Post by FeedbackLourde on Jul 17, 2007 19:38:01 GMT -5
Hey Y'all,
Here is a recently discovered concert review of a BC gig that took place at the Shrine in late 1967. This comes to us courtesy of our own 56BUZZ (thank you so much, Dude. You Rock!). This appeared in the Los Angeles Free Press and is definitely THE HEAVIEST review I ever read. Enjoy........
BLUE CHEER: SUPER DRUID ROCK
Last week at the Pinnacle's Shrine Expo Concert Media Orgasm Superino Rock Show: the understudy went on and got the Oscar; the third-string quarterback threw the winning touchdown pass, and Prince Charming screwed the pumpkin.
Blue Cheer, three hairy animals from San Francisco, playing Mighty Joe Young Pop, third bill under Joe's Fish and Moby's Grape, eclipsed them all in a blinding flash of pure, driving, primitive power. They stood there, Peterson, Whaley, and Stephens, dwarfed by 9 or 10 sets of Marshall tube amps in master-slave tandem and performed Druid Rock that welded 2000 people in their tracks and turned them to ash.
I don't know what we all expected…I mean, there we all were, just standing around listening to the Grape and some kid who looked like Fabian but sang like Joe McDonald, watching a really competent lightshow run trough a never ending bag of tricks, just sort of standing around pleasantly, like pubescent Martys, and then it came. Like a mile high tidal wave at your back, breathing, quivering, waiting to suck you up, to change and to destroy.
A kid in a Nouveau Presley gold lame jacket sidled out and mumbled something about San Francisco cheer or something. Then these three cretin-angels came out from between the mountain of Marshalls, red eyes winking, already alive and humming with untapped power. Swelling. Three sub-marginal cherubs, they slowly plugged in, just ambling around, they knew what was coming and we didn't. At the crest. The drummer counted off time and El Monte and Bel Air went dim as those Herculean amps sucked in the power at the first crash. Everything in the world stopped except the Blue Cheer and beyond and beyond the speed of light and even time, they thundered, oblivious to the sophisticates, the crepe hangers, and the uncommitted. The nightmare-wave broke for 45 minutes.
Their viscera shattering force makes initial critical appraisal ludicrously impotent. I don't want to even consider the problems of subtlety and "quality" vs. sheer power. I just want to see them again and again and again. And addiction being what it is, if I hear they are playing an LAPD Hate-In in a political detention camp, I will go, because these 3 Oakies have cut through the sketchy veneer of "civilization" and woken up my hungry guts.
Blue Cheer. They make you want to mutilate yourself. They make you shit in your pants and love it. Blue Cheer. Drown happily in your own puke; the religious enema is back, Catch a sneak preview of Armageddon.
Bill Kerby
Los Angeles Free Press
Dec. 22, 1967
Here is a recently discovered concert review of a BC gig that took place at the Shrine in late 1967. This comes to us courtesy of our own 56BUZZ (thank you so much, Dude. You Rock!). This appeared in the Los Angeles Free Press and is definitely THE HEAVIEST review I ever read. Enjoy........
BLUE CHEER: SUPER DRUID ROCK
Last week at the Pinnacle's Shrine Expo Concert Media Orgasm Superino Rock Show: the understudy went on and got the Oscar; the third-string quarterback threw the winning touchdown pass, and Prince Charming screwed the pumpkin.
Blue Cheer, three hairy animals from San Francisco, playing Mighty Joe Young Pop, third bill under Joe's Fish and Moby's Grape, eclipsed them all in a blinding flash of pure, driving, primitive power. They stood there, Peterson, Whaley, and Stephens, dwarfed by 9 or 10 sets of Marshall tube amps in master-slave tandem and performed Druid Rock that welded 2000 people in their tracks and turned them to ash.
I don't know what we all expected…I mean, there we all were, just standing around listening to the Grape and some kid who looked like Fabian but sang like Joe McDonald, watching a really competent lightshow run trough a never ending bag of tricks, just sort of standing around pleasantly, like pubescent Martys, and then it came. Like a mile high tidal wave at your back, breathing, quivering, waiting to suck you up, to change and to destroy.
A kid in a Nouveau Presley gold lame jacket sidled out and mumbled something about San Francisco cheer or something. Then these three cretin-angels came out from between the mountain of Marshalls, red eyes winking, already alive and humming with untapped power. Swelling. Three sub-marginal cherubs, they slowly plugged in, just ambling around, they knew what was coming and we didn't. At the crest. The drummer counted off time and El Monte and Bel Air went dim as those Herculean amps sucked in the power at the first crash. Everything in the world stopped except the Blue Cheer and beyond and beyond the speed of light and even time, they thundered, oblivious to the sophisticates, the crepe hangers, and the uncommitted. The nightmare-wave broke for 45 minutes.
Their viscera shattering force makes initial critical appraisal ludicrously impotent. I don't want to even consider the problems of subtlety and "quality" vs. sheer power. I just want to see them again and again and again. And addiction being what it is, if I hear they are playing an LAPD Hate-In in a political detention camp, I will go, because these 3 Oakies have cut through the sketchy veneer of "civilization" and woken up my hungry guts.
Blue Cheer. They make you want to mutilate yourself. They make you shit in your pants and love it. Blue Cheer. Drown happily in your own puke; the religious enema is back, Catch a sneak preview of Armageddon.
Bill Kerby
Los Angeles Free Press
Dec. 22, 1967
