There’s something to be said for taking time out from the blur of the information superhighway to appreciate the initial ideas, attitude, and processes surrounding the onset of a particular thing’s creation—in this case, rock music and the writing that followed it—and revisit what it meant at a time when it was operating on the edge of popular culture as it was coming to exist. Crawdaddy! is to be appreciated for this very thing: It’s the first publication to lay down a foundation for open, intelligent dialogue about music and culture, which ultimately became an enduring lexicon that has filtered into the fabric of society and continues on today, in one form or another, relaying tales of this massive cultural explosion called rock ‘n’ roll, both past and present.

Bringing Crawdaddy! back to an online audience was a call to look back and summon the spirit that exists within the offbeat, upbeat, yet honest, existential, and inspiring pages of the original. To present a publication with writing that appreciates, celebrates, and deconstructs taste making rock music in all its forms. To find linear themes throughout these generations and to use one in thinking more deeply about the other. To bolster long form, subjective rock criticism—a dying breed in both print and online media—which we realize is a probable risk and somewhat idiotic, but anything worth doing can usually be simultaneously categorized as risky and idiotic. I’m sure plenty of folks told a 17-year-old Paul Williams that it was risky and idiotic to quit college after only one year to run off to NYC to start up a rock magazine. I love it that that didn’t stop him.

Below are shared stories from Paul and other writers and editors who worked on the original Crawdaddy! (plus our own Denise Sullivan who writes quite eloquently on the Crawdaddy! spirit). As we take time this issue to pay homage to the original, as our own one-year anniversary wouldn’t even be remotely possible without it, we hope you enjoy them as they recount their insightful tales. Also, be sure to check out the first 19 issues, available now to read in their entirety in our Archives 1966-1968 section of the site.

It’s been an enlightening year, to say the least, and I couldn’t be happier to be right where I am… working with an all-heart team of editors and writers that’s taken this piece of revered Americana to its deserved place amongst rock publications once again.

Sincerely,
Jocelyn Hoppa
Editor-in-Chief

Paul Williams
Founder and Guru Emeritus

How did you come up with the idea for Crawdaddy!? What bands were inspiring you to write seriously about them?

I got the idea for Crawdaddy! from my experience with the science fiction fanzine world, where we published magazines for each other about the science fiction we were reading and what was happening in our lives. The musicians that were inspiring me and others to write about them and the impact of their music were Bob Dylan, the Rolling Stones, the Beatles, and Jefferson Airplane. And (via records and a club appearance in New York City) Country Joe & the Fish. And (via records and the radio) the Beach Boys. 

What was the music scene like when Crawdaddy! got its start? And what was the culture of the magazine from the start… what was your initial intention with starting a magazine for rock criticism?
When Crawdaddy! got its start, the music scene was small. Its creative centers were London, England, and San Francisco… and, to some extent, Los Angeles and Orange County, Southern California. The culture of the magazine was a huge respect for our peers in London and in Northern and Southern California. My intention was to give young people the chance to talk with each other honestly and sincerely about the music that was changing their lives.

Can you share a memorable experience from the first year of publishing Crawdaddy! that others may not already know?
In the second year I talked with Crawdaddy! photographer Linda Eastman about her experiences hanging out with my heroes, the Rolling Stones. In the fifth year I hung out backstage myself with my hero, Bob Dylan. He was friendly and direct about what happened to him as a performing songwriter.

How does your experience with Crawdaddy back then compare to music journalism or magazine writing today? Do you even read music publications today?
I do read Rolling Stone, with pleasure. Back then, I think because rock journalism was something new, musicians could be friendlier and less guarded in their communication with us.

Any advice or words of wisdom you’d like to offer for the new incarnation of Crawdaddy!?
What comes to mind is the title of my friend Jac Holzman’s recent book about his years as founder and president of Elektra Records. The title is a slogan, the heeding of which brought him great happiness and material success during his years with Elektra: Follow the Music. OR: Stay true to and let yourself be guided by what you love, by what brought you to this activity in the first place. It’s a good slogan for anyone working with or connected to Crawdaddy! magazine. Now or ever.

Peter Knobler
Editor-in-Chief, 1972-1979

When I was in college, Crawdaddy! was about the coolest magazine on earth. It was so small that when the first issue of my subscription came, in the spring of 1968, there was a handwritten note scribbled on the mailing envelope asking me, ”Did you go to Downtown Community School?” I had gone there through fourth grade. Turned out that a kid I knew from when I was eight-years-old was working in the office and noticed my name; the magazine was that small and that personal. I answered and asked if I could write for them; I had been writing about music and politics for my college newspaper but Crawdaddy! would be the big time.

I visited Paul Williams in the Crawdaddy! office loft on Canal Street, climbed four flights and found the place filled with albums leaning up against the brick walls. I was very impressed when, in the middle of our conversation, the New York Times called to get Paul’s opinion on some issue of rock ‘n’ roll importance. It was only recently that the Times had noticed rock ‘n’ roll, and then had panned Sgt. Pepper. I got two assignments that day—one a review of Steve Miller’s first album and the other of the Rascals’ Greatest Hits. So came my first professionally published piece of writing. Fresh out of college, I analyzed Steve Miller in terms of Wallace Stevens. I was very pleased that Paul didn’t touch a comma, printed the piece exactly as I wanted it run. My kind of editor. Paul was also kind enough to grab a copy of the Beatles’ White Album for me when it came out because he knew I’d like it. He was a good guy and he knew his music.

Four years later Paul had moved on and I was 25-years-old and the editor of Crawdaddy (we dropped the exclamation point but kept the enthusiasm). Our staff was filled with people who knew their stuff and lived for the music. It was a great time to be young. Crawdaddy discovered Bruce Springsteen. In December, 1972 I drove to Sing Sing Prison and heard Bruce and the band play for the Prisoners’ Liaison Committee and about 300 assorted felons in the prison chapel. That night in New York at Kenny’s Castaways he played to an audience of no more than 20 and he was fully possessed by his own music. The next day I drove to Jersey and did his first interview. His first album was going to be released in a couple of weeks and he was excited about it. I went home and wrote 5,000 words (with special assistance from Greg Mitchell) about this guy nobody had heard of. Crawdaddy didn’t care that the story wasn’t going to sell issues; we had someone our readers needed to know about, and that was our great purpose. 

Through the years I broadened the magazine’s focus to include politics, movies, food, sex, drugs, and pretty much everything my generation was interested in. William Burroughs wrote for us, and John Lennon, and Abbie Hoffman. Paul himself was a columnist for a time. We encouraged writers to write about what pleased them, to share what was important, or to savage what was dangerous. Otherwise, what’s the point? 

There was always something good playing over the Crawdaddy office speakers, there were always stories about what we had heard the night before and what we were going to hear when we left for the evening. It didn’t hurt that most everything was free. We were serious about our writing and our artwork, and we worked hard, but the Crawdaddy office was intended to be a fun place to be. I was professionally young well into my 30s and then the music business retrenched, we lost our advertising, and the magazine closed. It was a great run.

I now collaborate with people on their autobiographies. I’ve written with James Carville and Mary Matalin, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Ann Richards. I’m currently working with New York City Mayor David Dinkins. (It’s a good year to be writing about race and politics.) Somehow, some way the conversation, as a good conversation will, always comes ’round to music.

I still love music, and I find myself by far the oldest guy at most of the clubs I go to. Wherever I go I’m definitely breaking the age curve. Where is everyone I used to hear music with? Beats me. These days I’m into funk, New Orleans music, the whole culture that says music is life. I am happy to say that my son shares the passion. He’s lead guitarist in the funk band Captain Coconut and he’s got the Crawdaddy spirit. The old Crawdaddy would’ve loved this band. The old Crawdaddy knew a good thing when we heard it.