by Jane Scott
John F. Kennedy, 43, was elected president, the youngest in history to be voted into the White House. Nikita Khurshchev took off his shoe and banged it on a United Nations table. Elvis Presley was sprung from the Army. And the song "Alley-Oop" ("Boop, Boop!") became the top-selling single of the year.
Maybe you were there. The year? 1960.
But for many young people, the ‘60s really began on Feb. 9, 1964. That’s when the Beatles appeared on "The Ed Sullivan Show" and changed the world --- not only music, but youth identification, fashions and attitudes.
I was The Plain Dealer’s teen editor when I attended the Beatles’ first concert in Cleveland, on Sept. 15, 1964, at Public Hall. Two years later, I became the paper’s rock critic and covered the Beatles’ second show here --- at a much larger venue, the Stadium.
The latter was one of the top cultural events in Cleveland history and one of the most exciting days in my nearly 30 years as a Plain Dealer rock critic. Memorable moments have also been provided by other Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductees --- notably the Rolling Stones, Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix --- and many others.
The Beatles’ session for reporters at the old Hotel Cleveland Sheraton the day of their concert on Aug. 14, 1966, was my first major news conference. It was about as easy to get into as the Michael Jackson-Lisa Marie Presley honeymoon suite. Even Beatles Manager Brian Epstein was denied entrance at first. Luckily, Norman Wain, co-owner of concert sponsor WIXY AM, got me in.
John Lennon was at the center. He was explaining, in a calm, expressionless, unhurried manner that his recent remark about the Beatles being more popular than Jesus was taken out of context. In England, they take offhand remarks like that with a grain of salt, Lennon said.
When asked if the Beatles’ latest trip to America was creating less of a stir than their first, he said the reaction so far was good, but admitted the novelty was gone. "But no one ever said the howling would go on forever," he added.
That didn’t seem to worry the charmer, Paul McCartney, smiling and answering questions about haircuts and lyrics.
"If you start reading things into them (lyrics), you might as well sing hymns." he said.
At the concert, the huge crowd was separated from the band by a simple 4-foot-tall snow fence. Ah, how innocent we were then.
Two years earlier, when the Rolling Stones came to town, rock was on the run. The Beatles had caused such a commotion with their first show the Mayor Roulph J. Locher issued a "Beatle Ban" against big rock concerts. And Judge Angelo Gangliardi was quoted as saying that, for youths, rock concerts were like narcotics.
Not surprisingly, only about 1,000 fans showed up at the Stones show at Public Hall in November 1964, mostly young girls who filled the first four rows and balcony seats.
I loved the raw, relentless rhythm, Mick Jagger’s raspy noise and Keith Richards' riffy guitar on such songs as "It’s All Over Now" and "Time Is on My Side." You could tell the Stones had the talent to become one of the all-time great bands.
The Stones lost $5,000 on the concert, but they got their revenge later. Their 1994 "Voodoo Lounge" tour alone took in more than $119 million, becoming one of the biggest tours of all time.
Janis Joplin, the white-hot mama of the blues, took the Music Hall stage in 1969 like a Boeing 707. But backstage before the show --- before she tore the hall apart with her opener, "Piece of My Heart" -- she kept her distance. I and the other reporters present kind of sidled up to her, as she stood aloof in her black sequin cape, black velvet bell-bottoms, gold-colored blouse and an amazing bevy of bracelets and beads.
But she was in a non-media mood. "No, no interviews!" she said. She had already said that four times, she pointed out; wasn’t that enough?
So how about after the show? The worst possible time, she said
"I’m sweaty, tired and stoned," she said, later taking a swig from a bottle labeled Southern Comfort. I talked to Peter Albin, bassist with Joplin’s band, Big Brother and the Holding Company, instead. He said Joplin would be leaving Big Brother in December to form a new band. She did.
Jimi Hendrix was also hard to talk to, but for different reasons. Backstage at Music Hall in March 1967, he had a date on each arm, each cuddling up for attention. One of the crew whispered that the two women were sisters. So much for the innocence of the ‘60s!
The night before his sizzling concert, I sat at a table adjoining Hendrix’s at the old Otto’s Grotto, signed autographs on paper napkins with his right hand --- the only thing he did with his right hand.
Success had made him more ambitious more serious, he said "Now that I’ve got this chance, I want to do my best," he added.
Womanizing aside, Hendrix was all music. He couldn’t sit still long at Otto’s. He grabbed a guitar and joined the Good Earth on the stage, completely absorbed in his chords.
The day of the concert, I accompanied Hendrix as he bought a blue Corvette at Blaushild’s Chevrolet Headquarters in Shaker Heights. He may not have been the usual customer there, in his big black hat and dreadlocks, but he knew what he wanted. He startled the staff by peeling $8,000 out of his pocket and paying for the car in cash.
The female singer I most admired the First Lady of Soul, Aretha Franklin --- wowed them at the old Arena on June 29, 1968. Franklin, who would later become the first woman to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, performed in a glimmering silver and oyster gown. She opened with "There’s No Business Like Show Business" and closed with Otis Redding’s thrilling "Respect."
She was just as queenly in her dressing room in a $10.95 terry cloth dressing robe. Our photographer, William G. Vorpe, asked permission to be seen in a robe. "So what’s so bad about that?" Franklin retorted, allowing the photographer to proceed.
Sonny and Cher were down-to-earth, too. The future Republican congressman from California and the future award-winning actress had a million-seller in 1965, "I Got You Babe." They had given command performances for Princess Margaret and Jacqueline Kennedy but readily invited us into their Hollenden Motel room before their 1966 Music Hall show. (Incidentally, tickets for the concert started at $2.)
Then Cher, the singing wife who had started the bell-bottom trousers craze, surprised us by saying that the husband should wear the pants in the family. He should be the boss, she said.
But just as we were leaving, Cher gave an order to Sonny: Call room service. She wasn’t going to sleep in twin beds, she said.
The Who’s Keith Moon was a dominating figure. He showed up at a media party at Swingo’s Keg and Quarter wearing an actual policeman’s uniform. He handcuffed Kid Leo of WMMS FM to an unknown (to Leo) blonde.
The Who were a tough act for headliner Herman’s Hermits to follow at Music Hall in 1967.
My favorite interview with The Who came the next year, at the old Musicarnival summer concert tent in Warrensville Heights. Pete Townshend and Moon trashed their amps. Local group Cyrus Erie saved the night, wheeling their own amps up the aisles for the Who’s encore. Teens wandered up on stage, took pictures and plastered paper flowers on Moon’s drums. The band didn’t seem to mind.
On the other hand, Jim Morrison seemed to mind when he saw the Musicarnival tent in Warrensville Heights two-thirds empty on Sept. 15, 1967. "Where is everybody, man?" asked the Lizard King.
He had told me in a lengthy phone call that he was really looking forward to Cleveland; the band’s "Light My Fire" topped Billboard’s Hot 100 chart that week.
Despite the poor turnout, the show was satisfying, and wild, beginning with "Soul Kitchen," then "Backdoor Man" and "Alabama Song." But the first sound Cleveland heard from Morrison on stage was a burp. We had been sitting around in the Doors’ dressing room beforehand, and Morrison had ordered -- and consumed -- a good supply of beer.
A historic Musicarnival show was Led Zeppelin’s, on July 20, 1969 --- the night Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. While millions were home watching our Eagle ship landing, a full house at Musicarnival was on a trip of their own -- transported by the hot Brit group’s hard-rocking monumental, 10-minute-long "Dazed and Confused."
In interviews years later singer Robert Plant would ask me: "Wasn’t that the night of the moon shot?"
On the softer side, the shimmering Supremes, the first American vocal group to have six No. 1 records at Music Hall with "Baby Love," "Stop! in the Name of Love" and "You Can’t Hurry Love." But more interesting than being backstage was seeing Diana Ross, Mary Wilson and Florence Ballard meeting with members of Job Corps for Women, a training organization on Ansel Rd., before the show, and telling them to "keep fighting for what you want."
But for younger teens in 1967-69, there was no business like Monkee business. The funloving Monkees sold 35 million albums in 1967, more than the Stones and Beatles combined. I got swept up in Monkeemania too, traveling with the group’s bus caravan to Buffalo. I even danced with member Peter Tork backstage. Strictly professional, of course.
Another "Fun, Fun, Fun" group was the Beach Boys. They were America’s answer to the Beatles, our first big American pop vocal group. They brought their California dream of suntanned life to Euclid Beach Park in 1966.
Afterward, I joined them for homemade apple pie at the home of the park’s owner. That’s the way I like to remember late drummer Dennis Wilson -- happy, relaxed and joking about being the only real surfer in the group.
My favorite three interviewees in the 1960s were Mary Travers, who marched in Washington with the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. between two Peter, Paul and Mary shows here; Frank Zappa, full of provocative comments on youth culture and lyrics; and Grace Slick of the Jefferson Airplane, ready with her sardonic wit and eye for trends. They were idea people, beyond their own career considerations.
Other memories:
Local bands made their presence felt nationally in the 1960s, as well. Cleveland’s Outsiders scored on the charts with "Time Won’t Let Me,"and the Choir with "It’s Cold Outside."
My biggest boost was being able to attend the tapings of the late Herman Spero’s "Big 5" show (later renamed "Upbeat") at WEWS Channel 5 from 1964 to 1971. Simon and Garfunkel made their first TV appearance on the show, and Otis Redding made his last there. Redding died in a plane crash the next day.
Meanwhile, at Rocky River High School, Michael Stanley got a little band going, Stay tuned...
from The Plain Dealer August 28, 1995
Reprinted with permission.
