Hollywood Tracy Thomas Reporting

Peter Tork

It’s been such a quiet month in Hollywood that I hardly know where to begin. Clancy, the former bass player for the Quick Silver Messenger Service, visited a bunch of his friends and brought home a bouquet of lovely albums, about which I feel it is my duty to tell you.

First and foremost being Tim Buckley and his electric Elektra album “Goodbye and Hello.” It’s the best thing we’ve heard since the latest from the Fab Four, We hitchiked [sic] down the hill to see him perform at the Troubadour, where he was lovely, lovelier, loveliest.

Speaking of lovelies, John Densmore, the Doors’ drummer, played our good samaritan that night, driving us up and down and treating us to a greasy spoon in between. Now, it has been my considered opinion that the Buffalo Springfield (as per Neil and Stephen) have held the West Coast sideburn honors (with Pauper Adam Mitchell reigning in the East), but after viewing the hirsute cheeks of Dens at close range (they always looked great from the audience), I must reconsider my earlier decision. At length. By the way, he has this great car, a dark brown MG, I think, that’s really old and very 1930’s. I felt like Myrna Loy out on a case with William Powell. (“The Thin Man” remember?) (From the late movies!)

Back to the albums… Phil Ochs’ “Pleasures of the Harbor” is brilliant social commentary; the Youngbloods’ “Earth Magic” is outasite rock and roll; and the Buffalo’s “Buffalo Springfield Again” is outasite, brilliant rock ’n’ social roll and this is the end of my commentary. EEEssential.

Just before school started (there I was, hittin’ the old sandpile again), there were two groovey concerts at the Hollywood Bowl: first with the Grateful Dead and Jefferson Airplane, the second with Donovan.

I don’t know how they did it, but “Headlights,” the people that run the light shows at the Fillmore in San Francisco, turned the entire Bowl (about a square quarter mile) into a giant Fillmore, beaming lights on the stage, the audience, and the surrounding hills. The Dead (I still want to see them with the Quick Silver Messenger Service, so that I can say that I saw “The Quick and the Dead”) invited the crowd to come on stage and dance, which they did, although during the Airplane’s segment, they had to leave, cause they were too close for comfort. (JA Paul Kantner said later, “It wouldn’t surprise me to find that I was playing the wrong chords. About three other people were fretting for me.”) Clance and I went backstage and I must admit that I enjoyed talking to the Dead.

Donovan was beautiful. In sandals and a long white robe. Singing. Smiling. Loving. Sigh.

I nearly forgot to mention it: I saw the Vanilla Fudge at the Whiskee. They’re just as good as their album. In addition, they have a bass player named Sidney. Let me tell you about Sidney. The next time you have a week to spare. The place was jammed full and by the time the set was over, everyone was exhausted—their music is so involving.

Mike Nesmith

MONKEES I HAVE SEEN: The other day I saw Peter wearing the wildest outfit I’ve seen on an American this year. Bright red pants, print shirt with beads and scarves and necklaces and puffy sleeves, and fringe boots, which doesn’t sound wild on paper, but it sure looked great. He was going to a new restaurant on the Strip, called the Hippocampus and he tripped over his feet. While waving at us. Isn’t that delightful?

And I saw Mike at the Monkee office one day. (Just happened to be hanging out there…) “Hello February,” he said. He always calls me February. He says it’s cause I’m like the month, February: short, sweet, red.

Let’s see… Genie the Tailor came back from her trip to Europe. And after visiting with friends in England (why should I bore you with lists of names like Jagger, Jones, Harrison…) and picking up loads of new ideas, which you will shortly be seeing on the Airplane, Monkees, Chip Douglas and various and sundry stars. Like Mark Lindsay.

In closing, after noting that I seemed to have found plenty of things to tell you after all, I would like to mention a very dear friend of mine, I wish, who is so beautiful and adorable and I know you will love his first album called “Alice’s Restaurant,” which is a combination song and anecdote which lasts from thirty to fifteen minutes, depending on how well you sing along on the chorus. The name is ARLO GUTHRIE, son of the late Woody Guthrie.

Now, remember that’s A-R-L-O G-U-T-H-R-I-E.


Magazine: Flip
Publisher: Kahn Communications Corporation
Pages: 16–17