1/3/23
Newsletter #208
The Crack of Dawn
It’s my contention that that which is referred to as “the ‘60s” is really 1965-75. Before 1965 it may as well have been the 1940s: men wore suits, ties and hats; women wore dresses and hats; there was no such thing as hippies or a youth culture. Adults controlled the world, and kids did as they were told, or they got smacked. But in the ‘60s that all changed. First, young people demanded that they be heard; second, youth became the dominant market, so advertisers began to focus in on them. By 1975 with the introduction of disco the whole mindset of the rebellious youth changed. It was no longer peace, love, communes, stop the war, get back to the land; it was now money, cocaine, pimps, hos, bling, platform shoes and expensive cars.
This was a prelude to explaining that my formative years of 12 to 17 were in “the ‘60s,” even though it was 1970-75. There is a rift within the Baby Boomers of those born between 1946-56, and those from 1956-64 – seemingly, those who can actually remember the 1960s (which, as they say, if you can remember, you weren’t really there), and those who can’t. Except that I say we can, because half of the ‘60s were really the ‘70s.
For instance: when I was a 15-year-old, long-haired, bearded, hippy pot dealer who hitchhiked everywhere I went, I would often just go to the nearby suburb of Birmingham and hang out. Birmingham, which is not a very big town, had its own rock venue, the Palladium (which is now a multiplex movie theater called the Palladium). It was an old movie theater that had been turned into a rock club. There were no seats, and there were clearly no fire laws. They would smash as many people in there as humanly possible – everybody was smoking cigarettes and weed and drinking wine and beer – and we saw all the local bands, which for us were: Bob Seger (first with the Herd, then the System, then the Silver Bullet Band), Iggy and the Stooges, Ted Nugent, Grand Funk, J. Geils, Mitch Ryder, the MC5 (“Kick out the jams, motherfuckers!”), and many, many other bands. The Frost, the Rationals, SRC, the Rockets. Motown was going on at the same time just up the road – Woodward Ave. – but these were two entirely separate movements (although I now know that they crossed over in the Detroit sound studios, like United Sound [from whom I purchased Rockets’ songs for my movie, Thou Shalt Not Kill…Except]).
When I hung out in Birmingham, I’d always go to the headshop, Fire-Mill Village, smelling patchouli incense, lit by blacklights with glowing blacklight posters of Jimi Hendrix, a caterpillar smoking a hookah, Frank Zappa sitting on a toilet with the caption, “Phi Zappa Krappa,” Dennis Hopper on a motorcycle giving us the finger.
Then I’d wander down the alley behind the Palladium. The back doors were always open, emitting clouds of billowing smoke. There would be 6-10 people hanging out smoking weed with music coming out that was so fucking loud it was ridiculous, even in the alley. I’d always push my way in, without paying, just to see who was playing, and I saw all those guys. But I didn’t like packed crowds then, and I don’t like them now, so I never stayed very long.
That was 1972-73, but it was absolutely part of “the ‘60s.” And since I was so young at that time, I still remember it.
To infinity, and beyond!
“The 60’s” in SLC was so different than Detroit. I lost my virginity and my training bra in 69 just cause it was “69” and I knew the silly meaning. Hippie clothing hadn’t arrived in the state so I Had to sew flower patches on my bell bottoms. Three dog night was the headliner. Had to go with an adult chaperone. I believe that when I was born, the baby god sneezed and I landed in Utah instead of California.
As a so-called Boomer born in 1959, I can vouch for your take on the decades. The clichéd montages that they use to define Boomers (JFK! JImi!! Janis!!! Woodstock!!!!) don’t register so much, but the atmosphere and the settings you describe here really do. All the boys in my high school yearbook look as if they’re ready to audition for Deep Purple. I feel a pang of jealousy reading about the bands you saw, but at least I saw Iggy in the ‘78 and ‘80 (and 2005).
And I remember it as well, thanks to youth, and now, thanks to you.