard, and Grisman. Paul Dillon also worked with Paxton as well as folksinger Paul Siebel. Bill Stevenson backed up John Lee Hooker for a bit and then some of Canada’s best loved musicians including Amos Garrett, Colleen Peterson, and Linda Carvery. He has hosted his own national radio series for CBC. His trio’s album For the Record captured the 2008 East Coast Music Association award for Best Jazz Recording.

While much of Earth Opera’s sound was more progressive and often sounded like chamber music, I put them squarely in that pre-Americana time period where so many bands were bringing together diverse traditional roots music backgrounds and creating and experimenting with new ways of expression. Both of Earth Opera’s albums were reissued on CD in 2003, and are available on streaming sites.

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column over at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music.

Many of my past columns, articles, and essays can be accessed here at my own site, therealeasyed.com. I also aggregate news and videos on both Flipboard and Facebook as The Real Easy Ed: Americana and Roots Music Daily. My Twitter handle is @therealeasyed and my email address is easyed@therealeasyed.com.

Kevin Beasley’s Cotton Gin Music

Kevin Beasley: A View Of A Landscape / The Whitney (Photo by Easy Ed)

Mystery writer Lawrence Bock wrote a series of books based on a former police detective named Matthew Scudder that often made reference to butchers who worked at the meatpacking plants going to Mass early in the morning wearing their blood-stained white coats. That memory came to mind as I recently walked through the Meatpacking District, nowadays a tourist-friendly and gentrified trendy neighborhood in Manhattan. Since the late 1800s, meatpackers have been processing 250-pound carcasses of beef, cutting them up into pieces for restaurants and markets. But it is a dying business, so to speak.

Fifty years ago there were over 300 meatpackers employing 2,000 workers in the small area south of 14th Street near the Hudson River. Today there are only seven companies still in business, all located in the same city-owned rent subsidized building with just 125 workers left. Still considered to be an extremely dangerous job, the industry has come a long way from its history of overworking its people, not having good safety measures in place, and fighting hard and dirty against the unions. By the 1970s, with vacuum packing, refrigerated trucks, and low-cost, non-union jobs, the industry came to be dominated by just a handful of large corporate producers. And the vast majority of workers are Mexican immigrants.

My apologies for taking two paragraphs to get you to where my head was at when I walked into the Meatpacking District’s Whitney Museum of American Art to see Andy Warhol: From A to B and Back Again, the first Warhol retrospective organized by a U.S. institution since 1989. This promised to offer new work never seen before and it didn’t disappoint. Living in New York allows for a surplus of art museums, and it’s where I do my best music listening. Always going solo with ears covered by headphones, I can spend endless hours wandering around in that euphoric state of jukebox shuffle with my eyes leading me through the galleries and my feet following.

If you count the first-floor lobby, there were three out of eight floors devoted to Warhol, and when I finished with him, I took the elevator up to the eighth floor. As I walked out, this is the first thing I saw: a rusty old motor running, encased in a soundproof glass container. Not bothering to read the notes about what this exhibition was or about the artist, I just stared at the darn thing and noticed that microphones were placed inside the box. Taking off my headphones and interrupting Jelly Roll Morton, I listened for a minute and heard nothing. What a strange use of space, I thought, and I wandered down the hall.

If you just watched that video, at the ten-second mark you might have noticed the large dark room that I walked into on the west end of the gallery floor. Listening to a new song by Phoebe Bridgers and Conor Oberst, I kept my headphones on as I didn’t want to interrupt them. Besides myself in that room, there was a museum worker, one table with audio equipment with a lot blinking lights, several benches, and large black speaker boxes placed throughout. Suddenly beneath my feet I felt a strong vibration that made my legs quiver.

Off came the headphones and I sat down in the center of the room. The sounds were at first quiet and ambient, until they weren’t. The volume rose and fell, the vibrations I had first felt were sometimes stronger and at other times merely a tremor. In equal measures feeling both meditative and musically seduced, my eyes closed and body relaxed. Mechanical sounds through modern electronics now sounded both ancient and future bound.

Kevin Beasley is a 34-year-old artist born in Virginia and now based in New York. That strange contraption I had seen when I exited the elevator was an old cotton gin motor that came from Maplesville, Alabama. In operation from 1940 to 1973, the motor powered the gins that separated cotton seeds from fiber and now, after restoration, it was re-purposed to generate sound as a musical instrument. Here’s the description from the exhibition’s website:

“Through the use of customized microphones, soundproofing, and audio hardware, the installation divorces the physical motor from the noises it produces, enabling visitors to experience sight and sound as distinct. As an immersive experience, the work serves as a meditation on history, land, race, and labor.”

For about 15 minutes I sat alone in the room just letting the rhythm and sounds wash over me, never repeating and creating, on its own, fragments of melodic and dissonant notes. A middle school class of about 30 kids soon entered the room, and I watched as they all sat down on the benches and floor. Expecting them to act like I would have at their age — distracted and noisy — they were quiet as church mice, joining me in soaking in the symphonic distortions.

With a Master’s of Fine Arts from Yale for sculpture and in addition to music and sound creations, Beasley also creates visual works by searching for different materials and then binding them together using substances like resin and polyurethane foam. Some of his work is small, everyday items. At the Whitney he presented several large-format pieces utilizing raw cotton. To my eyes they were equally as interesting and stimulating as the sounds of the cotton gin motor had been to my ears.

Unlike the way technology cut the labor force in the meatpacking industry, the invention of the cotton gin had the complete opposite effect. In order to have enough workers to pick the cotton when it was ready, domestic slave trading ramped up at a rapid pace. With the plantations based in the Deep South, the owners looked to the Upper South, where there was a surplus of workers and more than one million slaves were sold. While in 1790 there were roughly 700,000 slaves in America, by 1850 the number had exceeded three million, with over 27,000 ocean voyages recorded.

By 1860 the plantation-based agricultural system in the Deep South produced two-thirds of the world’s cotton, and after Lincoln was elected president, partly on an anti-slavery platform, Southern states seceded and the Civil War broke out. Some point to the invention of the cotton gin as being the indirect cause of war. In using that motor to create sound, Beasley has added something new and different to the large body of African American spirituals, field hollers, and work songs that grew out of that bleak time period. An example of how art and music can always go back to the roots and harvest a new crop.

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column over at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music.

Many of my past columns, articles, and essays can be accessed here at my own site, therealeasyed.com. I also aggregate news and videos on both Flipboard and Facebook as The Real Easy Ed: Americana and Roots Music Daily. My Twitter handle is @therealeasyed and my email address is easyed@therealeasyed.com.