by Jimi Hendrix
Do you dream in color?
Oh, definitely. The closest to a black and white dream I ever had was in pastel shades, you know? One time it was in pastel shades, and it was maroon, very light maroon, and then this big gold cliff out of the middle of nowhere. It was great! That was the closest I ever got to black and white.
What’s your New Year’s resolution?
To keep the axis turning so that love follows music as the night the day.
{IN JANUARY 1968, THE EXPERIENCE TOURED SWEDEN AND DENMARK.}
WE HAVE NEVER TRIED TO PLAY ANYTHING from Axis onstage before, so the Swedish public will be the first to experience that event. I’ve always liked Sweden, and I like to perform here because I feel the Swedish audience understands the purpose of our music. They’ve got so many different ways all over the world of showing appreciation, but Sweden is the one that shows appreciation more than anybody. They show it by being completely silent while you’re playing – completely. I mean, there are a few rockers back there running around falling out of balconies. But the average person is completely quiet, and they wait until every last thing is over and then they clap.
Sounds like the walls caving in.
{JIMI WAS ARRESTED IN GOTHENBURG FOR SMASHING UP A HOTEL ROOM.}
We were going home when we met some friends who started a party. I drank quite a bit of schnapps. Then I don’t remember anything. I think I woke up at the police station. I cut up my hand a little, and there were also a couple of things that got broken. It probably will be a while before my right hand is completely OK. It hurts like crazy, but the show must go on.
The newspapers made the thing seem bigger than it was. Do they always have to exaggerate? Everybody drinks some alcohol sometimes. It’s only when famous people do that newspapers make headlines out of it. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before. I’m convinced somebody put something in my drinks. I’m sure about that, because the next day I didn’t get a hangover, just a strange feeling I’ve never experienced before. From now on I’d better stick to tea and milk! Do you think there will be a lot of shit from this? I really feel bad about it. It’ll be better next time, though. We’re human beings too, just like anybody else, aren’t we?
Since I made it to the top, everything has happened so fast. This pop business is so much harder than people think. It’s nerve-racking and mind-bending. The people who dig ditches for a living don’t know how lucky they are. We are constantly under pressure, and the workday is often twenty-four hours. Every show takes its pound of flesh. I can hardly get anything to eat. We’re too much on the go. You see, even my skin is suffering from the lack of eating right. One often gets depressed. It’s only natural that we need a stimulant sometimes. After Stockholm I’ll take it easy for a while.
I need to slow down.
MOST OF ALL, I’D LIKE TO FORGET EVERYTHING BEFORE 1968. We call it the end of the beginning. It is now that I plan to start making real music. I want to create new sounds, try to transmit my dreams to the audience. Music must always continue to expand further out, further away. Kids listen with open minds, but I don’t want to give them the same things all the time. It gets to be a bad scene coming out saying, “Now we’ll play this song, and now we’ll play that one.” I want to keep doing fresh things, different songs, different things visually.
I’d like to experiment with different instrumentation – keep the basic trio but add other musicians temporarily when we want a different sound. I’m also trying to work out a whole new concept of putting on a show, something more in the form of a play with good stage presentation. Can you imagine taking Othello and putting it on in your own way? You’d write some real groovy songs. You wouldn’t necessarily have to say the exact lines. Nobody would be the star. Everybody would be working together. Every single song would have a completely different and strange arrangement and setup. And we’d use films and stereo speakers in the back of the auditorium, all over the place. It’s hard to explain, but it would be so natural, in a rehearsed way.
Above all, our records will become better, purely from the point of view of recording technique. We have not been happy with a single one. Our producer up till now, Chas Chandler, has not had the right feel when he turned the wheels in the control room. In the future we’ll take care of that detail ourselves, together with Dave Mason, who has quit Traffic to spend time on this among other things.
We’re cutting a new record between our tours. There’ll be maybe two tracks from the new Bob Dylan album on it. In fact we’ve done one of them, All Along The Watchtower, already. Dylan goes his own way. Just at this time he is not very high in the music world, but he is taking his thing to the end. He is getting more and more of a songwriter. In All Along The Watchtower he said it so groovy.
I’m also looking forward to our six-week tour of the States, which starts in February.
BUT MOST OF ALL, RIGHT NOW I’M LOOKING FORWARD TO GOING BACK TO SLEEP …
This is the second time we’ve been to the States. You can have a chocolate milkshake in a drugstore, chewing gum at gas stations and soup from little machines on the road.
It’s great, it’s beautiful,
it’s all screwed up
and nasty
and prejudiced,
and it has everything.
{FEBRUARY 1, 1968, THE EXPERIENCE’S FIRST AMERICAN HEADLINE TOUR OPENED AT THE FILLMORE WEST, SAN FRANCISCO.}
I DON’T EVEN REMEMBER THE FILLMORE LAST NIGHT. I feel completely out of my mind. It was like a scene. We were in the studio in London, into some groovy things, some really funky little things, and we were snatched out of the studio within a day of knowing nothing. Then we were thrown into the Paris scene, the Olympia theater, and we found ourselves waiting for two hours at London Airport. Then we found ourselves in New York, lost in the street. All these within hours of each other. Then they had a press conference, and here you are thinking about these songs. You have these songs in your mind. You want to hurry up and get back to the things you were doing in the studio, because that’s the way you gear your mind.
Then we were thrown into the Fillmore. We wanted to play there, quite naturally, but you’re thinking about all these tracks, which is a completely different thing from what you’re doing now. If people only knew what state of mind we’re in, like we’re half there or not. We’re constantly working, except when we sleep. Plus we don’t get a chance to practice. Most of our practice is thinking about it. We’ve practiced about three times since we’ve been together. We just get a chance to jam sometimes, that’s the only thing. The longest we ever play together is on stage.
But touring is one of those things you can’t avoid. A lot of people don’t have a full understanding of us yet, and if we stopped touring, they’d never understand. Nobody would hear us.
{THE EXPERIENCE WERE SCHEDULED TO PLAY AT THE CENTER ARENA, SEATTLE, ON FEBRUARY 12.}
I’m looking forward to going home. It’s been seven years. Maybe I should call them and say, “Look, um, hey, I’ve started this group and . . .”
I met my family, and we were happy for a change. There’s my father, who’s married again, and my brother, Leon, who’s nineteen, I think, and is trying to form a band of his own now. And I’ve got a six-year-old sister, Genevieve, whom I’d never seen. That’s how long I’ve been gone from home. She’s a lovely little girl. She keeps every article she reads about me and all the pictures. I’ve got a picture of her. She’s so cute. I’m very proud that I can send them articles from newspapers and send them money. That’s the only way my father likes it. I told him, “Dad, I could buy you a home. I want to buy you a home this winter.”
Before it all started happening nicely for us, I thought about the future. I thought, well, there’s money to be made and I’m going to make it, but I’m not going crazy when it comes in. I saw so many cats in the music scene who’d made a lot of money and ended up twisted, rich but miserable, that I said, “I’m going to make it better organized for me if ever I get to that stage.
” Half the groups aren’t free to change as they want to because they’re all thinking about their career and thinking about their future so much. I don’t really give a damn about my career or future. What I’m making money for is to make better things happen.
I WENT TO GARFIELD HIGH SCHOOL, my old school, where they kicked me out when I was just sixteen. I wonder if my old school teacher digs me getting the keys to Seattle? Maybe she’s a Daughter of the Revolution now. Man, that Seattle thing is really something! The only keys I expected to see in that town were to the jailhouse. When I was a kid there I often nearly got caught by the cops. I was always gone on wearing hip clothes, and the only way to get them was through the back window of a clothing store. I did a concert for the kids there. Just me. I played with the school band in the gymnasium. Only thing wrong was that it was eight in the morning. They canceled first class to listen to me.
“Are there any questions? There must be somebody?”
How long have you been away from Seattle?
Oh, about five thousand years.
How do you write a song?
Right now, I’m going to say good-bye to you, and go out the door and get into my limousine and go to the airport. And when I go out the door, the assembly will be over, and the bell will ring. And as I get in the limousine and I hear the bell ringing, I will probably write a song.
Thank you very much.
No city I’ve ever seen is as pretty as Seattle, all that water and mountains. It was beautiful, but I couldn’t live there. You get restless, and before you know it you’re too old and you haven’t seen any of the world. You’ve got this great big fat old world here, so who wants to live in the same place forever? The next time I go to Seattle will be in a pine box.
{THE TOUR CONTINUED ACROSS AMERICA THROUGH FEBRUARY, MARCH AND APRIL 1968.}
DIARY EXTRACTS:
February 25, Chicago. After a while you remember the towns you been in by the chicks. We go into a new town and there’s no time to do anything except some chick, so you can’t help remembering the chicks. Except that lately I’ve been confusing the chicks and the towns and I’ve been taking pictures to remember them by.
March 19. Arrived in Ottawa. Beautiful hotel. Strange people. Talked with Joni Mitchell on the phone. I think I’ll record her tonight with my excellent tape recorder – knock on wood – Hmm … can’t find any wood … everything’s plastic. Marvelous sound on first show. Good on second. Went down to a little club to see Joni. Fantastic girl with heaven words. We all go to a party. Millions of girls. Listen to tapes and smoked. Went back to hotel.
March 20. Left Ottawa city today. I kissed Joni Mitchell. Slept in the car awhile. Stopped at a highway diner – I mean a real one – like in the movies. Mitch and I discuss our plans for movie. Slight disagreement here and there but it will soon be straightened out. Nothing happened in Rochester tonight. Went to a very bad, bad, bad tasting restaurant. Thugs follow us. They probably was scared – couldn’t figure us out. Me with my Indian hat and Mexican mustache, Mitch with his fairy-tale jacket and Noel with his leopard band hat and glasses and hair and accent. G’night all.
March 21. Today we play Rochester, N.Y. Really strange town … Oh well. Two girls came up to my room by the names of Heidi and Barbara. Real groovy people. We played one show tonight. Very bad P.A … bad hall … patient people, but I kind of lost my temper with everything in general. Recorded show with tape recorder. After show we go to girl’s house with party material. Someone outside got beat up by the hackers {motorcycle gang}. Stayed there over night in the tiger room. O.K.
March 22. Today we’re in Hartford, Conn. I had a beautiful diary I kept while we were in Sweden – and of course I lost it. Hmmm … I wonder what Catherina is doing now. I must call her soon, before she goes to Switzerland. She’s the only thing I have to hold on to that’s real. Better call her soon. Beautiful room I have. Bought more film, tape, etc.
Just came back from the gig. Terrible! The people thought we were great. The stage manager dropped the power right in the middle of concert. So I am depressed. Gonna get completely smashed. Let’s see … where’s that bottle … Hmmm …
March 23. Well, we all rode through the most extreme weather today, from sunshine to blizzards and fog and everything. We’re in Buffalo now. Played show. Great. Girls came around … Oh no … must think of Catherina and write my songs. Goodnight everyone.
March 26. I played Cleveland before, with Joey Dee. This tour’s a merry-go-round. Tomorrow it’s Muncie, Indiana, and then Someplace, Iowa.
March 28. We played in Cincinnati. I bought a new Jazzmaster here and a practice amp. Got the guitar for recording.
March 29. WOW! I’m stoned as hell in this hotel room with Mitch. The gig? Oh, yeah, groovy …
April. We’ll be late again, and Mitch still hasn’t come down from his room. In the one and a half years that I’ve known him he’s never been on time. Unpunctuality is a chronic sickness with him.
I LIKE THIS TOURING EXCEPT I DON’T LIKE THE TOURING, if you know what I mean. I dig doing shows in different towns, sure, but the hotels, the lack of service, the hang-ups when all you want is something simple to eat at the time you want to eat it. And you get no kind of private or personal life in this business. A person has to have five or ten minutes to himself every day. When you’re resting after working for eighteen hours in a day and trying to have a quiet meal somewhere, there’s always kids coming in and bugging you for autographs and pictures, or somebody looking at you really strange, whispering and all that. So, quite naturally, you get complexes about that. I can’t have fun like anybody else.
And I get very bored on the road. I get bored with myself and the music sometimes. Like, what can you do on a tour? People scream for the “oldies but goodies.” So you have to play the “oldies but goodies” instead of some of the things you want to get into.
Of course, those kids out there expect to hear the records we’ve cut. They’ve already heard the record, but still they want us to play the song like the record. We could either bring the whole box of tapes on stage, or they could go back home, set pictures of us up on the wall and listen to the record! In person we play things a different way. Two shows a night are tough, and we soon find ourselves completely boxed in with the same numbers. It really gets sticky and icky. So we usually start jamming onstage and have more fun doing that. That really gets it over. Sometimes a three-minute song might stretch into ten.
We play as we feel, and people will never get to know us by just listening to our records. We could never make enough to cover all our moods. It’s only by seeing our shows when each performance is spontaneous and different that they will come to understand what we are all about.
{IN APRIL 1968, WHILE STILL ON TOUR, THE EXPERIENCE BEGAN RECORDING SESSIONS FOR ELECTRIC LADYLAND AT THE RECORD PLANT IN NEW YORK.}
In England, the studios don’t have anything to work with compared to what they have here in America. Then they come out with the best sounding records and the most new sounds. Even the limitations are beautiful, because they make people really listen. The engineers have more imagination over there. They do some fantastic things, just like the way they fought World War II. It’s all very positive, the atmosphere, the engineering, everything. When you’re with an engineer over there you’re with a human being. You’re with someone who is doing his job.
Here in America, all an engineer does is his thing. He’s a complete machine, just like the tape recorder he’s working. You feel that the human being is missing, that the studio isn’t interested in anything but the bill, the $123 an hour. There’s no atmosphere, no anything. But that’s only in some instances. At the Record Plant we have a good cat. He’s on the ball. This is the first time we’ve recorded seriously here.
I WANTED TO MAKE Electric Ladyland a double LP, but it was a big hassle. The record producers and the companies don’t want to do that. I’d be willing to spend every single penny on it if I thought it was good enough. Well, I’ll do that, an
d then they’ll leave me out there!
The reason I wanted this as a double LP is because we had so many good songs. I don’t know if they’re commercially good, but time was going by and our sound was changing and there were these songs you haven’t ever heard. If you put out a single LP and then wait six months for another single, it’s going to be out of style. We’re trying to give as much of us from six months back to now as we can. Because we’re constantly evolving.
Electric Ladyland is different from anything we’ve ever done before. It’s slightly electric funk every once in a while, and it goes into the complete opposite on some songs, complete fantasy. There are other sides of you, and sometimes they leak out on the records too. Like you might tell them something kinda hard, but you don’t want to be a completely hard character in their minds. That’s where the fantasy songs come in.
People think you don’t know what you’re talking about, but it all depends on what the tracks before and after might have been. The record wasn’t just slopped together. Every little thing you hear on there means something. I don’t say it’s great, but it’s the Experience. It has a rough, hard feel on some of the tracks. It’s part of us, another part of us.
I WANT TO SHOW YOU DIFFERENT EMOTIONS,
I WANT TO RIDE THROUGH