ALONG COMES MARY

The Association were never the hippest band around, more like a clean-cut glee club that happened to find a lid under the couch cushions, and, well...wrote this tune about it. The song was so joyously poppy nobody noticed what they were getting at. As my cousin Duane would say, you probably had to be stoned to understand it. All I can say, for sure, is that some overzealous fed analyzed the lyrics and discovered "possible drug content" and put the song on a kill list that was sent to radio stations to discourage disc jockeys from playing it on the air.

Come on, guys. What's was so bad about Mary?

The Association: their hair is getting good now

If you listen closely, you'll notice the words are silly, ornate hophead juvenelia, something you might find scribbled in an adolescent's PeeChee, but the music is good bouncy fun. It's a nice, well-crafted pop song. Dig the metronomic intro, a premonition of DEVO still a good decade to come. This clip is from the Monterey Pop Festival in 1967, the night Otis Redding sang his soul out, the Who destroyed their instruments, and Jimi Hendrix made his monumental American debut--and lit his guitar on fire. They were completely overshadowed by the heavies. Even so, their empty cup tasted sweet as the punch.

SUMMERTIME TRIP

It's summertime! Sorry to be so "boomercentric", but I came across these short clips about the "The Summer of Love," and had to post them. One is a "straight" documentary for TV news about the "hippie temptation." The grim expose style of the piece belies it's objectivity as square news media tries to make sense of the counter-culture.

We'll get to that, but first is a clip from a documentary on the same scene, but from the inside. This is an entirely different planet. Joy and celebration -- and sex and dope -- replaces fear and guilt. Afghan vests and love beads replace the gray flannel straight-jacket. True, it's not objective, and it doesn't claim to be.


Something's happening, and you don't know what it is. Do you, Mr. Jones?

A famous educator once said: the person who has the hardest time learning something new is the person who has all the answers -- or thinks he does. That fits Mr. Newsman to a tee.


The Hippie Temptation: straight news on the subculture

Finally, you have to play the music. Here is a sweet soulful sixties gal, and a big part of the Haight Ashbury scene, infiltrating plastic mainstream America; Janis Joplin on "Hollywood Palace." In spite of the cheesy setting, she sings her heart out on "Summertime" and "I Need a Man to Love." She represents. Afterward, host Don Adams tries to make fun of her-- typical for this era when you've caught a real live hippie. Don't worry, Janis can handle that little twerp. She zaps him with love.

SUMMER'S ALMOST GONE

Summer's almost gone, and thankfully so is the anniversary of the "Summer of Love." Enough with the candy-coated reminiscences of people who weren't even there (the cub reporters normally sent to cover birthdays at the zoo), the uncritical misty-eyed memories of boomers now deep in the corporate rat race, even those rare respectful nods from officialdom (only two more weeks to catch the "Summer of Love" show at the Whitney!). Like the great Jimmy Durante would say, "Everybody wants to get into the act!"

Talk about False Memory Syndrome! I'm sick of all this revisionism, the sanitizing Austin Powers time machine that strips all the grit from the equation and turns history into just another Disneyland theme park, all Dayglo daisies, cutesy flower power, peace-and-love. All style and no content.

They got it all wrong. From the 1966 riots on Sunset Strip to the Kesey acid tests, from Vietnam to Watts to the moon landing to Hendrix burning his Fender Stratocaster at Monterey, a cultural hurricane ripping through the land. It tore through dinner tables and classrooms and draft boards. The music, the hair, the dope -- the attitude -- wasn't created in a vacuum. It wasn't even the best part. There may have been strawberry incense and cannabis on the winds of change, but it came with the unmistakable stench of teargas. Worldwide. Students and auto workers threw paving stones in Paris 1968, and hundreds of students were gunned down in Mexico City, where the Olympics were being held. The Tlatelolco Massacre didn't make the Wide World of Sports broadcast, but you might remember those Olympics for one stunning image; that of two African-American Olympic athletes, medal-winners Tommie Smith and John Carlos, raising black gloved fists in a Black Power salute. People were shocked, and the International Olympic Committee promptly banned them from the Olympic Games for life!

Summer of Love? Buy the T-shirt. Better yet, love your neighbor, expand your mind, stand up for peace. But don't trust your memory, it's been tampered with.

Here's a great article from the SF Gate.
http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2007/05/21/DDG0MPU2OS1.DTL