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Straight to Video
Rock Art Rock
Pete Townshend and Keith Moon from the Who
1975
Chicago Stadium, Chicago, IL "Photo from the 'Who by Numbers' tour..."
Ann Wilson from Heart
1978
Chicago Amphitheater, Chicago, IL "Photo from the 'Dog and Butterfly' tour."
Paul McCartney from Wings
1976
Chicago Stadium, Chicago, IL "Photo from the 'Wings Over America' tour."
Mick Jagger
1975
Chicago Stadium, Chicago, IL "The 1975 Tour of the Americas was the Rolling Stones' first with Ronnie Wood."
See more in the Rock Art Rock gallery.
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How Rock Communicates
This is an excerpt from Chapter 7 of Paul Williams’ book of rock music, Outlaw Blues.
February 1968
“A great many considerations and puzzles that one meets sooner or later in all the arts find their clearest expression, and therefore their most tangible form, in connection with music.”
Crawdaddy! Founder on His Experience at the Bed-in for Peace
Originally published in Rediscovering Rock and Roll, A Journey: Chapter Six
A friend said he saw me on Friday Night Videos last week. Apparently they’ve made an after-the-fact video of John Lennon’s “Give Peace a Chance”, edited from the Canadian TV footage of John & Yoko’s “bed-in” in Montreal, and there I am singing out of tune and clapping my hands with the Hare Krishnas and Tim Leary and everybody. I’ve never seen the footage myself, but it’s nice to be part of history (like the guy who shouted “Whipping Post!” on the Allman Brothers’ Live at the Fillmore album). I can also be seen talking to somebody backstage for a few seconds in the Woodstock movie, and dancing crazily to Howlin’ Wolf in the film about the Newport Folk Festivals.
The story about “Give Peace a Chance” is, I was traveling with Timothy and Rosemary Leary at the time; Tim was supposedly running for Governor of California, and my role for the week was campaign adviser. The first thing we did, after speaking to a college audience in San Luis Obispo, was fly to Hollywood, Florida for a rock festival on an Indian reservation, organized by the acid-dealing children of the Miami Mafia. The musicians and speakers never got paid (the Grateful Dead put on a great show anyway), but we managed to get plane tickets to New York, where Tim gave a press conference and introduced me to prospective campaign contributors as the hippie son of (then-unmarried) Canadian premier Trudeau.
Bob Dylan: The Period of Silence
Originally published in Outlaw Blues, Chapter 3, August 1967
As I write this—August 1967—Bob Dylan has been silent for more than a year. It’s been a curious calm. Between Highway 61 Revisited and Blonde on Blonde was a gap of some ten months—but a gap broken up with the release of several 45’s of exciting new material, a winter concert tour, a fascinating interview in Playboy, and finally the cheerful, triumphant “Rainy Day Women”—“Everybody must get stoned.”
1967 has offered no such relief. Dylan suffered severe damage—three broken vertebrae—in a motorcycle accident in August 1966, and retired from public view. All concerts were canceled—first till January, then March, then—perhaps—forever. Tarantula, Dylan’s much-promoted first book, never appeared. TV specials scheduled for ABC-TV and the BBC in Britain were canceled amid bad will and lawsuits. MGM announced it had signed Dylan, discovered it hadn’t, and prudently shut up; and meanwhile Columbia issued a greatest hits LP, just to be on the safe side. And still no sign of a new recording.
Rediscovering Rock and Roll, A Journey: Chapter 13
“I can’t even remember / If we were lovers / Or if I just wanted to…” - Violent Femmes
I remember standing at the back of the Unicorn, a small club in Boston, in spring of 1967, watching Jefferson Airplane do a set. They were so tight and so free, a rushing mountain stream of liquid music pouring forth from Jack’s bass, bright notes from Jorma’s lead guitar sparkling as in morning sunlight, Paul’s rhythm guitar adding intensity, fullness, commitment, Spencer’s drumming stretching to surround it all, supporting, accepting, holding together, and Paul and Marty and Grace’s vocals rising, one atop the next, soaring and diving and breaking free like waterbirds feeding and playing in the stream of music; but what most stands out in my memory are the electric glances that went from Grace to Marty and Marty to Grace as all of this exploded together and redoubled or quadrupled in power as they really took off on “It’s No Secret” or “The Other Side of Life”, purity and strength and joy and the fire of sheer hatred with all the negativity taken out of it, just scream it out!, cascading off each other and riding the music, riding each other, up, over, around, through, a waterfall of guitars, voices, percussion splashing over the stage and all of us like we were standing in it, behind it, and in front of it all at once. In one sense I don’t think they even knew we existed, and in another sense they physically and actively loved each one of us just for the fact of our being there, accepting, receiving, inspiring their joy.
Bill Thompson, the Airplane’s road manager, was standing next to me, every bit as mesmerized and excited as I was. And I thought, here’s a guy who watches them do this twice a night, the same songs, month after month, show after show, and he still can’t get enough of it, he’s standing here like me, transfixed, hanging on every note. I admired his power, to put himself in a position to soak up so much spiritual energy, and to be wise enough, innocent enough, free enough to keep feeling the full passion of it, appreciating it, surrendering to it, letting it in. And I guess I was inspired by his example, because for the next nine months or so I went to see the Airplane night after night in New York, San Francisco, Toronto, wherever they were that I could get to, every chance I got.
Elvis Presley’s Heartbreak Hotel
Originally published in Rock and Roll: The 100 Best Singles
#4 Elvis Presley, “Heartbreak Hotel”
How can I miss you, a great philosopher* once inquired, if you won’t go away? Elvis Presley is everywhere in American mass media and (what passes for) American consciousness as I write this, so much so that even jokes about his omnipresence have become tiresome. This deification of Elvis has about as much to do with rock ‘n’ roll as the posthumous deification of Marilyn Monroe had to do with sex (as in actual lovemaking). In a culture where communication is achieved through marketing, symbolic image is everything. Some of us would rather worship the image of a rock ‘n’ roll king than actually listen to the stuff. And of course Elvis was really a rock and roller for only a few short years, a stop on his journey from country music hopeful to packageable pop property and superstar crooner. Most of his hits were ballads.
Rediscovering Rock and Roll, A Journey: Chapter Seven

Excerpts taken from Chapter Seven of Rediscovering Rock and Roll, A Journey, 1988
“Video is a great source of information. I love information, but I also find it oppressive. I can sit and read a new copy of Billboard for hours and hours. MTV is terrific, because I’m usually curious about what the current hits are, and MTV not only plays them, it identifies them, at the beginning and the end, whereas with radio these days you wait half an hour to find out what that song was, and then they may or may not remember to tell you. The information-gatherer that I am likes knowing what song this is as I listen to it. And MTV goes further in feeding my curiosity: I can see what sort of costumes Kiss is wearing these days, I can get a visual image of a new group like Mister Mister—both what the people look like, and also what image they’re trying to project (i.e., who they think their audience is).
And So It Began: Remembering the First Issue
From The Crawdaddy! Book
Introduction to First Issue by Paul Williams, reviews by Paul Williams
The first issue of the first American rock music magazine was printed on Sunday, January 30, 1966, in a basement in Brooklyn, New York, on the Qwertyuiop Press mimeograph belonging to and operated by Ted White, a science fiction fan (and writer and editor). The date on the masthead was February 7, because the 17-year-old founder unreasonably intended it to be a weekly magazine, and he knew that magazines are usually dated according to the day they go off sale (one week after the on-sale date, in the case of a weekly).
I wrote everything in that first issue myself. The cover, typed and executed on Ted White’s typewriter, which had a cool, smaller-than-usual “micro-elite” typeface, featured a quote from a new British group, the Fortunes, talking to a London music paper after returning from their first US tour: “There is no musical paper scene out there like there is in England. The trades are strictly for the business side of the business and the only things left are the fan amazines that do mostly the ‘what colour sock my idol wears’ bit.”
Rediscovering Rock and Roll, A Journey: Chapter Three
Originally published in Rediscovering Rock and Roll: A Journey, 1988
“Maybe these maps and legends / Been misunderstood.” — R.E.M.
So let’s get serious. It’s 1986. I’m sitting in front of my word processor, the letters fly up silently onto the screen, and over against the wall is this little portable compact disc player and a scatter of discs. I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto. This is the new age.
The Golden Road: A Report on San Francisco

Originally published in Crawdaddy!, August 1967
Sitting in the window, Sixth Avenue, Greenwich Village, flirting with the girls going by, the Grateful Dead very loud on 4X speakers somewhere in the room behind me; 92 degrees, a week short of summer, a week back from the coast, San Francisco. Now, 3,000 miles away, what do these words mean? Was I ever anywhere but here?

Talking Heads’ Take Me to the River
by: Paul Williams
#79 Talking Heads, “Take Me to the River”
Every great performance has the ghosts of past performances inside it. In this case our screams (you’re not listening to this record right if you don’t find yourself screaming along with the chorus) are no doubt requesting transportation to that greatest of American waterways, drainer of the heartlands, the Mississippi, because although David Byrne and Talking Heads may have laid down this deep groove in some ofay New York City recording studio, the song and performance they’re emulating is by Syl Johnson and Willie Mitchell out of Al Green and Teenie Hodges out of Little Junior Parker, that is to say, MEMPHIS MEMPHIS MEMPHIS (now I’m screaming), the great portal of American music, delta on one side and southside Chicago on the other, south and north, country and city, and Memphis in between (in the meantime, as John Hiatt has it)… “Take Me to the River” was first recorded by Al Green in 1974, one of the climaxes of his live act but it didn’t catch on as a single until Willie Mitchell, who produced Al’s version and just about everything else Hi put out in the early ’70s, recorded Syl Johnson’s version, which was a Top 10 R&B hit in 1975. It’s a weird song, lyrically—the singer seems to be referring obliquely to an affair with a 16-year-old girl, asking for redemption, spiritual cleansing, and an opportunity to go on with the relationship. “I haven’t seen how to help you yet… I want to know, won’t you tell me, I’d love to stay…” Talking Heads take hold of the song and put the emphasis almost entirely on the spiritual side of things, which they can do precisely because baptism is an exotic concept to them and their audience, unlikely to be taken literally and therefore able to pull forth all sorts of unspoken feelings and images. David Byrne, as is his wont, swallows the lyrics (“I haven’t seen worst of it yet… I want to know, can you tell me? I uh to ayyyyyyy…”), focusing the entire energy of the performance on the title phrase and its echo (“take me to the river, drop me in the water”), repeated and reshuffled (“drop me in the river, push me in the water”) in a hypnotic chant. As for Junior Parker, Al Green refers to him overtly in a spoken introduction to his recorded version, “Like to dedicate this song to Little Junior Parker, a cousin of mine, he’s gone on but we’d like to kind of carry on in his name.” This bit of talking actually gets in the way of Al’s record, but it’s important because Talking Heads are doing the same thing just by recording a “cover” version, the I Ching says “the best way to study the past is not to confine oneself to mere knowledge of history but, through application of this knowledge, to give actuality to the past,” and this process is a lot more central to rock ‘n’ roll than you might think. We sing about God and sex. And always, at the same time, we sing about music—expressing what we’ve learned from music—expressing what we’ve learned from music about God and sex. The past is the river, as Heraclitus or somebody told us (present and future also), and the music—
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by: Paul Williams
published: February 18, 2009
in column: Classic Vantage
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