It was in 1967 that I was introduced to the delights of Acid Rock. During that year a string of classic Acid Rock, Psychedelic, Blues and Progressive Rock albums poured out on vinyl in a feast of creativity and social ferment. This was the year of the Alternative Culture. These were the bands from London, San Francisco and Los Angeles who were blowing away the cobwebs and blowing minds. This was acid, pot, poetry, politics, spirituality, social change and a new culture based on different rules – a heady mix. 1967 was the year of fun, optimism and rebellion. It was the year of all possibility, long hair, bright colours and a new outlook on life.
I was 18. My friend Mike sat me down in his bedroom and played me Country Joe and the Fish. Their first album had come out that day. I listened to Barry Melton’s fluid, chiming guitar and it spoke to me. I’d never heard anything quite like it. Country Joe’s voice soared and the band were a trip as the music wafted me to Haight Asbury. I was hooked. I’d discovered the best band in the world. This was a new genre of music – this was West Coast Acid Rock – psychedelia from the States. Well Country Joe and the Fish had to compete for my affections with the likes of Pink Floyd, Jimi Hendrix, Cream, Roy Harper, The Mothers of Invention, Doors, Jefferson Airplane, Traffic, Fleetwood Mac, Family and the Beatles and Stones. But Country Joe produced three immaculate albums that were right up there – Electric Music for the Body and Mind, Feel Like I’m Fixin’ To Die and Together. They merged all the elements together so well – the politics, anti-war sentiment, acid and psychedelia.
Now I was fortunate to see them live in London a number of times in the 60s but the last time I saw Barry Melton was probably in 1971 – not that long ago, geologically. So it was with mounting excitement that I set off to see one of my great guitar heroes from the 60s.
Barry, like the rest of us, had changed a little from when I last saw him. He was a little larger in girth and his mass of curly light gingery brown hair was now a whiter shade of pale. He had come over from Paris, where he was now living and refused to call himself an American any more (too embarrassed by Trump) – he was Californian and a man in exile – an immigrant driven out by the tide of hatred. He disowned America.
Barry played acoustic guitar and was ably backed up by the highly talented and extremely friendly Stephane Missri, his French companion. They played a set of acoustic numbers and it was wonderful to see Barry in action again even though in a different setting to the Acid Rock of the Fish. There were songs about drug busts and politics, songs in French – even a singalong (not – not the Fish Cheer – a trad spiritual). They did a request for a Huddie Ledbetter song – In the Pines – which I had only played the day before on the latest Billy Bragg CD. Barry told us how he’d got to know a number of the old Blues singers – Jesse Fuller, Mance Lipscombe, Mississippi John hurt and Bukka White – and how he used to take Bukka White around and read menus for him as he could not read. It made me very envious. Those Blues guys were the basis of so much.
I couldn’t see how the two of them were going to be able to recreate that San Francisco Fish sound – but they did. It all came together for me when they did a brilliant version of Mojo Navigator with Barry’s voice capturing it just right and the two guitars melding together so well. When I closed my eyes I was back in the sixties.
After the gig I got my albums, CDs, posters and ticket stubs signed. I’m a pain but I missed out on getting Cream, Hendrix and the Doors signatures. I’ve made up my mind I won’t miss out again. I love that stuff.
