Muses and Paintings

21 November 2010

The Muses were the daughters of Mnemosyne (Memory).

Calliope is the muse of epic poetry. Homer and Virgil appealed to her for her help in writing the Iliad, the Odyssey and the Aeneid. Clio is the muse of history. She is often depicted with a volume, a lyre, a cithara, a lute or a guitar, so we in Big Brother love Clio. Euterpe is the muse of lyric poetry and she often carries an aulos or a flute.

Melpomene is the muse of tragedy. Terpsichore (choral songs and dance),

Erato (her name comes from Eros) is the muse of love poetry, and so we songwriters honor her. Polyhymnia protects the hymnist, the religious song maker. Urania is the muse of the study of heaven, astronomy and astrology.

Thalia is the muse of comedy. She oten carries a comic mask.

Now the Muses are preparing for a ritual.

This is Brice Marden’s version of The Muses. Brice Marden who befriended me once when it counted, he and his wife Helen.

Mousa in Greek means a song or poem, so the Muses are all about the sung word, the spoken word. There are no muses for the plastic arts, painting and sculpture. I have had to dream my own set of Muses with their Muse names, not their human names. Alexandra Aschmann, for example, is a Muse of sanity and reason.

Alexandra exhorted me to paint ¡Escógeme!

Aline Aigner is a droll, merry woman. She looks like a piece of Coptic Art.

Aline gave me the happy thought to do this oil on panel.

Bärbel Brandl’s coloring and her attitude are very engaging.

I was imitating Bärbel’s “color” in this painting All of Us.

Beate Baier is always inspirational. Highly intelligent and amusing, she is one of the most creative goddesses I know.

Beate persuaded me to paint my ancestors at a party.

Carina Così (Lovely Thus, this is her Muse name, not her human name) is a great artist, warm, witty and alive.

Carina asked me to do a portrait of her sister, Andressa.

Cybille Copp is very bright and she is a visionary.

So, when Cybille asked me to do a canvas about where i paint everyday, I took some time and tried to paint everything in the room.

Danie Depner wanted to see what the people in Aroma Café looked like.

So I did this painting to show her.

Daniela Dietz, her Muse name, not her human name, remember, wanted me to do an honest self portrait in oil.

It has always been difficult for me to ignore a request from Daniela.

Elisabeth Eisen also has a keen sense of humor. Her name Elisabeth means “house of God,” and Eisen means “iron.” She has been an inspiration to me since I have known her. Her own paintings are accomplished and interesting. I love them and I love her.

Elisabeth, my favorite Muse, asked me to paint the early Big Brother in oil.

Eva-Maria Ernst is all about the power of music.

Eva-Maria inspired me to paint Peter dancing with Dave as I played.

Florine Fabrizius, this Muse’s name, loves Caravaggio, whom she inspired when he was alive.

I have always admired Caravaggio’s circular composition, and, to learn it truly, I copied it and put Elise and me in there.

I did this portrait of Elise because Franziska Föttinger made me do it.

I toned a canvas and used a piece of charcoal to draw this beautiful woman.

Gabrielle Gagi, her Muse name, not her human name, paints beautiful canvases in a very individual style that is so satisfying. I love her work.

Gabrielle moved me to do this oil of Elise and me

Giselle Günsel is elegant, chic.

Then why would Giselle, the Muse, give me the idea to do this version of these five musicians? She obviously has a taste for the singular.

Hannah Hass has so much discernment and perception for one of her tender years. She pointed out to me the essential character of each of us in Big Brother.

“Now,” she said, “let’s have you interpret this in a vivid manner.”

Hanni Reinmuth who is a divine and almost incorporeal Muse inspired me to do a portrait of Zwanda with musicians in her heart.

This was a work of love, since Zwanda has been my model for years.

Happy Holzinger is a Muse daughter of Clio and she loves the singing of Vera Thomas who performs in Las Vegas.

“Draw me an image of Vera,” Happy ordered, “and make it look like her.”

Henriette Heißbauer is this Muse’s name and she has a pointed intelligence and a keen analytical mind. Henriette induced me to portray Big Brother as Mount Rushmore. Maybe she had just seen North By Northwest.

So, I chose this round panel and painted the version of the band that includes Sophia Ramos and Ben Nieves. Did the artful Henriette encourage me to limn Peter Albin as he was in the 1960s? Hmmmm, I  must take this up with her.

This Muse is Ilse Ismaili and she is a fey sprite indeed.

Ilse likes Hieronymous Bosch and she knows I live in San Geronimo, which is Spanish for Saint Hieronymous, so she urged me to put Elise and me into a Bosch type painting.

Jana Juritsch in Aroma Café. I don’t know her human name.

Jana spurred me on to do this loving couple in oil on a panel.

Katrin König is such a good artist. She knows her materials and techniques and she is the real thing, a great painter. So I listen closely to any suggestion she has.

Katrin said, “Why not put The Virgin of Guadalupe in a painting you’re doing? She has been the Mexican Muse and inspiration since she was an Aztec princess.”

Kerstin Klemp is a novelty seekinng and mischievous Muse, easily bored.

Kerstin said, “You paint all these portraits and you never do anything remotely abstract or design conscious, as, for example, Brice Marden does.”

Here i just went straight to the point and did a painting of Lena Lachner, just to see what this particular Muse of Painting would have to say.

“You have depicted me well enough,” she noted, “I like the movement, and the overall conception.”

Lindii Loidl has a public face. She enjoys life. Then there is her private self. Lindii is an altrovert, inner and outer directed, balanced.

Lindii said to me, “Paint my public self and my private self at the same time?” I will title this work Tatemae Honne, which means ‘Façade and Real Sound’ in Japanese. The inner person and the outer, political persona that we all have.

Manuela Mössenböck just told me about her voyage on a flying trapeze, where she had to trust someone completely when that someone said, “Let go!”

Nadine Naß  marveled at Manuela, and said, “Paint her brain at the moment she is saying, ‘Yes, I will fly with you and trust you to give me direction at the most crucial moment.’ “

Miriam Mülders, my unlikely Muse of metallurgy, said, “Why not do a painting of Elise in her welding gear?”

Elise has always had a fascination with heavy metal.

Olga Ortner began thinking of the local Muses in San Rafael, California.

“Paint them,” she asked, “they are your native deities.”

“OK, Apollo,” Petra Prentner cracked, “paint yourself, your inner self.”

“You mean sketch all that confusion, that doubt, that self questioning,” I answered, “I’m not sure I’m up to that.”

Raphaela Raubal pointed out that I had already painted Zwanda many times.

“Why not portray her again and her ex boyfriend Musa? Such a great name, Musa, do a painting of the two of them, and then put in some of Zwanda’s artwork.”

“Here’s an idea,” says Birgit Braun. “Do a drawing of one of us Muses. Adriana, for example.”

Birgit is an exceptional Muse. She looks a bit like the Muse Thalia here. I did the drawing of Adriana with a Conté crayon and wrote some Japanese.

Giesele Gräshafter is an imaginative, scintillating Muse, and she urges me to do the unparalleled and unprecedented.

I tried to capture Giesele’s mood and élan here.

Monika Mayerhofer is serene, tranquil and she has a self possession that is very attractive. Monika is her Muse name.

I did this drawing in colored pencil to capture how placid Monika was.

Natasche Nerstheimer, sweet, lovely Muse.

I tried to portray Natasche’s sister in sanguine.

Sabrina Schönleitner is an avatar of Terpsichore and she wanted a quick, gesture drawing of dancers.

I hope Sabrina will like this, because I dashed it off very rapidly.

Samira Spießberger is a practical Muse, so I asked her a very concrete question. “Which one of you inspired him to write that book? Was it Clio?”

“Do me a drawing of him,” she replied, “and I might tell you.”

Saskia Schadt is a Muse of sculpture and she helped me plan a work.

To please Saskia, I did these sketches of Deborah on roofing paper.

Thalia Tillman is a Muse of comedy, but she is so lovely that it rather undercuts her humor at times.

Thalia gave me the incentive to complete this image of Janis Joplin.

“Come on,” do something a little unusual, “ declares Theresa Thallhammer. “I’m tired of everything so sweet and orthodox.”

“OK, OK,” I said, “I’ll do me as I really am.”

Ursula Unterberger likes the work of Edvard Munch, and, in fact, she inspired him to do his most famous work, The Scream.

Thus, I thought I would do a modern scream, or maybe it’s just Peter, Dave and Sam singing.

Valbona Pfeil tells me to do a painting in the style of Lucian Freud.

“Show a little boldness and daring. Do it!”

The comely and graceful Viktoria Veit has a yen for skulls. Who knew?

“Viktoria, will you accept this, oh, divine Muse?”

Wilhelmina Weiße is an odd name for this dark angel Muse, but, remember, for all of these deities, I am not using their human names, but only their Muse names.

Wilhelmina caused me to paint Meagan McCauley, who is an excellent singer and a beauteous human being.

Xenia Xiphos has inspired me in so many ways for years. Her art is beyond excellent and she is a person of probity and value.

“Draw a hand,” Xenia directed, “just a hand, nothing more.”

Yana Young, delicate, refined, a well favored Muse.

“Do a pencil sketch of you and Peter and Dave.”

Zandra Zeke, the gamin Muse, nomadic seraph of the streets. She murmurs, “Draft for me a naked woman, sculptural, sepulchral, well constructed.”

Thank you, Zandra, and thank all of you Muses for your help over the years.

And thank you too, to Max Clarke, who took many of these photographs.

Sam Andrew

Big Brother and the Holding Company

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It’s A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood.

14 November 2010

Steve Brown took this lovely photograph of Janis.

I could have met Stela Mandel at this engagement, but, no….

The very lively Cathy Richardson.

Marin: Lizards in the summer, Salamanders when it gets cooler.

Elise au naturel.

Janis at her house in Larkspur. She was once the pool champion of Avenue D.

If Tom Cruise lived in East Texas, he might look like this.

Basic human decency, rock and roll version.

Two and a half years old.

Elise when she was modeling. Sarasota, Florida. 1980s.

Mary Bridget Davies. Very intelligent, smart as can be. Funny. Strong.

Kate Russo and Peter Albin in Koh Samui, Thailand.

My sister Lillian and my father.

See? I told you she knew how to play flügelhorn.

Janis had an angular, jabbing kind of writing style. Sharp as she was.

Moondog, serious classical composer, author of All Is Loneliness.

Tom Finch and Tara Coyote. Glamorous and amorous.

Nick Gravenites, a very happy unidentified woman, and John Cipollina.

On the cover of the Rolling Stone, Italian style. Good photograph.

We learned Ball and Chain from this woman.

Elise took this dawn photograph of the Wörthersee in southern Austria.

Tim Braun and Woo Salazar in the Kansas City, Missouri, Love, Janis.

278 West 11th Street, NYC. I lived in the West Village for almost ten years.

McNear’s Beach, I think. Janis, Peter, Dave, Sam. Total madhouse.

One of the many appropriations of Robert Crumb’s great idea.

We played with Steve at The Shoreline Amphitheatre a couple of years ago.

Karen Lyberger, glassical scholar, Hawaii.

Merl Saunders, Barry Melton, Norton Buffalo, shot by Don Aters.

The Hummingbird that Janis first played Bobby McGee on. Beautiful guitar.

I remember these vehicles.

Joan, Karen, Elise, Hawaii.

This was quite a gig.

Big Brother in Kyoto. Tom Finch, Duffy Bishop. 1996?

Just another night backstage.

Shanghai Elise.

In this manicured England, we were at the Bein Inn. Not like a Be In.

The top of San Francisco. Fisherman’s Wharf. Aquatic Park. The Marina.

Aspects of Elise. 1980s.

Max Clarke, peripheralist, photographer extraordinaire.

Carla, Elise’s mother, and Edd came to Scotland when we played there.

Almost two.

Dave Getz, Hawaii.

Regensburg, Germany 2003.

Kathi McDonald and Bob Mosely.

The Pik Ass Playroom.

White Plains, New York.

With my brother Dan in Austin. 1980s.

I wonder how many times I’ve played Piece of My Heart?

Elise is singing.

Getting ready to go to Okinawa the first time.

Do I look proud to be with these people? Sophia Ramos and Ben Nieves.

Chad Quist, Lisa Mills, Todd Vinciguerra. This was a good band.

With Kathi McDonald. Seattle.

Sam Andrew

Big Brother and the Holding Company

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Dunsmuir and Leggett, California

12 September 2010

Dunsmuir and Leggett, California

This is a photograph by Donna Patterson of Mount Shasta. She has her top blown off (the mount, not Donna) because she is one of the Sisters in the volcano belt. Some of her sisters are Mount Hood, Mount Rainier, Mount St. Helens. I was on the road with Pearl Heart (don’t ask) somewhere near Vancouver, Washington, standing in my motel room, shaving with the door open, when I heard a loud boom. That was Mount Shasta’s sister, Mount Saint Helens blowing her top.

So, not to be theatrical or anything, but here we are in Dunsmuir practicing for the show, which will be on a baseball field, a baseball field that has felt the mighty step of Babe Ruth and heard the preppie cadences of John Fitzgerald Kennedy, who said, “This Dunsmuir water is the finest that I have ever tasted.”

I’m not sure that Nat Cole was ever here in Dunsmuir, but Elise and I turned on the television and there he was in a film called Cat Ballou. Completely ridiculous. Mr. Cole, one of the greatest jazz pianists, and you know how he sings, was standing there in overalls with a banjo and singing country songs. So postmodern. Jane Fonda, Lee Marvin. Really out there.

We’re working on Ball & Chain here. Almost got it.

Me giving Tom Finch some pointers on how to play his solos.

Peter telling us what our Dachshund will do to us IN THE NIGHT.

The Attack of the Fifty Foot Woman. Stefanie Keys, ladies and gentlemen.

A force of nature. Encouraging, positive, alive, vibrant, OK a little goofy, and a joy to be with.

Some of the lovely Dunsmuirians. Ryan Marchand is the good looking one.

Kat Patterson doing an unforgettable rendition of He Who Smelt It, Dealt It. Please note extremely correct toe articulation.

We left Dunsmuir, which is very far north in California, drove down to the Colusa Clearlake exit, and took Highway 20 west to join Highway 101 north and drove to Leggett in Mendocino County. This was a marathon drive and Elise did it with skill, charm and aplomb. The Peg House has a sense of humor and so, ha, ha, they decided to put this mock up police car in front of their place. That’s to get everyone to slow down, see?, so that they might come in and spend some money. Ha, ha.

Tom Finch was truly playing some beautiful guitar on this trip, and Stefanie made me very proud. She is getting better every gig. She’s smart, she works, she’s happy…what a woman!

With Amélie and Chris. I’m trying to get Amélie to give up smoking, so this is a subliminal message.

Arianna Antinori, my irrepressible friend who is Roman but now lives in Vicenza, Italy, which is not that far from Belluno, the home of my dear friend, Dario Da Rold. Look how beautiful Arianna is. She will sing some songs with us when we play in Vicenza.

Shiho-san (Superfly) came and sang with us at Woodstock (Bethel, NY) and I just loved her. This is an interview/article with her in Japan Times.

Elise and I had such a good time on this trip. Lots of laughs, fun to see new things. I love this woman.

Sam Andrew

Big Brother and the Holding Company

5 September 2010 – À la Recherche du Temps Perdu

À la Recherche du Temps Perdu



I painted Samantha Gorton and her sister Sarah, and already, of course, they have changed so much. Samantha did a drawing of me that I keep in my paintbox. Very good.

The last time we played on Hawaii. Elise’s ancestors were nobility there. They are always mentioned in early chronicles of the Islands.

December 1940. Headlines from the Brockton (Massachusetts) Enterprise, written on the wall, much as they are in China today. An earthquake? In Massachusetts? Italians should oust Mussolini? Prescient.

A film noir image, n’est-ce pas? Nothing like holding forth about yourself in a lecture hall. I can always see every skeptic in the audience saying, “Oh, please, give me a break.” It’s like Tom Brokaw saying “The Greatest Generation.” We all have to think that where we are is special, when, really, where everyone, is, shall be, was, has been is special, now and forever. That’s the real secret. And, by the way, all sentient beings are included in this also, not just human beings. Life is precious. La de Da.

Case in point. Apologies to my brother Dan, a Buddhist in Nashville, but here is Nam Hyo Ren Gei Kyo written out in very stylized Japanese kanji. This almost looks as if a Westerner had written it. Anyway, a good message.

Lee, Bill, Sam, early 60s. I talk to two Italians every day who teach me a lot about their language and culture. One of them is Frank Bertolli, who is a Big Game Hunter, as is my brother Lee. Frank has a very large room on his property, devoted to his trophies from every land. Dario, our friend, says that when Frank dies, he should be stuffed and mounted in this very room in the act of shooting these other stuffed mounts. I can’t wait to introduce Lee, my brother, to Frank, who is a very good and a very rich man. They will get along so well. Meanwhile, Dario and I will cower in the corner, saying, “Aren’t they so masterful and so powerful over their environment.” Or, we may be just enjoying some of the intricacies of Italian language and how it relates to English, one never knows, do one? I’m the tallest here in this photo, and now I’m the shortest of these brothers. Do you suppose that means anything? Have I taken a wrong turn into plant eating, when I could be chowing down on quadrupeds? Maybe it’s just age, yeah, yeah, that’s the ticket. This is a singing group actually. The Three Androids with their latest hit Oh, Baby, Won’t You Horse Around With Me?

What? You mean Oh, Baby, Won’t You Horse Around With Me? is not on this setlist. Oh, come on.

This is what the music for a dance in Oklahoma looked like in 1939. And this is what it was for so much of human history. My grandfather and uncle played on their porch around this same time, near Devine, Texas, and this is what it looked like to me, and the music was so beautiful, real, magical. I’ll never forget it.

This was such an interesting place to play. Halle. Formerly East Germany. When we checked into hotels here, I would look around the stale, pale olive rooms and try to imagine lives that had transpired there, not so long before. All of that misdirection, waste, idealism, hope, truly altruistic notions that had taken place in the Communist Era, all of that, so lost, misinterpreted, all those lives, lived in pursuit of that Ideal. I could just feel all the longing when I lodged in such a room. Overwhelming. Sad. I wanted to pull them all into now.

Bye, Bye, Baby.

RARE photograph with my mother. Handsome dad. South China Sea. Lillian, Dad, Dan, Bill, Mother, Lee. I learned to swim in this Sea about twelve years before this.

Glenn Herskovitz thinks that I play a “psychedelic” solo on this. OK. If that works for marketing, so be it. Sounds like a blues solo to me, but, eh?

Sister Lillian and my father, both beautiful, yes?

Jane Fonda, always interesting, courageous. I had a missing with Jane once. Always to be regretted. She is a national treasure.

I drew this hand in St. Petersburg, Florida, waiting for Wendy Rich to come and write songs with me.

Big Brother and the Holding Company are going to Dunsmuir and Legget, California, this week. Stefanie Keys and Tom Finch are coming with us.

Sam Andrew
Big Brother and the Holding Company

Sunday 29 August 2010 – Paleography

Paleography

Hey, we are going to play in Dunsmuir, California, on a date easy to
remember, 11 September 2010 and we would are looking forward to
seeing old and new friends there.

If Ellen de Generes had ever lived in East Texas, she might look like this.

Sarah is going to have a baby in September, and that is going to be one
beautiful, intelligent girl. Sarah and Don Graham, mommy and daddy.

The reason I am sitting here now. My father was transferred by the
United States Air Force from Okinawa to San Francisco. I still go out to
Hamilton AFB occasionally to walk the flight line and remember.

At The San Francisco Theological Seminary which is in San Anselmo,
oddly enough, with Big Brother and the Holding Company. I’m going to
paint this image someday, only in an extreme Expressionist style, which
it clearly deserves.

Burg Herzberg, Germany, getting down with Lisa Mills. 2001

Chet Helms sitting in L’Atelier Doré, his gallery on Pine Street, San
Francisco. Below is Darby Slick. I remember when we all saw Hard Day’s
Night together at the Surf Theatre, an art house out in the Sunset District,
San Francisco, maybe 1965.. All of us in the cinema together, Charlatans,
Airplane, Big Brother, all taking it in, what The Beatles were about, what
songwriting was about, how beautiful the tunes were, what rock and roll
celebrity was about, how to laugh at the whole thing. We were all there
studying, learning, becoming who we were. Thank you, John, Paul,
George, Ringo, Richard Lester. What a good film you made.

We are going to Europe again this October 2010.

Emily Lazare’s sculpture class, College of Marin, Kentfield, California,
maybe 2005. I learned so much with Emily, and I worked with all of these
wonderful people.

I met Elise in Sarasota, Florida, 1994, and she belonged to a coterie of
artists, most of whom attended Ringling Art School, a very good
institution. Each person was more beautiful and more talented than the
next. Sandy, Danielle, Julie, Elise and Kathy.

One of the odder Big Brothers. Dave, Sam, Peter, OK, but Lisa Battle,
very good singer, and Les Dudek, super guitar player, Southern mode,
Allman Brothers, lived with Cher, big star, from Ocala, Florida, that
Southern thing, you know? This is a rare Big Brother photo.

Kathy McDonald, me, Nick Gravenites at The Greek Theatre in Berkeley,
California, maybe 1978.

Elise in Death Valley. This was some kind of sacred, special moment for
us. I don’t know why, but there it was. We still have some of these stones
at our house to prove that what happened to us there really happened to
us there.

Two of my favorite people, Rob Fordyce and Danny Uzilevsky. David La
Rocco I met in Pahoa, Hawaii, where we did some playing.

Well, here comes Fall.

Sam Andrew
Big Brother and the Holding Company

Interview With Sam Andrew, Part 1

I was able to catch up with Sam Andrew at his home in San Rafael, California. It was a hot July day when we sat down and talked. And talked we did. I should have called this a conversation with Sam. Yes I had done all my homework. I had read all the books, interviews, articles that I could find on Big Brother and the Holding Company. Sam had even photo copied some he had saved.

Some of my Internet connections even e-mailed me with questions to ask Sam. Nothing I had done prepared me for the interview, which follows. The reason is that once Sam and I started to talk, it was as though two old friends had gotten together. We needed to catch up with what has been happening. Sam is a gracious host and man with a great memory. I am glad that we covered as much ground as we did.

We went beyond Sam’s Big Brother days with Janis, on into his solo years, only to return to Big Brother that we know them today. Make no mistake about the fact that Big Brother is back. With on going concert tours and a new CD, which just came out, titled “Do What You Love”, Sam is more active then ever.

I’d like to thank Sam Andrew, Chuck Flood, Ed Chester, Todd Bolton and the man who transcribed this interview Bill Delaney.

John Barthel

J. I was just wondering, as a first question, if we could go way back to when you were a teenager. I don’t know if you went to high school but when you were a teenager in your formative years, what kind of music did you enjoy?

S. Well I went to high school on Okinawa. It is now a part of Japan. It is one of the prefects of Japan but then it was a part of America. It is… was like a territory. We got it from World War II. My father was stationed there twice. I went to kindergarten there and I graduated from high school there and that’s were I had my first rock and roll band called the Cool Notes. In that band I was lucky enough to have two horn players who had come down from Tokyo with their fathers. One was fourteen and the other was sixteen. The fourteen-year-old was a prodigy. He was something approaching a musical genius. Now he plays in the studios in London. He does like alto sax work for everybody; you know David Bowie and everybody who comes through. They were big influences on me, they listened to a lot of classical music and that kind of thing. I had been listening to a lot of black music. Little Richard was a big, big influence on me and Chuck Berry and Bo Diddely. It was kind of guitar oriented, although Richard plays the piano. I was really into that because I had been living in the South for most of my childhood and had just come from, in fact, San Antonio, Texas. Where all of the Mexicans and low class whites, like I was, would listen to southern black blues music. There were a lot of big radio stations that came out of Nashville. Which you must know about. Joe Rio.

J. Right

S. So I was really in that black thing and when these horn players came down they exposed me to a whole…. Like to Benny Goodman all of the big band tradition because they were horn players. We wrote a lot of songs, which at that time was very unusual. This is the late fifties. This is like 1957. We had a band and we played at teen clubs and we made a lot of money. We had a weekly television program on Okinawa. So those would be the two things. It would be like southern black blues, a real strong thing, and then these horn players, coming from Chicago and exposing me to all that.

J. So you were playing to Military teenagers and young adults?

S. Yeah, to offspring of military personnel and military personnel themselves. We would have that weekly show that was like American Bandstand only it was on Okinawa. On that island everybody was military so all of the grown up jobs couldn’t be done by grownups because they were all in the service. So all of those jobs fell on us including our band doing that weekly television program. I had friends who were like disc jockeys on the radio and editorial cartoonists and that kind of thing. It was a fun spot to be at sixteen.

J. So how did you get off Okinawa?

S. My father got transferred back here. We’re in San Rafael California. He was transferred to Hamilton Air Force Base, which is just a little north of here. That is why I am sitting here today because he came here and I went to the University of San Francisco, which was right on the edge of the Haight. So that is why I was here really, because he transferred off the island.

J. You were about the right age to break away from your folks?

S. Yeah! That was my first year of college when I came back. So yeah.

J. You mentioned you were playing with the Cool Notes? S. Yeah.

J. Did you start off playing the guitar?

S. I started off playing guitar. I played piano and saxophone and wrote music but mainly I am guitar player and I played guitar in that band. In those days, that was the late fifties, you may remember this John. You could get away with playing two sets of chords. One set was the blues chords. You could play a lot of songs, mostly anything fast could be played with that set of chords, and that is three chords. Then there was another four set of chords and that was: C, A minor,
F and G7 and those chords you use for a ballad. Any slow ballad like: “You Send Me.” or “Maybe” any of the Doo Woop tunes. Those two sets of chord changes you could play a lot. See I learned how to play in about three months then I was in a band, you know, playing all the time.

J. Pretty much self-taught?

S. Yeah, entirely I have never had a guitar lesson. I have given a lot of guitar lessons, but I have never had one and I wish I would have. Usually when people say things like that you think they are taking pride in being this untutored thing but if I would have had guitar lessons I would be way better. I would encourage anyone thinking of learning guitar to look for Omaha Guitar Lessons so they can learn the basics and build from there. I wish I would have started out. I mean, the first violinist of the Cleveland Symphony still takes lessons probably once a week from somewhere. They know…classical musicians know you should be educated.

J. I was going to ask what are your earliest recollections of writing songs, but you pretty much have said that.

S. Well… Yeah! Except that I wrote them from when I was six years old. I would play a broom and all kids do this. My daughter did it. Any young child will make up songs at the drop of a hat with a melody and everything. All the words come out and it makes sense. But they forget that kind of. You have to keep doing that or you forget it. Just like drawing. All children are fascinated by drawing, you know. They all draw. And they draw the most incredible things and they forget how to do it because they don’t keep doing it. So the first tune that I wrote was called “Sweet and Innocent” and it was to a girlfriend I had at the time on Okinawa. It had those chords: C, A minor, F and G7 and it was like a slow romantic thing. That was it. We wrote a lot of tunes in that band, unusual for that time.

J. When you first started going to college and hanging out next to Haight. What was the Haight like? Everybody hears about Haight Ashberry and the early … what?. You’re talking sixty-four maybe?

S. No, I am talking sixty now.

J. Sixty OK. What did you find there? S. In 1960 I lived at 251 Ashbury. It was just on the other side of the park, but it was still. I was living on Ashbury in 1960. It was real quiet. It was a student neighborhood. It was kind of, perhaps, a blue-collar neighborhood. Just real quiet… one of the many neighborhoods
of San Francisco. There was nothing special about it. I think probably…it actually became something because rents were low and also University of San Francisco was there. Lone Mountain, which was a girls school was there and then San Francisco State was kind of,…on the other side of it. So maybe a lot of students were in the neighborhood, but mainly it was just low rents. J. Yeah, I read that it was low income or low rent like you said.

S. Yeah, It wasn’t poor and it wasn’t even shabby or anything. It was just kind of a respectable quiet neighborhood. It was nice. Still is. Still great. I really love the Haight.

J. So how did you get plugged into the music scene in San Francisco?

S. Well! In school I led the pep band which is pretty ridiculous because there is no music at USF. It is a Jesuit men’s school.. That was to a keep a hand in , on that kind of music with horns and that. I led that band. That was the age of folk music… you know? The Kingston Trio had popularized folk music with the Weavers. Everybody was doing it… Odetta. Joan Baez. It was a big deal. Pete Seger, Bob Dylan, he was still very much folk. He hadn’t started really writing yet. We were doing that. We would gather in student apartments and play the stuff all night, then go out and sleep off the red wine in Golden Gate Park. It was a really nice existence. We would have a lot of fun playing and singing all night and you know we just lived these songs. It was really fun. It was in some ways a more intense musical experience than it is today. It went on…that folk thing… went on until 1963…64 or something. Then I went to Paris where I lived a couple of years and played there a little bit and came back just in time for that explosion that happened at that time.

J. What took you to Paris?

S. My father was over there. He was a little outside of Paris, but my brother went over there and lived right in Paris. We went to the Sourbonne and spoke French to each other. Which is unusual for a couple of Americans and we had that great Parisian….you know, I was like 18 or 19. It is paradise to be in Paris when you are 18 or 19. You know? Had a lot of good times. Visited all the museums of course. I had a lot of friends who were French. Who were painters and that kind of thing. I really enjoyed… I felt very bohemian and with it. I came back and I don’t know why. I thought I was going to stay in Paris forever. I had become really frenchified. I had the identity card and the whole thing. I just thought I was going to stay. I don’t know why I came back but I did. Just in time for this.

J. That brings us to probably when you started hanging out, I forget the address….1090?

S. 1090 Page. Yeah! That was shortly after that….that I came back. Yeah! Maybe within a year. I was walking down the street, on a day very much like today. Which is very sunny and blue and I heard some guitar playing coming out of a window of this Victorian. It was really good. It was really, you know, this really
loose natural blues style. I went up there and it was Peter Albin. I had to climb up there… all those stairs… all the way. There were no doors that were locked in those days to any of those houses. You know? I went all the way up until I found him. I just thought he was so great and I talked to him for a while and he was….he wanted to write children’s songs. He had written a couple. Which we later did in Big Brother by the way, like Caterpillar. He wanted to write those and travel all across the nation and sing those to children and that kind of thing. He was taking care of people at Camp Meeker. I said, “We ought to form a band. I play”. He was kind of…Naa! At first. I had to work on him…a couple of months. I would go over there all the time. We would play down in the basement.
Slowly a band started to coalesce around that. That is where the Blue Yard Hill thing started. That was one of it’s early names, it was called the Blue Yard Hill.

S. It wasn’t my idea.

J. I had read that you had quite a group of people coming in and out. Jamming or playing there.

S. Yeah!

J. I also read that Chet Helms somehow got involved in that mix.

S. He got involved. He visited all of those Victorians in town. Everybody was kind of associated with one of those houses. Like there was some on Pine Street, where Bill Hamm and the first light show that ever was in the world… was. James Gurley was over there at one of those houses on Pine Street. The Family Dog started up. But Chet visited all of these. He was like a bee going around gathering this pollen, you know, and spreading the word… kind of. Yes, 1090 Page was one of those places he visited. He had the idea of charging admission , for when we would jam down there. We had all kinds of people. We had black people from the neighborhood. These really slick guys with the hat and the matching suit. All the way down to what would be called the hippie now and wasn’t called that then and folkies. It was a real mix of people. It wasn’t one kind of person. They would come….seems like it was every Wednesday night, but I can’t be sure of that, but Chet would charge money. Peter and I were kind of the nucleus of the stage band. Gary Duncan came by with John Cippolina and we just thought they were so cool. They already looked…. You know John Cippolina had that rock and roll star thing down from day one. He just looked the part. They came over so we were kind of like, “Ohhhhhh! those guys are serious”. We played Suzy Q with them. I remember that…real early.

J. Were you plugged in at that time when you were jamming?

S. Uh, yeah, we were plugged in, yeah. I don’t think Peter and I ever played acoustic. I think from day one we plugged in when we were down in that basement. I think so. I mean I would bring my acoustic over and play with other people in that house. I came over and played classical music with a guy who was down on the first floor. He played recorder and we did a lot of Bach and eighteenth-century music. I played jazz with some of the people on the upper floor, but Peter and I were electric from day one. He didn’t play bass for a long time. He played guitar.

J. And you had drums?

S. Yeah, eventually we got drums after thinking about the logistics like the best drum kit wrap to put on top. In fact, we got our first drummer there too, Chuck Jones. That was quite a scene down there, but quieter than you would think.

J. How long did that go on? In the basement?

S. That is a good question. Maybe like… about a year , or something,. Because James came to that basement, you know, the guitar player we finally got… came. Chet brought him down to that basement where we were. That is where we had the first full blown Big Brother rehearsal… I guess.

J. I had read that James had taught himself the guitar. He was really into John Coltrane. If you take that and your interest in black music, what kind of music did you play? Did you cover other peoples songs or do originals?

S. Yeah, we did covers. We did a couple of Little Richard covers that I sang. Peter sang Summertime which is ridiculous to think of him singing it. We had that song when Janis came to the band. She didn’t say, “I want to do Summertime”. We were already doing Summertime. It was probably because it was a song we could do. We did, That’s How Strong My Love Is, by Otis Redding. We did it because the Stones did it. We said, “Wow, Mick Jagger really can sing.” I mean… because that is a hard song to sing. When you try to sing it… you go… “wow it is really hard” ! He could sing. He could sing better than we thought he could sing. Just like that. We did a couple of folk tunes. We did… I Know You Rider, which the Dead wound up doing allot, but we didn’t do it because the Dead were doing it. We did it for the same reason they did it, because it was a folk song left over… that we all liked. Peter did… Blind Man , which is an old gospel thing. We did a couple of his children songs. I started writing songs right away. We built up a repertoire right off.

J. At what point did you leave the basement? I guess the word might be… and go public?

S. Yeah! Now that is a good question. Cause well…we did that first Big Brother rehearsal. That was James and Chuck Jones and Peter. Dave never came to that house, so we were out of that house by then. I am not sure what the reason…. Peter’s uncle owned that house… maybe it had come time to sell it or something. For some reason everyone had to move at a certain point. I can’t remember… John. I’ll have to look it up.

J. About what year are you talking about?

S. This is like…65 …that I got together with Peter. I think it was in the Spring and we practiced all through that and really by 66 we were a full fledged rock and roll band. I am not sure. Maybe we were rehearsing on Henry Street at Mouse’s Studio by then. By the time Janis came we were like the third rock and roll band in the city or something. There was Quicksilver, Airplane and us… and that was about it.

J. Exactly, I had heard you had played the Trips Festival, but I also read that you opened your very first concert was at the Open Theater in Berkeley. I got this somewhere out of my many publications.

S. Hmm! That sounds right.

J. And then after the Open Theater in Berkeley, you did a Trips Festival.

S. Yeah! I don’t remember the Open Theater gig at all. I wish I did. Who was it with?

J. That is all… that is the only little tidbit.

S. I remember the Trips Festival with total clarity, because it was so amazing.

J. Do you want to share some of those thoughts?

S. Yeah! Well! Where it was? It was in the Longshoreman’s Hall, which is a union hall. Which is down by Fisherman’s Wharf. So right away it is in a really strange place, for all of us. It is not some place we would ever go near. It is like this tourist thing…you know? I still see it today and I wonder, “why did we ever play there”? It is this concrete geodesic dome kind of thing. Total concrete…all hard surfaces. Out of all the places for us to have had that, I wonder why it happened there. I am going to have to ask someone one of these days.

J. I heard the sound in there…because of the concrete…just bounced off the walls.

S. Yeah, it was really odd although that added to the psychodelicness, if you will, of the whole thing. It was a trip for all of us just to get there. It was way away from the Haight. You know, so we all went into this strange environment. That was when Bill Graham was first coming up. He had this clipboard and he was running around with the clipboard, ticking off things and yelling at everyone. I thought, “What is he doing here”? First of all…it is in this strange place and then here is this monster running around terrorizing everyone. He doesn’t even know what we are about. Why is he here? He really stood out. He had short hair. He was like… you know, doing his Bill Graham thing, which we all came to value very much later. But it just looked like an awful thing. I tried…I guess we went to there… one the week before that…Big Brother wasn’t playing…and then we played the one the week later. The next one or something because I went in and our drummer was handicapped. He was dragging his leg behind him. I said, “I am Sam Andrew from Big Brother”. The guy said, “OK,! You can go in” and I said, “This is our drummer, he wants to come in to”. Oh yeah! It was Bill Graham at the door and he said, “No way he can’t come in. No way. No way”. I leaned over and said, “You’re a motherfucker”, and he just went blaaah!…and exploded. We had to get Chet to come and calm him down. He was going to murder me and then throw me out of the building. Only later did the other shoe drop and I realized what had happened. Just right before that Ken Kesey had let in about fifty people in the back the back door. You know, the Merry Pranksters, which he still has a tendency to do and he had done that and Bill had just really flipped out about that. So right after this…here I am…doing that.

J. So he was looking at charging? He wanted to make sure people paid to get in.

S. Yeah, and we needed someone to do that. At first it just seemed he was this horrible thing, contrary to everything we were working for. Here he was…in the flesh. Right in the middle of our thing. You know. What is he doing here?

J. I believe the order goes…that Janis hadn’t joined you guys and you were already playing at places like the Fillmore?

S. Yeah, and the Trips Festival, she wasn’t at that.

J. Family Dog?

S. Right.

J. When you were playing these places, it was mostly instrumental…I understand. Is that right? I was just wondering what your thoughts were on those? Especially the two, the Fillmore is always held up as one type of a place and the Family Dog, the Avalon, was held up as another.

S. More in retrospect, I think. I think they were more similar than we thought . It is just that Chet ran the Avalon and Bill ran the Fillmore. It was fun to play that music. It was really a lot of fun because there wasn’t any precedent for it. The kind of songs we would do with Janis later…that was more common. We joined a tradition…then when she came to the band. Then we became, like conventional musicians. But right in that beginning phase, it was really experimental. Very experimental. We would try anything. Any sound that would come out. Just use anything at all. It was a lot of fun. It was a necessary period for us because it loosened us up. She came just about at the right time. We had had about six to nine months to experiment with that stuff. It would be just like you putting any color on that canvas. No plan….

J. Actually that is how I started painting.

S. Yeah, Me too. I have painted too and I started that same way. It is good to do that for a long time and see what results are good. That is what we had had… a little period of doing just that…just before she came to the band, because we couldn’t have done that with her. She wouldn’t have stood for it. No singer will stand for that. You know? Musicians just playing anything they want and being kind of anarchic.

J. I read one of the articles you gave me which said …the singer is structure.

S. I sing myself. I don’t like to have someone going brbdddddrrrr over here… when I am trying to remember what the bridge is. You have to remember all the words. You kind of want a band, to kind of behave it self. It is real different being a singer from being a player.

J. Can we back up just a minute?

S. Sure.

J. How did you come up with the name Big Brother and the Holding Company?

S. Well, that again was Chet…gave everything to the band. I mean, he gave the band the vision. He brought James to the band. He brought Janis to the band. He brought everybody. He really did a lot for that band and one of the things he did, was write down a lot of names on two pieces of paper. Ridiculous names. They all were ridiculous, just like Big Brother is ridiculous. On one of the pages he had Big Brother and the other he had the Holding Company. Big Brother was… because of George Orwell and it’s the government. So it’s kind of ironic…if a rock and roll band takes that name. The Holding Company…you know…is like a childish witticism. Holding at that time meant… do you have any drugs. Someone would say, “Are you holding, man”? You knew it meant…do you have any drugs? “No! I am not holding now but maybe later”. So it was the Holding Company. We all thought that was like…really witty, because it is also like a conglomerate that owns a lot of smaller companies. Like Johnson & Johnson is a holding company. So Big Brother and the Holding Company kind of fit, because it is the government. It kind of had a sound, or a feel. So we just thought, “let’s put them together”. And then someone with a practical turn of mind said, “Well… maybe that is too long for a record label”. We said… “Ah! We’ll worry about it when the time comes”. It was just that. Chet had the list. He had Roy Rogers and the Electric Sandwich and just a lot of silly sixties names. I am glad we didn’t get a name like Moby Grape though, which doesn’t make any sense for that band at all. It doesn’t describe their music. It is the punch line to an old stupid sixties joke. What is purple and weighs thousands of pounds? Moby Grape.

J. Oh! OK!

S. It is a totally ridiculous name. So we could have wound up with something like that.

J. Chocolate Watch Band?

S. Yeah! Strawberry Alarm Clock. Yeah! J. The idea that…I have read over a lot of years…was that someone perceived the need of a strong vocalist. You decided to go towards a female vocalist, because of the influence, or success the Airplane was having with Grace Slick.

S. And Sing.

J. Is that pretty much the way it was?

S. Yeah! That is pretty much the way it went. Although I wanted that sound…more like Peter’s kind of thinking today. That is probably what it was. He was probably looking at the Airplane…were by far the most successful band. They had that woman singer. Peter and I sang, but we didn’t sing that well. We knew we kind of needed a singer. I don’t know how the idea that it should be a woman…I mean who else was playing at the time? Quicksilver didn’t have…and the Dead didn’t. The Dead did with out it, but that was a bad decision.

J. But they were the only ones. But they were the most successful.

S. Yeah! J. Did you ever consider a male vocalist prior to Janis?

S. I don’t think so. I am sure if we would have happened on one, we would have done it. But I don’t think we did.

J. So did the group asked Chet to go look for a…

S. Yeah, or we kind of probably were sitting around talking about it and probably Chet said, I know someone I went to school with, Janis at U. T. in Austin. She can really sing. Then he sent Travis Rivers down to get her and he did. He brought her back.

J. So then you rehearsed and got to know each other?

S. Yeah, that was on Henry Street. That was in Mouse’s Studio in San Francisco. He brought her in. People were asking questions at the Lark the other night. I really wish I would have got this question across. They were going, “How did you feel when you first heard Janis sing? Weren’t you bowled over?” I mean, the questions all had that kind of tendency. It was really the other way around. We were the established rock and roll band. We were heavy. We were like: all right, out of three or four bands in this city, we are one of them. we’re in the newspapers all the time. we’re working out. We are doing this woman a favor to even let her come and sing with us. She came in and she was dressed like a little Texan. She didn’t look like a hippie she looked like my mother. Who is also from Texas. She sang real well but it wasn’t like, “Oh we’re bowled over.” It was probably more like, our sound was really loud. It was probably bowling her over. I am sure we didn’t turn down enough for her. She wrote letters home about how exotic all of us were. The names of the bands. That kind of thing. In other words, we weren’t flattened by her and she wasn’t flattened by us. It was probably a pretty equal meeting. She was a real intelligent, Janis was, and she always rose to the occasion. She sang the songs. It wasn’t like this moment of revelation like you would like it to be. Like in a movie or something. It wasn’t like, “Oh my God, now we have gone to heaven. We have got Janis Joplin.” I mean she was good but she had to learn how to do that. It took her about a year to really learn how to sing with and electric band.

J. I have read that the first time you were at the Avalon. Big Brother played and they brought her out. The crowd wasn’t prepared. She did only a couple of songs I believe.

S. Yeah.

J. And I got the impression everybody was going, “What do you think you are doing here?”

S. Well, Peter says that. To me she sounded great I thought she went over. I think the crowd liked her. Maybe some people went up to Peter and James maybe, and to be honest, I think they were both prepared to here these comments too. They would say, “What are you doing with that chick. You are going to spoil your sound.”

J. What did the early critics think? The all important San Francisco Chronicle?

S. Well, you know, I think they liked her right away. We would have to go back. If they even wrote us up at all. But, I didn’t hear any of that get rid of Janis or anything. I thought she was successful right away in what she was doing. She sang a couple of folk numbers. She probably sang I Know You Rider and certainly sang Down On Me. The crowd liked it. They applauded, definitely. It is possible that some of them….Well, if Peter said they did, they did. He doesn’t lie absolutely not. We had this road manager, David Richards. He loved our sound and our approach. He probably saw that thing right away. That a singer will screw that…..what they are going for a singer will screw that up. That is true she did but obviously it was a trade off. We got a great thing for it. The ability to work with a great artist which she is.

J. Well, you said earlier about having to be more structured…..so that is what you are talking about?

S. It was the end of that. I mean we had an idea for a tune. I am not sure if we had this…. but we would put bacon in a hot plate on an amp and plug the hot plate into the amplifier and play the song until the bacon was cooked and then we would stop playing the song and eat the bacon. Now Janis is not going to put up with that.

J. Oh! OK!

J. You did that live in front of people?

S. Uh, I would like to say yes. I think it was like a thought experiment or something. I am not even sure we did it in rehearsal but we had a lot of things going like that where we would play real loud and because of the strange sounds in that it would shift into a different gear and kind of levitate and go somewhere else into intuition land. It was a lot of fun but you can’t do that with a singer.

J. These were long numbers you were doing then?

S. Yeah, Like a set long. One song per set.

J. One song?

S. We did that many times.

J. How long would a set be then?……an hour?

S. that’s another thing, like some times an hour and a half or forty five minutes but it was long. The crowd put up with it because they didn’t have anything better. They knew we were doing something new and they appreciated it.

J. It almost sounds like a performance piece, huh?

S. Yeah, I think it was. They were legitimately performance……we went in with some real early synthesizers a lot of times and used those way before they were commercially available. We changed the sound. That kind of thing.

J. Are you aware of the legend of the Red Dog in Virginia City?

S. Yeah, very much so.

J. I had read you had went and played there for a while.

S. Yeah.

J. How was that?

S. It was great. I went up there. We drove up and it was a long trip in those days. I am going to take Elise up there. We are going to drive up there one of these days. I love that Virginia City. It was great to go an old ghost town. I don’t know how well you know Chuck Flood but he is an expert on ghost towns…….

J. Yeah, he shared that with me.

S. Western America. That was fun for me. Going to see where the Chinese lived. They had their separate place. You can really still all see it because that desert is so dry it just preserves it all. It was kind of all there. I doubt if it is so much today but you could walk around and find little intimate things that they had dealt with in their daily life. It was real exciting, that part. The Red Dog was really……that was really a trip. There were all of these little rooms in kind of a saloon. Mark Twain was one of my favorite writers, definitely. He had been a reporter right in that very little town. It was just so small. That is where he started……I mean really started his writing career at the Territorial Enterprise in Virginia City. It was a lot of fun to be there. To be in this weird place….you know, things happened a lot like that in those days. You would drive hundreds of miles and you would come to this little spot and there would be a lot of, sort of, forward looking people, right in this little town. Cheek by jowl with rednecks and all kinds of other people. That made it a lot of fun. There were a lot of artists there and crazy people. The Charlatans had done the first gigs there. They opened it up. It was a lot of fun, very experimental. Cowboys would be grabbing, James and my, our ankles. Saying like, “Get off that stage. What are you doing up there playing music?”

J. They didn’t throw anything at you, did they?

S. No…once I came in smoking a bowl of marijuana and the waitress said, “Is that pot? that’s the sheriff is right over there.” He was a really big guy with guns on and stuff. I do not know, why I did that. It is not like me. I usually don’t do things like that for some reason I was feeling like it was loose. You know, hundreds of miles from civilization but that wasn’t the case.

J. In fact I think I remember the Charlatans having a problem with drugs up there. They were either driving up there or driving back and got busted and they had drugs in the car and kind of put an end to that.

S. You know that would……Big Brother sailed through all of that completely. I think I know why, because Peter didn’t use drugs, our bass player, at all. He was kind of the authority figure in the band. Everybody kind of instinctually, still, follows Peter. If he will turn right walking everybody will go that way. I was saying the other day, “I have been following Peter all of my life.” He knows were he is going and he plans it well. He has a real great sense of direction. that’s probably why, you know, because we used a lot of drugs but he was kind of the father figure and we were keeping it from him just out of respect. Not hiding it from him but not rubbing his face in it. So it probably keep us kind of clean. We never got busted. We never had any of those things that rock and roll bands are supposed to have. Those horror stories and….

J. Well that kind of leads into a question that I have down here. A lot has been said that psychedelic music came out of the drugs, especially LSD. What is your comments as far as Big Brother?

S. I think so. I think it did for all of the bands. I really do. I don’t think it is a crutch. It just showed us….it kind of opened up our minds a little bit. Made us really aware of color and texture and that kind of thing. Those things all exist in music also. It is another layer. It is hard to relate. We experimented with all that a whole lot. I wouldn’t say we were addicted, but we took them a lot. There’s a fine line between being a drug user and being addicted to drugs, but unfortunately a lot of people struggle to find the right balance and they end up being addicted. We knew a lot of people back in the day who ended up with terrible addictions. One of our closest friends ended up in a drug rehab san diego center. He was a terrible state, but he made a full recovery thanks to the rehab. We were never like that and things never got that bad – we just used to experiment at times to open our minds up. Of course, back then we didn’t know much about what was safe. Nowadays we can look up articles like https://mushroomz.co/how-to-take-shroomz/ and figure out for ourselves if that’s the sort of route we want to take to open up our mind to the music.

J. Do you think you would have developed the whole style of music from San Francisco if it wasn’t for drugs?

S. I have often wondered about that. It is a good question.

J. It surely would have developed into something else.

S. Yeah, you know there were all of these movements in San Francisco, right from the beginning. Right in 1849 there was a Gold Rush. that was a huge nationwide movement but then Mark Twain and Brett Hartt and all of those people came. There was a literary movement in the twenties…the Beatniks. Those things all happened without drugs being a major part of them. So San Francisco has always had these movements and it would have probably had that hippie thing but you just can’t divorce them. Drugs were an intimate part of it.

J. When you were there at the Red Dog, that was prior to Janis joining? do you know?

S. I guess it was. Yeah, I don’t think she ever went to Virginia City. That is too bad. A lot of her friends were there. People she had known her in another life and stuff. There was some of the Texas people were there. But yeah, that’s right. I guess we didn’t have Janis yet.

J. She is famous for her, is it Jack Daniel’s?

S. Yeah, and Southern Comfort.

J. Southern Comfort that was the stuff. So she was more into alcohol?

S. Yeah she was. Her famous line about pot, and it is a true one was, “You know I don’t like to smoke pot because it makes me think.” First of all, she is a thinker. she’s a big time thinker. She is highly intelligent and she thought abstractly allot and it probably made her think more. That is probably the last thing she needed while trying to sing. It will jog you out of a rhythmic groove you have in life, pot will, if you smoke it and your not used to it. It will make you think and you can’t go in that groove any more. It makes it kind of uncomfortable maybe because you reexamine everything. She didn’t want to do that. She didn’t want to reexamine everything. But we took acid together in Yosemite one time. We had a really good time. And another time in Vancouver we were both dosed by the Dead. It was a full moon and we sat out on the beach all night and watched this moon move across the sky. It was really a beautiful experience. It was just great. It was like two friends…talked about everything. It was really great. Both times I took acid with her were real pleasant.

J. I had very good strong, feelings from all of my reading that you and Janis were indeed very close friends.

S. Yeah, it wasn’t sexual the way until brief sexual episode way at end of our relationship, just before she died. No we were just like really good friends. Real good, allot to say. We had a lot of laughs. She was good for a lot of laughs. She was a great person. She was a lot of fun to hang out with. She was real smart and interested in everything. I could kinda have a real conversation with her. It was great.

J. Would it be fair to say you were probably closest to her of all of the members of the band?

S. I think each person was close to her in their own way. So she was real close to Dave. She was real close to James. I was with her physically in the same room more often than anyone in their life during that period but each person kind of had their own thing with her. She and I would write a lot of the tunes. We would make up the set list. Stuff like that. J. How did you come up with the set list? Especially after she joined. It kind of open a whole new world for you. S. Yeah. It was great, yeah. You mean as far as the material?

J. How did you chose what you were going to perform?

S. Well, it just happened. We had a lot of….we had like two hundred tunes in rotation, an immense number of tunes. Dave found a list the other day. it’s astonishing, some of them I don’t even remember. I can see the titles but…….we were doing a lot of……we were rehearsing eight hours a day in Lagunitas which is a little north of here. We just swallowed mounds of material and digested it. We let a lot of good songs go. When I see a lot of them today, I go, “Why did we ever stop doing that? That is a great song.” A song I would like to resurrect again is Road Block that Peter did in Monterey Pop Festival. It was a really good song I would love to do that again. But I don’t know. We would just hear songs we liked on records or we would hear someone and we would say, “How about doing that tune?” and we would bring it in.

J. You mentioned Lagunitas. That is a question I have. Did you actually live together as a extended family?

S. Yeah, yeah, it was in one house. Someone rumored that it had been Teddy Roosevelt’s hunting cabin but I don’t know if that is true. That is what it looked like, like a Victorian hunting lodge. All made out of wood. It was a beautiful house. Everybody came in real early and staked out the bedrooms they wanted to get you know. This is a problem with communal living. I got there and there was no bedroom left. I said, “Ah, what am I going to do” and I walked around the house and there was a little cabin around the back. I thought, “Well, I am going to live in that.” That turned out to be the place to live. Everybody was really mad that I got that. J. Because of privacy?

S. Yeah, by myself out there. I wrote a lot of songs out in that little cabin. I wish I lived there now.

J. Mentally I picture a wooded hillside with a Victorian on it. Is that so?

S. Yeah, very much so. With unfinished logs on this real long porch. A beautiful house, really beautiful. We got it for some ridiculous rent, even extrapolating to today it was real low rent. We all lived there for quite a while and rehearsed every day as only young people can do. There were had no bills, no taxes, no family, no children. I mean Peter had a child but basically everybody focused like a laser on that task we had at hand. We made immense progress doing that.

J. Big Brother decided to go to Chicago and I guess you had a residency for a while at a night club (Mother Blues).

S. Probably our only one if ever in the whole career. This club had hired us, I think, for six weeks to play there. This is the Midwest were they have a work ethic. People actually work for a living and stuff. They wanted us to play six sets a night. Still I have never heard of a band doing that since out here but probably it was a standard for in old days especially with black bands. The people just play all of the time. With the Sam Andrew Band I go out and play all night. We start at nine thirty or something and go till two o’clock but we take long breaks. it’s easier because we know we are in for the long haul. We are not straining and stuff you know. That was Chicago and the Midwest glorified and they wanted six sets a night of us, you know, of Janis and all of us. It was really a boon for us because it made us really have to work to do that and get that done every night. I think it was six nights a week. So that was a good thing.

J. She ran the full six weeks?

S. I am not sure if we did because the money ran out. The club owners didn’t live up to their side. We lived up to our side. We played six sets a night but they ran out of money or something. They had second thoughts. It turned bad. They were not only weren’t going to pay us anymore but weren’t going to pay our trip home. So all of a sudden we’re stranded in Chicago which was really something in 1966.

Life Is Like A Journey


My first journey in life was very beautiful and warm. I was a zygote and I remember the trip to the womb as if it were yesterday. I swam through a pink tunnel, gorgeous, wet and so attractive. The journey felt as if I were pulled along for what seemed like days when I entered the palace of the uterus. What a place. Everything you could want was there. Gas, food and lodging, so to speak. It felt like coming into a hall of miracles after days on the road. I was growing so rapidly and I felt very expansive. There was a wild sense of possibility. Now I’m a blastocyst being pushed along by the soft cilia, so lovely, that line the Fallopian tube. God, what a trip. Just as I thought that I was going to crash into a wall, I seemed to merge with it. I just melted into this new place as if I had been there all my life. This was the first of many, many stops in life where I would feel this melting into a strange surrounding. Melting there with no pain and no anxiety.

I stayed in this palace for quite a while and enjoyed it with a kind of ecstasy that I haven’t felt since. When my mother and father had sexual intercourse like they were a part of an adult content website like https://www.tubev.sex/, I felt as if I were in a kind of super Jacuzzi being shaken up and down and every way. I was so happy that I sucked my thumb and tried to dance a couple of times. Not much room to turn around in a uterus, though.

After all of this, being born was rather anticlimactic. Mother’s cervix opened to about the size of a grapefruit (everything in the woman’s body is about the size of a grapefruit) and I pushed my face out into that overly lit operating room and thought, “Well, all right, something new.” I was manhandled a bit, being broad shouldered and all, but I was happy to move on, and everyone was very kind and encouraging, both to my mother and me.

After those two journeys, one through the Fallopian tube and the other through the birth canal, nothing of real importance happened until puberty. Carl Jung, Joseph Campbell and tribes of humans through time have stressed that adolescence is a time when our real self, or our psyche, goes through a death and rebirth. All I can say is that they were understating the case. I mean, I became a teenager in San Antonio, Texas, and you don’t want to do that. Death Texas style was having to attend a dance where Mexicans and “Anglos” (guess who they were?) hated each other. Yes, I know, too stupid for words, but, what do you want? This was the 1950s and it was dangerous. Not like in the movies. Everyone was carrying guns and knives because they didn’t know what else to do.

The “rebirth” part of Carl Jung’s scenario came when my father was transferred by his Air Force superiors to an island called Okinawa. The real name of Okinawa was Heaven and now my journey was to Asia.

Think of Hawaii with no tourists and no commercialism and you begin to have a slight idea of Okinawa as it was then. The phrase “unspoiled Shangri-La” doesn’t begin to describe the island. Besides this there was a lot of status, employment and paychecks for people our age, since all of the adults were soldiers and soldiers’ wives who had no time to be newspaper reporters, musicians, disc jockeys, editorial cartoonists, entrepreneurs, sales representatives, poets, artists and all of the other things that we adolescents became by default. Heaven is too mild a term for Okinawa. It was some golden, empyrean Paradise that we entered through the Torii, a special gate constructed by the gods for people who were being reborn.

From Okinawa I came through another Golden Gate to San Francisco where I entered a university and studied very hard. I loved being in the library and buried myself there on a journey of the spirit into classical realms that I had not dreamt of before this.

The next bon voyage was to Paris, the Sorbonne, and the Alliance Française. In the City of Light I felt the thrill of walking where so many others…Charlemagne, Abélard, Rabelais, Erasmus, Voltaire, Pasteur, Balzac…and all of those beautiful women…Héloise, Jeanne d’Arc, Joséphine, Sarah Bernhardt, Isadora Duncan, Colette, Brigitte Bardot, Anouk Aimée…had walked before. I dreamed in the same places that they had dreamed, heard the same sweet birdsong, saw the startling green of the leaves turn to crackling brown in autumn, les feuilles mortes. I turned the dead leaves of the books in the stalls along the Seine, just as these people had. I felt the same frisson of being alive and young in the most beautiful city in the world.

Something pulled me back to San Francisco as strongly as I was pulled through the Fallopian tube when I was a zygote. I journeyed home, a blastocyst again, and implanted myself in the uterine wall of San Francisco, never, really, to leave again. Only in dreams.

Now, the 1960s and limousines, and New York, and Janis Joplin, jazz, Roland Kirk and seeing Mingus over and over again at the Village Gate, and hairy, hippy times, media circus, wild, joy, writing one song after another, can’t wait, glorious, flash bulb popping Amyl Nitrate, Chelsea Hotel, Warhol, Edie, Joe, Larry Rivers, ridiculous, artistic high, spiraling into the Max’s Kansas City night, yelling happy, Life Magazine, Sony Tape Recorders, Columbia Music, God, I love it, velvet, silk, lace, delicate groupie, drinking, thinking, stinking, all wide open possibility, cells dividing, multiplying, LSD, vistas enlarging, Helen and Bryce Marden, out on the margin, Larry Poons, Minimalist Art in the front and Pop Art in the back, one Rauschenberg after the other Oldenberg, and, oh, yes, Heroin. Our Heroine. Who left us lying on the floor and asking for more. Death and Rebirth, yes. Just like Jung. Jung and easily Freudened as Joyce said, what on earth? Well, at least I got a Gold Record out of it. And a cheap shot.

Then in the 70s I took a trip to school. Quiet, quiet school. A time to reconsider and go back to the calm theory. I studied harmony, counterpoint, conducting with a great sensei in New York. Bewitched by writing a symphony and many other pieces for all kinds of instruments. If I heard an instrument playing in the street, I would go home and write a piece for it. I followed Bartok and wrote some rock and roll string quartets where the notation called for pulling and scratching the delicate instruments. When I heard these pieces I was as astounded as anyone else by the journey they told.

Return to the uterus of San Francisco and learn the saxophone and play jazz in a quartet setting with a shaved head and a sense of mission. This took ten years.

Then, our Big Brother and the Holding Company band takes up its itinerary again. What a surprise. We come to Japan and see that the Japanese people are not all the same but are quite individual, each from the other. We see the Japanese as severely intellectual and totally trivial at the same time. Refined and trashy. Discriminating to such a degree that it is a pleasure to watch and yet the Japanese will absorb anything and quickly too. Mentally and physically these Japanese are so different from each other, that it is fatuous to make any general statement about them. I love them for reasons that I cannot even tell myself.

Now, I am doing theatre. My journey has come to the playhouse where there is a story about Janis Joplin. I train the orchestra to play her songs and we will do this in New York and London next. I am the zygote and I move through this Fallopian tube of life, cells dividing, learning and being fascinated with this journey to the final womb.

Letter To Janis – Sundays With Sam

                                                Sam Andrew and Janis Joplin

Remember the day when Otis Redding died? You called me and your voice was trembling. I had never heard you like that before and you seemed so forlorn. We met at your place and played all of Otis’ records. It was a good night because we honored the man but now and then you would get a troubled expression on your face and I knew that you wanted him to still be there and that you knew he could do so much more if he had only lived.

Well, guess what, Janis? Tonight I am sitting here with a glass of wine in my hand after playing a song that we wrote together a long time ago. I am thinking a lot of you and it is making me happy, but, you know? There may be a slightly troubled expression on my face. You were a good friend to me and I wonder what you would be doing if you were still here and playing your music. I know one thing for sure. We would be laughing a lot right now. You were one of the funniest human beings I ever knew. You had a way of expressing yourself that was original, picturesque and Texan, raw and wry. You always sounded like home to me.

What about that time our band Big Brother and the Holding Company was backstage at the Fillmore doing a photo shoot? Remember that? I was playing a Stratocaster through a small tuning amp and you were opening a bottle of champagne. I think we were actually writing a song at the same time, one that we played together for a long time. You weren’t doing such a great job of opening the bottle though. The cork flew out of the bottle neck and bounced off the guitar neck. The lost cork playing the lost chord. We found a new lick that day. I still have the photographs from that session and even see one in a book now and then. There is champagne all over the floor and we are all laughing as hard as we can. God, that was a fun session. One of those days when everything seems right.

I liked the jazz standards that we did together and would have loved to do an entire album of them just for a pleasant sidetrip. We only had the chance to do Summertime and Little Girl Blue but they turned out rather well, didn’t they? You really were on your way with Little Girl Blue. That night at Columbia studios in New York when you got the phrasing right and made the song your own in such a strong and tender manner was a chilling experience. Suddenly I realized that you could sing anything you wanted to and that you could probably sing it really well. This made me want to find an aria from one of the great operas and hear you interpret something in a bet canto style. Later I adapted one of Donizetti’s beautiful songs Una Furtiva Lacrima for Big Brother and we actually performed the tune for a couple of years. Every time we did I wish you could have been singing it with us with all of that power and style a la Joplin.

Well, Janis, I have just returned from Santa Barbara where I played with Peter Lewis from Moby Grape and John McPhee from the Doobie Brothers. We had a good time. Peter really writes some quality songs and he has a classic voice. John is a perfectionist, totally unassuming and a lyrical guitar player with a great ear. Remember when he was in Clover and they used to open for us? Huey Lewis was in that band and he was just the harmonica player. Alex Call was the singer. We have done a couple of projects together. I remember that Clover’s road manager used to try to get fifty dollars for them when they were playing with us. Fifty dollars for the whole band. I think I helped him once and they seemed so grateful. Then Huey went on to make gazillions with Mario Cipollina and friends. Life is funny. You should have stayed around to check it out and laugh at it a little bit. Where are you, Janis?

Oh, yes, I almost forgot. Peter reminded me of one date when Moby Grape and Big Brother were playing at the Fillmore and you had a crush on Bob Mosely who was a great singer and who looked like a blonde surfer boy­dude from Southern California. You chased him all the way out on to the fire escape a couple of floors above the street and had him cornered. Peter says you almost shoved Bob over the side. You totally intimidated the man and he was not usually intimidated by anyone.

You were a strong woman, my dear, and I will never forget you. You came into our black and white lives and they instantly turned to color. You were my best friend and I will always love you. We learned a lot together and even better we laughed all the time. Even when any sane person would be crying. I miss you every day but not in any tragic way. It’s more like I feel lucky to have spent the time with you that I did and to have had a woman friend like you.

Here’s hoping we meet again.

Janis Joplin and Sam (no further description for Sam) rehearsing on a California motel patio in 1969. Photo by John Bryne Cooke

Bay Area Blues Women

We all know that Chicago is a home of a certain type of blues that came up the Mississippi and lodged in the Windy City. It gave Chicago a shot of adrenaline and an edge. That blues is from the deep South of course, from places like Mississippi itself and also Alabama and Georgia. However, the there are many types of blues and the Bay Area (San Francisco, Oakland, Berkeley) is home to another blues tradition – delivered to California from Texas and Louisiana.

Natives of these states, many of them holding on to their musical heritage, came here after World War II. The soldiers who disembarked from the Pacific Theater liked what they saw in the Northern California hills and decided to bring their families to the Golden State. They had a choice in the matter at least. Earlier, before the War, the dust storms of the thirties blew many people right out of Oklahoma and Texas all the way to California. They were perilous times for Woody Guthrie’s family, but imagine how much tougher for the African-American family during the thirties. California was touted as the promised land in flyers and leaflets distributed throughout the Texas-Oklahoma region during the Depression and people were ready to believe them. Going anywhere was better than choking on red dust at home, but California seemed to hold a special promise.

When many of these “immigrants” arrived in the Bay Area they naturally gravitated towards Oakland where there were jobs in the various defense industries. The Southern Pacific Railroad tracks ran right into West Oakland mere yards away from the doors of some of the soul food restaurants, places of worship, and blues clubs today. It is obvious that quite often people merely set up housekeeping right where they got off the train.

The juke joints, clubs and roadhouses in this part of Northern California were often just a little larger than someone’s living room but some remarkable women sang the real blues in them. They included Your Room, the Cozy Den, the Deluxe Inn Café, Eli’s Mile High Club, the Three Sisters and the Last Deposit. These venues in West Oakland and the Shalimar Club and Larry Blake’s in Berkeley saw a real blues tradition emerge in the fifty years after WWII.

Maxine Howard played these rooms. She was a little scorpion who could sting you so you would know it. Slinky Queen Maxine put a lot of style and verve into her blues, and she had a taut and muscular delivery with a lot of sass. She made all the scenes including some of the ad hoc juice joints that would spring up now and then to finance someone’s rent woes or their latest bout with Uncle Sam.

Bobbi Luster often played the Deluxe Inn Café. She was the waitress there and she has a big voice which she often uses even now in the Holy Ghost Deliverance Church where she is a minister. She has this slow and relaxed way with a song, but she can get down when the occasion calls for it.

Zakiya Hooker knows many of these women and has worked with Sister Monica, Brazen Hussy (“Huzzy”), E.C. Scott, Ms.Taylor P. Collins, Lady Bianca and just about everyone in the East Bay blues world. Zakiya, the daughter of John Lee Hooker, can sing a mean blues herself even though her tastes are generally more eclectic. She injects her material with a lively, boisterous sense of humor and she loves her Oakland sisters.

Beverly Stovall can, and does, play the Hammond B3 with total confidence and aplomb. Her hands just land on the keys with no hint of effort. They are guided by a sure instinct and real soul. Ms. Stovall is a sweet, gentle musician with a deep respect for tradition combined with a no nonsense attitude. She often played at Eli’s Mile High Club which shut its doors in 2008. Eli’s may have been the most professional blues club in West Oakland.

Michelle Vignes a French photographer who lives in San Francisco has a book out entitled Bay Area Blues with many gritty images of this West Oakland scene. The shots are rhythmic in themselves, and they make you want to jump in the car, drive to Oakland and get out on the dance floor of Eli’s Mile High Club or indeed join the band on the stand. The scene was very embracing. Racially the bands were almost always mixed. The only requirement was that you know how to play.

On the other side of the Bay in Marin County there are two blues singers who became known elsewhere. Maria Muldaur came out of the folk milieu at Club 47 in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Angela Strehli, along with Lou Ann Barton and Marcia Ball, is mainly known for being one of three famous Austin based female singers. Strehli knows lives in Novato, CA.

Maria began with the Jim Kweskin Jug Band and she had a soft, tinkly vibrato less voice which changed radically as she matured and entered her Midnight At The Oasis period. Today she is a blues belter…the real thing with a big wide open Hot Mama style. Quite a change from the style of her youth.

Angela Strehli has more or less retained her Texas persona which was honed at the legendary Antone’s nightclub in the company of many great players like Jimmie and Stevie Ray Vaughan. She is leading a quiet life these days and doesn’t get out much but she can still send chills up your spine when she wants to.

One would certainly be remiss without mentioning the then and now reigning Bay Area Queen, Blues Diva, Sugar Pie DeSanto. The energetic Ms. DeSanto continues a prolific career, dazzling audiences everywhere. Sugar Pie grew up with friend and singing cohort Etta James in the rough and tumble projects of Hunters Point, San Francisco. Sugar Pie scored locally, and eventually nationally with recordings such as “Hello San Francisco”, “Slip-in-Mules”, (an answer to Tommy Tucker’s “Hi-Heel Sneakers”), and “In The Basement”, a duet with Etta James. Etta was largely responsible for bringing Sugar Pie to Chess Records. Sexy, playful and a commanding blues singer, Sugar Pie DeSanto continues to define the tradition of women blues singers in the Bay Area.

The Bay Area blues scene is very alive and evolving as we watch and listen. It is a pleasure to see these strong women sing in such a dynamic and colorful way.