Standing Strong for the Blues || The White Stripes || San Francisco Filmore 2002

I didn't have any desire to see the White Stripes. My desire was in the opening act, Brenden Benson. This was an artist that I had been tracking since his debut album album came into my music collection sometime in '97. I believe my brother gave it to me as a birthday gift, with a note, "you gotta check this guy out. He is amazing. I think he is some sort of Jason Falkner protege." Brenden had not been making the rounds across the US in some time, so I was excited to see that he was coming to San Francisco that June of 2002.

What surprised me the most was when I tried to buy tickets, the damn show was sold out. Bummed but not deterred, I figured I would try to buy some at the door from a scalper. My buddy, Eric Fraser, joined my on this adventure.

I do have to say that my interest was sparked about these White Stripes. I went down to Streetlight Records and decided to take a chance and acquire their second full length, De Stijl. A fan of the title already due to the artistic theme that I would soon discover was the white stripes. I gave the CD a spin a few times before the show, but distractions seemed to get in the way from a good listen.

We arrived early and the negotiations began. There were plenty of people selling the general admission tickets, so we knew that we would see the show. Tickets were $20 with an $8.50 service charge and we did not want to go much over that. Setting our eyesights on a struggling scalper with his own personal bar set at $40 a ticket, we honed in and began the dance. The scalper would not budge, but he was on the wrong side of the street, trying to avoid the other corner salesmen. Five minutes into Whirlwind Heat's set, the underpowered salesman undid his belt and let them fly for $25 a piece. We could've paid more to ticketmaster. Feelin' already ahead of the game, Eric and I went upstairs to the Ballroom.

It seems like we did not miss much for our discounted purchase after catching half of the opening act's set. It just didn't do much for me. Plus, my expectations were set for Brenden Benson who was up next.

Brenden didn't disappoint. He lit up the stage playing a lot from his new album, Lapalco as well as some from One Mississippi. Unfortunately it was an abrieviated set due to the three band line up. Fortunately because he was an opening act, I was able to get right up front and really enjoy the show. After his set I walked away feeling satisfied. Check him off the list of great musicians that I wanted to see if they could "bring it" in a live performance. He did.

Feeling content, I grabbed a cold beer and set up in a good spot on the ballroom floor to witness The White Stripes live. They had funny looking dudes dressed in black suites with red shirts, black tie & Derby hats setting up the equipment. This was going to be a spectacle. The stage was set up with a big clock reminisent of Alice in Wonderland except in red & white.  It was placed at the top of the stairs.  The lights dimmed, then I heard it for the first time.....the live buzzsaw sound of Jack White's beat up, plastic Airline guitar coming through an old Silvertone Amp.  My jaw was lying on the ground as he held the guitar straight up above his head and rocked those chords harder than I have ever seen anybody rock chords before.  Alone.  Naked for the world to take note.  I certainly did.
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With the guitar above his head he slowly proceeded down the staircase as Meg White's primal drumming kicked into gear.  This was the most powerful musical scene of my life.  I wanted an electric guitar.  Now I have heard of this phenomenom happening before.  When I was just a little seed, I heard about millions of youngsters across the U.S. seeing the Beatles on The Ed Sullivan show for the first time and getting that same feeling.  I had heard these stories before, but I never thought it would happen to me.  Well the White Stripes quickly shook up my world and made me obsessed with playing the guitar and getting a "sound".

As Jack marched downward on the staircase and ripped through an evangelical version of "Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground" he only set a precedent of what was about to follow.  Following up they came hauling ass with "Let's Shake Hands" and then "I think I smell a Rat".  Hitting in the clean up position was (later I found this out) a crowd favorite of a Dolly Parton hit "Jolene".  Personally, I recognized it from my parents "Urban Cowboy" phase in the early 80s.  The whole time I could not believe my ears.  "How did the blues get here?" I kept asking myself, gleefully acknowledging that I really didn't care about "how" I was just so glad it was penetrating my eardrums with such force at that very moment.

And then another thought came to mind, "Just two people.  How could so much noise and energy come from just two people?"  I was mesmerized by the show.  I had completely forgotten that I had seen Brendan Benson earlier that evening.  My new main focus were the White Stripes.  A mind-blowing duo from Detroit that packed enough punch to beat a Shelby Mustang off the line.  I was thoroughly impressed to the downright point of obsessed during the weeks that followed.

Other Standouts from the 24 song hour & half set of music were the blues laced "Stop Breaking Down", "Ball and Biscuit" & "Lord, Send me an Angel".  Covers included a version of Burt Bacharach's "I just don't know what to do with myself", Dylan's "Isis" & Loretta Lynn's "Rated X" as well as the aforementioned "Jolene".

Well the curtain dropped and the lights went on one saw a lot of jawed dropped permanent grins tattooed upon music lovers faces.  And I was one of them.

And why not a video for kicks.....

Glimpse of the Grail | Jimi Hendrix | Hollywood Bowl 1968

by Joseph Izzo, Jr.

It was in September when we saw the Jimi Hendrix Experience at the Hollywood Bowl. It was 1968. It was my first week in college. I remember the weather. It was warm. The Santa Ana winds had been howling for days. The canyons were black from wild fires. I could still smell the smoke, eerily sweet with the scent of burned out homes and ranches.

The concert to see Hendrix sold out in minutes. My friend and I never had a chance, but we were determined to get in. I had missed seeing Hendrix the year before and I wasn’t going to let it happen again.

We heard a story about a man named Plato who lived in an apartment house close to the Hollywood Bowl. For $5 we were told he sold maps to a secret location where people without tickets could watch sold-out performances. I didn’t know Plato personally, but a guy from school said he knew a guy who knew him. I didn’t feel good about this, but had no choice. I couldn’t afford the scalpers prices, and friends who had tickets weren’t going to take me. I knew this for a fact.

Seeing Hendrix at that point in my life was more important than a college degree so I met the connection after school and paid him the five bucks. He gave me Plato’s phone number. Don’t call until the night of the concert, he said. No sooner.

On that night, I met my buddy at Barone’s restaurant in Sherman Oaks. We shared a sausage and mushroom pizza and hung out until the time was right. Plato let the phone ring ten times before picking up. He told us where to meet him and warned us not to be late.

By the time we got there, the Hollywood Bowl was humming. People scurried everywhere swarming across the streets like ants in confusion. Scrums of long-haired hippies pushed towards the entrance. There were scalpers on every corner. I saw cops and security guards and ambulances. Excitement had reached a fever pitch. Hawkers were pushing t-shirts and jewelry and sweet smelling candles.

Plato’s apartment was set back against the hills in close proximity to the backside of the Bowl. Tall trees in thick clusters encased the building, smothering the skyline and the rising moon.

Before we could reach the entrance, a tall string bean of a man stepped out of the shadows and approached us. It was Plato. He looked like a typical beatnik with a beard and a knitted cap. He didn’t say much. He clipped us for another five bucks then handed us a paper with hand-written directions. Just don’t get caught, were his last words before slipping back into the shadows. We had to sneak into the lobby of the apartment house, then take an elevator to the fifth floor. From there we walked down the hallway to the fire escape. Using one of those fold down metal ladders, we climbed up two more floors then over a wall onto a pathway leading up into the hills.

We hiked for a long time up this steep winding trail full of muddy sinkholes and crumbling shale ledges. Music pumped in the air, faint at first, growing louder the closer we came to the summit. The pounding of bass and drums shook the ground. I felt vibrations in my shoes. By the time we reached the summit, we were sweating and out of breath. It took us a long time to get there but we made it. From this vantage point we could look down upon the tightly packed arena. Voices hummed like generators deep in the earth. People lite up reefer and the sparks from lighters and matches flickered like stars.

Suddenly then the Bowl grew dark, and fell silent. The audience stood up stamping their feet, clapping their hands. My heart pounded. Then it happened. The Hollywood Bowl ignited into one spectacular light show. Everything turned bright dazzling gold and into the blinding luster walked Jimi Hendrix, playing Purple Haze. The earth vibrated. People screamed and shouted at the top of their lungs.

My buddy and I were too excited to notice the LAPD “rough terrain” officers. They rode up to us and asked to see documentation proving ownership of property, permission for being on this property. Of course, we had no official documentation. Plato’s map didn’t help our case. We were immediately charged with trespassing and led down to the squad cars parked below. As we walked away, I took my time so I could hear Foxy Lady, then a few refrains from my favorite, Hey Joe.

Once at the bottom, the cops shoved us around a little and made us sit in the backseat while they lectured us on the severity of trespassing. After a few minutes, they cut us loose with a written warning.

We waited for a long time before leaving so that we could hear more of Hendrix. He played a lot of good songs that night and they washed over the dark sky with sparkling gold dust.

Here is 8mm Footage of Hendrix at the Hollywood Bowl.  Eerily quiet with no sound, but really cool to watch!

Just up, someone recently added some audio to YouTube of the Show:

Izzo and I's Creed to the World...

...Don't just talk about it do it.

My good buddy, Joe Izzo, came to the house last night. We ran by many ideas, concepts stories and general bullshit. One idea that we had was talking about our past concert experiences. We told each other two stories. It dawned on us that there is probably a lot of people that have had memorable music concert eperiences. Be it seeing Cab Calloway back in the day or the Dead at the flop house in San Jose. Whatever it is, the concert experience touches people. We would like this site to serve as a consortium of music concert experiences from all era's and all walks of life. Do not feel a need to edit your stories. We will help you get your story across. Just write it in an email, send it to us and let the process begin...

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