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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
SO MANY PEOPLE have helped in so many ways to bring this book, at long last, into the light of day, that I approach the task of acknowledging them with the certain knowledge that I will forget one or more whose names should be recognized here. I ask your forgiveness at the outset for any omissions, and I promise to rectify them when I can.
Laura and Michael Joplin, Janis’s sister and brother, have shepherded Janis’s legacy through the years with care and love. They have supported the use of my photographs and films of Janis in many projects, and I am grateful for their support for this one. Jeff Jampol, the manager of Janis’s estate, has been similarly supportive; he has preserved and enhanced Janis’s legacy through a variety of creative projects and he provided valuable assistance and advice in moving this book along the path to publication.
Candace Lake, my agent and friend for almost four decades, guided the effort to find a home for this book, and provided the vital link that helped us arrive at Anthony Mattero, of Foundry Literary + Media, who expertly planned the final steps that led us to Berkley Books. Their support and friendship is ongoing, and deeply appreciated.
Authors do not choose their editors. I have been very fortunate in the editors who have chosen to work with me, never more so than in the case of my present editor, Denise Silvestro. Her encouragement, advice, and innovative solutions to every vexing question have improved this book in ways I never imagined possible. Denise’s assistant, Allison Janice, labored valiantly over the source notes and performed countless other chores without ever making me feel that any other books or authors needed a minute of her time. Managing editor Michelle Kasper kept the book on schedule. She and many others at Berkley Books and Penguin Random House have made me feel very lucky to be with this publisher.
Stacy Kreuzmann Quinn and Nancy Reid, of Acid Test Productions, who published Janis Joplin: A Performance Diary, encouraged me to tell my own story of these years and provided helpful suggestions and insights.
Earl Crabb and David Swift scanned research pages and early drafts of this book into my computer before I knew anything about scanning. Earl has contributed so many hours of computer diagnosis, problem-solving and advice over the course of thirty years that I can never adequately repay him, but I will try my best to channel Albert Grossman and pick up the check anytime we break bread together.
Many of Janis’s friends and mine, among them many of the people who knew Janis best during her years of national and international touring, contributed their insights and knowledge by agreeing to sit down for recorded conversations with me. Excerpts in the book are credited as “Author interview with,” but these were truly conversations that followed wherever the pathways of memory took us, rather than a prepared list of questions, although I had those too. None of these contributors were more consistently helpful than Sam Andrew, of Big Brother and the Holding Company, and Bob Neuwirth. Dave Getz and Peter Albin, the other surviving members of Big Brother, also deserve special mention. Thanks also to Mark Braunstein; Kozmic Blues Band members Brad Campbell, Terry Clements, Snooky Flowers, Richard Kermode, and John Till; Full Tilt Boogie members Richard Bell, Ken Pearson, and Clark Pierson; and Committee members Alan Myerson (director), Howard Hesseman, Carl Gottlieb, and Garry Goodrow.
I would like to write individual words of thanks to all the others who helped me, but in order that the reader can move along a little sooner to Janis’s story, I list them here with my heartfelt thanks to each: Dave Barry, Peter Berg, Barbara Carroll, Ramblin’ Jack Elliott, Lyndall Erb, Mimi Fariña, Barry Feinstein, John Fisher, Dave and Vera-Mae Fredrickson, Charlie Frizzell, Ralph J. Gleason, Bennett Glotzer, Bob (Robert E.) Gordon, Allison Caine Gottlieb, Bill Graham, Linda Gravenites, Nick Gravenites, Debbie Green, Sally Grossman, Robert L. Jones, Al Kooper, Jon McIntire, Milan Melvin, Margaret Moore, Seth Morgan, Geoff Muldaur, D. A. Pennebaker and Chris Hegedus, Frazer Pennebaker, Peter Pilafian, Fritz Richmond, Paul Rothchild, Rock Scully, Bob Seidemann, and Mary Works.
Thanks to one and all, and God bless us, every one.
—
PETER ALBIN, DAVE Getz, and Sam Andrew continue to perform music together as Big Brother and the Holding Company, and in other combinations. Robert Altman, D. A. Pennebaker, and Bob Seidemann generously contributed photographs that are included in this book. Mary Works’s film The Life and Times of the Red Dog Saloon beautifully chronicles the origins of the San Francisco rock-and-roll ballroom scene in the midsixties. You can follow their activities and see their work at these websites:
Official Janis Joplin website: janisjoplin.com
Big Brother and the Holding Company: bbhc.com
Robert Altman Photography: altmanphoto.com
Pennebaker-Hegedus Films: phfilms.com
Bob Seidemann Photography: bobseidemann.com
Mary Works: reddogsaloonfilm.com/Red_Dog_Saloon_Film/Welcome.html
AUTHOR’S NOTE
A FRIEND OF mine likes to say that history is what you remember. Memories are fallible, of course. Our impressions of the past are subjective and selective. They summon up what we want it to be as well as what it was. In preparing to write this story I spoke with many people who experienced the same events I did, and many who were present at times and places where I was not. We all saw the sixties from different perspectives. For many of us, the friendships we formed in those years have proven to be lifelong; we share similar memories of the music and the seemingly unlimited possibilities that characterized the times.
Aided by the recollections of others, this narrative relates my personal experience, focused through my memory and shaped according to my sensibilities. Any errors of fact or interpretation are mine alone.
John Byrne Cooke
Jackson, Wyoming
2014
THE BANDS
BIG BROTHER AND THE HOLDING COMPANY
Janis Joplin—vocals and percussion
Sam Andrew—guitar and vocals*
James Gurley—guitar and vocals
Peter Albin—bass, guitar and vocals
Dave Getz—drums
Road Crew
Big Brother had no road manager until Albert Grossman managed the band.
John Cooke—road manager
Dave Richards—equipment
Mark Braunstein—equipment
George Ostrow—equipment
Management
Chet Helms (1965–1966)
Julius Karpen (1966–1967)
Albert Grossman (1967–)
John Court—Albert’s partner (1967–1968)
Bert Block—Albert’s partner (1968–1969)
THE KOZMIC BLUES BAND
Musicians playing each instrument are listed in the order in which they played with this band.
Janis Joplin—vocals and percussion
Sam Andrew—guitar and vocals
John Till—guitar
Brad Campbell—bass
Roy Markowitz—drums
Lonnie Castille—drums
Maury Baker—drums
Terry Clements—alto saxophone
Snooky Flowers—baritone saxophone and vocals
Marcus Doubleday—trumpet
Terry Hensley—trumpet
Luis Gasca—trumpet
Dave Woodward—trumpet
Bill King—organ
Richard Kermode—organ
Road Crew
John Cooke—road manager (Dec. 1968–Oct. 1969)
Joe Crowley—road manager (Oct.–Dec. 1969)
Mark Braunstein—equipment
George Ostrow—equipment
Vince Mitchell—equipment
Management
Albert Grossman
Bert Block—Albert’s partner (–1969)
Bennett Glotzer—Albert’s partner (1969–)
FULL TILT BOOGIE
There were no changes in personnel during the life of this band.
Janis Joplin—vocals and percussion
John Till—guitar
Brad Campbell—bass
Ken Pearson—organ
Richard Bell—electric piano
Clark Pierson—drums
Road Crew
John Cooke—road manager
George Ostrow—equipment
Vince Mitchell—equipment
Phil Badella—equipment
Joel Kornoelje—equipment
Management
Albert Grossman
Bennett Glotzer
CHAPTER ONE
November 30, 1967
THE 707’S WHEELS touch down at San Francisco International Airport and with few regrets I leave behind the East, where my mother’s family has lived since they arrived on the New England coast aboard a vessel that followed in the wake of the Mayflower. There they landed and there, for the most part, they stayed, close by the Atlantic shore. In five hours I’ve covered what it took the emigrants of the nineteenth century’s great westward migration months of peril to travel. Like those earlier travelers, I’m casting off the old and hoping to find in California the magic pathway to the rest of my life.
Go west, young man.
In my case, it is Albert Grossman, not Horace Greeley, who points the way.
The southwest wind is roiling the shallow waters off the airport runway, turning them muddy emerald. It has been a cold fall in the East. By comparison, the California air feels springlike as I cross the tarmac to the terminal. The hills that surround the Bay are greened by the rains that return to the coast with autumn. Autumn in the East forces the flora into retreat and quiescence. To an easterner, green hills in November signal rebirth ahead of its time, a resurrection that fills me with hope. The breeze carries the scent of growing things. Mixed with the jet fumes, I can smell salt water, and something more exotic—patchouli oil, maybe, or pot.
Peter Albin greets me at the gate. We have talked on the phone in recent days, to discuss logistics (“My flight gets in at . . .” “I’ll pick you up and we’ll . . .”). I know Peter by sight because I saw him, back in June, at the Monterey International Pop Festival, standing his ground at stage right as a member of Big Brother and the Holding Company, the band that knocked the audience back on its collective heel. Peter’s feet don’t move much when he plays the electric bass. His body sways to the beat, sometimes curling over the instrument to wring from it insistent riffs that propel the songs forward, sometimes standing bolt upright, his back arched, shaking the bass so the notes fly from the stage with that much more force.
In the airport, face-to-face, Peter is friendly, open, welcoming. He moves with angular looseness and has a lopsided smile. At twenty-three, he’s the youngest in the band. In Cambridge, Massachusetts, where I have lived for the past nine years, Peter’s shoulder-length hair would earn him derisive shouts of “Hahvahd fairy!” from the townies, their ducktails rigid with Brylcreem. In SFO, he attracts surreptitious glances from the servicemen emplaning for Vietnam and the businessmen in their suits. It would surprise them to know that Peter is a junior executive, dressed for rock and roll. He is the member of Big Brother who signs the contracts, the one who comes to pick up the guy dispatched from New York by Albert Grossman—creator of Peter, Paul and Mary, manager of Bob Dylan and a host of lesser folk luminaries—to oversee the band on the road. As the music of the counterculture has evolved from folk to folk-rock—the Mamas & the Papas, Simon & Garfunkel, Buffalo Springfield—to full-bore rock and roll, Albert has kept pace.
When Peter’s car crests the rise where Highway 101 leaves South San Francisco behind and comes in view of the city proper, I see the white houses dancing up and down the hills and I feel at home. San Francisco is my favorite American city. I have been here often over the years, most recently in June, when I landed at SFO as part of D. A. Pennebaker’s film crew, on my way to Monterey for the Pop Festival, fired then, as now, with the sense of moving toward the promise of things to come, ready to do my part to make the promise come true.
I have a family connection to the Bay Area, an uncle who is a professor of botany at UC Berkeley. When I drove across the country for the first time, in the summer after my sophomore year at Harvard, my uncle’s Berkeley home was my destination. In recent years, it is music that has brought me often to the cities by the Bay. From the first time I stepped into the Club 47 coffeehouse in Cambridge and heard Joan Baez sing, music has defined my friendships and my life. I discovered bluegrass music and became a member of Cambridge’s homegrown bluegrass and old-time band, the Charles River Valley Boys. In the spring of 1963 I drove across the country again, this time with two friends from Cambridge, and we discovered in Berkeley a folk community that was welcoming and familiar.
In the folk music revival, Berkeley and Cambridge were united by enthusiasm for the traditional roots of American music, black and white, and the innovations that creative players could derive from those themes. Some of my Cambridge friends made the journey to California regularly. A few moved here. The kinship forged on the Cambridge-Berkeley axis was based on sharing the music and shunning competition. We believed ourselves to be quietly superior to what we saw as the more commercially oriented pickers in New York and L.A. Our image of the prototypical New York guitar player was a guy who turned toward the wall when he played his hottest licks, so you couldn’t see how he did it.
Since that first visit to the Berkeley folk scene in 1963, I have come back whenever I can, to play music and smoke dope and drink Jack Daniel’s Tennessee whiskey and Rainier Ale—Berkeley’s preferred boilermaker, known locally as JD and Green Death—and to experience the brilliant, preternaturally focused California days that inspire us to throw some bread and cheese and wine into a backpack and take acid and spend the day somewhere on the coast.
A couple of years ago I moved to California for what I thought would be forever, but it turned out I was chasing the Wrong Girl. This time, I’m here to stay. I have left behind the life of a performing musician in the interest of getting serious about the rest of my life. For now, I will help others devote themselves more fully to their music while I handle the money and logistics. I have exchanged my guitar for an attaché case. It contains itineraries, contracts, and the promise of loud music, late nights, and loose women.
To Peter Albin, I reveal none of the giddy high that the waters of the Bay, the sight of Coit Tower, a glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge, arouse in me. With Peter, I’m all business. I’m cool. He takes me to a motel on Columbus Avenue, in North Beach. A few years ago, the North Beach coffeehouses were the focus of San Francisco’s folk scene, and before that, the home of the Beats. I wonder if any unamplified music survives in the city that has become the wellspring of American rock and roll, but satisfying this curiosity will have to wait. Right now, I’ve got to pass inspection by my prospective employers. Peter gives me half an hour to come down from thirty thousand feet, then picks me up again and takes me to meet the band.
They rehearse in a third-floor loft in a building they call the Warehouse, close by an off-ramp where the Central Freeway dumps traffic into the city streets. When Peter and I enter the...
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Book Description Paperback. Condition: new. Paperback. One of Parade's Top Ten Rock n' Roll Reads As a road manager and filmmaker, John Byrne Cooke helped run the Janis Joplin showand record it for posterity. Now he reveals the never-before-told story of his years with the young woman from Port Arthur who would become the first female rock-and-roll superstar. In 1967, as the new sound of rock and roll was taking over popular music, John Byrne Cooke was at the center of it all. As a member of D. A. Pennebakers film crew, he witnessed the astonishing breakout performances of Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix at the Monterey Pop Festival that June. Less than six months later, he became road manager for Janis and her band, Big Brother and the Holding Company, and from then on, Cooke was a constant presence behind the scenes as the woman called Pearl took the world by storm. This intimate memoir spans the years he spent with Janis, from Monterey to Europe, Woodstock and Festival Express. Cooke tells the whole incredible story as only someone who lived it can. INCLUDES PERSONAL PHOTOGRAPHS Shipping may be from multiple locations in the US or from the UK, depending on stock availability. Seller Inventory # 9780425274125
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