Live at the Fillmore East and West

by John Glatt

  On August 12, Cheap Thrills was released and sold more than a million albums in the first month, eventually reaching number 1 on the Billboard chart. Clive Davis also released an edited version of “Piece of My Heart” as a single, which went to number 12 and helped drive sales of Big Brother and the Holding Company’s album.

  Although presented as a live album with a concert introduction by Bill Graham, the only actually live track was “Ball and Chain,” which had been recorded at the Grande Ballroom, Detroit. The striking Robert Crumb album cover falsely credited “Live material recorded at Bill Graham’s Fillmore Auditorium.”

  “It was an artifact,” said Sam Andrew. “All the other songs were manufactured in the studio and made to sound as if they were live. So the whole thing was an illusion.”15

  Bill Graham was so delighted at the Fillmore name-check that he thanked Janis and Big Brother in a letter he penned on August 9.

  “I want to thank you sincerely for your generous consideration,” he wrote, “in giving the Fillmore Auditorium credit on your album cover. This is no bullshit. It gives me a very warm and personal feeling. You won’t need my spiritual push, but I wish you much, much success with the album.”16

  New York Times music critic William Kloman certainly wasn’t fooled, savaging the album in his review.

  “Cheap Thrills is in effect a stereophonic minstrel show,” he wrote, “and probably the most insulting album of the year.”

  Accusing Big Brother of being middle-class white kids pretending to be black, Kloman labeled it “a bad parody,” even lacking the humor of an old Amos ’n’ Andy show.

  “Every cut on the album rings false,” he wrote. “The falsity would be excusable if so much of the music weren’t boring and second-rate.”17

  Soon after its release, Janis summoned the band to her room at the Chelsea Hotel. She announced she would be leaving Big Brother in early December, after completing their remaining tour dates.

  “Then Peter Albin started screaming,” recalled Sam Andrew. “Nobody else said anything . . . we were completely silent. But Peter was upset and angry and he was screaming. So then the meeting broke up.”18

  As Sam Andrew was leaving the room, Janis called him back, inviting him to join her new band that Albert Grossman was now recruiting.

  A year later, Janis would explain why she had fired Big Brother, whom she had once seen as family.

  “It was . . . time for each of us to start growing in another direction,” she said. “Like you grow together [in a] certain way and you exhaust the good you can do for each other.”19

  Peter Albin felt betrayed by Janis and was convinced that Albert Grossman had put her up to it.

  “She didn’t break down or cry,” said Albin. “She was a tough egg breaking it to us. ‘I’ve made this decision for my career. I want to go on my own.’ ”20

  The next day, Albert Grossman’s office issued a press release announcing an “amicable split” between Janis and Big Brother. It ensured that the last dates of the tour would sell out.

  “We weren’t growing together any more,” read Janis’s words in the statement. “It should be good for their heads as a band not to be dominated by a chick singer any longer, and as for me, I hope I will be able to develop further as a singer along the lines I have in mind.”21

  When they went back on the road, bad feeling toward Janis and Sam Andrew was oozing from the rest of the band.

  “So that was a tough little tour to do,” said Albin. “I mean she’d already quit. Obviously she looks for some remnant of her past and she wants somebody to do drugs with.”22

  Sam Andrew agreed that Janis’s insecurity was the main reason she wanted him to stay.

  “One thing’s for sure,” he said, “she and I started doing a lot of drugs together when we left.”23

  On August 18, Janis and Peter Albin almost came to blows during a show at the Tyrone Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis. The bassist became infuriated when Janis, near the end of the first set, suddenly stopped dead in the middle of a song and began panting into the microphone.

  “It was very obvious that she was milking the crowd,” said Albin. “This is like phone Hollywood bullshit. So I made the crack, ‘Well, after Janis’s Lassie impression we’ll go onto the next song.’ And she immediately hit her microphone and said, ‘Well, fuck you!’ ”24

  Two songs later, when they came offstage, all hell broke loose.

  “Janis just started ranting and raving,” said Albin. “I said, ‘If you want to talk like a sailor, you’ll be treated like one. Bring it on!’ And that was threatening to her. I didn’t raise my fists or try and punch her or anything. But just the fact that the word Lassie was used, which is the name of a dog. Women don’t like references to dogs or bitches.”25

  A week later, Big Brother and Jimi Hendrix headlined the Singer Bowl at Flushing Meadows, New York. Ed Sullivan had personally taken Janis to the concert in his limousine, as he wanted to book her for his top-rated Ed Sullivan Show.

  The Chambers Brothers and Soft Machine opened the sold-out show. It was dark by the time Janis took the outdoor circular stage with Big Brother. Previously, it had been agreed with the promoter, Shelly Finkel, that the bright stadium lights would be turned off for Big Brother’s set.

  “So Janis goes out and hits the stage,” recalled Vinnie Fusco, who worked for Albert Grossman, “and she’s waiting for the lights to go out and [they] don’t.”26

  A visibly uncomfortable Janis then started the set under the blinding glare of the stadium lights, but it threw her and she sang badly.

  “She never gets with it,” wrote Annie Fisher of the Village Voice, “and it’s a mediocre set. Something’s missing—the fire. It’s not her night. Not her house.”

  Janis came offstage furious that the stadium lights had been left on for her performance. When Fusco asked Finkel why they had not been dimmed, he replied that the Parks Commissioner had insisted they remain on.

  As Fusco drove Janis back to Manhattan, the lights were finally turned down and Jimi Hendrix took the stage for what would be a great performance.

  “That the house is Jimi Hendrix’s is clear the minute he comes in sight,” wrote Fisher. “He wipes his nose with a Confederate flag. The monster lights are finally dimmed. Groovy.”

  After dropping Janis off at the Hilton Hotel, where she was staying instead of the Chelsea like the rest of the band, Fusco drove home. A few hours later, he received a frantic phone call from Janis in a midtown bar.

  “She calls for help,” said Fusco, “and says she’d OD’d and dying.”

  Fusco jumped in his car and drove to the bar, where he found her wearing just a nightgown under her Lynx coat. When he brought her back to the Hilton, the hotel staff would not let her in, as she had lost her key and had only a California library card for identification. Fusco told the front desk manager that she had the number-1 record in America and could die if she didn’t get back to her room.

  “He said, ‘Let her die in the street,’ ” said Fusco, “so I punched him.”

  Fusco then went and bought a suitcase, loaded it with phone books, and checked her into a room at the Americana Hotel in Times Square (now the Sheraton).

  A few days later, Fusco discovered that Jimi Hendrix had ordered the stadium lights to remain on during Big Brother’s set so Janis would not upstage him.27

  In mid-August, the Grateful Dead played three sold-out shows at the Fillmore West, the first time they’d played there since Bill Graham had snatched the Carousel Ballroom away from them. During one of the band’s lengthy space jams, Bill Graham was in the wings with his house manager, Paul Baratta, when he noticed a beautiful, exotic-looking girl dancing below. He could not take his eyes off her as she danced, whipping her waist-length hair around and twirling around the floor. She reminded him of a young Ava Gardner, his favorite movie star. Then he went over and i
ntroduced himself, thanking her for adding color to his ballroom.

  Although sixteen-year-old Diane LaChambre was less than half his age, and Bonnie was home eight-months pregnant, Bill Graham was love-struck. That night the young Tahitian-American, whose parents ran a bar in the Mission, had taken some PCP and her girlfriend had to explain that Bill Graham—whom Diane had never heard of—owned the Fillmore. The schoolgirl was flattered by the older man’s attention, accepting his invitation to be his guest at the following night’s Grateful Dead show.

  When she came back, Diane was dressed to kill, wearing a tight, clingy black frock with a slit up the side. When she arrived at the box office she was given a free pass, and Bill Graham went over to welcome her back.

  He stayed close that night, flattering her and telling her how beautiful she was. Three days later he seduced her and they embarked on a wild passionate affair. 28

  On August 21, Jefferson Airplane flew to Brussels for their much-anticipated European tour with The Doors. They brought along an entourage of fifteen, including Glenn McKay’s Headlights and more than five tons of equipment. After spending the night at the five-star Hotel Metropole, they flew to Stockholm for the first show. Before takeoff, Jorma Kaukonen was listening to music on his headset when the stewardess told him to turn it off.

  “Jorma refused,” recalled manager Bill Thompson. “The pilot, a big bald man, came out and ordered Jorma to turn off the music or he would have to throw him off the plane.”

  By this time everybody in the plane was aware of the trouble, and they were encouraging the pilot to throw Kaukonen off the plane.

  “I ordered Jorma to turn off the music,” said Thompson. “I told the pilot that we were a rock & roll band, and had not gotten much sleep in the last few days. We were allowed to travel to Stockholm.”

  But most of the airline staff Jefferson Airplane met during their travels were only too pleased to look after the band.

  “We used to hang out with the stewardesses,” said Grace. “We’d go on these huge 747s that had little bubbles on top which was like a bar. We’d go up there and the stewardesses would snort coke with us . . . and the guys would screw them or whatever. I mean it was really fun to fly.”29

  After co-headlining shows with The Doors in Stockholm, Copenhagen, Hamburg, and Dusseldorf, the Airplane flew to London. They spent a week in the city, sightseeing in a red double-decker bus.

  On August 31, they played the Isle of White at three o’clock in the morning in frigid temperatures. And five days later they played a free concert on a rainy afternoon in Parliament Hill Fields, with Fairport Convention opening.

  “What is wrong with you people?” Grace asked the crowd. “It’s raining. Go home.”

  The next weekend’s two shows at London’s Roundhouse were hotly anticipated by the English music press. It was the first time any of the new San Francisco bands had played England.

  “The biggest freak-out since Babylon is likely to erupt at London’s Roundhouse next weekend,” wrote the Melody Maker.

  The two Roundhouse shows, with the Airplane and The Doors alternating as headliners, were critically acclaimed and would firmly establish Jefferson Airplane in the U.K.

  One night in London, Grace sneaked out of the hotel room she shared with Spencer Dryden to seduce Jim Morrison.

  “I hit on him,” said Grace in 1998. “I went to his door and knocked. I was so nervous.”

  When Morrison opened the door and Grace said, “Hi,” Morrison didn’t reply. Then he just sat on his bed and watched her, without saying a word. Not quite sure how to proceed, Grace picked up a bowl of frozen room-service strawberries and stuck her finger in them. Morrison followed suit, picking up a strawberry and squeezing it in his hand until the juice ran out through his fingers. He began to laugh and started squeezing more strawberries. Feeling more relaxed, Grace started squeezing some, too.

  Soon they were both crushing the strawberries into the white bed sheets with abandon. Then they fell into each other’s arms and made love on the wet strawberry sheets.

  “Yeah he was good,” said Grace, who would later call him well-endowed. “And I said, ‘Well, if you ever want to call me up again.’ But he never did.”30

  Two weeks later, Jefferson Airplane and The Doors played the Concert House in Amsterdam. Grace was still recovering from laryngitis she’d contracted in London. The afternoon of the show the two bands went out on a shopping expedition together.

  “And drugs are legal in Amsterdam,” said Grace. “So we’re walking down the street [and] the kids know who we were. And most of us would say, ‘Oh, thank you.’ If it’s marijuana we’d have a toke or something. Or if it’s hash, ‘Oh, thanks very much and you’d put it in your pocket, I’ll save it for later.’ Or heroin or whatever it was.

  “Jim sat down on the curb and did everything that was handed to him. That’s in the daytime. We had to play that night.”31

  And that night it was the Airplane’s turn to open the show. They were in the middle of “Plastic Fantastic Lover” when Morrison, having just washed down an ounce of blonde hashish with a twelve-pack of Heineken, suddenly leapt onstage.

  “He looked like a spastic windmill,” recalled Grace. “His arms are flailing around and he’s doing all this stuff. His band is just looking at him like, ‘Oh God.’ ”

  Morrison promptly passed out and the paramedics carried him out in a stretcher to a waiting ambulance, which drove him to the hospital to have his stomach pumped. The three remaining Doors played two sets that night, with keyboardist Ray Manzarek doing the singing.

  “Yeah, but The Doors without Jim Morrison,” said Bill Thompson, “was a lot like watching paint dry.”32

  After the Amsterdam show, Grace Slick and Spender Dryden flew to the Caribbean for a week’s vacation in St. Thomas. A couple of days later, Paul Kantner flew in with a girlfriend to join them. Grace’s relationship with Dryden had become increasingly strained, and after finding a cockroach in their bed she flew back to San Francisco alone.

  Santana was now regularly playing the Fillmore West, fast building a devoted following. At the end of August, Santana was third on the bill to the Staple Singers and Steppenwolf. Three weeks later, Santana had moved up to second on the bill to Janis Joplin and Big Brother and the Holding Company. And by the end of December, Santana were headliners in their own right.33

  “It started to get weird with the Santana [audiences],” said Michael Wilhelm of The Charlatans, who regularly played the Fillmore West. “They were real loud and low-lifes . . . from the Mission. You’d think you see acid heads and pot heads, but they had a following of downer freaks . . . the opposite of what Santana represents.”34

  In mid-August, Carlos Santana contacted his parents for the first time in two years, inviting them to the Fillmore West to see him play.

  “I had never gone to one of those places,” said José Santana. “We saw a bunch of lights and a lot of strange things in that place. We saw many hippies, too.”

  But when the veteran mariachi musician saw his son’s Latin rock band, he was not impressed.

  “They were still not playing too good,” said José. “You could tell by listening to them.”35

  On Tuesday, September 17, Bill Graham flew Diane LaChambre to New York for Traffic’s debut at the Fillmore East. He had several business meetings lined up, and he asked his twenty-one-year-old personal assistant, Lee Blumer, to look after his new mistress.

  “He had me babysit,” said Blumer. “She was young and very pretty and kind of ethereal. Stoned. I assumed he was having a relationship with her.”36

  While Graham was away on Fillmore East business, Diane stayed at Blumer’s apartment. Diane was fascinated by her collection of Fillmore posters, and they called out for Chinese food. Then around eleven in the evening, Graham arrived to take Diane back to his Lower East Side apartment to spend the night.

&nbs
p; A couple of days later, Bonnie Graham went into labor and was taken to the hospital, where she was cared for by her sister-in-law, Ester Chichinsky. Although Bonnie would have liked Bill to be there for the birth of their first child, she understood how busy he was running the two Fillmores.

  “That he wouldn’t be there when [our baby] was born was unfortunate,” said Bonnie, “but I thought, ‘OK, he’s busy.’ I always accepted the fact that he was going here, there and every other place.”37

  Bill Graham was in his Fillmore East office, going over details of the Friday night Traffic show with Kip Cohen, when he learned he had become a father.

  “He got the call from Bonnie at the hospital that [his son David] had been born,” recalled Cohen. “Was he touched and moved? Yes. But I also remember it was just one of a barrage of phone calls that went to agents and managers. It was just another phone call.”38

  That night Graham celebrated the birth of his son with his young girlfriend back in his apartment. The next morning, he asked Lee Blumer if she had sent flowers to Bonnie. Lee replied that she had, but she had signed the card with her name and not his.

  “I didn’t think to send flowers for him,” she said. “That night his wife yelled at him for not sending her any flowers, so he almost killed me for that.”39

  For Saturday night’s show, the Fillmore East technical staff had hung an old English traffic light over the stage, just out of view of the audience. Before Traffic went onstage, the Joshua Light Show showed films of traffic in various cities, accompanied by a specially recorded soundtrack of street sounds.

  Then, as Steve Winwood and the rest of the band were tuning up, the illuminated traffic light was slowly lowered by a wire, stopping about six feet above the stage.

  “We had the whole thing timed,” said Bill Graham, “and all I said was, ‘On drums, Jim Capaldi, on sax, Chris Wood, on organ, Stevie Winwood—Traffic.’ First the light was red, on yellow I introduced them. At the word ‘Traffic,’ the light went green. Music, up! The kids screamed. It did something for the set.”40