Rain as portrayed by The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, and the Doors

Rain has been on my mind a lot this winter. 

As of last fall, California had experienced a four-year drought which left us in a very precarious position, so the relatively heavy rainfall these past few months has been welcome. 

Sometimes, as I stand in my living room gazing out the window while the rain patters against glass, or plod through Oakland with an umbrella in hand, my thoughts veer from the here and now to certain rain-related songs. 

Rain has been explored by everyone from the Eurythmics to Buddy Guy to Milli Vanilli, but four cuts by rock royalty stand out for me.

First up is the Beatles gem "Rain," from 1966. Lyrically, the song isn't much, but musically, "Rain" is a perfect encapsulation of the mid-years Beatles pop formula. Clocking in at a lean 3:04, the song features many Fab Four specialties, including ringing guitars, a bouncy bass line, liquid harmonies, and psychedelic-era backward vocals.

Led Zeppelin's "The Rain Song" from 1973 is a more muted track that shows Zeppelin's soft side. The band best known for heavy guitar riffs and bone-crushing drums here melds acoustic guitar, brush-stick percussion, and Mellotron—a synthesizer which produces the string sounds—to compliment Robert Plant's lyrics about the vicissitudes of a challenging (and ultimately rewarding) long-term romantic relationship.

Seattle native Jimi Hendrix was no stranger to rain, and it comes out in brilliant color below, in a video which fuses two separate tracks from 1968's "Electric Ladyland": "Rainy Day, Dream Away" and "Still Raining, Still Dreaming." In these songs, rain encourages the listener to lay back and groove as the music follows suit, starting out with saxophone flutters, meandering guitar lines, and organ voicings that variously intertwine, play point-counterpoint, or lurch off in their own directions, over a lazy four-four drumbeat. 

"Still Raining, Still Dreaming" comes in at 3:10 with a talking wah-wah guitar that speaks a language only Hendrix could evoke. By 3:57, the song is in deep jam mode, gutbucket drums driving the beat as unison guitars pan back and forth across left and right speakers and the organ comps in the background, eventually building to a heavenly crescendo. Not long before the two songs bridge, Hendrix says he is "leaning on my windowsill, digging everything," and we are right there with him.  

       

When the Doors first presented "Riders on the Storm" to long-time producer Paul Rothchild, in 1970, he dismissed the song as cocktail jazz. Fortunately for us, the Doors ignored Rothchild's poor judgment. Highlights include a jazzy opening which features heavy rainfall with an ominous bass line, a boss organ solo at 2:46, and the ethereal, cascading kisses of the Fender Rhodes keyboard throughout. This masterpiece of mood and space was the last track recorded by Jim Morrison, a fitting swan song that projects the otherworldly aura of rain like few tunes before or since.

         

                                                     

Five stirring performances at Woodstock

I first saw "Woodstock" in the mid-'80s, when most rock and pop was weightless and overproduced, with all the shelf life of a stale fart.

As a teen bohemian-in-training trapped in what was in many ways a plastic, reactionary era, I found the movie fascinating. For over three hours I was transported to a time when personal growth and exploration didn't take a backseat to getting ahead, when brotherhood was more prevalent—and infinitely more hip—than greed, when the young men didn't look like frat boys and the women had long, straight, natural hair instead of those godawful '80s perms.   

Musically, Woodstock remains a rock festival without peer, a distinction which is likely to stick due to the scale of the event and the quality of the bands. The list of soulful, high-caliber acts that performed on those four days 45 years ago is staggering:  Jimi Hendrix; The Who; Santana; Sly & the Family Stone; The Band; Ravi Shankar; Janis Joplin; Johnny Winter; Creedence Clearwater Revival; Ten Years After; Crosby, Stills, & Nash; Jefferson Airplane; Blood, Sweat, & Tears; Joe Cocker; Joan Baez; Arlo Guthrie. 

Woodstock's high points could fill multiple posts, but I will focus on just five key moments. 

Richie Havens, one of the lesser-known acts at Woodstock, opened the festival. The first performance that appears in the documentary is Havens' closer, "Freedom." Never before have I seen a musician move an audience of 200,000 with just an acoustic guitar, his voice, and a lone conga player.

This turbo-charged rendition of Eddie Cochran's "Summertime Blues" features the Who early in their career, firing on all cylinders (see:  Pete Townshend's windmills, Keith Moon's kinetic drumming, Roger Daltrey's microphone lassoing). Added bonuses include Townshend's sonic performance art at the conclusion of this video and the heady split-screen footage spliced together from seven cameras positioned around the stage.

The backdrop to Woodstock was the United States' futile and bloody involvement in Vietnam. Country Joe, the relatively obscure leader of Country Joe & the Fish, captured the zeitgeist with an anti-war protest song, the "I Feel I'm Fixin' to Die Rag." Interesting historical footnote:  a young Martin Scorsese, serving as an editor of the documentary, came up with the bouncing ball-on-white lyrics effect that comes in at 1:42.

 

Ten Years After was one of my most potent Woodstock discoveries. Other than hearing "I'd Love to Change the World" every once in a while on classic rock radio, I had no familiarity with the band. After I saw this rousing clip, Ten Years After—and virtuoso lead guitarist Alvin Lee—became a permanent part of my musical landscape.

Alvin Lee was not the only bonafide guitar hero at Woodstock. Carlos Santana, then just 22 years old, led his band through an epic version of "Soul Sacrifice." From the sheer size of the crowd to the percussion orgy break (2:11) to the most bad-ass rock drum solo this side of "Moby Dick" (3:07) to the molten guitar solo that followed and the random shots of audience members caught in musical ecstasy, it doesn't get any better than this.

                                                 More music posts at "Truth and Beauty":

Angelic voices, #1: Ella sings "Summertime"

Angelic voices, #2: Marvin Gaye sings "The Star-Spangled Banner"

Angelic voices, #3: Janis Joplin sings "Cry Baby"

There must be something in the water: the magic of "Muscle Shoals"

The Second Coming: Stevie Ray Vaughan

"Otis Spann is the Blues"

Ray Manzarek (1939-2013)

"Searching for Sugar Man"

Great Guitar Solos, #2: Frank Zappa

The heaviest New Year's Eve guitar jam ever: Hendrix does "Machine Gun"

For many years I listened to a cassette tape recording of the sacred New Year's Eve (1969) performance of "Machine Gun" on my home stereo (and my Walkman, when I wanted to feel elevated as I loped down the sidewalk). 

In the late '90s I bought the CD to better hear the glorious Stratocaster tones, and that was enough. I was grateful the recording existed and never imagined being able to see the magical (spontaneous) Hendrix creative process at work.

In the early '00s I happened on a VHS documentary which featured snippets from the famous live recording of "Machine Gun" with awed commentary from Lenny Kravitz. This was like finding the Holy Grail. I rewound the tape a few times and told myself I'd rent the video again when I needed a fix.

And on the eighth day, programmers created Vimeo, where I can now watch the video below whenever fancy strikes.

How many ways do I love thee? 

The black and white film strips this down to the music and the music alone, as it should. 

Then there's Jimi Hendrix tuning, like a mere mortal, and improvising for the first 90 seconds, because he can. 

Even as history is in the making, the camera eye slips into a psychedelic cloud at 3:48. 

At 4:19, we have the grandest, most balls-out string bend ever committed to fretboard, akin to a suspended air raid siren, as The Solo to Beat All Solos starts. 

At 7:21, when Hendrix could easily go back to the verse, he instead continues on with more wah-wah pedal gravy. 

And all the while as Jimi steers this three-and-a half minute, mellifluous solo, he barely looks at his guitar, as if it were an appendage. 

We will never see his like again.

***

Other "Truth and Beauty" guitar hero essays:

          Click here for "The Second Coming:  Stevie Ray Vaughan," a first-hand                                                                                account of Vaughan's final concert

here for "It was 70 years ago today:  an appreciation of Jimi Hendrix"

                       
  here for "Link Wray's 'Rumble'"          
                  

here for "Great Guitar Solos, #1:  Eddie Hazel (Funkadelic)"

here for "Great Guitar Solos, #2:  Frank Zappa"

here for "Great Guitar Solos, #3:  Hiram Bullock" 

here for "Great Guitar Solos, #4: Dweezil Zappa Nails 'Eruption'"

here for "Great Guitar Solos, #5:  Alvin Lee"

 here for "Great Guitar Solos, #6: Neil Young's 'Hey Hey, My My'"

and here for "Shut Up 'N Play Yer Guitar - The Six-String Wizardry of Frank Zappa, Part II"

The Second Coming: Stevie Ray Vaughan

"The way I look at it is that if the next show we do is the last one I ever get to do, it sure would be a shame if I didn't really try and give it all my best"

-Stevie Ray Vaughan


Back in the summer of 1990, I met a fellow rabid music fan named Mickey at a night-time cleaning gig. The handful of office workers who were still around when I started at 6 generally didn't interact much with the cleaning crew, but he saw my "Master of Puppets" t-shirt and struck up a conversation. (*click here for the soundtrack to this post) 

Mickey said that Metallica was cool, they had their thing, but suggested I listen instead to the Grateful Dead, whom he considered a much more evolved band. Specifically, he told me I needed to see the Dead in concert, as he had too many times to count. 

I knew more about rock than most of my peers, but within a minute or two it became obvious that Mickey's knowledge was far greater, encyclopedic even. Though just a couple years older than I was, he had seen infinitely more shows than anyone I knew.

Not to be totally outdone, I mentioned that I was going to see Robert Cray, Eric Clapton, and Stevie Ray Vaughan in a couple months. Stevie was on the road in support of his new album, "In Step," a reference to his being clean and sober after years of drug and alcohol abuse. 

Mickey looked at me for a moment, thinking this over, and said, "Stevie Ray Vaughan is a bad-ass motherfucker. Eric Clapton better be ready for that show or he'll get blown off the stage."

This comment mirrored what I'd heard about Stevie's concerts; every review was glowing. Two different friends said they'd been blown away by the Stevie Ray-Jeff Beck "The Fire Meets the Fury" shows. A member of my inner circle (a tough customer not given to the kind of lavish praise found in this post) came back from an SRV show in punch-drunk, satisfied silence. The estimable Don Johnson spoke of watching as Stevie "attacked" his guitar.   

As I saw it, when it came to rock and blues guitar, Stevie was the Second Coming (with Jimi being the first). There were plenty of phenomenal second generation electric guitarists--Eddie Van Halen, Adrian Belew, Trey Anastasio--but no one brought the raw blues power and mystical intensity of Hendrix up through the '80s like Stevie Ray Vaughan. 

The three-word name--think Martin Luther King, Frank Lloyd Wright, Franklin Delano Roosevelt--conferred stature, as did Vaughan's aesthetic--snakeskin boots, Indian jewelry, bolo ties, a feather-capped cowboy hat, sometimes an Indian headdress--which could appear contrived on a lesser musician. 

And who else had the cojones not only to play "Voodoo Child" night after night onstage, but to make it his own? (To say nothing of Stevie's unparalleled cover of "Little Wing.")

Unfortunately, as the concert approached, I was an unemployed and broke college student

given to eating pasta with butter and salt and taking advantage of quarter taps night at the local bar. $30 was a major expense. I explained this to my friend, who had purchased the tickets, and said I could see Stevie another time; he was always on tour. But she insisted I go, so I went.

At the show, we tailgated during the bulk of Robert Cray's opening set. Most of the people in the audience were sitting down as attendees filtered in or lined up at concession stands. 

We caught the last few numbers of Cray's act. It was professional and authentic, but low-key. There wasn't much of a wow factor.

Stevie Ray Vaughan was another matter. The venue of 37,000 was much more crowded

when he came on, and from the opening number Stevie's band had the audience on their feet and fully engaged in high energy, no frills rock 'n' blues. 

Every one of Stevie's solos was fluid, eye-popping, point blank. His guitar tone was big and bold, commanding. During the rapid-fire funk guitar riff that opens "Couldn't Stand the Weather" (here played at :57) my buddy turned to me and said, "Stevie's baaaaad." 

The crowning jewel of the set was the closing rendition of "Voodoo Child (Slight Return)." Jimi Hendrix's original studio version clocked in at 5:14, but Stevie added a few extra minutes of improvisation at the end. Midway through the song, as he soloed, I thought what could he possibly do to top this? A minute later he'd taken the jam to an even higher level, and up, up, up he went until finally he was rearing back on his boots sculpting colossal washes of feedback like a big-wave surfer. 

Without exaggeration, it was a performance for the ages. Clapton's headlining set afterward felt anti-climactic. The audience was seated, other than during a handful of classics like "Layla" and "White Room." This wasn't the smokin' fresh Clapton of Mayall's Bluesbreakers or Cream, but a safe Slowhand fronting a band with a middle-of-the road pop energy. Clearly there was a new sheriff in town.

I stayed at a friend's house after the drive home. Still decompressing from the concert, we

hung around conversing with the radio on. In the wee hours a news broadcast reported that there had been a helicopter crash after the show. It was rumored that Eric Clapton may have been on the helicopter, but there was no confirmation. 

We stayed up, keyed to the radio. After a few rounds of 'there is no confirmation yet whether Eric Clapton was on the helicopter,' a surprising announcement came across the airwaves. 

The dead had been identified. 

Among them was Stevie Ray Vaughan.

***

At the time, I was a young, hungry guitarist who practiced daily and often thought about guitar when I wasn't playing, while walking or sitting in class or watching a movie that didn't pull me in. Stevie's volcanic finale and sudden death drove me to buy all of his music and go on a listening binge. For several months my roommates had their fill (and then some). 

The narrative arc really took off one night the following summer, at a small house party. Rob, my co-worker, told me about a videotape he had of Stevie Ray Vaughan titled "Live at El Mocambo" (above). Naturally, I asked to borrow it. 

This five-dollar VHS tape became an object of obsession, my personal version of Beatlemania. Among the treasures were the canon blast opening of "Testify," a perfect title for a fiery instrumental in which the guitarist stands and delivers from the bottom of his soul. There was the gentle beauty of "Lenny," a subtle jazz-inflected song Stevie wrote for his wife, complete with beads of sweat and a trailing cigarette. Not to mention a routinely

mind-blowing "Voodoo Child (Slight Return)."

But the performance that really rocked my world was the nine-and-a half minute "Texas

Flood" For the first month I had the tape, I watched this tour de force almost every day. Not only was the playing spellbinding to my inner music fan, but "Flood" gave me a clinic in electric blues guitar. Soon I was aping Stevie's meaty bends and wide vibrato, on high-gauge strings.   

Hundreds of practice hours passed before my first and only "Mocambo" conversion--my roommate Bob, who was smitten on first viewing. A born salesman (I used to endearingly call him "Lloyd," after Lloyd Bentsen, one of the Clinton Administrator's slickest operators at the time), Bob eagerly introduced "Texas Flood" to our many guests--post bar-time revelers in particular--for the rest of the summer. Blues wasn't everybody's thing, but Bob's infectious fervor bought patience - if not shared enthusiasm.   

       ***

Fifteen years and a lot of life later I visited Bob and his fiancée in Chicago. We caught a set at the classic Green Mill Jazz Club then returned en posse to Bob's pad, where we watched live music videos on his brand new big screen TV, which was connected to a state-of-the art stereo. 

At some point very late in the evening, the words "El Mocambo" were uttered. Bob pricked up with excitement and walked over to his entertainment center, but couldn't find the DVD. He kept looking as buzzkill set in, wondering aloud what could have happened to THE EL MOCAMBO DISC. 

After Bob had all but given up, his fiancée looked over and said, "I hid it." 

What performance could drive people to such lengths? Or fetch seven million views on YouTube (before the greedy record company had it removed) with a blues cover that had received virtually no radio airplay? 

Or:  can I count the ways I love thee, "Texas Flood?" 

Among the embarrassment of riches in the video above is Stevie's sheepish little smile 15 seconds in, as if he knows he's about to slay that audience, 

his ballsy decision to bring a little distortion at 1:11, before the first verse, 

Priorities.

the ecstatic look on his face as he bends forward and arches his eyes skyward at 1:53, 

the monster, barge-like bends that begin around 4:45, not to mention

the smoky diminuendo at 5:40, or

his in-your-face gesture to the camera at 7:21, and 

you get the picture. 

Anyone who appreciates music, the blues, the electric guitar as an instrument--or witnessing a consummate artist at the peak of his powers--ought to watch this video. 

Here, ladies and gentleman, was one musician who wasn't doing it for the money.

                                             

            Stevie Ray Vaughan (October 3, 1954-August 27, 1990)               
                                        

Other "Truth and Beauty" guitar hero essays:  

Click here for "It was 70 years ago today:  an appreciation of Jimi Hendrix"

here for "Link Wray's 'Rumble'"
                                 
here for Great Guitar Solos, #1:  Eddie Hazel (Funkadelic)

here for Great Guitar Solos, #2:  Frank Zappa

here for Great Guitar Solos, #3:  Hiram Bullock 

here for Great Guitar Solos, #4: Dweezil Zappa Nails "Eruption"

here for Great Guitar Solos, #5:  Alvin Lee

Luna Lee transforms "Voodoo Child"

I treat Jimi Hendrix with a certain amount of reverence. As an electric blues guitarist, I am forever in awe of the sounds Hendrix coaxed from an off-the-rack Stratocaster with the help of volume, pedals, ace engineer Eddie Kramer, and (especially) a willingness to try anything. Then there was the raw emotional intensity of his unbridled solos, which bring to mind a skydiver free-falling out of an airplane, and the intricacy and care of his rhythm playing. Not to mention his soulful singing voice, original songwriting, grasp of the studio-as-an-instrument philosophy, and jet-fueled live performances. 

In 1993, I eagerly bought "Stone Free:  a Tribute to Jimi Hendrix" upon its release, but when I played the disc on my home stereo I was alternately indifferent to or aghast at the interpretations, other than the Jeff Beck/Seal version of "Manic Depression." 

I took "Stone Free" back to the music store that night for a return, but was told that profound disappointment and dishonoring the dead weren't sufficient grounds for a refund.

Since that time, Stevie Ray Vaughan's versions of "Little Wing" and "Voodoo Child" were the only Hendrix covers I've heard that pricked up my ears.

Until now. 

I was recently introduced to Luna Lee in my Facebook feed. Luna plays gayageum renditions of songs by American guitar virtuosos Steve Vai, Joe Satriani, Stevie Ray Vaughan - and Jimi Hendrix.

Backed by a drum-and-bass track (and dashes of rhythm guitar and synth) Lee here breathes new, exotic life into one of the heaviest tunes ever recorded, "Voodoo Child (Slight Return)." 

Lee has also done intriguing covers of Hendrix's "Bold as Love" and Little Wing" (Stevie Ray Vaughan's version), and Vaughan's "Scuttle Buttin.'"

**Click here for Luna Lee's YouTube station   

It was 70 years ago today: an appreciation of Jimi Hendrix

Jimi Hendrix would have turned 70 today. 

As we fly our freak flag high in tribute, let's take an audiovisual peek at one of America's greatest artists.

The first video below was filmed at the Monterey International Pop Festival, the capstone of 1967's Summer of Love. At this point in his career, Hendrix had made it in England, but he wasn't well-known in his home country.

Though the general American public wasn't yet hip to Hendrix, rock musicians on both sides of the Atlantic were aware of his otherworldly skills and sound. Legend has it that Hendrix and Pete Townshend almost came to blows backstage over who would go first at Monterey, as neither band wanted to follow the other. The Who won the coin toss and set the bar high with their usual balls-out show, which ended in ritual instrument destruction.

Remarkably, Hendrix took the stagecraft even further at the end of his set by burning his guitar, in a performance that would put him on the map in the United States.  

Below is the Experience's opening song at Monterey, the Howlin' Wolf classic "Killing Floor." Note the hyperkinetic drumming, matching Afros, and white-hot rhythm guitar intro.

                                                 (Click box in lower right for full screen)

"Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" was released that same summer. Hendrix was a Beatles fan, and within days of the album's release he tipped his hat with a live version of the title track:

By the time Woodstock rolled around (1969), Jimi Hendrix had attained superstar status. The promoters scheduled him on the final day, presumably to save the best for last, but the audience had thinned by the time he came on thanks to rain, mud, and insufficient accommodations for the hundreds of thousands who attended. 

Those who stayed until the end of the three-day festival were witness to Hendrix's most renowned musical moment, his interpretation of "The Star-Spangled Banner." It's possible that Jimi's time in the military may've contributed to his uncanny talent for eking dive-bomber sounds out of this pretty white Stratocaster. 

Last, but not least, there's the New Year's 1970 "Machine Gun." 

Ted Nugent once claimed that Hendrix didn't have it at the end, that he was burned out. But just nine months before his untimely death, Jimi fathered this sonic masterpiece, a heavily-improvised epic that could qualify as telepathic guitar playing. The titanic feedbacking bend that starts this solo (below) deserves its own place in the Electric Guitar Hall of Wail. 

"When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace"

-Jimi Hendrix

***

Other "Truth and Beauty" guitar hero essays:

          Click here for "The Second Coming:  Stevie Ray Vaughan," a first-hand                                                                                account of Vaughan's final concert

                     

  here for "Link Wray's 'Rumble'"          
                  

here for "Great Guitar Solos, #1:  Eddie Hazel (Funkadelic)"

here for "Great Guitar Solos, #2:  Frank Zappa"

here for "Great Guitar Solos, #3:  Hiram Bullock" 

here for "Great Guitar Solos, #4: Dweezil Zappa Nails 'Eruption'"

here for "Great Guitar Solos, #5:  Alvin Lee"

and here for "Great Guitar Solos, #6: Neil Young's 'Hey Hey, My My'"