Nothing says Christmas like a curmudgeon and nobody is more of one than Jaimie Vernon which makes me wish I knew some of the stories behind his long career in music and, also, in life. Regaling you with tales of chicken wire and whoopee cushions would make this a lot easier to write— nothing like fart jokes to liven up your reading— but it is Christmas season and I must put aside the slings and arrows, as humorous as they might be.
I was twenty-three, fresh out of the Army and full of frustration and cynicism. I had spent the last one year, nine months, two days, four hours and thirty-five minutes in what I considered a military prison. Before I was drafted, I was a radical, a hippie, an idealist. Staunchly anti-war, I isolated myself from old friends and family. I smoked dope, joined The Resistance and demonstrated on and off the University of Oregon campus. When I got out of the Army and returned to Eugene, I learned that I hated everyone who displayed bumper stickers or posters which heralded “America— Love It Or Leave It” or “My Country, Right or Wrong” as if they were the Eleventh and Twelfth Commandments. Those who upheld vocal groups like Up With People as true American music became my enemy.
But before I begin passing out (No, wait! There is more!) awards and kudos to those who made a huge difference in my attitude and my life, let me point you all to a problem we in America (including the hat— that be Canada) should embrace— the media. Not that the media itself is the problem, but (as pointed out by Roxanne Tellier‘s DBAWIS column of just two days ago) how we have allowed politics to destroy it.
I present to you music I have loved over the years and have written about but only a few have found. This is about music by artists who deserve more than they have gotten and are consigned to live in the shadow of what they should have been. In many ways, I wish they could have recorded back in the seventies when the music business was a real center of the public’s attention because had they, some would be stars of today.
The first time I think I even thought about death was when Hank Williams died back in 1952. New Year’s Eve it was, but I only remember the headlines. I was five years old and Hank was a regular part of my day. Dad, the curator of the famous Gutch record collection, had only a few records at that time and Never Again (Will I Knock On Your Door) was one of them. I loved that song so much that I begged and begged Dad to play it every time he headed toward the record player and, usually, he obliged. I remember Dad humming along in a grunting kind of way, almost as if the music was going to bust out of him at any moment, but it seldom did. Dad was a lot like myself in that when the music was playing, singing along seemed a lack of respect.
Back in 2007, Pop Culture Press magazine asked me to conduct interviews for their Summer of Love Issue which featured the forty years which had passed since. I interviewed Bob Segarini (The Family Tree), Peter Albin (Big Brother), Tracy Nelson (Mother Earth), Dehner Patten (KAK). I also interviewed Gary Duncan, legendary guitarist for Quicksilver Messenger Service). It was a dream come true. Quicksilver had been my favorite of the San Francisco bands, the epitome of what I thought psychedelia was all about. Gary was very gracious and forthcoming when we talked and the result was one of my personal favorite experiences in all of my writing. So pour a cup of coffee or pop a cold one. If you’re not among the biggest Quicksilver fans there are, you are about to learn more about Gary Duncan than you thought you would ever know.
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 