THE BEAT GOES ON

Exiles In Picadilly Circus

Any visitor to London in mid-July might easily have thought he was visiting the New York City of four summers past. Everything was happening at the King’s Cross Cinema, and it looked like a ’67 Grande Ballroom bill.

Lou Reed was there, with a band of trembling high school tots from Long Island. He’d come over to visit his producer, who sometimes calls himself David Bowie, and had decided to play a few gigs while he was at it.

Reed has been spending a lot of time in Britain, where his legend is apparently worth considerably more at the box office than it has been on these shores. He cut his first solo album in London, and will most likely have his second for RCA completed by the time this reaches your hands. Reed, however, is not alone in his self-imposed exile: several other bands the late, lamented Velvet Underground have long been generically grouped with (frequently to Lou’s displeasure) have adopted the British Isles as well.

One such is Iggy Pop, whom some of you may recall from his days as IggyStooge. Iggy played his first British gig — he’s been living there since March, managed by Tony Defries, who also has Bowie and Reed — the night after Lou debuted at King’s Cross. He was billed with a “new band,” which turned out to be the same old Stooges, with ex-bassist James Williamson on guitar and ex-guitarist Ron Ashton on bass, backed by stalwart Scott Ashton on drums. And, even though one account likened the band to Van Morrison’s Them, they are the Stooges. Expect an album on CBS shortly.

Second-billed to the Stooges on Saturday night were the Flamin’ Groovies, those madcap rock and roll renegades from San Francisco. They sport a new lead singer (who looks and prances like the Jagger of old) and rhythm guitarist, but have lost none of the fire and frenzy which made them favorites in certain critical circles in this country. They recently signed to British UA, and . have released a Dave Edmunds-produced single — “Slow Death” b/w “Tallahassee Lassie” — which is easily their best musical effort soTar.

(Their ex-producer, Richard Robinson, was responsible for the production of Lou Reed’s first album.)

And that’s not all: in the audience for the Stooges’ gig was Bob Hodge (late of Detroit’s Catfish) as well as a dozen American rock critics flown over by RCA to view Bowie’s gig at Aylesbury the same evening. Expected, but unable to attend because of a gig in Holland, were the notorious MC5. Finding European audiences more responsive, the Five have expatriated themselves as well, and are now managed by Ronan O’Rahilly, whose chief claim to fame is Radio Caroline, the infamous British pirate radio operation. The Five are unsigned to a recording pact at this time, but the interest they’ve regenerated in their brand of driving rock and roll is rumored to extend all the way to one prominent ex-Beatle.

So save your tickertape, kids, there may be a homecoming parade yet.

Age Of The Beast

The way Satan’s High Priest sees it, the Age of the Beast is where “man takes stock of himself and becomes aware of his basic nature.” Raw animal cartilege drools, mondo pervo, the phillistine caper, y’know, Jim?

The Persian Room of the Marco Polo motel on Collins Ave., the Queens Blvd. of the tropics in Miami Beach, is hardly the place you’d expect any kind of divine depravity to be going down. The tablecloths are lavender, the chairs pink leather, drinks are expensive and the admission is scaled — $6-$5-$4 — one good reason the joint was half-empty on a Friday night.

Age of the Beast is good-bad, certainly not evil but then again, what were you expecting from something that bills itself as “The Occult Rock Musical?” In any case, this demented grandchild of Hair isn’t much different from any of the so-called Black Mass, witch burning revivals that have become de rigueur for any college director worth his pinky ring. You name it, it’s got it — smoke belching, tit grabbing, simulated sodomy, the whole updated Gene Kelly paranoiac boogaloo.

Except Age of the Beast is interesting for a couple of reasons. It’s as Satanic as say, Elizabeth Mongomery in Bewitched, but it’s a rock'n’roll entertainment that succeeds because it somehow refrains from sliding across the line between nonsense and pretense.

Visually, the sets are colorful, zodiacal pastel backdrops, with lights and multi-prismatic smoke machines doing their admittedly and unashamedly hokey neo-psychedelic stuff. Gary Linn’s costumes are simple yet smart — the usual hooded capes, see-through gowns and mock-diamond bikinis all seem right.

The star of the show is of course Satan, played by Joey Ray, who as Satan makes a great rock'n’roll star.

(Which is the whole idea.) He first appears in a hell-blast of smoke, and with his long straight dark hair and full, drooping beard, red silk poncho top and white bell bottoms with red Captain Video streaks, he is your everyman A m e r i can-kid-as-British-rock‘n’r oil-star, the Jesus Christ of Carnaby Street. He bumps and grinds and shakes that microphone, while the assembled worshippers of evil bow and scrape, and bob their heads and shake their asses.

And that’s because the music is by a band called Resurrection, who know that Black Sabbath is a direct descendant of Bo Diddley. During the show, the quartet — with Ray often singing — wail out metalic doomsday treats like “Sky Crack,” “Meaningless Dreams,” “Screaming Minds,” “Beautiful Pain” and the fantastic “No Rest for the Wicked,” which right now would be pealing from every car radio in Transamerica if there was any injustice on the charts.

Ray actually is Resurrection’s lead singer, the other members being Ty Gilliland, Randy Littrell, Tom Ackley and Larry Ingram. Since the show is “rock opera,” Ray has to project and enunciate, so his vocals sound like Johnny Maestro joining John Kay in a meat grinder and put together like a David Clayton-Thomas jigsaw puzzle in front of REO Speedwagon. Which isn’t altogether unpleasant.

But after the show Ray and Resurrection bust loose; Johnny kicks out his long legs, prancing like every rock‘n’roll singer he ever saw and then some in a methburst of energy, poking his fingers through a skull prop left on stage, glory dancing and singing a high-energy anthem called “Happiness is Rock‘n’Roll.” Then he and the band do a medley.

Now dig this medley. First an old Johnny Cash bit, then some Hank Williams, then “Maybelline,” “Long Tall Texan,” “Searchin’,” “Peppermint Twist,” “Mickey’s Monkey,” “Willie and the Hand Jive,” and finally, “Long Tall Sally” with a little “Tutti Frutti” to boot, all performed the way a vicious rock'n’roll street band should.

rock'n’roll street band should. Age of the Beast is amusing. It seems like somebody (Lonn A. Lefton) got an idea, found some money, got all his friends who wanted to be on a stage together, got a heavy band and put on a show. When they get done with Miami, they might want to come to your town. If they have enough sense to keep ticket prices around the $2 or $3 level, then make it. Age of the Beast is worth seeing because of the music, and because they don’t try-too hard.

Wayne Robins

Jesus Tops Bill At Rock Festival

The night before Dallas’ giant Jesus Music Festival, evangelist Billy Graham addressed a Jesus rally in the Cotton Bowl and electrified the throng with a “special announcement.”

The wavy-haired Dr. Graham moved in close to the microphone, his powder blue blazer reflecting the flashes from thousands of Instamatics, and punctuated his sentences by jabbing an index finger skyward: “Some radical groups have moved into Dallas and they’re going to attempt to break up the meeting tomorrow. But I don’t think you want them to!”

“NOOOOOOOr roared the 80,000 Jesus devotees.

“So I’ll tell you what to do. Love them, surround them, and if they give you any trouble, just push them out. I’m not afraid of them; I’m afraid of what you might do to them!”

“YEEEAAAAHHHH!”

Lord knows what radical groups Billy Graham had in mind; it’s doubtful that there are any foolhardy enough to risk being torn limb from limb by zealous Christians. The city of Dallas, conservative stronghold of Texas, is a tough enough nut to crack. But when it’s full of 80,000 exuberant Jesus freaks, in town for the six-day Explo ’72 crusade, well, you can just forget it. Might as easily try to levitate the Pentagon. Dallas liked this tribal gathering. These kids were obviously back in the fold and on their way to becoming useful, productive, law-abiding, tax-paying, God-fearing decent citizens. And they’ll probaby vote Republican. Oh, some of ’em still need a haircut, but they don’t smoke them narcotics; they don’t even drink. So Dallas went out of its way to welcome and shelter these Christseekers. You could hardly kneel to pray without bumping into a Dallas cop.

The morning of the festival (which concluded Explo, a youth revival conducted by Campus Crusade for Christ), religious music fans began gathering at 4 AM, although the show didn’t start until 7. By mid-morning, there were an estimated 180,000 people massed on the Woodall-Rogers Freeway, a shadeless, sunbaked expanse adjoining downtown Dallas, which the city obligingly sealed off. In all, 40 square blocks of Dallas were blockaded and guarded by grim Dallas policemen, who were still looking for those radicals.

But Dr. Graham’s invasion didn’t occur and the festival limped along, the main diversion being to count the heat prostration victims being carried out of the “Christian Woodstock.”

The MC even assumed a suitable Woodstock voice: “People, don’t accept any drinks from strangers. It’s somebody’s idea of fun to put acid in them. And watch the apples: they’ve got razor blades in them.” They didn’t really but at least that gave everybody some excitement, precious little of which they were receiving from the entertainment.

One of the many gospel singers who appeared Was Larry Norman, who started the one-way gesture used by Campus Crusade. Norman always chides his audiences when they applaud him. He points one finger heavenward: that’s where the applause should go. The Jesus people adopted that finger business and matched it with John 14:6: “I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father, but through Me.” One way.

Norman mounted the stage, which was decorated with such Christian psychedelia as “Think Love” and “He Shall Overcome.” The Dallas cops who ringed the stage stuffed their ears with cotton balls as he ran through his routine, which he concluded by requesting prayer for “our brother Eric Clapton. The brother accepted the Lord and he doesn’t have many Christian friends.” Clapton was prayed over by 180,000.

Katie Henley of the Godspell cast sang, as did country singer Connie Smith, who described her sinful past. The MC called for — and got — an ovation for the Dallas police. Barry McGuire did “Eve of Destruction,” which he blended into a bitter version of apocalypse; “Don’t thank God for the sins of America.” He was drowned out by the sound of low-flying police helicopters. After five minutes, they were able to begin and led off with “In the Garden.” Many in the audience wept. “Praise the Lord, Rita,” yelled several in the crowd.

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The MC came back on: “Let’s all pray for a brother who had acid slipped into his coke.” He meant Coca-Cola. Campus Crusade president Bill Bright delivered the expected Max Yasgur speech.

After several more gospel singers, Kris Kristofferson and entourage made it to the stage. Rita Coolidge came out first with Kristofferson’s band and sang “I Have Found My Jesus.” Kristofferson, clad in black tee-shirt and matching jeans, joined her and they tried to sing but the microphones wouldn’t work.

“Maybe they don’t want us,” Kristofferson growled. “How ’bout turnin’ on the,git-tar mike!”

After two more numbers, they were ordered by the stage manager to wait until the videotape crew was ready. Kristofferson stewed.

They finally were able to finish. Backstage, Kristofferson was bewildered. A covey of speed-talking kids surrounded him: “Autograph my Bible, Kris.” They reached for him and flung Jesus tracts at him.

He invited me into the performers’ trailer to escape the crush. Inside, Johnny Cash and June Carter were having make-up applied before their set. A cop grabbed me and threw me out. Kristofferson came back outside, shaking his head.

“I had no idea it would be like this,” he puzzled. “This is cuckoo, it’s just like the Isle of Wight or something. I only came because Cash asked me to. And then they wouldn’t let me sing. You got some television nut-cake screamin’ at you to wait. He was really ugly to Rita. So all my swell religious feelin’ flit.”

He was still shaking off adoring kids as Cash swept by on his way to the stage. Johnny Cash, who is now the brightest star in the Jesus Movement’s crown, was converted last year and now attends weekly services at a Nashville / church, where Hank Snow’s son, Jimmie Rodgers Snow, is pastor. Alcohol and dope have been banned at recording sessions in the new House of Cash studio.

The Man in Black took the stage, along with Carl Perkins, the Tennessee Three^ Maybelle Carter, June Carter, the Carter Family, and the Statler Brothers. They did such crowd-pleasers as “A Thing Called Love” and “If I Had A Hammer.”

Cash introduced the next act, Dr. Billy Graham, as “one of God’s greatest apostles of all time.”

Graham preached, his sonorous voice bouncing off Dallas’s skyscrapers, the temples of the Ross Perots and H. L. Hunts and James Lings. Graham ordered his street army to go out and change the world. His text was John 3:16. He also quoted Acts 17:6 and he likened America today to the latter days of the Roman Empire: the apocalypse is upon us, so get ready: brothers and sisters.

“In the midst of a despairing world,” he boomed, “we have a glorious and wonderful message to take from Dallas.” Several listeners thought it strange that he didn’t say anything about taking a message to Dallas. One wag in the press gallery went so far as to announce loudly that he had heard from highly placed sources that Jesus Christ had left Dallas in November of 1963 and hadn’t been seen in Big D since.

Dear Sirs:

Please send me 30 copies of “Have you heard of the Four Spiritual Laws?” I have cancer and have only 6-8 weeks to live. So I have so much witnessing and testifying to do before the Lord takes me Home! Thank you.

Sincerely,

L.F.

Tonasket, Washington (A letter which appeared in Worldwide Impact, the newspaper of Campus Crusade for Christ.) Chet Flippo

The Dressing In The Dressing Room

Requisitioned for the Stones’ tour in dressing rooms across the nation: “towel-and soap; two bottles per show Chivas Regal, Teacher’s or Dewar’s Whiskey. Two bottles per show Jack Daniels Black Label Bourbon. Two bottles per show Tequila (lemon quarters and salt to accompany). Three bottles per show chilled Liebfraumilch wine. One bottle per show Courvosier or Hine Brandy. Plus fresh fruit, cheese, brown bread, butter, cold meat, chicken legs, roast beef, tomatoes, pickles, etc. And Alka-Seltzer.”