21-12-2009, 12:09 PM
Roger McGuinn, "David didn't know anything more than anybody else. He was just trying to be Mr. Cool up there, and I resented it."
What an insufferable ass.
David Crosby May 17, 1967 is light years ahead of the curve with his comments.
Set the table. It's coming on the Summer of Love. Some (emphasis on some) of that generation thought it could change the world.
The next year it would get its ass kicked by Daley's police army in the street in front of the Democrat Convention.
And the year after that the Nixon Counterinnaugural would draw a strange caravan into the streets of Washington, D.C. January 19, the day before the innauguration of Johnson's successor.
During that, Wavy Gravy and the Hogg Farm bus. And Rudd and his armbanded Maoists would chant Ho Ho Ho Chi Minh, the NLF is Gonna Win, and bang the iron knockers on the steel doors of the Department of Justice.
The fall of that year Rudd would recruit, and Roger and I would follow him around Purdue for seven hours with his Beaulieu 16mm, and Rudd would tell me his armbanded Maoists thought we were cops.
We followed them up to Chicago for the October 8-11 SDS Days of Rage and watched the Chicago Tactical Police in their black mesh-windowed city bus fall out in full leather to make Lou Reed drool.
The rings of Dick Tracy detectives in trenchcoats clustered around walkie-talkies.
Platoons of police in pigeon-blue helmets.
Convoys of four-door Chevys in black, blue, navy, white, bronze unmarked, three in line followed by a wagon, the rolling jail, these convoys crisscrossing Chicago, sirens stopping traffic.
Carloads of plainclothes disgorging at the park, itching for a little ultra-violence.
The two-three hundred in army surplus (Bill Ayers would be in there somewhere) exhorted by a megaphone around a burning police barricade, ran down the streets breaking plate glass, chased into churches and arrested.
From the Summer of Love flowers in their hair to the Autumn of their Discontent, blood replacing the flowers.
Four Dead in Ohio did not suffice. They never got their anthem.
That summer of 69 we caught the Stones at the Electric Theater in Chicago. Street Fighting Man.
We were doing a few light shows that winter before changing scenery. I did an animation of the American flag beginning red white and blue and going through two hundred forty color combinations of primaries and secondaries ending red white and blue.
Out in Boston they were hanging out in front of Harvard like a beaten army in surplus. Ayers was bombing. Literally.
And now in violation of the Who they have embraced a new boss doing what the old boss did.
I love David Crosby's excited statement. And his knowledge they would "edit this out".
The current young generation is playing with electronic toys; shiny things distract.
The dark forces appreciate that.
When they don't appreciate something, the mountain slides open and a Posner or Bugliosi or a Dunkel slouches toward Bethlehem.
With no music in its soul.
What an insufferable ass.
David Crosby May 17, 1967 is light years ahead of the curve with his comments.
Set the table. It's coming on the Summer of Love. Some (emphasis on some) of that generation thought it could change the world.
The next year it would get its ass kicked by Daley's police army in the street in front of the Democrat Convention.
And the year after that the Nixon Counterinnaugural would draw a strange caravan into the streets of Washington, D.C. January 19, the day before the innauguration of Johnson's successor.
During that, Wavy Gravy and the Hogg Farm bus. And Rudd and his armbanded Maoists would chant Ho Ho Ho Chi Minh, the NLF is Gonna Win, and bang the iron knockers on the steel doors of the Department of Justice.
The fall of that year Rudd would recruit, and Roger and I would follow him around Purdue for seven hours with his Beaulieu 16mm, and Rudd would tell me his armbanded Maoists thought we were cops.
We followed them up to Chicago for the October 8-11 SDS Days of Rage and watched the Chicago Tactical Police in their black mesh-windowed city bus fall out in full leather to make Lou Reed drool.
The rings of Dick Tracy detectives in trenchcoats clustered around walkie-talkies.
Platoons of police in pigeon-blue helmets.
Convoys of four-door Chevys in black, blue, navy, white, bronze unmarked, three in line followed by a wagon, the rolling jail, these convoys crisscrossing Chicago, sirens stopping traffic.
Carloads of plainclothes disgorging at the park, itching for a little ultra-violence.
The two-three hundred in army surplus (Bill Ayers would be in there somewhere) exhorted by a megaphone around a burning police barricade, ran down the streets breaking plate glass, chased into churches and arrested.
From the Summer of Love flowers in their hair to the Autumn of their Discontent, blood replacing the flowers.
Four Dead in Ohio did not suffice. They never got their anthem.
That summer of 69 we caught the Stones at the Electric Theater in Chicago. Street Fighting Man.
We were doing a few light shows that winter before changing scenery. I did an animation of the American flag beginning red white and blue and going through two hundred forty color combinations of primaries and secondaries ending red white and blue.
Out in Boston they were hanging out in front of Harvard like a beaten army in surplus. Ayers was bombing. Literally.
And now in violation of the Who they have embraced a new boss doing what the old boss did.
I love David Crosby's excited statement. And his knowledge they would "edit this out".
The current young generation is playing with electronic toys; shiny things distract.
The dark forces appreciate that.
When they don't appreciate something, the mountain slides open and a Posner or Bugliosi or a Dunkel slouches toward Bethlehem.
With no music in its soul.