Love, Janis

by Laura Joplin

Big Brother taped an appearance on the Hollywood Palace variety show on September 29. The guest host was Don Adams, of Get Smart fame. Big Brother appeared with Barbara Eden from I Dream of Jeannie. Nothing felt right about the evening. The band stood on pedestals and there were no electrical cords on their instruments, though they were expected to pretend they were playing. Instead of live music, the instrumentals were from a canned track sent over from Columbia. Only Janis sang live. Don Adams attempted some witty remarks that made the band feel he was apologizing to the audience for Big Brother’s music and promising something better in the next act.

  The pressure from the press accusations and the group’s true weaknesses raised questions about alterations. Dave remembered Albert asking about changing lead guitarists. James was in a period of heavy alcohol use, and after an evening of his almost falling offstage, Albert asked if the band would consider replacing him. “Never,” they all chimed, holding their sense of family too dear.

  Nick also recalled Janis pleading with him to ask Albert if he would like to manage her separately from the band. Janis talked to Sam about her intention to go solo, asking him if he’d stay with her if she formed a new band. He agreed. She also talked to Dave about continuing with her at one point. James remembered that all the press brouhaha about the band needing a split made the eventual breakup more a relief than a surprise. Peter, however, hit the roof. When Janis met with the band and made her formal announcement, she told Sam she wasn’t taking him along. In spite of that, Sam helped her form a new band. He suggested new guitarists and even called them to talk about the possibility. Ultimately, Janis decided she wanted Sam to join the new band, which he did.

  Janis had entered the big time. She made tough business decisions like the rest of them. She continued to love the guys, see them socially, and occasionally play music with them. Yet her career decisions were now solely her responsibility.

  9-28-68

  Dear Family—

  My goodness, it’s been some time. Oh & so many changes!

  We’re back in Calif. for 2 more weeks—going to do the Hollywood Palace show so watch. Then off on our final tour, a college tour of the East & we’re even playing Austin—about the 25th of November. Our last gig together will be Hawaii, the 6th & 7th of December. We’re going to spend about a week over there w/all the wives & friends & then play. After that begins my hardest task. I told you, you remember, that I was leaving Big Brother & going to do a thing of my own. Well, I have to find the best musicians in the world (I already have 2) & get together & work. There’ll be a whole lot of pressure because of the ‘vibes’ created by my leaving Big Brother & also by just how big I am now. So we’ve got to be just super when we start playing—but we will be. A lot of pressure too because of the way it’s to be set up this time—I’m now a corporation called Fantality which will hire all the musicians & pay all the bills—much more responsibility but also much more chance of making money for me as my price goes up, I pocket the extra, or rather Fantality does. Albert told me—are you ready?—that I should make ★ ½ million!!★ next year counting record royalties.

  I’m already doing pretty well for money. I have a tendency to spend whatever I have as soon as I get it but I’ve been getting so much recently that I just can’t—I have everything I need plus several thousand in the bank. Last week I bought a 1965 Porsche convertible—very fancy & high class & a great car too. And a new stereo & a color TV & more clothes & Linda and I are now on a vacation—Lake Tahoe & Reno. Incredible. Who’d have thought?!!

  Our record is a success story in itself. We got a gold album in 3 days! We go up to #4 on Cashbox next week with a bullet—that means it’s expected to go higher.

  We’ve been playing bigger & bigger concerts lately although 20,000 at Newport was the best. Played the Hollywood Bowl & the Rose Bowl recently. The most fantastic thing of all happened at the Rose Bowl. We closed the show on a big Pop Festival—lots of the biggest acts. The stage was set in the middle of the football field & the cops wouldn’t let the kids out on the grass near us—rules. But on our encore I kept asking them to let the kids dance, they wouldn’t so here I am, looking at the audience singing “Down On Me” & all of a sudden they broke, just like a wave & swarmed onto the field. They ran to the edge of the stage & started trying to touch me. I reached down & shook a few hands then turned to go down the back stairs but when I got there, nothing but kids, thousands of them reaching, reaching. They were pulling on my clothes, my beads, calling, Janis, Janis, we love you. I was completely surrounded & being buffeted around when the cops rescued me & put me in a car—had to drive to the dressing room. Car was surrounded at all times by kids on the windows, roof, fenders, hood. Made a Beatle type entry into the dressing room as they were trying to break down the back door. Incredible! Can’t say I didn’t like it though. Man, I loved it!!

  Linda Wauldron has been around—Malcolm shipped out & she’s visiting. She & her 2 yr old Sabina stayed w/me for (ran out of ink in Tahoe—finishing in San Francisco . . . ) a week. The first time I’d spent much time around a young kid—nearly drove me crazy! I sure am glad I can sing—I’d make a lousy wife & mother. Not too bad, actually. Linda & I have been having dinner parties—lots of food & charming men, some famous, all charming. I’m recovering from one last night now.

  My new place is really shaping up beautifully—shot some pictures for Playboy (clothed) in my bedroom which were fantastic! Looks like a harem room (whatever they call them) all fringe & fur & madras & pillows. Should look fantastic in Playboy.

  Now that I’ve frittered away one summer, lets start discussing next summer. I really would love to have Mike out to visit & I have enough room but I can’t set any specific dates till we find out where we’ll be. But lets plan on it okay?

  Bought some beautiful antique furniture the other day—all Victorian & carved. A desk & a coffee table, being delivered today.

  All I can think of now—be sure to watch Hollywood Palace—we tape it next week but I don’t know when it’ll be shown.

  All my love XX write me at home for another week, then New York, the Chelsea.

  XXX Janis

  Janis sometimes telephoned with the latest news when she was too busy to write. Following the calls, Mother would write letters to Janis expanding on her thoughts and feelings about the subjects they’d discussed.

  GOOD NEWS

  to hear your report of singing being happiness and your own dream come true! While we do not know what part of each of the many news stories are quotes, etc., we do KNOW that you have achieved a tremendous success in a field of your own choice and every one of the steps you have taken have made it possible. So, your family salutes your happiness and your success and your developing business acumen and even your awareness of the continued need to grow in the field of your choice as you mentioned when you phoned about adding new instruments to your band and getting it professional as well as native talent. So, we would like to hear from you regularly about each of the steps, plans, itinerary, formats, styles and continued happiness. Glad to talk to you.

  Mother

  Some of the fall 1968 tour was a wonderful high for Janis. When the group played at the Newport Folk Festival, Janis was thrilled to be on the same bill as her Austin mentor Ken Thread-gill and old friend Juli Paul. Janis also met Kris Kristofferson there.

  But the band was feeling strained. The suppressed frustration with Janis leaving the band was affecting relationships on-and offstage. Dave Getz felt Janis was trying to upstage him during a long drum solo when the rest of the band was supposed to exit while Dave played. In the middle of his solo Janis reappeared carrying an extra drum for Dave to play and the audience roared at her entrance. Dave got real pissed as she walked offstage, and he kicked the drum over. She turned around and yelled, “Fuck you!” They finished the set and leapt into an argument backstage. Janis complained, “Why did you kick that drum over? You really made a fool of me. I was just being nice bringing that drum out.” Dave scoffed, “You
didn’t bring that drum out to be nice. You were just trying to upstage me and get your ass out onstage again. You put it where I couldn’t even play it!”

  Another time, in Minneapolis, after finishing the grueling song “Road Block,” Janis stood at the microphone saying thank you. She was winded and was breathing quickly and heavily into the microphone as she talked. Peter said in an aside, “Now we’re doing our imitation of Lassie!” She glared and said something to quiet him. They both backed off and finished the set.

  Big Brother was booked solid that fall, performing ten out of sixteen days at the beginning of November. It was tough and took its toll. Janis told one audience demanding yet another encore, “I ain’t got nothing left to give, lover.” The strain wore her down, and illness forced her to cancel the very gigs she craved most—Austin and San Antonio.

  She recovered from her illness quickly enough to play the Houston Music Hall on November 23. Mom called to reserve tickets for the family and the news got back to Janis. She telephoned and said, “Mom, I think I can get you in. You don’t need to buy tickets!” We got front-row complimentary tickets, and sat beside the Bowens, Patti and Dave McQueen, and other Texans who knew the promoters.

  We arrived backstage in time to see Janis verbally level a stagehand for closing the curtain while she was on the other side. She had been stuck out there, until her groping among the material revealed the opening. Patti turned to Pop. “I think you should take her home.” Pop sighed and said, “It’s too late. It’s just too late for that.” Pop winced, then tried to ignore the whole thing as we hugged and Janis escorted us to her dressing room. I had never seen an official star dressing room, and was a bit surprised. There was a couch or two, makeup mirrors with bright lights, and scattered people who were silent and staring. It felt uncomfortable.

  Janis and Patti hugged and talked about their vastly different lives. Janis said, “I’ll be the star, Patti. You be the mama.” She gave no one an opening for questioning her new life. She defined it as beyond their experience.

  After a bit, everyone decided the crowd had subsided sufficiently to risk leaving the hall. Janis carefully told us that if she yelled, “Run,” we were to go as fast as we could to the car. The fans might be waiting and we couldn’t afford to let them catch us. As we emerged from the hall, a group of screaming girls rounded the corner, shouting, “There’s Janis!” She yelled to us, “Run,” and we barely made it into the car before the raised hands of running teenagers reached us. We stopped at Janis’s motel and ate dinner with her and the band at the coffee shop. It was mundane. It was quiet. But we needed the small talk of visiting. Too soon we were off for the ninety-mile drive back home.

  The story Janis obligingly repeated for the press through 1967 and 1968 was that of the mistreated outcast who made good. She embellished the “They hurt me” story, which reflected the Haight-Ashbury hippie view of an “us versus them” world. Some of her quotes were milder than others, but one went so far as to say that her family kicked her out of the house at age fourteen. Our parents were crushed. Not only was Janis flouting most of the morals that their generation prized, but she was lying about her relationship to her family in a very public way. They felt powerless and wronged. The little resentments stewed.

  Janis began to recognize a change in the scene and her attitude in a November 24 Los Angeles Times West magazine article. She said, “The best time of all was Monterey. It was one of the highest points in my life. Those were real flower children. They really were beautiful and gentle and completely open, man. Ain’t nothing like that ever gonna happen again. But for awhile, there were kids who believed they could make it all better by being better. And they were better and it didn’t make a bit of difference.” The reporter asked, “Are you bitter about it?” Janis said, “In a quiet way. But I’ve always believed people are screw-ups and are always gonna lie.”

  Janis was turning her back on the dream, the fantasy of the love generation. But she was fully embracing her personal success attained by riding the hippie wave. Her new 1965 Porsche Cabriolet, Super C, was her pride and joy. The only proper way to distinguish its plebeian ownership was to turn it into a hippie auto. Dave Richards, a friend and the original lone equipment man for Big Brother, hand-painted the car with images of Janis and the band. What a trip it must have been to race along the California freeways, a flash of turquoise, yellows, and reds, with the top down and her hair blowing. The dash was painted with a regurgitating face, spewing the viscera of life out to the world. Yes, that was the Janis image, the one who let it all hang out.

  Regrettably, the band’s planned trip to Hawaii never happened. On December 1, 1968, Big Brother and the Holding Company played its last gig, a benefit for the Family Dog in San Francisco. How fitting that their beginning and end were in the same place with the same crowd. It was the end of a grand group. Though things changed, Janis still loved the guys. Pat Nichols emphasized, “Janis’s feelings never changed for Big Brother.”

  THIRTEEN

  THE BAND FROM BEYOND

  Well, I’m gonna try just a little bit harder

  So I won’t lose, lose, lose you to nobody else

  Well, I don’t care how long it’s gonna take me

  But if it’s a dream I don’t want nobody to wake me

  Yeah, I’m gonna try just a little bit harder

  —JERRY RAGOVOY AND CHIP TAYLOR, “Try”

  DECEMBER 21, 1968, Janis premiered her new group. It had taken almost two years to develop the Big Brother sound. She only had three weeks to get the new band’s music together before they debuted. Janis had never formed a band. Her method of choosing a group was to get help from her friends and manager. She used the expertise of Michael Bloomfield and Nick Gravenites in selecting members and putting together a new sound. Both were gifted musicians. Michael was a very bright scholar and a musicologist. Nick always brought a deep dimension to his music, sharing the inspiration he found in the Bible and the Torah. But getting together was not all it took to be a band. They needed to know each other, and that demanded time.

  Janis went with horns and a rhythm-and-blues sound. Aretha Franklin was big that year, and Janis wanted to be like her. Her roots were still entwined in the bountiful music of the Louisiana swamplands, in the bars she knew in Vinton on the state line. She had always been captivated by black culture. This was her chance to let her heart soar and her feelings marry the sounds that had always enchanted her.

  Clive Davis and Albert Grossman also undoubtedly influenced her new sound. Elliot Mazer felt that Clive sought to reduce her raw style and throw out the mean and nasty blues, aiming for a more middle-of-the-road audience. Albert just wanted Janis to find her style. If adding horns interested her and would help her evolve into the authentic Janis, then he was for it.

  The debut on Saturday night, December 21, 1968, consisted of a fifteen-minute set as the next-to-last act of the Stax-Volt show in Memphis, a town revered as the gateway to blues country. She was the only white act on the bill, the only “outside” act invited to the show. She wanted to be accepted by the real folk, but the black half of the audience had little idea of who she was. They weren’t familiar with her or most of her material.

  Janis sang well but the band wasn’t together. “One Memphis musician suggested,” Rolling Stone reported in February 1969, “that three months at Hernando’s Hideaway, the Club Paradise, or any of the Memphis night spots where they frisk you before you go in might give them an inkling as to what the blues is about.” Even if they had been perfect at the sound they were striving for, they would have failed with that audience. A San Francisco soul/blues band could never be a Memphis band. There was little applause and no encore. Glibly facing the reporters covering her band’s debut, Janis smoked a cigarette, jiving about the future and the importance of the blues to her. “At least they didn’t throw things,” she chortled.

  Janis came home that Christmas. Michael pulled Janis aside and confided that he wanted to quit school and hit the roa
d with her. She was delighted by his faith in her but counseled, “Don’t drop out of school. You need to finish. You can visit in the summers!”

  I told her about my college experiences. I had moved back home from the college dorm because I found our parents to be more liberal than my schoolmates. One of my high points had been attending a theatrical performance of Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest. I exclaimed, “My favorite word is earnest.”

  Janis had kept in touch with her Texas friends, telephoning with tidbits of her success. The gang gathered for a Christmas party at Adrian and Gloria’s house. Janis strode proudly around the party protesting loudly that she never sang without her band. The gang said, “Okay,” much to her chagrin.

  This was the first time Janis said anything negative about Jim Langdon to his wife, Rae. He was upstairs that night, screwing another woman, and Janis confronted Rae. “How do you stand for this shit? Still?” Rae began asking herself why she did put up with her situation. Why did she accept and nurture him, while he was free to be the nonconformist, the profane and irreverent artist?

  Whenever Janis came back to Texas the same female dichotomy confronted her. She visited Karleen, who was married and had children. Karleen told Janis about the joys of motherhood, gazing lovingly at her young daughter. She was a woman who had stayed at home, an example of the road Janis hadn’t taken. Janis was incapable of hearing her exclamations of delight about her life. She kept pressuring Karleen to get a tattoo like the one she had. It was almost as if Janis had to prove that she had made the right choice.

  Janis and I went to the grocery store on Christmas Day to get cinnamon for the cookies we were making. We drove to the only place that was open. Janis and I were dressed for the festivities of the season, in long granny dresses. The streets were deserted, giving us a feeling of being the only people alive. Happy, loose, and carefree, we joked as we searched the aisles for our necessities. At the cash register I thought we took the checkout ladies’ decorations in stride. How often do you see fifty-year-old women with their hair in French twists that have been sprayed with “snow” and have red Christmas balls stuck in carefully sculpted nests in their piled-high locks? We paid, and they snorted to each other about our long dresses and loose hair! We held in our howling laughter until the parking lot, then screamed, “They’re laughing at us?”