Hear the Trippy Mystical Sounds of Giant Gongs

Grow­ing up I thought there were only two uses for gongs. One was for mak­ing one large bonnnnnnng sound for some­thing impor­tant, like the announce­ment of a roy­al ban­quet or the begin­ning of a J. Arthur Rank pro­duc­tion. The oth­er was as a weapon against car­toon animals–it would make a fun­ny sound and their heads would be turned into a pan­cake. How was I to know there was so much more to gongs, espe­cial­ly 80-inch wide gongs that cost around $27,000? Thank good­ness for YouTube, then.

The above video fea­tures Sven aka Gong Mas­ter Sven aka Paiste Gong Mas­ter Sven (it’s not very clear in the descrip­tion) very gin­ger­ly play­ing this mon­ster sym­phon­ic gong, coax­ing out of it men­ac­ing, echo­ing groans and wails straight out of a hor­ror movie.

Just a gen­tle stroke can cause the met­al to vibrate and feed back onto itself. Using a small­er mal­let pro­duces sounds like whale songs. That some­thing so large can make such a stun­ning array of tones, and react to such del­i­ca­cy is fas­ci­nat­ing. (Watch with head­phones on or a good sound sys­tem, by the way).

If that whets your whis­tle, here’s more gong action with musi­cian Bear Love, who man­ages to make his gong sound like some­thing out of sci­ence fic­tion, incred­i­bly creepy. If there’s a ghost sto­ry movie out there with a one-gong sound­track, I’d believe it.

Michael Bet­tine plays the same Paiste gong in a more famil­iar way, by whack­ing it with a big mal­let. It’s impres­sive, and he doesn’t real­ly hit it that hard. “You can feel your inter­nal organs being mas­saged by the vibra­tions,” he says.

Final­ly, Tom Soltron Czarto­rys­ki, slims it down to a 62 inch “earth gong” with its array of inden­ta­tions, and cre­ates a near­ly 10 minute ambi­ent work, which is one expan­sive dose of space music. Groovy and some­times stress­ful, fas­ci­nat­ing and all-encom­pass­ing. Enjoy!

(Note to self: Resolve to find a local giant gong and have a go.)

via Kottke.org

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Mod­ern Drum­mer Plays a Rock Gong, a Per­cus­sion Instru­ment from Pre­his­toric Times

Hear a 9,000 Year Old Flute—the World’s Old­est Playable Instrument—Get Played Again

Punk Dul­cimer: The Ramones’ “I Wan­na Be Sedat­ed” Played on the Dul­cimer

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the artist inter­view-based FunkZone Pod­cast and is the pro­duc­er of KCR­W’s Curi­ous Coast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

Radiohead Puts Every Official Album on YouTube, Making Them All Free to Stream

There are those who say that Radio­head was the last of the great rock bands before the inter­net crushed the record indus­try and pop­u­lar music frag­ment­ed into a pro­lif­er­a­tion of micro­gen­res. Maybe it’s fair to say some of those peo­ple have been hum­ming Radio­head songs since the band’s debut, Pablo Hon­ey, in 1992.

And maybe rock isn’t a thing of the past, it’s just evolved, thanks in no small part to Radio­head, who also helped ush­er in the very stream­ing and down­load­ing rev­o­lu­tion that killed the rock star sys­tem. They did so with sev­er­al ground­break­ing exper­i­men­tal albums that seemed to uncan­ni­ly coin­cide with major shifts in dig­i­tal tech­nol­o­gy.

Now you can stream all of those albums on YouTube, from Pablo Hon­ey to 2016’s Moon Shaped Pool. Revis­it not only the songs on their debut besides “Creep” but the albums that dev­as­tat­ed, then reshaped, the indus­try, and irrev­o­ca­bly changed the sound of pop­u­lar music.

Go back to 1997, after Win­dows 95 had put mil­lions more peo­ple behind a PC, and hear Radio­head decon­struct the sound of mas­sive gui­tar rock and reassem­ble it into a Futur­ist machine called OK Com­put­er. Oth­er bands were forced to reeval­u­ate their whole approach. The indus­try held on to the old ways for a few more years, but Radio­head need­ed to change as well.

“There were oth­er gui­tar bands out there try­ing to do sim­i­lar things,” said bassist Col­in Green­wood. “We had to move on.” Thom Yorke believed rock had “run its course.” Then came the dev­as­tat­ing dual attack of Nap­ster and Kid A, The shar­ing ser­vice sent labels into a pan­ic. By the time of the album’s release in 2000, it had been ille­gal­ly down­loaded over a mil­lion times.

Not only did Kid A “kick off the stream­ing rev­o­lu­tion,” as Steven Hyden writes at Grant­land, but young inter­net-savvy indie artists just begin­ning to put their own com­po­si­tions online looked to the record’s warped, glitchy dread for inspi­ra­tion, spin­ning its elec­tron­ic exper­i­men­ta­tion into webs of loose­ly-relat­ed genre hybrids.

As Yorke had pre­dict­ed, Nap­ster encour­aged “enthu­si­asm for music in a way that the music indus­try has long for­got­ten to do.” The indus­try began to col­lapse. File shar­ing may have been utopi­an for lis­ten­ers, but it was poten­tial­ly ruinous for artists. 2007’s In Rain­bows showed a way for­ward.

Released on a pay-what-you-want mod­el, with a “dig­i­tal tip jar,” the release was met with bemuse­ment and con­tempt. (The Man­ic Street Preacher’s Nicky Wire wrote that it “demeans music.”)  Two years lat­er, the jury was still out on the “Radio­head exper­i­ment.”

Yet it wouldn’t be long before both musi­cians and small labels start­ed sell­ing music through Band­camp, which debuted in 2008 with a sim­i­lar busi­ness mod­el, com­bat­ing pira­cy with a kind of online hon­or sys­tem that lets fans deter­mine their own slid­ing scale. (The “dig­i­tal tip jar” has become a stan­dard fea­ture of all online pro­mo­tion.)

Radiohead’s release strate­gies have allowed them to keep sur­pris­ing fans with rar­i­ties, like the sin­gle “Ill Wind” at the top, and Scotch Mist, a 2007 film in which they played songs from In Rain­bows for a New Year’s Eve web­cast (see “Weird Fishes/Arpeggio” fur­ther up). All of these are free to stream, in addi­tion to their nine stu­dio albums and re-releas­es like OKNOTOK, a remas­tered OK Com­put­er.

They may be fol­low­ing indus­try trends this time, espe­cial­ly the Bill­board move to include YouTube video plays in its offi­cial rank­ings. But in its scope, this offer­ing is unique­ly gen­er­ous, and allows a gen­er­a­tion too young to remem­ber “Creep,” Win­dows 95, and the shock gen­er­at­ed by Kid A to dis­cov­er the band’s evo­lu­tion and take it in even more rad­i­cal direc­tions.

via Con­se­quence of Sound

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Radio­head Releas­es 18 Hours of Demos from OK Com­put­er for a Lim­it­ed Time–After Hack­ers Try to Hold Them for Ran­som

The Secret Rhythm Behind Radiohead’s “Video­tape” Now Final­ly Revealed

The 10 Most Depress­ing Radio­head Songs Accord­ing to Data Sci­ence: Hear the Songs That Ranked High­est in a Researcher’s “Gloom Index”

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

The Singer or the Song? Ken Stringfellow (Posies, R.E.M., Big Star) and Pretty Much Pop: A Culture Podcast #23 Discuss

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is PMP-The-Singer-Not-the-Song-with-Ken-Stringfellow-400-x-800.jpg

What’s your rela­tion­ship to music? Do you just embrace the pure sound, or do you care about who made that sound? One way of see­ing where you fall on this issue is whether you care more for sin­gles or to whole albums or careers by artists.

Ken Stringfel­low, who co-fronts The Posies and was a mem­ber of R.E.M. and Big Star, joins Mark Lin­sen­may­er, Eri­ca Spyres, and Bri­an Hirt to talk about what actu­al­ly grabs us about music, whether being a musi­cian your­self is a key fac­tor in whether you pay atten­tion to the con­text of a song, how music gets to your ears, singers vs. song­writ­ers, what we think about the notion of “genius,” and how this artist vs. song con­flict relates to how we take in oth­er media (e.g. favorite film direc­tors).

The ideas for this dis­cus­sion most­ly came from reflect­ing on our own expe­ri­ences and habits, but we did some warm-up research into:

Lis­ten to Mark inter­view Ken on Naked­ly Exam­ined Music, pre­sent­ing specif­i­cal­ly some of his solo, Posies, and Big Star songs. After that was record­ing, Ken sang some har­monies on a tune on Mark’s last album, Mark Lin­t’s Dry Folk.

Oth­er ref­er­ences: “Mid­night Con­fes­sions” by The Grass Roots, Lil Peep, Tom Wait­s’s most pop­u­lar album, Lou Reed is not a one-hit won­der, the scene in Slack­er with a fan get­ting Madon­na’s pubic hair, Damien Rice is still work­ing, the band Live reunit­ed, REM on Sesame Street (no, Ken is not on cam­era), Ken being “world music” by play­ing solo in for­eign coun­tries.

This episode includes bonus dis­cus­sion that you can only hear by sup­port­ing the pod­cast at patreon.com/prettymuchpop. This pod­cast is part of the Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life pod­cast net­work.

Pret­ty Much Pop: A Cul­ture Pod­cast is the first pod­cast curat­ed by Open Cul­ture. Browse all Pret­ty Much Pop posts or start with the first episode.

Jimi Hendrix Hosts a Jam Session Where Jim Morrison Sings Drunkenly; Jimi Records the Moment for Posterity (1968)

Two psych rock super­stars at the height of their fame, both noto­ri­ous for epic drug and alco­hol con­sump­tion, and nei­ther par­tic­u­lar­ly suit­ed to the other’s sen­si­bil­i­ty, Jim Mor­ri­son and Jim­my Hen­drix might have been an odd­ly con­so­nant musi­cal pair­ing, or not. Mor­ri­son, the ego­ma­ni­ac, looked inward, min­ing his dark fan­tasies for mate­r­i­al. Hen­drix, the intro­vert, ven­tured into the reach­es of out­er space in his expan­sive imag­i­na­tion.

What might come of a musi­cal meet­ing? We know only what tran­spired one night at Man­hat­tan’s Scene Club in 1968, and let’s just say it didn’t go par­tic­u­lar­ly well. It seems unfair to lob crit­i­cism at a boot­legged, one-off, impro­vised per­for­mance. But that hasn’t stopped crit­ics from doing so. The record­ing has appeared under sev­er­al names, includ­ing Sky High, Bleed­ing Heart, Morrison/Hendrix/Winter (under the assump­tion John­ny Win­ter played on it), and as the very res­o­nant­ly titled Woke up this morn­ing and found myself dead.

Even­tu­al­ly, some anony­mous dis­trib­uter set­tled on Morrison’s Lament, “an apt title,” Ron Kretsch writes at Dan­ger­ous Minds, “if by ‘lament’ one means ‘drunk­en, form­less dis­charge of inane pro­fan­i­ties.” Mor­ri­son, it seems, invit­ed him­self onstage, and Hen­drix, who made the tape him­self, seems not to mind the intru­sion. At one point, you can hear him tell the Doors’ singer to “use the record­ing mic.” Some bootlegs cred­it Mor­ri­son for the har­mon­i­ca play­ing, while oth­ers cred­it Lester Cham­bers.

Hen­drix starts with his go-to blues jam, “Red House.” He’s backed—depending on which lin­er notes you read—by either Band of Gyp­sys’ drum­mer Bud­dy Miles or McCoy’s drum­mer Randy Zehringer. Rick Der­ringer may have played rhythm gui­tar. John­ny Win­ter report­ed­ly denied hav­ing been there, but the Scene Club was owned by his man­ag­er, Steve Paul. “Jimi was a fre­quent vis­i­tor here,” writes Hen­drix biog­ra­ph­er Tony Brown in the notes for a 1980 copy of the ses­sion. “He loved he atmos­phere and also loved to jam and as he always had a tape machine on hand, that night was cap­tured for­ev­er.”

That’s a very mixed bless­ing. “Some of the tracks kin­da kick ass,” writes Kretsch, includ­ing the effort­less­ly bril­liant “Red House” Hen­drix and band play in the first six min­utes or so at the top. Then Mor­ri­son steps onstage and begins to howl—sounding like a ran­dom ine­bri­at­ed audi­ence mem­ber who’s lost all inhi­bi­tion, instead of the eeri­ly cool singer of “Rid­ers on the Storm.” Maybe there’s good rea­son to hear Mor­ri­son bel­low­ing “save me, woman!” as a seri­ous cry for help.

But there’s lit­tle rea­son to take this per­for­mance seri­ous­ly. If that still leaves you wondering—what might have result­ed from a sober, well-rehearsed ses­sion between these two?—you’ll have to make-do with the mashup above, which con­vinc­ing­ly com­bines Morrison’s “Rid­ers on the Storm” vocals with Hendrix’s “Hey Joe” play­ing. Lis­ten at least until the solo at around 1:20 to hear Ray Man­zarek’s organ trick­le in. Now that would have been a great col­lab­o­ra­tion. If you every come across any boot­legged Man­zarek and Hen­drix jams, send them our way.…

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jimi Hen­drix Arrives in Lon­don in 1966, Asks to Get Onstage with Cream, and Blows Eric Clap­ton Away: “You Nev­er Told Me He Was That F‑ing Good”

Hear the Last Time the Jimi Hen­drix Expe­ri­ence Ever Played Togeth­er: The Riotous Den­ver Pop Fes­ti­val of 1969

The Doors’ Ray Man­zarek Walks You Through the Writ­ing of the Band’s Icon­ic Song, “Rid­ers on the Storm”

Jimi Hen­drix Plays the Bea­t­les: “Sgt. Pepper’s,” “Day Trip­per,” and “Tomor­row Nev­er Knows”

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him @jdmagness.

Blues Musician Plays a Soul-Stirring Version of “Amazing Grace” at His Mother’s Funeral


The Dust to Dig­i­tal Face­book page sets the scene: “Chri­s­tone ‘King­fish’ Ingram, play[s] an amaz­ing and touch­ing ver­sion of “Amaz­ing Grace” at the funer­al of his moth­er, Princess Pride, today. She was a great sup­port­er of her son, and would have turned 50 tomor­row.” Amaz­ing and touch­ing indeed. Make sure you play it all of the way through. And when you start the video, man­u­al­ly move up the vol­ume icon at the bot­tom right of the video.

In case it’s not already clear, King­fish is a pro­fes­sion­al blues musi­cian. You can catch his videos on Youtube, includ­ing this sweet ver­sion of “I Put A Spell On You.” Very sor­ry for your loss, King­fish…

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( 48 ) |

Traditional Inuit Thoat Singing and the Modern World Collide in This Astonishing Video

Let’s just get this out of the way…

Musi­cal­ly speak­ing, Inu­it throat singing—or kata­j­jaqis not going to be everyone’s cup of tea.

For all those who find this tra­di­tion­al form mes­mer­iz­ing, there are oth­ers who get antsy with no lyrics or eas­i­ly dis­cernible melody on which to hang their hat, or who expe­ri­ence the bleak sound of the Arc­tic wind cou­pled with the singers’ pre­lim­i­nary breath­ing as a hor­ror movie sound­track.

If, as a mem­ber of one of the lat­ter camps, you feel inclined to bail after a minute or so of Wapikoni Mobile’s Sun­dance-endorsed video above—you get it, it’s some­thing akin to Mon­go­lian or Tuvan throat-singing, it’s cir­cu­lar breath­ing, there’s a lot of pic­turesque snow up therewe beg you to recon­sid­er, on two counts.

1) In an era of auto­tuned “everyone’s‑a-star” per­fec­tion, Kata­j­jaq is a hearty hold-out, a com­mu­ni­ty-spir­it­ed singing game whose com­peti­tors seek nei­ther star­dom nor rich­es, but rather, to chal­lenge them­selves and amuse each oth­er with­out screens through­out the long win­ter nights.

Prac­ti­tion­er Evie Mark breaks it down thus­ly:

One very typ­i­cal exam­ple is when the hus­bands would go on hunt­ing trips.  The women would gath­er togeth­er when they have noth­ing to do, no more sewing to do, no more clean­ing to do, they would just have fun, and one of the ways of enter­tain­ing them­selves is throat-singing.

It goes like this. Two women face each oth­er very close­ly, and they would throat sing like this:

If I would be with my part­ner right now, I would say A, she would say A, I would say A, she would say A, I say C, she says C.  So she repeats after me.  It would be a sort of rolling of sounds.  And, once that hap­pens, you cre­ate a rhythm.  And the only way the rhythm would be bro­ken is when one of the two women starts laugh­ing or if one of them stops because she is tired.  It’s a kind of game.  We always say the first per­son to laugh or the first per­son to stop is the one to lose.  It’s noth­ing seri­ous.  Throat singing is way of hav­ing fun.  That’s the gen­er­al idea, it’s to have fun dur­ing gath­er­ings.  It is also a way to prove to your friends around you or your fam­i­ly that if you are a good throat-singer, you’re gonna win the game.

Throat-singing is a very accu­rate tech­nique in a sense that when you are singing fast, the per­son who is fol­low­ing the leader has to go in every lit­tle gap the leader leaves for her to fill in.  For instance, if I was to say 1 + 1 + 1 + 1, the ones being what I sing and the plus­es the gaps, she would go in-between the ones, singing on the plus­es.  Then, if I change my rhythm, this woman has to fol­low that change of rhythm and fill in the gaps of that new rhythm.  She has to be very accu­rate.  She has to have a very good ear and she has to fol­low visu­al­ly what I am doing.

Throat singing is not exact­ly easy on your diaphragm.  You are using a lot of your mus­cles in your diaphragm for breath­ing in and breath­ing out.  I have to find a space between sounds to breath in in order for me to throat-sing for 20 min­utes or more.  20 min­utes has been my max­i­mum length of time to throat-sing.  You have to focus on your lungs or your diaphragm.  If you throat-sing using main­ly breath­ing, you are gonna hyper­ven­ti­late, you’re gonna get dizzy and dam­age your throat.

2) The video, star­ring Eva Kaukai and Manon Cham­ber­land from Kan­gir­suk in north­ern Québec (pop­u­la­tion: 394), deflates con­ven­tion­al notions of tra­di­tion­al prac­tices as the prove­nance of some­where quaint, exot­ic, taxi­der­mied…

Begin­ning around the 90-sec­ond mark, the singers are joined by a drone that sur­veys the sur­round­ing area. View­ers get a glimpse of what their Arc­tic home­land looks like in the warm sea­son, as well as some hunters flay­ing their kill pri­or to load­ing it into a late mod­el pick up, pre­sum­ably bound for a build­ing in a whol­ly sub­ur­ban seem­ing neigh­bor­hood, com­plete with tele­phone poles, satel­lite dish­es, andgaspelec­tric light.

Via Aeon

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

The Hu, a New Break­through Band from Mon­go­lia, Plays Heavy Met­al with Tra­di­tion­al Folk Instru­ments and Throat Singing

An MRI Shows How a Singer Sings Two Tones at Once (With the Music of Mozart and Bri­an Eno)

How to Sing Two Notes At Once (aka Poly­phon­ic Over­tone Singing): Lessons from Singer Anna-Maria Hefele

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC for the new sea­son of her month­ly book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

 

Watch an Incredible Performance of “Take Five” by the Dave Brubeck Quartet (1964)

In 1959, pianist and com­pos­er Dave Brubeck “made one of the coolest and best-sell­ing jazz albums of all time,” writes Matt Schudel at The Wash­ing­ton Post. He did so at a time when dozens of oth­er jazz musi­cians were releas­ing career-defin­ing records that also changed jazz, almost overnight. Brubeck’s Time Out even­tu­al­ly became a “cer­ti­fied pop hit,” large­ly thanks to “the infec­tious qual­i­ty of its clas­sic instru­men­tal hit, ‘Take Five.’”

It is indeed rare for a song to become both a jazz stan­dard and an instru­men­tal so pop­u­lar that it’s cov­ered by dozens of artists in dozens of pop­u­lar gen­res over six decades, includ­ing some rev­er­ent ska and dub reg­gae trib­utes. “It has cer­tain­ly shown up in some unjazzy set­tings over the years,” writes Ted Gioia in The Jazz Stan­dard: A Guide to the Reper­toire. The song has been “rapped over and sam­pled, played by march­ing bands and sung by choirs… I am sure I will hear it on a cell phone ring­tone some­day soon.”

The orig­i­nal tune, com­posed not by Brubeck but long­time sax­o­phon­ist Paul Desmond, was adapt­ed into more pop­u­lar forms almost as soon as it came out. In 1961, Brubeck and his wife Iola penned lyrics for a ver­sion record­ed by Car­men McRae. Al Jar­reau adapt­ed this ver­sion for a 1977 record­ing on his Gram­my-win­ning album Look to the Rain­bow, which “intro­duced a new gen­er­a­tion of fans to this song. “

Over time “Take Five” may have “lost much of its capac­i­ty to sur­prise,” but “it can still delight.” That is no more so the case when we hear as it was orig­i­nal­ly played by the Dave Brubeck quar­tet itself, formed in 1951 by Brubeck and Desmond, who first met in North­ern Cal­i­for­nia in 1944. After cycling through sev­er­al rhythm play­ers through­out the ear­ly fifties, they found drum­mer Joe Morel­lo in 1956, then two years lat­er, bassist Eugene Wright, who first joined them for a U.S. State Depart­ment tour of Europe and Asia.

While trav­el­ing to osten­si­bly pro­mote U.S. good will, Brubeck and his band­mates also picked up the Eurasian folk music that inspired “Take Five,” with its 5/4 time (which in turn inspired the name). No mat­ter how many times you’ve heard Desmond’s East­ern-inspired melodies over Brubeck’s two-chord blues vamp and Morello’s relent­less fills, you can always hear it afresh when the clas­sic quar­tet plays the song live. Above, see them in one of their absolute great­est per­for­mances, a rol­lick­ing, dynam­ic attack in Bel­gium in 1964 that serves as all the argu­ment one needs for “Take Five”’s great­ness.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Dave Brubeck’s Time Out Changed Jazz Music

Pak­istani Musi­cians Play an Enchant­i­ng Ver­sion of Dave Brubeck’s Jazz Clas­sic, “Take Five”

Remem­ber­ing Jazz Leg­end Dave Brubeck (RIP) with a Very Touch­ing Musi­cal Moment

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Revisit the Infamous Rolling Stones Free Festival at Altamont: The Ill-Fated Concert Took Place 50 Years Ago

The Tate-LaBi­an­ca mur­ders and the vio­lence at Alta­mont in 1969 have become emblems of the end of “the notion of spon­tane­ity,” writes Richard Brody at The New York­er, “the sense that things could hap­pen on their own and that benev­o­lent spirts would pre­vail. What end­ed was the idea of the unpro­duced.” Per­haps it’s impor­tant to keep in mind that this was only ever an idea, nur­tured by those with the means and tal­ent to pro­duce it, and to over­shad­ow, for a time, fig­ures like Man­son, a Lau­rel Canyon hang­er-on before he became a cult-lead­ing, spree-killing mas­ter­mind.

Like­wise, the Hells Angels had been present at the birth of the coun­ter­cul­ture. As any­one who’s read Tom Wolfe’s Elec­tric Kool-Aid Acid Test knows, they were reg­u­lar atten­dees of Ken Kesey’s Acid Test par­ties and ear­ly Grate­ful Dead shows, at the same time as the release of the famous 1965 Lynch report, a six-month study detail­ing the crim­i­nal activ­i­ties of motor­cy­cle gangs in Cal­i­for­nia. Two years lat­er, Hunter S. Thompson’s Hells Angels book would both cor­rob­o­rate and down­play the report’s shock­ing rev­e­la­tions.

It was evi­dent to peo­ple pay­ing atten­tion that the sup­ply chain mov­ing drugs through the scene was a par­tic­u­lar­ly nasty busi­ness, a shad­ow side of hip­pie cul­ture as men­ac­ing as Manson’s pow­er trip­ping race war delu­sions. Leave it to the Rolling Stones to move this back­ground to the fore­ground when they hired the Hells Angels to do secu­ri­ty at Alta­mont on Decem­ber 6, 1969, pay­ing them in beer. The drunk­en bik­ers respond­ed to unrest in the crowd by beat­ing fans with weight­ed pool cues and motor­cy­cle chains before stab­bing 18-year-old black fan Mered­ith Hunter to death, as the band, unaware, played “Under My Thumb.”

All of this now plays out before us close up in footage from the Maysles broth­ers’ icon­ic doc­u­men­tary, Gimme Shel­ter, with a view almost no one among the 300,000 fans present that day could claim. “Many peo­ple who attend­ed Alta­mont thought it was a great day and a great con­cert,” says Joel Selvin, author of Alta­mont: The Rolling Stones, the Hells Angels, and the Inside Sto­ry of Rock­’s Dark­est Day. No one at the back of the crowd noticed the fights in front of the stage, such as those that break­ing out between fans and bik­ers dur­ing “Sym­pa­thy for the Dev­il,” above.

George Lucas hap­pened to be there, work­ing with Robert Elf­strom on the Maysles crew. The two were sent “to the top of this hill and they spent all day futz­ing with this long lens,” says Selvin, “try­ing to keep it in focus. When it was all over, they were both con­vinced they had been to Wood­stock.” Indeed, “Wood­stock of the West” is how Alta­mont was char­ac­ter­ized until Rolling Stone pub­lished its in-depth cov­er­age of events. How then did Alta­mont become known there­after as the “anti-Wood­stock” that broke the six­ties?

Wood­stock itself “was very close to being a total dis­as­ter,” Selvin points out, a point Jer­ry Gar­cia him­self makes in post-Alta­mont inter­view above. They were “two sides of the same coin, two ways that that kind of expres­sion can go.” The stig­ma sur­round­ing the Hells Angels great­ly con­tributed the infamy, as news of their full involve­ment spread. Had accused killer Alan Pas­saro not been in a noto­ri­ous­ly vio­lent bik­er gang, Selvin believes, he would have been seen as a hero, since Hunter had rushed the stage with a gun after an ear­li­er alter­ca­tion with the gang. (Pas­saro was charged but not con­vict­ed.)

But per­haps no arti­fact has helped mythol­o­gize the trag­ic events at Alta­mont more than Gimme Shel­ter, a film that also doc­u­ments just how elec­tri­fy­ing the Stones were onstage, how trans­formed as a band after the death of Bri­an Jones months ear­li­er and addi­tion of gui­tarist Mick Tay­lor.

They debuted “Brown Sug­ar” at Alta­mont (hear it above), a song that wouldn’t be released until three years lat­er on Sticky Fin­gers and that would define their take on road­house blues in the ear­ly sev­en­ties. At least in per­for­mance, they held up remark­ably well in a fes­ti­val that bris­tled with rest­less, over­crowd­ed men­ace even before the bik­ers start­ed a riot. (A fan punched Mick Jag­ger as he got out of his heli­copter.)

As we reflect on the 50th anniver­sary of Alta­mont, we might also rethink its immor­tal­iza­tion as a sym­bol of the death of six­ties’ inno­cence. Some­thing else died instead, writes Brody. “The haunt­ing freeze-frame on Jag­ger star­ing into the cam­era, at the end of the film, after his foren­sic exam­i­na­tion of the footage of the killing of Mered­ith Hunter at the con­cert, reveals not the film­mak­ers’ accu­sa­tion or his own sense of guilt but lost illu­sions” of con­trol over the cul­ture’s dark­er side.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear the First Live Per­for­mance of the Rolling Stones’ “Brown Sug­ar:” Record­ed at the Fate­ful Alta­mont Free Con­cert in 1969

Gimme Shel­ter: Watch the Clas­sic Doc­u­men­tary of the Rolling Stones’ Dis­as­trous Con­cert at Alta­mont

Watch the Rolling Stones Write “Sym­pa­thy for the Dev­il”: From Jean-Luc Godard’s ’68 Film One Plus One

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

« Go BackMore in this category... »
Quantcast