by John Glatt
“We’d come to take for granted how much we love it,” he said. “It definitely took a destination away from us.”1
Jack Casady said the rock experience both venues gave fans would never be repeated.
“It was a great deal,” he said. “And don’t forget the ticket prices were $3.50 to see three major acts. But you’re not going to have nineteen cents for a gallon of gas again, so that’s the way it goes.”2
When the fans arrived for the final Fillmore East shows, the marquee now read, “Thank You and Farewell.” Inside, each patron was handed a special playbill, looking more like a funeral program with its cover bearing the dates “March 8, 1968—June 27, 1971.” The playbill’s interior was bursting with glowing tributes to Bill Graham and the Fillmore East from all the major record labels and some of the biggest names in the music business.
“To Bill Graham and the entire Fillmore staff: a standing ovation and an encore, we hope, very soon,” was the message from RCA. A&M Records took out an advertisement, reading: “There is no debating that the Fillmore has presented the finest rock music available with greater reliability than any other venue on the planet.”
Jac Holzman of Elektra Records wrote: “Even after the Fillmores have closed their doors, and even after the last chords have echoed into the night, even after the final curtain has come down and the last light has been extinguished, the silence and the darkness will be alive forever with those unforgettable ghosts of music that for five years filled the silence and lit the darkness. An era has passed—our twin meccas of music will be missed. We offer our thanks to you, Bill, and to your Fillmore staffs, for having been midwives to the music.”
The playbill also had photographs of every Fillmore East staff member, a full discography of all the live albums recorded there, and a personal message from Bill Graham himself.
“Time will tell what we’ve shared,” he wrote. “I do know that I am proud to have been here, with you, with the artists, and with the staff—peace, good health, and joy in life. Cheers, Bill Graham.”3
Patrons could also buy limited-edition original Fillmore concert posters from the upstairs and downstairs concession stands for just $1.
As Saturday night bled into Sunday morning, after Albert King—who had helped open the Fillmore East—and the J. Geils Band played, the Allman Brothers Band took the stage at about 2:30 a.m. And for the next five hours they held the audience spellbound, playing some of the finest music ever heard at the Fillmore East.
“It was probably the greatest show we have ever played,” said Butch Trucks. “And it was just magic. It was absolutely what music is all about. It was one of those nights where you couldn’t make a mistake. No matter what I did, two or three other guys in the band were already there. No matter how far out we would [go], we all went to the same place, and the crowd was right there with us all night long. It was just unbelievable.”4
When the band came offstage at around 5:00 a.m. after several encores, they did not want to stop.
“And Duane looked at me backstage and said, ‘Gee Bill, I’ll play more,’ ” recalled Bill Graham. “And they went back onstage . . . and he was in heaven.”5
As the band started “Mountain Jam,” all the lights in the theater were turned off and a single spotlight was aimed at an ancient mirrorball hanging from the ceiling.
“We never used it,” said Allan Arkush. “But we said, ‘Let’s hit the mirrorball [for] “Mountain Jam.” ’ And they’re noodling in the dark and then when they hit the big riff the spotlights hit the mirrorball, and the dots of light went from the stage to the walls of the theater. And it was so beautiful as they’re playing that theme. Phenomenal”6
There was also a slide of a bird, reflected off a pliable mirror onto the walls. So it looked like a bird flying around the theater, flapping its wings along with Duane Allman’s majestic guitar solos.
It was past seven in the morning when the Allman Brothers Band finally finished playing. There was no applause. Just silence.
“Nobody even clapped,” said Butch Trucks. “Everybody just sat there with a smile on their face. Then somebody got up and opened the doors and the sun came pouring it. And the audience are just sitting there looking at us, and we’re standing there looking at them. And then little by little people started standing up and filing out quietly.
“And I remember Duane walking in front of me, dragging his guitar, going, ‘Goddamn, it’s like leaving church.’ ”7
At Sunday night’s invitation-only show, Bill Graham’s guests arrived to find a red rose and a commemorative poster on every seat. There were rumors that John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Bob Dylan, and Eric Clapton might jam together onstage. Unfortunately, earlier in the day there had been several bomb threats, as well as a minor riot on Second Avenue when some kids had tried to storm the Fillmore East.
“It was as chaotic as the opening,” remembered Kip Cohen, “with the same kind of crush to be there. And a very sad, very soulful experience.”8
As the guests arrived for the private party, WNEW DJ Alison Steele described the action to the thousands of listeners at home.
“It reminds me of a Broadway opening rather than a closing,” she said. “Everybody’s kind of hanging out in the lobby and it’s all very social. It’s just a tremendous picture of excitement.”
Among the stars who turned out were John Lennon and Yoko Ono, Stephen Stills, Neil Young, and Laura Nyro. Running a few minutes late, Bill Graham and Kip Cohen walked onstage to a standing ovation. Behind them was a giant banner, saying “Graduation 1971.”
“Good evening,” said Graham, wearing a baggy white shirt with a red rose in a buttonhole and jeans. “It’s very gratifying to get that kind of response in New York City. It’s a rather delicious feeling. Now if I can just put it in little jars and put it on my shelf I’d be very happy.”
Then he announced Albert King, who had opened the Fillmore East three and a quarter years earlier. King played a moving forty-minute set, receiving great applause for his unique electric blues.
While everyone waited for the J. Geils Band to come onstage, WPLJ DJ Alex Bennett discussed how the previous night’s audience had vandalized the theater, slashing seats and stealing pieces of furniture as mementos.
“They were trying to get a piece of the Fillmore,” said Bennett. “As Kip [Cohen] put it, it kind of justified the closing.”
Dave Herman of WPLJ said the whole counterculture had changed into something dark.
“The scene that went down in the Fillmore East last night,” said Herman, “one of real aggressiveness, vandalism, and hostility.”
Bennett then said you only had to walk out on Second Avenue at four in the morning, to see the junkies trying to score.
“Well obviously the Fillmores were built out of flower power,” said Herman, “and saw their way into cocaine karma. What started out as kind of a gay romp through the woods is now turning into somewhat of a nightmare.”9
After the J. Geils Band played a rousing set, Bill Graham came back onstage to introduce Mountain.
“He uttered a few forgettable words,” wrote rock critic Robert Christgau, “before some guy in the balcony yelled . . . ‘Fuck you!’ Graham glanced up and continued briefly, but soon someone in another part of the balcony began to shout. That stopped him. Graham looked in the direction of his first tormentor. ‘I’m not going to say much more,’ he said. ‘It only takes one guy like you to ruin it for [everyone].’
“I must admit I felt a bolt of sympathy for Bill. The poor fucker packs the house, admission by fucking invitation only, and a couple of ringers sneak in to haunt him.”10
After Mountain’s set, the Beach Boys arrived backstage and unloaded their gear. Their road manager then informed Bill Graham that the Beach Boys would be closing the show.
“And Bill didn’t even look at him,” said Butch Trucks. “He just said, ‘Well, you
can go ahead and pack up your shit and get out of here. I’ve got my closing act.’ ”
The Beach Boys then went on, playing songs from their new album Surf’s Up, which received a cool reception from the audience. It wasn’t until they played a medley of their old hits that they connected.
At around 3:00 a.m., the Allman Brothers Band were waiting backstage to go on and close the Fillmore East.
“Bill came running across the stage and grabbed me by the neck,” said Trucks, “and I had never met him up to that point. He started yelling, ‘You’re the big man!’ I mean he was squeezing my neck. And he said, ‘Butch, all these years of all this bullshit I’ve had to put up with to run this. I’ll never forget last night. If I had my way when you guys finished playing at seven or eight in the morning, I would have been sealed up in my bubble and gone off to wherever I’m going.’ And that was the beginning of my very close friendship with Bill.”11
Then Graham strode out onto the Fillmore East stage to make his final introduction.
“Over the years that we’ve been doing this,” he began, “the introductions are usually very short, and this one’s going to be . . . a little longer than usual. In the past year or so we’ve had them on both coasts a number of times. In all that time I’ve never heard the kind of music that this group plays.
“And last night we had the good fortune of having them get onstage at about 2:30—three o’clock and they walked out of here at seven o’clock in the morning. And it’s not just that they played quantity, and for my amateur ears in all my life I’ve never heard the kind of music that this group plays. The finest contemporary music. We’re going to round it off with the best of them all—the Allman Brothers.”
“And that was special,” said Gregg Allman. “I’d heard a rumor before that Bill had said of all the bands he’d ever worked with, we were his favorites, but I hadn’t believed it. So when I heard him say that with my own two ears, I was elated.”12
After another inspired set by the Allman Brothers, Bill Graham led his entire Fillmore East staff onto the stage to take a final bow with him.
“Take a good look at these people,” said Graham, wiping a tear from his eye, “because when you pass them on the street some day, I want you to know that they’ve been your friends for a long time. Thank you very much for coming.”
The next morning, Bill Graham announced the lineup for the closing week of the Fillmore West, and the tickets went on sale. Billed as “the bands that built the Fillmore,” the Wednesday to Sunday closing week headliners would be Cold Blood, Boz Scaggs, the Grateful Dead, Quicksilver Messenger Service, and Electric Hot Tuna, with Santana playing the final night on July 4.
At the last minute, Keeva Kristal had persuaded Bill Graham to commission a fly-on-the-wall documentary film to be made about the closing week at the Fillmore West.
“The film was put together in the last few days without warning to anyone,” said Graham. “There was no time to talk about contracts, money or negotiations. The basic deal was, ‘Let these people film it. I give you my word if you don’t like your footage . . . you don’t have to be in it.’ ”
Eli Bleich, a twenty-eight-year-old filmmaker who worked for a political consulting firm, was brought in to direct, although he knew little about rock music.
“I was contemporary with the rock ’n’ roll age,” he explained. “I didn’t know who Jerry Garcia was, but I learned very quickly.”
From the beginning there was no question that the star of the movie would be Bill Graham, who would put on an Oscar-worthy performance.
“Bill knows how to turn it on and turn it off for the cameras,” said Bleich. “He commanded the room and the subject. When he began to talk or do stuff everybody was quiet. He was very opinionated and knew what he wanted.”13
Graham soon became obsessed with the film. It was as if he were finally appeasing the ghosts of his failed acting career and becoming a movie star.
“It was insane,” said his record company partner, David Rubinson. “Bill really, really loved being on camera and he loved playing the part of Bill Graham. So he took over my office. Took over the studio. We were working full-time on that.”14
When the resulting movie Fillmore was released the following May, it would carry an “R” rating because of Graham’s foul language. Through shouting, screaming, and cursing through the one-hour, forty-five-minute film, Bill Graham delivered his finest character performance—playing himself. Although it was a documentary, Graham was hailed by England’s Melody Maker film critic for being “as riveting as Bogart or Cagney.”
For a large part of the movie, Graham lambastes, browbeats, and argues with stars, such as Boz Scaggs and Carlos Santana, as he micromanages the final Fillmore West shows.
A high point of the movie comes after former Charlatan Mike Wilhelm asks Graham to book his new band for the closing shows. When the promoter refuses, a frustrated Wilhelm tells him, “Well, I’d just like to say, ‘Fuck you and thanks for the memories, man.’ ”
Bill Graham then unleashes a torrent of abuse as he marches Wilhelm out of the door, raging, “The next time you say ‘Fuck you’ to me, I hope it’s out there somewhere with no camera around. I’ll take your teeth out of your mouth and shove ’em through your nose. . . . Fucking animal.”
The camera then follows Wilhelm down the stairs and out of the building, trailed by a further stream of abuse from Graham.
“He certainly didn’t stay angry with me,” said Wilhelm. “I got a call from him saying ‘That thing you pulled on me is the most exciting thing in the movie.’ Bill wanted me to sign a release for them to use it, which I did, and I got royalties.”15
The final week of the Fillmore West began with a Tuesday night in-house basketball game between the Fillmore Fingers and FM Productions. Bill Graham was as competitive as ever as he “dribbled, coached and hollered” up and down the brightly lit Fillmore West onstage basketball court. It was a close game, and in the final five minutes the referee was threatened and fists flew, with a player being knocked to the ground.
“Get out of the fucking building!” yelled Graham at a spectator who had dared to criticize one of his plays. Then Graham briefly left the game to frog-march the offender out of the building before coming back to finish the contest, which the Fingers won 60–58.
“It was an action-packed week,” said Fillmore West manager Gary L.Jackson. “We’re making a movie. Everything is being recorded for a Fillmore album. It was an eighty-hour week for me, but I was having the time of my life.”16
On Friday, July 2, the Grateful Dead played their final show at the Fillmore West. Before the show, an excited Bill Graham called Jackson, who captained his Fillmore Football team, into his office.
“Bill said, ‘We’re challenging the Grateful Dead after the show,’ ” recalled Jackson. “It was their last concert [there] and Bill named it the ‘Toilet Bowl.’ ”
At 11:15 p.m., Bill Graham introduced the Grateful Dead, telling the audience, “After all the shit that’s gone down over the years, I’m very grateful to them and consider them friends . . . the Grateful Dead.”17
The Dead then played a classic three-hour set, interrupted by one intermission, ending with “Not Fade Away” and “Johnny B. Goode.”
After the audience had left, Bill Graham led them outside to a football sandbox for the Toilet Bowl.
“We started playing at maybe 2:30 a.m.,” said Jackson. “Jerry Garcia’s there and the rest of them and the crew. Bobby Weir was the most athletic of them.”
The Grateful Dead’s team managed to beat Graham’s team, and Jackson found a toilet bowl for the official trophy presentation.
“So Bill brought out the oak toilet bowl with roses on it and gave it to Garcia,” said Jackson. “The game was that competitive but we had fun doing it.”18
The next morning, Jim Morrison of The Doors died in his bath in Paris
at just twenty-seven years old—the exact same age at which Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix had died. Paul Kantner, who knew them all, viewed their deaths as unfortunate accidents.
“They were just experimenting with all the drugs that be,” he said. “I never liked needles from the beginning, when I was three years old in the doctor’s office. I still have trouble getting a blood test. So that kept me away from heroin. I don’t like downers generally anyway. I’ve done a lot of acid, which was my favorite [drug] because it would take you out and up and search out adventures.”
Kantner believes that a lot of musicians did heroin to better relate to the great blues and jazz musicians of the past.
“Yeah, a lot of musicians thought they had to be ultimately cool, particularly blues musicians,” he explained. “That they had to do heroin like the famous blues and jazz musicians did, otherwise they won’t be definitive or something. I lamented that on one level, but no, I never thought of doing it myself. I didn’t even start drinking until I was in my fifties. Grace was the big drinker. Janis was a big drinker.”19
On Saturday night, Electric Hot Tuna played a smoking three-hour set, opening for Quicksilver Messenger Service.
“Once again we were the stars of the moment,” recalled Jorma Kaukonen. “We probably felt pretty important. I couldn’t give you any specifics, but I’m sure we were really pleased with ourselves.”20
On Sunday night, the Fillmore West had its grand finale, just one day short of its third anniversary. As it had been in New York, it was by invitation only and would be broadcast live by KSAN and KSFX in quadrophonic FM, each radio station carrying two channels of sound.
“This is going to be the greatest motherfucking evening of our lives,” announced Bill Graham, as he came onstage to a standing ovation to start the show. “And now, a bitch of a band from the East Bay—Tower of Power.”
Next up was Creedence Clearwater Revival, playing as a trio for the first time since John Fogerty had fired his brother Tom. Santana road manager Herbie Herbert was in the artist’s dressing room talking to DJ Tom Donahue when John Fogerty walked in with an Elvis Presley pompadour and a perfectly tailored turquoise suit with matching boots.