Charles Bukowski interviews Jon Webb
Tucson, Arizona 6-29-67
sitting in a country store that went broke, sitting at last after getting out Henry Miller’s “Order and Chaos Chez Hans Reichel,” one year’s work, putting the thing together piece by piece, magic by magic, held up by lack of funds and a praying, quivering, shaking 8x12 Chandler & Price, 50 or 60 years old, that fell apart on the last page; sitting there a moment, moulding their next move, hoping there is enough money for a next move are Jon and Louise (Gypsy Lou) Webb, who wrought the miracle of this third book out of LOUJON PRESS—which already has won awards in Typography, Type Direction & Design in TDC’s 13th annual awards show in New York City.
sitting here now behind an abandoned store front of crumbling adobe—they call it their “desert workshop printery”—they are almost broke.
it is Tucson and I am down here now interviewing Jon Webb in 105 heat, and you know that Art can come from anywhere: the center of hot hell and the ghosts of old bean cans. I begin the interview:
Jim Morrison by Elliot Landy, Rat Subterranean News (1968)
THE DOORS invaded Fillmore East and the audience never knew what hit them.
Their attitude is hostile: their music is incredible. It pours into your head chord upon chord, thought upon thought, leaving traces of controlled mass hysteria throughout the audience. They are a very exciting group. Ray Manzareck on organ, John Densmore on drums, and Robbie Krieger on guitar are excellent musicians and Jim Morrison has a fine, drowsy voice, a great scream and some nice leather pants.
For 2 1/2 hours The Doors stomped on the heads of their audience…they told us we were uptight, told us to relax, told us they were going back west where they could walk on the beach, told us about S-E-X and reminded us about the straight person inside all of us. Most important of all, they told us the war is over…not just today’s wars but tomorrow’s wars too…and I believed them.
The film which accompanies Unknown Soldier is pretty weird—1/3 a Morrison ego trip, 1/3 a vomiting turn off and 1/3 excellent newsreel clips. If you want to put your emotions through some strange changes it’s worth seeing.
When the concert was officially over, The Doors said they wanted to stay around and play some more so, re-fortified with a magnum of champagne, The Doors drank, rapped and improvised for another hour.
Also at Fillmore East were Chrome Syrcus and Ars Nova…and a special attraction by the Joshua Light Show—a Bugs Bunny cartoon.
THAT’S ALL FOLKS!
Photos by Beth Bagby for Scanlan’s
“Yankee Go Home!" Guardian (1968)
…protesters from Okinawa and Japan met on the sea at the 27th parallel. Passage between Okinawa and mainland Japan is only possible with a “passport” granted by U.S. authorities. About 1,500 people on 20 boats flying red flags met at the parallel, the artificial dividing line between Okinawa and the mainland.
Procol Harum at Anderson Theater, February, 1968
Third attraction on the bill was Procol Harum, English electric and blues. Their whining singer, Gary Brooker, spent the set relating his melodic neuroses and lost loves to the audience while technology did funny things to the walls and electric organs and pianos scraped our innards. Beneath the rock, old English ballads drifted in and out and blended with faint sounds of Gregorian chants. “Passing from the street, to heaven to hell,” sang Brooker while the musicians slipped from a simple erotic love melody into a jungle tantrum of drums and bass notes—then back to the street and the gentleness of the earlier chords.
Procol specialized in the terrifying, however. Their sounds grew in intensity during their last couple of numbers, bearing down on the ears, rising, wiping out thought, driving harder and harder while the light show shattered the eyes and the voices drained away in the thunder of some sort of aboriginal festival of spirit cleansing. It was quite groovy. The audience was cemeterally fixated.—Randy Furst, Rat Subterranean News
Abbie Hoffman interviewed by Steve Kraus for EVO (1971)
I went to see and interview Abbie equipped with biggie cans of Miller’s and butter flavored pretzels. The great man of the new American Revolution did not exactly refuse to be interviewed otherwise, but did allow that the cans of Miller’s would be highly welcome. So there you are, your unfaithful reporter, Abbie, his nose swollen and pudgy and taped up and he can’t breathe through it, and his lady Anita, notorious authoress, seven months pregnant, they are going to call the kid America, they have an apartment which is simply beautiful which they built themselves on the roof of a factory building not far from Union Square, they call each other Babe and seem very much in love after being together four or five years, they took each into a union you can call marriage if you wish at a ceremony in Central Park, how about that?