The day the music died

No not a line from American Pie, in which Don MacLean mourned the death of Buddy Holly, but some thoughts on what happened to the underground music scene back in the late 60s.
I'm an awkward so and so. I've written elsewhere that when everyone else was idolising Elvis and/or Cliff Richard, I professed my admiration for Helen Shapiro.
When the Beatles came along I was gobsmacked. They were unbelievably good. Unbelievably talented. Unbelievably gifted. And outspoken. They turned the world of entertainment on its head. Cliff Richard's career path had been ordained by old hands in the business. Have a few hits, shave off the sideburns, appeal to mums and grans, star in some second rate films followed by summer seasons at the end of the pier somewhere, panto every christmas- forever.

No wonder Pete Townsend wrote "Hope I die before I get old".

What would the younger Townsend have made of an old, stooping, balding, deaf former rock star reading the lyrics from one of his best known songs as the songsheet was perched on a flimsy music stand at one of the interminably annual charity rock concerts held at the Royal Albert Hall last year?

Have we sunk that low?

The Beatles got their MBEs, played their Christmas shows, made a couple of so-so films and joined the establishment. Their place was taken by a so-so r'n b band from West London who were managed by a PR genius. Although the Beatles and Stones were great friends and the Stones recorded a Lennon/McCartney song for their second (I think) single, he persuaded the popular press to paint the bands as enemies, to portray the Beatles as saints and the Stones as dirty. "Would you let your daughter marry a Rolling Stone?" went the headline.

By this time I'd discovered Bob Dylan and the British music business discovery of a hippy busker called Donovan Leitch. His 1967/8 concert at the Albert Hall still ranks as one of my favourite concerts ever, so I'm not against the man, only the business that tried to make him a rival to Dylan.

My tastes evolved, and as each of my idols became houshold names, so I'd switch to an unknown. The Who, the Small Faces, Jimi Hendrix...

By this time I was about to leave school and my circle of friends included Pete Brown, who introduced my to Dylan and Leonard Cohen, Andrew Brazier who came to an Incredible String Band concert with me and became a lifelong fan of their music, and Dave Callaghan who listened to John Peel, first on pirate radio, then on Radio 1. He loved the West Coast bands like Buffalo Springfield and Jefferson Airplane. I got to hear Love's Forever Changes with him, and that album still ranks in my top 5 all time favourites. He also turned me on to Captain Beefheart and with lesser success, The Velvet Underground. I never did get them, although I had an LP by and even wierder New York City band The Fugs in my collection for a time.

Once I'd left school and had some money we started going to concerts. Not to see chart topping bands, but bands that came under the "underground" banner. We'd buy International Times to find out who was playing, and when that was busted, we'd buy the Melody Maker and NME (back when just holding a copy would leave your hands inky black)

So it was that in June 1968 a series of free concerts were put on in Hyde park, in a little natural amphitheatre called the cockpit, down by the Serpentine. I went to quite a few there, but have no memory of the bands who played the first shows.
Did I go to the first one on the 29th June 1968? I can't remember although I did see the bands that played that day- Pink Floyd, Tyrannosaurus Rex (later T Rex),Roy Harper and Jethro Tull.
You can read all about the Hyde park free concerts here-
http://www.ukrockfestivals.com/Hyde-park-Festivals.html

I know I went to the second one in July, and have a strong memory of the third, when Ten Years After, Fleetwood Mac, Fairport Convention,Family, Roy Harper, Stefan Grossman and Peter Sarstedt entertained the ten thousand or so hippy types who sat on the grass, listening to the music and watching the boats on the lake. It was unrecognisable compared to today's festivals. The stage appeared to be the back of a lorry. The PA was a couple of WEM columns strapped to step ladders. No roof, no lights. I understand that the power was obtained by the simple process of unscrewing the light bulb from a nearby streetlamp.
This is Alan Grange's photo of Ten Years After. I think they jammed to a version of "Green Onions" for most of their set.

No merchandise. No catering. There was an ice cream van nearby, and just over the hill an enterprising individual had parked a lorry loaded up with warm cans of fizzy drink which he sold for the extortionate price of two shillings each (probably £2.50 at least today).
The almost shambolic nature of these early underground festivals was a delight to experience. There was no stress, no security, no fuss, no bother.

Indeed, the only time I felt really threatened was at a similar event on Wormwood Scrubs when local bands Hawkwind and Quiver put on a similar free event, once again with the bands on a flat bed lorry. It was a Saturday afternoon, and the orgainisers hadn't reckoned that QPR were playing another London team just down the road, and as Hawkwind were off on one of their musical oddesseys which featured a very primitive synthesiser solo, who should turn up but a couple of hundred skinheads who took great delight in marching through the assembled throng chanting football slogans. Police? What police.
Oh, another time was at a free festival on Parliament Hill Fields. The music started mid afternoon and we sat on the ground and listened to all the usual suspects. I recall looking forward to hearing Pink Floyd play again, but the next thing I remember was waking up just as they were finishing. The festival went on into the night and it was pitch black in the park. There were some lights around the stage but it was a long way away. I recall Fleetwood Mac playing. It was some time after the Hyde Park festival and they'd really tightened up. I couldn't see them but I could hear them and they were really tight. All of a sudden Peter Green started remonstrating with a section of the crowd who'd started kicking off and throwing bottles at the stage. My friend and I decided that it was time to leave...

I went to Hyde Park to see the Stones. To be honest, I wasn't that fussed about going and I left it late. When I arrived the crowd was huge. Too big for the venue. No matter how I tried I couldn't worm my way forward. I couldn't even get to the top of the cockpit and look down. I gave up and walked back to the edge of the crowd and started chatting to a girl. We didn't stay to listen to the Stones. I've seen the film. That's enough for me.

What had been underground had become mainstream. The next free concert in Hyde Park (and my last) was on the 18th July 1969 when Pink Floyd premiered their new album "Atom Heart Mother". The venue had changed. It was now on the flat area near Marble Arch and Park Lane. I was 100 yards away when they began playing. I recall watching Nick Mason's arms going up and down, and after a delay, the sound of drums and cymbals reaching my ears. It was too big. The Music Business had taken over.
The Music had died.

At around the time of the 1968 concerts, another phenomenon was born. The compilation album. Before "The Rock Machine Turns You On" LPs tended to be by a single artist or group. Indeed, prior to the Beatles, LPs were a collection of singles and "B" sides. Bands like the Beatles, The Stones, the Moody Blues and others turned them into something quite different- the concept album. LPs didn't necessarily need a hit single- Led Zep never released a single in the UK.
"The Rock Machine" was something entirely different- 15 tracks by 15 different artists. What's more- it was half the price of the other albums.
I bought a copy and discovered a whole world of bands that I wouldn't have spent monet buying a full album of. The bands/tracks I liked- I bought their album. The others? Thanks but no thanks.
A few years ago I was staying at a friend's house and I noticed something familiar about his CD collection. There was a CD of the "Rock Machine" and next to it, every CD that had been featured on the compliation. I can't imagine anyone buying the latest "Now that's what I call...." doing that could you?

Read more about the first ever compilation album here
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Rock_Machine_Turns_You_On

So when was the day the music died?
Was it when The Stones muscled in on a little hippy celebration, opening the doors to the rest of the Music Business?
Or was it when Clive Davis released that first compilation, a move that put the record companies in total control of an artist's career?