Tuesday, August 01, 2006
I had moved the next couple of disks of the "Dick Cavett Show: Rock Icons" up the queue, intending to watch them while A was out of town, but it didn't work out that way. Last night's edition was amusing enough to draw A in for all three shows, plus the Rolling Stones segment at the end. These are, actually, pretty terrific because they allow the adult me to see the 60's that I only vaguely recall. The first show, for example was filmed the day after Woodstock, and started off with the Jefferson Airplane and Joni Mitchell. I kinda like the Airplane/Starship, but I think what I like about the band and what the band liked about itself are pretty much at odds. Soaring vocal harmonies, anthematic songs with strong hooks-- that's what I like. Endless, pointless jams, and dubious politics-- that's what they like. Joni was Joni-- I find it easy to forget how good she was, but she really was. After the Airplane ran through "Volunteers" and Joni had her turn-- including a stirring "Chelsea Morning", everybody sat down on the psychdelically decorated set to rap. It looked like just about every smug, obnoxious show biz hippie anybody ever heard of was there, but wait! Who's this? Why, Stephen Stills and David Crosby, how good of you to drop by! Now we have everyone. Even so-- even with Stills pointing out the mud from Yasgur's farm still on his jeans, there was some moving music here, including a very nice "Four and Twenty".
A better window into the times, I think, was the next show, which started out with Debbie Reynolds, perky and intelligent, although not particularly interesting. Sly and the Family Stone were due up, but there were "technical difficulties" so Cavett brought out Pancho Gonzales-- who seemed to wonder what he was doing there. When Sly and company finally came on the nature of the technical problems they'd been having was immediately apparent: they'd had to wait until Sly had Hoovered up all the blow. Where it really got fun for me was in the final segment, when Oklahoma Senator Fred Harris and his wife, LaDonna, an Indian rights activist came on. Harris was the man I cast my first ever presidential primary vote for, about five years after this interview, and he was everything I could have hoped for in an early political hero-- articulate, thoughtful, and liberal even by the standards of the day. Bad haircut, though.
The David Bowie program features "Young Americans" Bowie, orange haired and looking like-- actually, I'm not going to make that joke, but if you practice law here in the Eighth Judicial District and care, ask me some time. I found the resemblance hilariously distracting.
A better window into the times, I think, was the next show, which started out with Debbie Reynolds, perky and intelligent, although not particularly interesting. Sly and the Family Stone were due up, but there were "technical difficulties" so Cavett brought out Pancho Gonzales-- who seemed to wonder what he was doing there. When Sly and company finally came on the nature of the technical problems they'd been having was immediately apparent: they'd had to wait until Sly had Hoovered up all the blow. Where it really got fun for me was in the final segment, when Oklahoma Senator Fred Harris and his wife, LaDonna, an Indian rights activist came on. Harris was the man I cast my first ever presidential primary vote for, about five years after this interview, and he was everything I could have hoped for in an early political hero-- articulate, thoughtful, and liberal even by the standards of the day. Bad haircut, though.
The David Bowie program features "Young Americans" Bowie, orange haired and looking like-- actually, I'm not going to make that joke, but if you practice law here in the Eighth Judicial District and care, ask me some time. I found the resemblance hilariously distracting.
// posted by Bill @ 8:34 AM 
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