In Search of Captain Beefheart – relaunch of the revised book – The tale of one man’s life through the vagaries of Rock Music.

Click on the book and you’ll be at the page!

Relive the whole world of Rock music from the stylus hitting the vinyl in the fifties to the MP3 shorting out the IPod in 2015.

Be right at the front as Jimi Hendrix plays the Albert Hall, Roy Harper shocks St Pancras, Cream storm Windsor Blues Festival, Son House gets Hammersmith to its feet, the Stones cover Hyde Park with dead butterflies and White Stripes rock Bridlington. See it through the eyes of someone who was there – at the front.

This is the story of all that was good from Woody to Bob and Elvis Costello; Elmore to Mac and North Mississippi Allstars. It’s a mad quest for the holy grail of Rock.

Look at the photos with wonder. It’s about the music! Hear it through the words!

Let your imagination run riot.

There’s never been a book like it. Find out what that quest revealed!

Glenn Conley – Glenn Hates Books – In Search of Captain Beefheart by Opher Goodwin – book review:

I guess I made a mistake sending this particular book to Glenn. He hates Rock and detests the sixties. He saw the picture on the front of the book drew some stereotyped conclusions about weed, coke and sex and missed the whole structure of the book.

He got some things right though.

This is not a book about Captain Beefheart. It’s a book about Rock Music from the fifties to now. It’s the story of a quest to find music and the discovery. It is a bit of a journal too but it leads you through a journey in search of the good stuff; the music that sends the blood coursing, adrenalin pumping and brain buzzing. I like my music hot and I like it to feed my head too. I’ve been right at the front for fifty years.

This tells of the start with all that tentative excitement, the quest with all those discoveries that blew the mind, the uncovering of Woody Guthrie, Bob Dylan, Son House, Roy Harper, Captain Beefheart and all those others, and the end, the archeology of the remains and the new blood that still rocks.

It’s a bit of nostalgia that takes you through all those seminal years, reliving the great memories and sharing the times and feelings.

If you love music as much as me you’ll probably identify with all of this. You find a lot of the bands you knew and probably a number that you didn’t. You’ll relive the excitement and idealism with me.

If you detest Rock as much as Glenn you’ll hate it.

This is what Glenn said:

I think I’m too young for this book. Which is funny, because I’m 45 years old, for fuck’s sake. My hair and beard are full-on grey. I’m an old man, as far as I’m concerned. But this book makes me feel I’m a goddamn spring chicken. Because of the 60’s, man.

I fucking hate the 60’s. If the author of this book didn’t send me a copy, and request a review, I would have never read it. If I saw the cover in a book store, I would just keep on walking past. Because they’re hippies, man. Fucking hippies scare me.

This book is about music. From the 60’s, all the way to current music. It’s about being a goddamn groupie. A wanna-be. I would think that it would be easier to be a groupie if you were a hot chick. But the author of this book was up for a challenge. He threw his panties up on the stage, just like the rest of them groupies. That takes balls, man.

It’s the true story of how one groupie dude traveled the world to see all his heroes play great music. And I get that, man. I really do. I’ve just never been that interested in going to concerts. I mean, the music is on the fucking radio, man. Why do you need to go to a concert, and get your fucking ear drums blown the fuck out?

I’ve only been to two concerts in my life, and I fucking hated both of them. They’re too fucking loud. Which is funny, because I’ve been partially deaf my whole fucking life. So when I say they’re too loud, Jesus fucking Christ, they’re TOO GODDAMN LOUD!

Fuck, I sound like an old man. But I’m not. Not compared to this book. it’s just a long, boring, journal entry. It just dragged on and on. I went to this concert. I met this guy. I banged this chick. I snorted this coke. I did so much weed, man, you don’t even know. Fine. You’re a fucking hippy. I get it, man. But seriously, who the fuck cares?

Non-fiction books can be great. But they still need to have a goddamn story. A beginning, middle, and end. And exciting characters, that someone might actually give a fuck about. How about some goddamn development? A character ark. Something, man.

One guy who does this very well is Michael Lewis. He takes real-life events, and turns them into compelling stories. I reviewed his book The New New Thing. It was fucking awesome, because the characters were well developed, and there was an actual story to care about. He also wrote another book you may have heard of, Moneyball.

Don’t get me wrong, this Beefheart book isn’t completely worthless. If you’re really into music, as this author obviously is, I’m sure you’d love this fucking book. I just couldn’t get into it. I mean, music is great, sure. But it’s just music, man. Get over it.

I don’t remember the last time I even listened to the radio, really. I listen to podcasts in my car. Why would I listen to music, when I can listen to Adam Carolla sucking dick for hours on end? That guy can suck a dick, lemme tell ya.

2 of 5 Crazy-Hippy Stars

This is what Curlyview says:

No Slipped Discs Here.

By Curlyview!! on 20 Jan. 2015

Format: Kindle Edition Verified Purchase

The title is a little misleading; as it is not a book about Beefheart , but rather an account of growing up through the 60s and 70s in Britain. For people like myself 60+ year’s of age and like the author, a keen collector of records and tapes, this book will have a deep resonance. It was like living my early years of music all over again, as Mr. Goodwin kept mentioning the recording artists that I knew. An enjoyable read, made for the coach, train, or ‘plane trip.

 

Bob Dylan – Only a Pawn in Their Game – Lyrics about the cowardly murder of the civil rights leader Medgar Evans.

ku_klux_klan_by_mikimikibo-d37022gMedgar Evans

Medgar Evans was shot in the back by a cowardly gunman who hid in the bushes. He was killed in front of his wife and children.

The aim of the murder was to strike terror into the community so that they would not rise up and seek their rights.

The aim of Islamic extremists is to impose their distorted view of religion on other people. They want to stifle free speech and the rights of the individual. They use hate, extreme violence and terror to get their way.

Like the Klu Klux Klan they will be defeated.

As Dylan pointed out the terrorists who are blowing themselves up or attacking innocent people have been duped. The people organising the killings are well away out of danger.

The perpetrators are pawns in the game.

The only way to deal with fascism is through education.

“Only A Pawn In Their Game”

A bullet from the back of a bush took Medgar Evers’ blood
A finger fired the trigger to his name
A handle hid out in the dark
A hand set the spark
Two eyes took the aim
Behind a man’s brain
But he can’t be blamed
He’s only a pawn in their game.

A South politician preaches to the poor white man
“You got more than blacks, don’t complain
You’re better than them, you been born with white skin” they explain
And the Negro’s name
Is used it is plain
For the politician’s gain
As he rises to fame
And the poor white remains
On the caboose of the train
But it ain’t him to blame
He’s only a pawn in their game.

The deputy sheriffs, the soldiers, the governors get paid
And the marshals and cops get the same
But the poor white man’s used in the hands of them all like a tool
He’s taught in his school
From the start by the rule
That the laws are with him
To protect his white skin
To keep up his hate
So he never thinks straight
‘Bout the shape that he’s in
But it ain’t him to blame
He’s only a pawn in their game.

From the powerty shacks, he looks from the cracks to the tracks
And the hoof beats pound in his brain
And he’s taught how to walk in a pack
Shoot in the back
With his fist in a clinch
To hang and to lynch
To hide ‘neath the hood
To kill with no pain
Like a dog on a chain
He ain’t got no name
But it ain’t him to blame
He’s only a pawn in their game.

Today, Medgar Evers was buried from the bullet he caught
They lowered him down as a king
But when the shadowy sun sets on the one
That fired the gun
He’ll see by his grave
On the stone that remains
Carved next to his name
His epitaph plain:
Only a pawn in their game.

 

My ten favourite heroes! – This one made me think a lot! It could go a number of ways!

Every man needs a hero to inspire him to do wonderful things and try to be a better person. Here are some of mine:

a. Woody Guthrie.

This was a man who was prepared to stand up for what he believed in – justice, equality and freedom. He was prepared to be there on the picket lines and take the blows. He wanted a strong union to fight for fairness of pay and conditions. He believed you fought fascism by educating people.

b. Charles Darwin

As a Biologist he looked around the world at the variety of life and realised that the religious explanation did not hold true. He used his intellect to work out what was really happening and painstakingly set out researching to test his theory. When he was sure he published despite the furore it caused for him. He set us on the road to freedom from religious oppression.

c. Martin Luther King

He believed all races were equal and died for his beliefs. He marched in the face of violence and death threats. He stood up to the racists and used his words as bullets. They took his life but he proved he was the better man.

d. Jane Goodall

Jane has spent her life working with Chimps and championing their rights. She has been tireless and faced hardships and threats. Thank heavens someone is prepared to speak out and stand up for them. They are being butchered!

e. Jack Kerouac

Jack was, like most of us, an extremely complicated and muddled man who fought his demons of alcohol and catholic indoctrination. On the Road is a book that changed the world. There had never been anything like it before. In writing it he questioned the whole premise of the establishment whose mantra was – work hard, buy and own. He suggested that experience, quest, kicks and sex might be more rewarding. I forgive his misogyny. Nobody’s perfect.

f. Emily Pankhurst

How could you not admire a woman who was prepared to go to prison and be force-fed, who stood up and spoke the truth, who fought for equality and democracy? She organised and fought for women’s rights! She took on the whole establishment and won!

g. Bob Dylan

Without Dylan I do not believe we would have the liberal society we now enjoy. In the early sixties he stood up and sang his songs about civil rights, freedom, anti-war and justice and raised the sensibilities of a whole generation.

h. Mahatma Ghandi

Ghandi was the soul of India. He showed that if you had a just cause you could stand up against authority and use Non-violent Direct Action to defeat them. Nothing has ever been the same. I think partition broke his heart.

I. Ann Frank

Via those diaries Ann showed the resolution and defiance that destroyed Nazi philosophy.

j. Roy Harper

When I first heard Roy sing and speak I felt it was like looking in a mirror. He was putting in words the feelings and thoughts that what buzzing round my head and letting me examine them more closely.

k. Ken Saro-Wiwa

Ken was a writer, poet and environmentalist who stood up against the Nigerian government and exposed their corruption. They were despoiling the environment, selling land to the oil companies without restriction. He campaigned and was threatened. He carried on. They hung him with piano wire.

l. Rachel Carson

She wrote Silent Spring and started the whole environmental movement.

m. David McTaggart

One of the founders of Greenpeace. He used Non-violent Direct Action to fight for the environment. He sailed his little boat around a nuclear bomb holding up a French atmospheric test the like of which was causing huge pollution. He put his life at risk. They rammed him, beat him up and he went back and did it again.

My heroes are men and women who fought for peace, justice, the environment, freedom and equality. They inspire me to do the same in my own little way.

I’d have another list tomorrow!

Rock Tributes – First draft now complete!

happy-face

I’m feeling a little tired but elated. I’ve just completed my first draft of my Tributes to Rock Greats book – all 184 pages of it. It’s looking good. I’m not sure where I can access any photos of bands or artists to use in the book. Anyone any ideas?

All that remains is to give it a bit of space and then systematically go through and rewrite, proof read and correct.

All being well I shall have it published in a couple of months.

I am now going to be looking for a publisher for my Sci-Fi book – ‘Ebola in Eden’ which is also complete.

I am heading down to London to sign a contract for my education book.

The Nick Harper book is in first draft.

The Roy Harper book resides with Roy awaiting a foreword before it goes to second draft. Hopefully his case will be resolved this week and that can progress.

I’m just about to do an upgrade on ‘In Search of Captain Beefheart’.

It’s a busy year ahead but it’s beginning to come together!  We’ll see how it goes.

THanks to Everyone WHO BOUGHT my bOOks, Made Comments, or LiKes on tHe BlOg and Supported me ThIs YeAr.

I rEAllY aPPReciaTE it!  Best Wishes Opher

Richie Havens – The Klan – lyrics about the terrorism of the Klu Klux Klan.

ritchie_havens_650Featured Image -- 1991

In this day and age it is easy to think of terrorism as something perpetrated by religious fanatics, brainwashed and packed off with their bombs to blow up innocent people in trains, planes, mosques and buses. That is not always the case.

The Ku Klux Klan were a terrorist organisation with the sole intent of maintaining White Supremacy by instigating terror in the Southern Black population.

They used hoods, burning crosses, pseudo-Christian rhetoric and gibberish and weren’t above threats, beatings, shootings, arson and lynching to make a point. They ruled through terror.

It took a brave man to stand up to the Klan. Their reach was long, forgiveness none and retribution vicious.

Where evil lives it is up to all good people to stand up and oppose it!

The Klan

The countryside was cold and still
There were three crosses upon the hill
Each one wore a burning hood
To hide its rotten heart of wood

And I cried
Father I hear the iron sound
Hoofbeats on the frozen ground

Down from the hills the riders came
Lord, it was a crying shame
To see the blood upon their whips
And hear the snarling of their lips

And I cried
Mother I feel a stabbing pain
Blood flows down like a summer rain

Each one wore a mask of white
To hide his cruel face from sight
and each one sucked a hungery breath
Out of the empty lungs of death

And I cried
Sister raise my bloody head
It’s so lonesome to be dead

He who rides with the Klan
He is a devil and not a man
For underneath that white disguise
I have looked into his eyes

Brother, stand with me
it’s not easy to be free

Buffy St Marie – My Country ‘Tis of thy People You’re Dyin’ – Passionate song about the genocide of the Native American Indian.

buffy_sainte-marie

Buffy St Marie was a full-blooded Native American Indian. Her passion shows in this articulate elegy concerning the plight of the Indians and the lies and genocide that was inflicted upon them.

An incredible piece of writing!

“My Country ‘Tis Of Thy People You’re Dying” was written by Sainte-marie, Buffy.

Now that your big eyes have finally opened
Now that you’re wondering how must they feel
Meaning them that you’ve chased across
America’s movie screens

Now that you’re wondering how can it be real
That the ones you’ve called colorful, noble and proud
In your school propaganda, they starve in their splendor
You’ve asked for my comment, I simply will render

My country ’tis of thy people you’re dying

Now that the long houses breed superstition
You force us to send our toddlers away
To your schools where they’re taught
To despise their traditions

You forbid them their languages, then further say
That American history really began
When Columbus set sail out of Europe
Then stress that the nation of leeches that conquered this land
Are the biggest and bravest and boldest and best

And yet where in your history books is the tale
Of the genocide basic to this country’s birth
Of the preachers who lied, how the Bill of Rights failed

How a nation of patriots returned to their earth
And where will it tell of the Liberty Bell
As it rang with a thud o’er Kinzua mud
And of brave Uncle Sam in Alaska this year

My country ’tis of thy people you’re dying

Hear how the bargain was made for the West
With her shivering children in zero degrees
Blankets for your land, so the treaties attest
Oh well, blankets for land is a bargain indeed

And the blankets were those Uncle Sam had collected
From smallpox-diseased dying soldiers that day
And the tribes were wiped out and the history books censored
A hundred years of your statesmen have felt
It’s better this way

And yet a few of the conquered have somehow survived
Their blood runs the redder though genes have paled
From the Gran Canyon’s caverns to craven sad hills
The wounded, the losers, the robbed sing their tale

From Los Angeles County to upstate New York
The white nation fattens while others grow lean
Oh the tricked and evicted they know what I mean

My country ’tis of thy people you’re dying

The past it just crumbled, the future just threatens
Our life blood shut up in your chemical tanks
And now here you come, bill of sale in your hands
And surprise in your eyes that we’re lacking in thanks

For the blessings of civilization you’ve brought us
The lessons you’ve taught us, the ruin you’ve wrought us
Oh see what our trust in America’s brought us

My country ’tis of thy people you’re dying

Now that the pride of the sires receives charity
Now that we’re harmless and safe behind laws
Now that my life’s to be known as your ‘Heritage’
Now that even the graves have been robbed

Now that our own chosen way is a novelty
Hands on our hearts we salute you your victory
Choke on your blue white and scarlet hypocrisy
Pitying the blindness that you’ve never seen

That the eagles of war whose wings lent you glory
They were never no more than carrion crows
Pushed the wrens from their nest
Stole their eggs, changed their story

The mockingbird sings it, it’s all that he knows
“Ah, what can I do?”, say a powerless few
With a lump in your throat and a tear in your eye
Can’t you see that their poverty’s profiting you?

My country ’tis of thy people you’re dying

Woody Guthrie – Vigilante Man lyrics – Protest song – A vigilante man is a vicious thug hired by the bosses to break strikes so that they can pay starvation wages and make bigger profits.

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Most people are pleasant, helpful, caring and kind. A few are selfish and greedy. And some are spiteful vicious and mean.

There’s none worse that the black-leg, the scab, the vigilante thug.

Woody took his stance and sang his songs with the working men on the picket lines. He took his beatings too. He stood for justice and fairness.

It’s the same battle now.

Vigilante Man

Have you seen that vigilante man?
Have you seen that vigilante man?
Have you seen that vigilante man?
I been hearin’ his name all over the land.

Well, what is a vigilante man?
Tell me, what is a vigilante man?
Has he got a gun and a club in his hand?
Is that is a vigilante man?

Rainy night down in the engine house,
Sleepin’ just as still as a mouse,
Man come along an’ he chased us out in the rain.
Was that a vigilante man?

Stormy days we passed the time away,
Sleepin’ in some good warm place.
Man come along an’ we give him a little race.
Was that a vigilante man?

Preacher Casey was just a workin’ man,
And he said, “Unite all you working men.”
Killed him in the river some strange man.
Was that a vigilante man?

Oh, why does a vigilante man,
Why does a vigilante man
Carry that sawed-off shot-gun in his hand?
Would he shoot his brother and sister down?

I rambled ’round from town to town,
I rambled ’round from town to town,
And they herded us around like a wild herd of cattle.
Was that the vigilante men?

Have you seen that vigilante man?
Have you seen that vigilante man?
I’ve heard his name all over this land.

Woody Guthrie – Tom Joad – the tale of the abuse of the immigrant workers driven out of the Dustbowl based on John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath.

Woody_Guthrie_2Photo of Woody Guthrie

Woody was so impressed with John Steinbeck’s portrayal of the plight of the farmers driven out of the Midwest due to the dustbowl when the banks foreclosed on their mortgages that he put the whole story into words in a song.

It told of the starvation, exploitation and thuggery. The family watched as the dust from over-farming and the loss of trees and hedges took their land. They watched as the Banks destroyed their homes. They were enticed to head for California through promises and were then systematically abused and destroyed.

The last two verses sum up the defiance.

They don’t do ‘real’ Protest songs like this anymore but they need to.

It took a man of Woody’s stature to stand up to a system that treats people like they were trash in order to make profit.

It still goes on. It  needs opposing.

Tom Joad

Tom Joad got out of the old McAlester Pen;
There he got his parole.
After four long years on a man killing charge,
Tom Joad come a-walkin’ down the road, poor boy,
Tom Joad come a-walkin’ down the road.

Tom Joad, he met a truck driving man;
There he caught him a ride.
He said, “I just got loose from McAlester Pen
On a charge called homicide,
A charge called homicide.”

That truck rolled away in a cloud of dust;
Tommy turned his face toward home.
He met Preacher Casey, and they had a little drink,
But they found that his family they was gone,
He found that his family they was gone.

He found his mother’s old-fashion shoe,
Found his daddy’s hat.
And he found little Muley and Muley said,
“They’ve been tractored out by the cats,
They’ve been tractored out by the cats.”

Tom Joad walked down to the neighbor’s farm,
Found his family.
They took Preacher Casey and loaded in a car,
And his mother said, “We’ve got to get away.”
His mother said, “We’ve got to get away.”

Now, the twelve of the Joads made a mighty heavy load;
But Grandpa Joad did cry.
He picked up a handful of land in his hand,
Said: “I’m stayin’ with the farm till I die.
Yes, I’m stayin’ with the farm till I die.”

They fed him short ribs and coffee and soothing syrup;
And Grandpa Joad did die.
They buried Grandpa Joad by the side of the road,
Grandma on the California side,
They buried Grandma on the California side.

They stood on a mountain and they looked to the west,
And it looked like the promised land.
That bright green valley with a river running through,
There was work for every single hand, they thought,
There was work for every single hand.

The Joads rolled away to the jungle camp,
There they cooked a stew.
And the hungry little kids of the jungle camp
Said: “We’d like to have some, too.”
Said: “We’d like to have some, too.”

Now a deputy sheriff fired loose at a man,
Shot a woman in the back.
Before he could take his aim again,
Preacher Casey dropped him in his track, poor boy,
Preacher Casey dropped him in his track.

They handcuffed Casey and they took him in jail;
And then he got away.
And he met Tom Joad on the old river bridge,
And these few words he did say, poor boy,
These few words he did say.

“I preached for the Lord a mighty long time,
Preached about the rich and the poor.
Us workin’ folkses, all get together,
‘Cause we ain’t got a chance anymore.
We ain’t got a chance anymore.”

Now, the deputies come, and Tom and Casey run
To the bridge where the water run down.
But the vigilante thugs hit Casey with a club,
They laid Preacher Casey on the ground, poor Casey,
They laid Preacher Casey on the ground.

Tom Joad, he grabbed that deputy’s club,
Hit him over the head.
Tom Joad took flight in the dark rainy night,
And a deputy and a preacher lying dead, two men,
A deputy and a preacher lying dead.

Tom run back where his mother was asleep;
He woke her up out of bed.
An’ he kissed goodbye to the mother that he loved,
Said what Preacher Casey said, Tom Joad,
He said what Preacher Casey said.

“Ever’body might be just one big soul,
Well it looks that a-way to me.
Everywhere that you look, in the day or night,
That’s where I’m a-gonna be, Ma,
That’s where I’m a-gonna be.

Wherever little children are hungry and cry,
Wherever people ain’t free.
Wherever men are fightin’ for their rights,
That’s where I’m a-gonna be, Ma.
That’s where I’m a-gonna be.”

Woody Guthrie – Deportee – Lyrics about the exploitation of immigrant workers.

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Woody always took the side of the underdog, the misfortunate, exploited and spat upon. He roamed the country, rode boxcars, made friends with blacks, Mexicans and down and outs. He fought for the unions to establish a fair wage. He fought against a capitalist system that put enough money in the pockets of the bosses that it was easier for them to bring in thugs to beat the workers into submission rather than pay them a living wage.

One of the tricks then, and still today, was to hire illegal immigrants, pay them a pittance and hand them over when they were no more use to be deported back.

The Mexicans waded the Rio Grande to get into America in order to be exploited because there was no work in Mexico. They died in their thousands in those desert lands.

A planeload of deportees crashed and all the papers said was that a number of deportees had been killed. Woody saw them as people. He was incensed. He wanted to give them all the names they deserved so people could see them for what they were; human beings who were doing their best for their families. They deserved respect and dignity. They had names.

Deportee (Plane wreck at Los Gatos)

The crops are all in and the peaches are rott’ning,
The oranges piled in their creosote dumps;
They’re flying ’em back to the Mexican border
To pay all their money to wade back again

Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria;
You won’t have your names when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be “deportees”

My father’s own father, he waded that river,
They took all the money he made in his life;
My brothers and sisters come working the fruit trees,
And they rode the truck till they took down and died.

Some of us are illegal, and some are not wanted,
Our work contract’s out and we have to move on;
Six hundred miles to that Mexican border,
They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.

We died in your hills, we died in your deserts,
We died in your valleys and died on your plains.
We died ‘neath your trees and we died in your bushes,
Both sides of the river, we died just the same.

The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon,
A fireball of lightning, and shook all our hills,
Who are all these friends, all scattered like dry leaves?
The radio says, “They are just deportees”

Is this the best way we can grow our big orchards?
Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit?
To fall like dry leaves to rot on my topsoil
And be called by no name except “deportees”?