Did you ever look at an old rock poster and wonder who the acts advertised actually were? Like this one for instance…
Some ugly looking poster, huh? Actually it’s a handbill, but that’s no excuse.
Love. Rock scholars and sixties people will recognize the name right away. They were from LA, came up to San Francisco from time to time to try to break into our In Crowd, and finally went on to rock and roll glory with their 1967 album, Forever Changes. It’s a great album. In fact, it’s the best of all the American takes on Sergeant Pepper, and possibly the only successful take ever (The Rolling Stones’ shot at it, Their Satanic Majesty’s Request was grim- their biggest mistake of the sixties). But Forever Changes is pretty damn good. I listened to it regularly until my turntable gave up and I gave all my LPs away – oh whadda fool!
Even their early single, My Little Red Book, deserves a three-decker rock and roll cake. It blasted pure rock and roll fervor at a time when the music was getting just a little too flabby for my taste. I downloaded the song from Itunes just now to check and, yes, it’s still drives like a 1966 Batmobile. But in 1966 to my piggy ears they were just another okay band from LA. Let them entertain us if they choose, but never shall they be invited into our superior society, he sniffed with snout held high.
At the time of this concert, Love’s first album was in the stores. It was regularly seen in Haight-Ashbury collections because, unlike the the Jefferson Airplane’s boring first album was and the Grateful Dead’s first outing – which, not to put too fine a point on it, stunk, Love’s first wasn’t half bad.
But who in heck was Everpresent Fullness? Therein lies a story…
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