THE GREATEST ROCK SHOW IN HISTORY

On November 11th, 1973, in Santiago, Chile, an itinerant gem polisher stumbled upon an idea that would change the course of rock music history . . .

January 2nd, 1974, Quacavado, New Mexico, four youths, ranging from 19 to 21, released from the Lance Rentzel Home for Runaway Boys, are herded into the back door of a Winnebago Motor Home with enough food for a year, abundant programmed media, dope rations of typical Sly-oriented magnitude, no water, and two small holes at the base of their skulls. No statement regarding the holes was issued to either wire service or CREEM, The doors were sealed with a time lock set to open on November 11, 1974, at 11:00pm sharp.

Winnabago heads east...

ads began: On January 5th, 1974, the “The World’s Greatest Rock Show, THE FOOT OF THE CASTLE FESTIVAL (F.O.T.C.), San Simeon, California, November 8-11, Tickets At Ticketron, Mutual Agencies, and McDonalds.” Cards postmarked January were 50 cents for the blue section — tickets right in front. The yellow section behind them in February — 75 cents. March tickets were a dollar, etc., and you sort of had to take the promotor’s word for the festival’s credibility. Good faith in rock, and all that. Groovy vibes.

However, when the Stones finally committed themselves in April, hearing the quality of the acts already booked, tickets went up to two dollars. The Stones were arriving on their own 707, an exact mock-up of the entire South of France (both formerly owned by Leonard Cohen), with each section of the plane appropriately reflecting a Mediterranean atmosphere except for one section reserved for Bianca’s hats (editor’s note: Bianca’s hats are produced by Jimmy Miller and mixed by Glyn Johns).

On April 19th, at Winterland in San Francisco, the first batch of F.O.T.C. tee-shirts were seen being worn by the Grateful Dead’s roadies. So the word was out. Everyone in the biz wanted to be involved. Chip Monck, stage director in festival’s early planning stages, was suddenly stricken with stereo (he never works in mono). Graun Squirrel, responsible for the Famous Frankfurt Festival (FFF) of ‘72, stepped-in to fill his shoes. As you’ll recall, all four “Live FFF” albums were big sellers on four different D. Geffin record labels.

In May, ticket sales were down due obviously to the high prices and no Stones’ singles. All the big promotors, Skip Fey, Barry Grossman, and Albert Graham, reacted as if one saying: “I keep telling that guy from Chile, November’s not a good month for a festival.”

— Prices were three dollars when The Who committed. And rapid sales were reported at the larger McDonalds.

— Dylan signed to do the show, but his press releases poo-pooed any knowledge of it. He even wrote a soundtrack song about it, but the movie never came out.

— Joni said she was going to be there, but she really planned to spend the weekend with Liv.

— Kris had made plans with Carly.

— James and Rita would be heading for Greece.

— Leon had no time.

Meanwhile, outside the Gulf station at 1-94 and Highway 80, the Winnebago is refueling ... Troy Sun, who will be the drummer, still can’t figure out why every time he closes his eyes he hears and thinks Buddy Miles. Chad Savage, picked to play bass, keeps hearing old West, Bruce, and Laing songs, and his voice gets higher, and higher, and higher. Mick Velvet, selected to play lead, is already capable of reproducing the most complicated Alvin Lee licks, though he’s never seen a guitar before. He can often be found in the Winnebago’s closet watching Woodstock video cassette footage and shooting up Finger-Ease. Tyrone Off, the lead singer, was especially chosen for his mangy blond hair and the amount of crosses he can wear around his neck without leaving tell-tale stretch marks on his Man-Tan. He can’t carry a tune. Ah, but if they could only see outside at all. They might notice the name someone has chosen for them emblazened on the side of the motor home: “THE IMPENDING DISASTER, November 11th, 1974, F.O.T.C.”

By the end of June, beginning July, everyone in the world from Mungo Jerry to Mongo Santamaria was signed, with the first three days designated as an “English Mod Rock Experience”. Monster acts such as Zoot Money, Kingdom Come, Oblivion Express and T-Rex

put their names on the dotted line. Not .talking any chances, Viv Stanshall has already been living in a sleeping bag on the steps of the castle for a month and a half as he’s scheduled for the first day and doesn’t want to miss himself.

Imagine everyone’s surprise as David Geffen withdrew his support over such a miniscule matter as John Denver’s refusing to sell him the state of Colorado.

On August 3rd, San Simeon resident Oscar Homolka was asked what he thought of the upcoming November hippie onslaught. “Well, anything that brings money and sanitation into the community .. .1 tell ya, living on Highway 1, I seen these damn beatniks for years, grimy little backpackers, even buried a few of ‘em myself. Can’t just leave ‘em around drawin’ flies.” Thank you, Mr. Homolka.

Beginning August 23rd, four days of rain flooded Highway 1 from Pismo Beach to Carmel, so naturally ticket sales reached an all time high. Rumors of Janis coming back for the festival

crippled the hearts of literally thousands when it was divulged they referred to Janis Paige.

And the Winnebago heads west...

Tickets now no closer than one-half mile from the stage were being unloaded for ten dollars a piece.

Many American groups looking to avoid the rush on accomodations had already rented the Esalen Institute just up the road. Grand Funk, Wet Willie, all your sensitivity groups. Bobby Womack was allowed to set up a tent in the parking lot of Nepenthe up the road a bit further.

And then It happened.

England was all but completely devastated by a freak earthquake registering 8.9 on the Les Richter scale on September 30th. Bianca wept on the Riviera. Glyn added bass to it, and it sold half a million copies. So tickets went up to twenty-five dollars even though many English bands, still foolish enough to be living there, were annihilated. The Moody Blues, however, were reportedly seen hovering above Stonehenge singing something about keys or doors or children or chords or something. The first three days looked

And the Winnebago ..

November 6th, 1973, semi’s carrying the stage, the lights, the p.a., and Canned Heat pulled up in front of the castle to begin the ordeal of leveling the hill. The festival ticket sale office, set up in the castle gift shop, was being beseiged by ticket requests at fifty dollars each due to the fact that the earthquake had Shortened the festival by approximately three days thereby eliminating seventy-two hours of solid bummers. Of course, the festival had now become a benefit for all the English acts lost at sea (or in Ian Anderson’s case, standing one-legged on an ice floe somewhere in the North Atlantic). Where was Linda McCartney???

On November 10th, with nearly a half million people in attendance, the Highway Patrol blocked off Highway 1 from the San Luis Obispo to Redwood City and were only letting in ticket holders, dealers, pregnant blond girls with frisbees, and government officials.

Due to their phenomenal success at Altamont, Heaven’s Devils, a biker club from Corpus Christi, Texas, were recruited for security. They were all Albinos with pink choppers and studs riveted into their noses. It was their job to find the people having the most fun in the audience and beat their heads in just like at all the other big rock shows.

No one seemed to care that night during the hail storm, that only three of the five Andy Gump Port-A-Johns were still functional. Of course, weeks later, Cass Elliot was found lying in overturned Port-A-John Number 2. Reeking.

At dawn, the final touches being put on the stage, Wally Heider himself drove the mobil 16-track unit to the concession area. And the last balls of hail fell on the stoned-out crowds.

That night, Sly cancelled, four hundred and thirteen children were born, some normal, arid the Winne . ..

It would be senseless to dwell on how the Stones warmed up the crowd, although at 7:00 am, with only half of the audience awake, theirs was not an enviable position. Mick wore black. Then the audience patiently indulged typically right-on performances by The Who, Boz Scaggs, Mahavishnu, Flo & Eddie, the Section, and Paul Simon. However, just as Monterey was a showplace for the superstars of the ‘60s, F.CKT.C. was obviously the place,where the corpses of. the ‘70s were previewed with momentous reaction. And all through the concert, the kids were alerted that to climax the festivities beyond their wildest expectations, the IMPENDING DISASTER was coming! The IMPENDING DISASTER was coming! The IMPENDING DISASTER was coming!

The Australian group that broke the tension and sent the crowd into a frenzy was THE OVALTINE PAP TEST WITH HELEN REDDY’S MOM. They scored heavy with their versions of She Was Woman She’s Invisible, and Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport. Mrs. Reddy was exquisitely coiffed and dressed in an orange chiffon Koala suit. Harry Nilsson tried to sit in but was forcibly evicted from the stage by Mrs. Reddy'S manager/husband.

The next act will not soon be forgotten. "Highlighted by a three and a half hour equipment change, GIPETTO hit their multi-thousand dollar stage. A hundred yards long and fifty feet in height, the giant puppet theatre, replete with elaborately colored Swiss engravings and chintz curtains, eclipsed the horizon. And rising above the behemoth theatre stage, was the gargantuan but jolly inflatable head and torso of a puppet-maker, Gipetto himself. Attached to his randomly moving giant fingers were huge piano wires affixed to the heads, hands, and feet of the actual, grotesquely painted, group members. A la marionettes, with heavily drawn facial lines and exaggerated stiff movements, they sure gave the illusion that they were realty made of wood. Quite a picture, those five wierdos and their giant master whose head bobbed up and down to their music. Unfortunately, their set bogged-down with quasipsychedelic renditions of I’m Your Puppet, and Holiday for Strings. However, it was during their extended instrumental version of Wooden Heart that a Budweiser bottle (reportedly thrown by Dino Valenti) popped kindly old Gipetto, and the band crumpled to the floor.

At this point, Graun made several announcements concerning drug abuse and Mongoloids, was pelted with Froot Loops and left the stage to a standing ovation.

The Winnebago crosses the Golden Gate Bridge, the lads bursting with eleven months of captive programmed drug-induced energy, have no idea where or why they are going. Two small holes pulse in the base of their skulls.

The next group, an all-girl band, blew the kids away with their highly-polished professionalism, well-blocked harmonies, and musical Skills. Everybody knew they were heavies, but no one was sure exactly who they were. Their manager Roy Golden divulged their identities to us later: two former members of Fanny; two former members of U.F.O.; Joan Baez’s cousin; an ex-Goldigger; and the drummer, we learned, used to be with the Harlem-Globetrotters. Graun’s voice pierced the air with their encore call: “that was VULVA, ladies and gentle-' men, VULVA.”

The festival food supplies, QuarterPounders and Borden Frosteds, were running low.

As the sun began to set, the audience marveled that no amplifiers or drums or anything was being moved onto the stage. Just six chairs. Suddenly a spotlight hit a remote area within the crowd, and it was obvious by the size of the console there and the omnipotent

presence of Terry Knight at the controls that this would be no ordinary band. And it wasn’t. At the flick of a switch, UNI BAND, seven metallic Androids, marched mechanically onto the stage. Each with two glowing eye sockets and Jhe output potential of six Marshall stacks built into each one of them. Their drummer standing on a platform behind them was making noises by opening and closing his mouth, and in doing so, did a much better job than Ginger Baker. Appropriately enough, they were synthesized to perform the entire repertoire of all the English bands lost in the Great Quake, and also (we suspect, due to a soft spot in Terry’s Heart) a lengthy adaptation of Closer to Home. Mr. Knight was quoted as saying “I’m tellin’ ya, when I say I can make computer-rock happen, it’ll happen, dammit.”

Thirty-five miles away, the Winnebago lumbers down Highway 1. Right on time.

Alucard was up next. The Glam Rock representative. Across the stoney curved dungeon steps and through the laboratory set where the coffin lay, flew A1 himself, as his long-haired blond back-up band set up. Somehow, trick lighting or something, he changed from his bat-like appearance into a caped figure scowling at the audience, ripping heads off of real people and screeching top-forty oriented perversions to the adoring heard. “Ghouls Out Forever” his admiring fans joined-in. He used his standard ending, the old ‘stakethrough-the-heart’ illusion, but no one noticed.

The show’s promotor was on stage next. Well-dressed, as if he were a gem polisher or something. White Bnoni, dark glasses, Tijuana Small, very Jim Phelps. He spoke, but no one there understood him. His words were pearls before swine.

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CONTINUED FROM PAGE 53.

All heads turned as a giant motor home crashed thorugh the stage entrance gate.

Inside the Winnebaggio, something told “the band” that they had reached their date with destiny. Their hearts fluttered as they heard the sound of the time lock for the first time in eleven months. Whirr. Buzz. Click.

The stage lights dimmed.

The amps were plugged in.'

The audience was stomping. Screaming. Writhing. A sea of burn-.outs at near riot point.

And then the IMPENDING DISASTER reached for the door, and-the smell of sweet, fresh air. They saw the screaming thousands. They were handed, and gladly accepted, the instruments they were so sure they could play. Eight small holes throbbed. Why the horrible headaches now? Why won’t they stop? Please, stop!

Lights flashed. Amps fbtizzfed. The IMPENDING DISASTER hit the stage and each' of them knew what they had to do.