Love, Janis

by Laura Joplin

  Then back with a raucous interpretation of “Going Down to Brownsville,” and for her encore, one of her own compositions called “Turtle Blues,” which she calls “semiautobiographical.”

  On May 5, Janis played a blues festival at the Texas Union Auditorium titled “An Evening of Barrelhouse and Blues.” She shared major billing with Robert Shaw. It was her first professional gig before a mixed audience, and it was her crowd, Jim explained in his column. They loved her.

  Jim Langdon’s reviews helped her book other jobs in Houston and Beaumont. She never liked going to the gigs alone, and wanted me to come along. I was all for it but knew the folks wouldn’t approve. We asked anyway. Despite our pleadings and reassurances that there would be no alcohol and that Janis would look out for me, they drew the line. They said they didn’t think Janis’s musical life had helped her any and they didn’t want it to influence me.

  Janis had written “Turtle Blues” that year. She taped it on Pop’s reel-to-reel tape recorder and sent it to her former roommate, Linda Gottfried, who was now married, named Wauldron, and living in Hawaii. The song talked about hiding, and I guess Janis felt sequestered away in Port Arthur. She hadn’t found a way to come out of the shell and live, and so lamented,

  I’m a mean, mean woman

  I don’t need no one man, no good

  I just treats ’em like I wants to

  I never treats ’em, honey, like I should

  I guess I’m just like a turtle

  Hiding underneath its horny shell

  But you know I’m very well protected

  I know this goddamned life too well

  Janis started plotting a single future for herself. She wanted all the options available to men, the ones that most people didn’t allow for women. For all Jim Langdon’s goodness to Janis and her career, he still wanted a wife who was a nurturing caretaker, not a liberated woman demanding equal time.

  Summer break came around, and Janis needed a change of pace from her regimen of study. She wrote to Jim, and he got her a booking at the 11th Door, where she had sung before. She told our folks, “I’m just going to go to Austin for a week until summer school starts.” They didn’t like it, but they accepted that Janis was an adult and could make her own decisions. She had been so studious the whole school year, they assumed she was serious about college.

  Once in Austin, other opportunities presented themselves. The 13th Floor Elevators needed a singer and Janis considered that possibility. She wanted a break; she needed change. The precious creative core of her being which she had saved from being wasted by drugs, was stomping around demanding an outlet. Travis Rivers, old friend and Texas folkie, had just returned from San Francisco with entreaties from Chet to bring Janis back to audition. When Travis met up with Janis he decided against telling her of the opportunity because she looked so good. He’d seen her in her amphetaminewasted state and much preferred the buoyant energy he felt from this revitalized woman. He felt whatever she was doing in Texas was good for her. However, Chet was persistent and tracked Janis down by telephone, talking up the scene and the potential of singing with Big Brother and the Holding Company. Faced with the story, Travis backed up Chet’s tale. Janis weighed thoughts about her future carefully. Along with Travis, Jim counseled her not to go to California. Jim felt it was too early in her career. He felt Janis should go slowly in developing her talent. She needed time to bring her voice to its full potential. Besides, she needed strength to handle the craziness of the business. Her career would be easier if her talent was honed before the business started pressuring her.

  Then there was that nagging question about drugs. Janis’s experience with the music scene had always involved drugs. She was terrified of them. Jim Langdon said, “The two aren’t wedded, you know.” What? Do music and not do the drugs? If only she could. She had proven she could stay clean in the past twelve months.

  She spent a week staying at Langdon’s house before she went to stay with other folks in town. Old friend Dave Moriaty was back in Austin, hunting for fun before he shipped out with the marines. He was at a friend’s house when he “heard someone storming up the stairs making lots of noise. It was Janis with Travis Rivers saying she was going to the Coast to join a band.” After she left, people at the party groaned. She’d shown she couldn’t handle California. Why was she going back?

  When Janis didn’t come home, Mom called Jim in Austin. He had to tell her where Janis had gone. She panicked. Her heart raced ahead of her terrified mind, which flashed, “Danger! Danger! Daughter in danger!” She felt helpless, wanting desperately to change what had already happened. Mom directed her angry terror at Jim, ranting about his encouraging Janis with his articles and helping her get bookings. “Without your influence, my daughter would still be at home!” she screamed. Jim was shocked and furious at her accusations. He tried to say that he told Janis not to go, but none of that mattered. Janis was gone and Mom was scared for her. She feared for her daughter, who had already experienced some of the bad things that come with a musical subculture.

  We moved Janis’s things into the den, hoping she’d be back in the fall. I sneaked her books off the shelf and got my first introduction to the other way of life, in Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer. All we could do was hope and be ready to help if the opportunity presented itself.

  Summer’s sticky Southern heat grew, and life settled into its lazy routine. Janis had left us again. Away from the family and friends who knew and loved her, no one was there to call her hand when she went too far. Janis had come home and asked for help. She had been given all that any of us had to give. Still, her questions had gone unanswered.

  NINE

  THE SAN FRANCISCO HIPPIE MOVEMENT

  Work me, Lord

  Please don’t you leave me

  I feel so useless down here

  With no one to love

  —NICK GRAVENITES, “Work Me, Lord”

  WHEN JANIS HIT SAN FRANCISCO in June 1966, she must have felt a moment of panic at the changes she saw around her. The earnest folkie enclave that she had left merely a year ago was gone. Chet brought her to a new scene, away from North Beach, where rising rents, hassles with the police, and the constant stream of gawking tourists had driven the artists away. Many had moved west to a section named for the intersection of two streets, Haight-Ashbury. While Janis had retreated to Texas, those she left behind had run pell-mell into the future. New drugs and music changed the all-black motif of the Beats into a wild, swirling cacophony of color and sound. Mind-blown, intense rockers now cruised the San Francisco streets. They dared the future to envelop them.

  June 6, 1966

  Mother & Dad . . .

  With a great deal of trepidation, I bring the news. I’m in San Francisco. Now let me explain—when I got to Austin, I talked to Travis Rivers who gave me a spiel about my singing w/a band out here. Seems Chet Helms, old friend, now is Mr. Big in S.F. Owns 3 big working Rock & roll bands with bizarre names like Captain Beefheart & his Magic Band, Big Brother & the Holding Co. etc. Well, Big Brother et al. needs a vocalist. So I called Chet to talk to him about it. He encouraged me to come out—seems the whole city had gone rock & roll (and it has!) and assured me fame & fortune. I told him I was worried about being hung up out here w/no way back & he agreed to furnish me w/a bus ticket back home if I did just come & try. So I came.

  Had a nice trip—camped out at night along the Rio Grande, collected rocks, etc. Now I’m staying w/some old friends from Austin, Kit and Margo Teele—he works for Dunn & Bradstreet, she for the telephone co.

  I don’t really know what’s happening yet. Supposed to rehearse w/the band this afternoon, after that I guess I’ll know whether I want to stay & do that for awhile. Right now my position is ambivalent—I’m glad I came, nice to see the city, a few friends, but I’m not at all sold on the idea of becoming the poor man’s Cher. So I guess we’ll see.

  I just want to tell you that I am trying to keep a level head about everything & not go
overboard w/enthusiasm. I’m sure you’re both convinced my self-destructive streak has won out again but I’m really trying. I do plan on coming back to school—unless, I must admit, this turns into a good thing. Chet is a very important man out here now & he wanted me specifically, to sing w/this band. I haven’t tried yet so I can’t say what I’m going to do—so far I’m safe, well fed, and nothing has been stolen.

  I suppose you could write me at this address although I don’t know how long I’ll be here. I expected a letter from Linda—maybe John—if they’ve arrived, please send them also. The address is c/o C.L. Teele, 23rd St., S.F.

  I’m awfully sorry to be such a disappointment to you. I understand your fears at my coming here & must admit I share them, but I really do think there’s an awfully good chance I won’t blow it this time. There’s really nothing more I can say now. Guess I’ll write more when I have more news, until then, address all criticism to the above address. And please believe that you can’t possibly want for me to be a winner more than I do.

  Love, Janis

  Will write a long happy & enthusiastic letter as soon as I stop feeling guilty. My love to Mike & Laura. Want to write Laura & tell her about the dances—FANTASTIC! and the clothes & people. Will in due time.

  I love you so, I’m sorry . . .

  Peter de Blanc wrote Janis atleast two letters in June and July. She kept them in her desk to be found after her death. The letters allude to others. He opens in June 22, 1966, saying, “Well, how are you reacting to my erratic, discordant, splash of letters upon the calm pond of your tranquility?”

  “Are you really a go-go-girl now? Have you reverted to a role of diddley-bop? I’m sorry, baby. I thought that at least if you came out on top, made it through school, etc., any and all investments would have been worthwhile.” Later he adds, “Perhaps you don’t even want to hear from me, I don’t know. I’m just assuming that your humanitarian instincts still control ‘the real Janis,’ and you’ll at least send me a postcard.” As early as this June letter, Peter was asking Janis if she would finish school even if she had the chance to be a major recording artist? He adds “. . . . if a thread of communication exists between us, it would (might?) be nice to spin it into a lanyard.”

  There is no record of any reply Janis may have sent. Her focus was now turning toward the band and audition that awaited her in San Francisco.

  Big Brother and the Holding Company, the band Chet Helms enticed Janis to come and join, had a local cult following for its “freak rock” music. People grooved on the crazy guitar playing of James Gurley, but the band felt it needed a more commanding singer to balance their wild sound. Two of its four members, Peter Albin and James Gurley, knew Janis from the North Beach scene. They had told the other members, Dave Getz and Sam Andrew, about her. They believed she would fit perfectly into the group.

  Peter Albin, bass player, was a San Francisco native. He was about five feet ten inches tall with fine brown hair that had a soft curl to it. His slender build and ready smile came with a style that was decidedly clean-cut, regardless of his dress and the craziness of the scene around him. The local folk and country blues music had always been his avocation, though he worked as a postman to support a wife and daughter.

  James Gurley, lead guitar, was from Detroit. He was into blues, the music of Lightnin’ Hopkins, and free-style music like Ornette and Coltrane. He was a tall six feet three inches, with sandy hair and blue eyes on a lanky frame. He exuded sex appeal to that group of women fascinated by a suffering artist. He and his wife, Nancy, had a toddler son, Hongo.

  Dave Getz played the drums, a New Yorker drawn to the Bay Area to teach at the San Francisco Art Institute. He was a talented and creative fellow who had been a Fulbright Fellow. He was medium height—five feet seven inches—and an athletic 150 pounds. He had dirty blond, tightly curled hair and a laughing intensity in his manner.

  Sam Andrew had the classic good looks in the group, standing six feet one inch with long, thick, straight blond hair that hung enticingly. He had probing blue eyes and a gentle manner that spoke of his experience as an army kid moving around the world. He had lived in Okinawa, but many of his relatives were from Texas. He had a degree in linguistics and was prone to reading the classics in their original languages. Sam had a background in music theory. He had perfect pitch and was capable of knowing chords merely by hearing them. His background was in old-time rock and roll.

  Chet Helms was not a musical member of the band but the spiritual leader, providing inspiration and support for the music. His long strawberry blond locks set off his favorite knee-length uniform dress coat with a long row of brass buttons down the front. The other guys knew Janis from her North Beach singing days. They were enthusiastic about the idea of her joining the band. Only Chet, with his Austin connections, had been able to find Janis and entice her back to San Francisco.

  Janis met the guys where they practiced, on the lower level of an old firehouse on Henry Street. Upstairs was a living space and an artist’s studio where dwelled Mouse, or Stanley Miller, a poster-artist extraordinaire who drew advertisements for the dances put on by a group of people who called themselves the Family Dog. Janis walked through two huge doors that swung open so that a panel truck could enter and load all the sound equipment the group transported to gigs.

  Dave Getz had a foreshadowing dream that Janis would arrive with a glow, beautiful like a goddess. When she came in the flesh, she was dressed in the light cotton clothes she had packed for her weeklong trip to Austin, but they were out of place in cool San Francisco. Her shy innocence shone in a face blemished by acne. Then she sang, and her pure notes captured the band’s full attention. With her commanding voice, they knew that, everything else aside, Janis had the sound they wanted. The band was complete.

  On June 10, six days after she arrived, she joined them onstage. Big Brother played in the new rock style. Janis, Peter, and James knew some standards from the folk days, so they initially connected with tunes like “Blindman” and “I Know You Rider.” Janis added some Texas favorites, like her “Turtle Blues” and Powell St. John’s “Bye Bye Baby.” Those blues tunes joined a repertoire that included such humorous satirical songs as Peter Albin’s “Caterpillar,” written for his kids, which pleaded, “I’m a caterpillar, crawling for your love.”

  June 1966

  Dear Mother & Dad . . .

  Haven’t received any word from you yet but presume we’re still speaking, so another letter. This one to advise you of my address—I’ve found a room in a rooming house. Very nice place w/a kitchen & a living room & even an iron & ironing board. Four other people living here—one schoolteacher, one artist, don’t know the rest. Anyway the address is Pine St., S.F.

  Still working w/Big Brother & the Holding Co. & it’s really fun! Four guys in the group—Sam, Peter, Dave, & James. We rehearse every afternoon in a garage that’s part of a loft an artist friend of theirs owns & people constantly drop in and listen—everyone seems very taken w/my singing although I am a little dated. This kind of music is different than I’m used to. Oh, I’ve collected more bizarre names of groups to send—(can you believe these?!) The Grateful Dead, The Love, Jefferson Airplane, Quicksilver Messenger Service, The Leaves, The Grass Roots.

  Chet Helms heads a rock & roll corporation called the Family Dog—replete w/emblem & answering service. Very fancy. Being my entrepreneur (and mostly having gotten me out here without money—I still have $30 in the bank I’m hoarding) Chet rented me this place for a month. He says if the band & I don’t make it, to forget it & if we do, we’ll have plenty of money. Chet is an old friend—married now to an actress named Lori. Tomorrow night at his dance, some people from Mercury will be there to hear the Grateful Dead (with a name like that, they have to be good . . . ) and Big Brother et al. and I’m going to get to sing! Gosh I’m so excited! We’ve worked out about 5 or 6 numbers this week—one I really like called “Down on Me”—an old spiritual—revitalized and slightly bastardized w/new treatme
nt.

  I’m still okay—don’t worry. Something of a recluse. Haven’t lost or gained any weight & my head’s still fine. And am still really thinking of coming back to school, so don’t give up on me yet. I love you all

  XXXX

  Janis

  Haight-Ashbury was an area of ornate but shabby Victorian houses that had either survived the 1906 San Francisco earthquake or been built in the teens. It was originally a prestigious area full of the politically powerful, but it had been in decline for many years. By the time artists started moving there in the 1960s, the homes had been split into two or three apartments that housed blacks displaced from a nearby area razed by urban renewal, along with a hodgepodge of other ethnic groups hunting for economical homes.

  The new scene on the Haight was a direct descendant of the Beats in North Beach. The same ideas dominated: creativity and self-exploration, free sex as communion, racial integration, an antiestablishment attitude, and music as ecstasy. But the scene had been unequivocally changed by the introduction of a new drug—LSD, or lysergic acid diethylamide.

  LSD’s effects were accidentally discovered in 1943 by Dr. Albert Hofmann, a research scientist for Sandoz Pharmaceuticals in Switzerland. He had been hunting for a cure for the migraine headache when he formulated the twenty-fifth drug in a series of compounds derived from a fungus that grows on various types of grains. Dr. Hofmann encountered the psychedelic effects of LSD-25 when he absorbed the chemical through handling it.

  From Switzerland, LSD found its way into the bodies of the young in Haight-Ashbury by a circuitous route. Mind-altering drugs fascinated a small subgroup of scientists who sought answers to mental-health abnormalities. The effects of psychedelics were thought to mimic psychosis. LSD profoundly alters perception, especially color, texture, and detail. The artistically inclined describe its effects as opening a previously unknown door to a fresh vision of reality, one seemingly bathed in the pure light of whole knowledge. The patterns, similarities, and structure of the world become visible for the first time.