The summer of 1969 was the summer of rock music festivals. In many ways these were an attempt to recreate the atmosphere of 1967's "Summer of Love" in San Francisco--and more particularly, the "Be-In" that occurred in that city's Golden Gate Park one day in January of that year. Yes, already by 1969 the counter culture was awash in nostalgia. The pinnacle was at Woodstock that August, but things would become seriously unhinged later that year at the Rolling Stones' one day event at Altamont. (I almost went to the latter, but I was sick that weekend. And I had a lot of homework to do.)
In Toronto, at the end of the summer of '69, things were a little different. It was a one-day affair, as opposed to the 2 or 3 day festivals that were the norm, and it was planned to be a celebration of the roots of rock n' roll. Consequently most of the acts were pioneers of rock, such as Little Richard and Jerry Lee Lewis -- with a smattering of newer acts, most prominent of which was the Doors.
Well, that lineup didn't entice ticket buyers in the summer of '69. Fearing the festival would collapse before it even began, the promoters invited the Beatles -- who were themselves on the verge of collapsing -- to make their first live appearance in 3 years. Needless to say, the Beatles, who had just recently spent their final days together in a recording studio, didn't show. But John Lennon did, and the concert was saved.
Since he hadn't been in front of an audience for such a long time, Lennon later admitted he spent the half hour before he took the stage nauseous in his dressing room. But his performance shows no sign of nervousness. In fact, he shows that he was one of the great rock vocalists. Bowing to the the nature of the event, he sang mostly only old rock n' roll chestnuts such as "Dizzy Miss Lizzie", with the able assistance of Eric Clapton's nimble, blistering lead guitar.
As for the rock pioneers, Jerry Lee Lewis, strangely enough, centered his set on Elvis Presley songs and not his own. Or maybe not so strange -- Presley had recently begun to return to live performances that summer in Las Vegas, and I can't help thinking "The Killer" was attempting his own style of one-upmanship. (His resentment of Presley culminated 7 years later with Jerry Lee showing up drunk late one night with a loaded pistol, at the gate of Elvis' Graceland mansion, ranting and raving. According to one witness, he said, "Tell him the Killer's here to see him" -- hardly assuring words coming from someone brandishing a gun. He was arrested at the scene.) As for Little Richard, he instantly revived his career at Toronto; as one observer noted, "in 30 frenetic minutes Little Richard had just made his comeback".
Here's Lennon's version of "Dizzy Miss Lizzie", Jerry Lee performing a manic "Hound Dog", and Little Richard -- with his terrifically tight band -- performing "Lucille" and making the original version sound like a dress rehearsal.
I just learned an entire book about "Bitter Tears", Johnny Cash's 1964 concept album that centered on the plight of Native Americans, came out a few years ago, with cover art by Shephard Fairey, the artist who did the famous Obama Hope poster. The story behind this album is captivating. As one writer says, "In 1963, Johnny Cash released one of the biggest hits of his career with the trumpeting, propulsive 'Ring of Fire'. But he followed up with his most obscure and controversial effort: the 1964 folk-protest album called “Bitter Tears: Ballads of the American Indian.”
Here's a summary from Amazon:
"With his highly personal early 1960s work, Johnny Cash had been trying the patience of the Columbia brass, who were less than thrilled with his commercial performance. When "Ring of Fire" topped the country charts in 1963, it allowed him to continue the many ambitious concept albums-history lessons close to his heart. The eight songs on 1964's Bitter Tears are sung from the point of view of the American Indian (still the accepted term in 1964), and together they form a potent work that is both deeply real and highly spiritual. With assistance from co-composer Peter LaFarge, Cash offers an earnest, solemn portrait of Native Americans that examines a variety of issues through a range of viewpoints and contained in unadorned musical settings. Cash actually took out full-page ads daring radio programmers to play "The Ballad of Ira Hayes," but all of the material hits home, from LaFarge's defiant "As Long as the Grass Shall Grow" to Johnny Horton's mournful, spooky "The Vanishing Race."
Here's "As Long as the Grass Shall Grow" performed by Cash shortly after the album's release on Pete Seeger's public TV show. One note -- Cash was in the middle of drug addiction & is clearly stoned out of his head. I'm kind of surprised Seeger had him on the program in that condition -- but his show, Rainbow Quest, was usually populated by little-known folk singers, so Cash must have been quite a catch. And he does sing the song well & true.
After Johnny Cash cleaned up his act, here is another performance of the same song, with added lyrics, on his successful TV show. He sang it as part of a recurring segment of his program called "Ride This Train" -- within which Cash was now, on TV, giving "history lessons close to his heart". 6 years after the Seeger clip -- and looking 10 years younger -- Cash frames the song with an extensive prologue and epilog (containing a short version of "Ira Hayes"), creating a more searing indictment of the treatment of Native Americans.
