THEY CAN'T HIDE US ANYMORE by  Richie  Havens (An Excerpt)

This is an excerpt from a new book by Richie Havens entitled     "They Can't Hide Us Anymore"{Avon Books copyright 1999}. What follows is one complete chapter pertaining to the pitfalls of the music entertainment industry. I feel that much of what Richie says certainly applied to Tim Buckley. I asked Richie if he knew Tim and he emailed me with the following response. Hi Jack... Tim Buckley was a very energetic person...and a dedicated one...I am sorry to say that we both were running through the coffee houses so much we never really had time to get close...but we listened to each other a great deal...and appreciated each others music and writing as well...I am truly sorry that we didn't get that chance to collaborate ...In any case, I will call you soon...just to touch base... Thanx again for thinking of me... Your Friend Richie Havens I broke the chapter down to three parts. I hope you enjoy this excerpt from the chapter entitled "Show Business Disease" Part I Once a performer enters the public arena, he begins to face choices that have nothing to do with his art. "Trying" to become famous or rich - or both - is not what I was about, not when I started, not now. I was fortunate to get to the Village when I did, at a time when you could say what you really felt and there were many things worth saying. For more than six months I had been playing the coffee houses in the Village before I got a recording deal and that occurred only after I had practically erased the idea from my mind. Getting a record deal was a sign of success and recognition for your work. It meant that your music would be heard by thousands of people who never saw you perform in the wee hours of the morning at the Cafe Wha?. But, at the same time, it was a complicated issue with me. Maybe more than it needed to be. But the issues were important. They still are. In some ways, getting a record deal meant that you were selling out, because you had to be willing to do what the record company wanted. You were going "commercial". You were not necessarily going to record the songs you played in your gigs. You would do the songs that the producer or the company executive thought were "right" for the time or the market....You might even have to do your music the way that the record company wanted, not the way you wanted. In other words, a deal meant that you were going to face choices you never would make on your own and in those days the record company owned your publishing rights as part of the deal...if your manager didn't already. On the positive side, you would get some new musical instruments and some pocket change and if the record turned out to be a success, you would get exposure and a chance to play some good gigs and maybe in a couple of years you would get the royalties that they said you earned.( Starting out, most of us would have died to hear one of our songs played on the radio. We had no idea how they got there.) If you were a singer-songwriter doing your own material, that was different. But even in the 1960's there weren't many. Chuck Berry and Carl Perkins were among the first to break the mold in the 1950's along with some doo-wap groups on small storefront record labels, but only only a handful of singer-songwriters who signed with established record companies were given the license to do their own stuff in their own way. Even Dylan's record company - Columbia - didn't initially record much of his own work. His first album, simply titled "Bob Dylan", included mostly original folk songs and a couple of low-key originals. None of his searing songs of social commentary were on that album. That was very puzzling to those of us in the Village who had heard him perform in cafes. The Dylan that we knew had already written dozens of songs. Some were serious, and some were quite funny or contemporary parables. Even a few - the "talkin' blues" types had a rapid staccato meter that would fit in with today's rap music. Having Albert Grossman as his manager, however, quickly changed Dylan's situation. Grossman understood the financial potential of a singer doing his own songs and when the first album was successful, he was able to negotiate the next move forward in Dylan's career. At least, that's the way it seemed to me. From what I could see at the time, all but a few singers went into the recording studio with the understanding they were not in control of their own sounds. Choices were being made for the artist, choices that had nothing to do with his or her sensibilities. Yet, in spite of these contradictions, I had no argument with the system. I understood it perfectly. It was theirs. It was the record company's game. It was their money. They were the ones inviting you in, not the reverse. Knowing this did not exactly inspire me to pursue a recording deal when I knew that someone with no real feel for my music was going to be sitting behind a desk or a glass partition telling me what sounded right and what did not. And there was always another important part to the recording experience that gave me an uncertain feeling. In fact, it was an issue that has remained at the core of so many personal decisions faced by performers in every era: "How much do you want to become famous?". Fame is a Pandora's box. In some cases, it is the natural and proper accolade for doing something really well. Lindberg's solo flight across the Atlantic, for example. Or, in music, the awe we have for Duke Ellington's incredible body of work. Yet the prospect of fame can motivate the performer to greatness, or it can be a devlish seduction that keeps any performer from developing his or her natural talent to it's ultimate levels. And there is another, equally important side to the issue of fame. The side that any famous people complain about the most. The loss of privacy, which I believe is at least partially self-inflicted. I learned this a long time ago in the Village and so many times later when travelling the world and making numerous TV appearances. Whenever I walk faster than everyone else, no one notices me. But, when I walk slower than everyone else, many people take notice and I can't get four blocks in forty-five minutes. You can bet several people will begin pointing me out to friends, or hand me something to sign , or gather around while I sign autographs. And I sign every time I'm asked. I am one of those performers who enjoys direct contact with people in all walks of life-and have shared conversations with thousands of people in dozens of countries-but it is clear to me that people seeking extra attention get exactly that. Those who move quietly on with their lives, even in show business, usually get the privacy they need. In other words, celebrities who do not want attention and publicity are hardly likely to show up at the glamour events, with glamourous dates, ready for the photo op. Becoming famous may not be a bargain with the Devil, but "trying to become famous" certainly is! Some artists cope well with intense public acclaim, or they learn to accept it just to achieve a platform to reach more people. Some very famous artists and musicians are able to accept the deals they strike with record companies and publicity agents because they know they will gain the freedom to do what they want-eventually. Look at Dylan, the Rolling Stones, the Beatles, Chuck Berry, Paul Simon, or Joni Mitchell. They did not sell their souls to the company store. All gained control over their careers as they became enormously popular. Their tremendous success empowered them to make the most of their own artistic decisions. And this was the major change that set the record companies back twelve paces. They had to open up to managers seeking indepenent production deals for their performers. But other artists, who enjoy fame too much, or crave it, or do exactly as they are told, seem to pay a steep price for it. Elvis Presley is one example that comes to mind. Part II Elvis was an amazing phenomenon in the late fifties, exposing a pretty good version of black rhythm and blues to white audiences just as Chuck Berry, Little Richard , and Bo Diddley were finally gaining airtime on mainstream pop music stations with some of the greatest rock 'n' roll of all time. Sam Phillips, the adventurous record producer and owner of Sun Records in Memphis, wanted to find a new sound and he saw considerable potential in Presley when he first walked in the door as a part-time truck driver. Presley's raw singing voice and natural electricity lit up the room. But as I understand it, Presley's earliest attempts in the studio didn't excite anyone until Phillips relaxed his control in the sound booth and let Elvis run loose with his own musical ideas, a blend of Southern blues and rockabilly, a style that was fresh and inspired. Just listen to "Mystery Train", or "I Forgot To Remember To Forget" or his rocking version of "Blue Moon Over Kentucky" or all of the original Sun sessions recordings. That's pure Elvis, very early, down to basics, yet probably as good as he would ever sound. Elvis was out on the road with some of that material without much notice until Colonel Tom Parker came into his life and took the raw Elvis step by step to superstardom. Almost overnight, Parker, who had managed country singer Eddie Arnold to considerable success, made Presley into an international superstar of the highest magnitude. A bigger recording deal with RCA Victor...Nationwide television appearances...Movie and merchandising contracts...Vegas. Elvis became one of the biggest stars of the twentieth century. And with that heady success, this young well-mannered fellow of modest means from the small town of Tupelo, Mississsippi, naturally leaned on the worldly Colonel for a whole lot of advice. About everything. As I see it, there are two kinds of performers: those who hire managers to work for them and those who think they work for their managers, or at least believe that they have to satisfy them. I think Elvis fell into the second group, perhaps for good reason. His friends say that he worried constantly about his standing at the top of the heap, even though they constantly reminded him how good he was. Instead of so much praise, Elvis probably needed a little blast of reality and it is no wonder to me that he died an unhappy man who sought relief from his pain through his pills. Elvis loved singing to people. I believe that was where he felt most comfortable. Things happen for a reason. All things. Years later I would see it in Elvis's eyes firsthand when I ran into one of his band members in Las Vegas who told me that Elvis was excited to know that I was in town. He said that Elvis said hello and he wanted to invite me to his dressing room just before he was about to go on stage. I couldn't believe it. Elvis knew who I was? I was accompanied to Elvis's hotel and through the maze of corridors to his dressing room. When I entered, he was sitting combing his hair. He saw me in the mirror and smiled, turned, stood up and opened his arms. I felt like I knew him for my whole life. We hugged each other like we hadn't seen each other in twenty years. He was conscious of his weight and it was obvious he hated being like that. I told him I was really overwhelmed and sincerely happy to get to meet him. He said, "I feel the same way about you, man. You're too much." Then he said, "Hey, man, do me a favor...walk me to the stage." Now, there was no way I could have believed that this could be happening to me, but it was. So I walked with him, back through the snaking hotel corridors. We hugged each other again. He wiped the sweat from his brow. The door opened and a blue spotlight crashed into the corridor. He was a silhouette for an instant and was gone. The doors closed and I walked back through the casino hallway and went to my dressing room at the Riviera remembering the look in his eyes. He was desperately trying to be who he was. A really nice and ordinary guy. Elvis was not the only casualty to fame, not the only one to die of essentially what I call "Show Business Disease", a disease that is as real as cancer if allowed to take root. Every one of the famous performers we have seen die of drugs or other excesses was taken by this same disease, a disease of isolation and/or no privacy. Every one of them. Part III Janis Joplin was so lonely on the road that she drank and used drugs to excess. What a voice! What a soulful moan, what a longing for love. What a tragedy. The minute she was made to give up her adopted family-Big Brother And The Holding Company-and had to work with the band that Albert Grossman put together, Janis felt lost. She died of a broken heart caused by the business. Leaving her band behind left her with a hole in her heart and haunting, insecure thoughts. Jim Morrison was another who died of "Show Business Disease". Here was a guy who wanted most of all to be a writer. He rebelled at every turn against being trapped into the mold of a rock 'n' roller to be groped and gawked at. Yet, at many of his concerts, Morrison literally through himself into the crowd; let people maul and mishandle him; cursed wildly at the authorities; whipped the people around him into a blind frenzy as if he was totally unconscious of his power. At times, he was. Bombed out of his brain. In complete escape from the world that wouldn't let him be himself. In the end, Jim seemed that close to finding a private space in France, where he was being encouraged to write poetry, to draw, but it was half-past the hour of his reckoning. As I said, all Morrison ever wanted was to be a serious writer, a poet, a filmmaker. He died lonely and confused, with too many drugs in his system. Jimi Hendrix? I knew him well. In fact, I sent him to the Village. I had just released my first album when two guys from Paris opened a place called the "Cheetah", a hot night spot on Broadway and 52nd Street in Manhattan that was rivalling the "Peppermint Lounge" and "Arthur's" for it's fifteen minutes of notoriety. It was in fact, the largest discotheque in New York with live music. At the time I had several friends that I jammed with, playing completely different music than I was performing in the Village clubs-and we managed to get a two week gig there to open the club. When the two weeks were finished, I decided to go back to the club to party and mingle and I was so early I felt embarrassed. So I stood at the 100-foot bar with forty other early birds. We looked like five people at that huge bar. Suddenly Wilt "The Stilt" Chamberlain was standing next to me. I'm six foot-two and my eyes were only level with his chest. It blew my mind. I said hello and we had a conversation. The policy at the "Cheetah" was continuous live music. One band would end their set with a song and the next band would walk on and also play, allowing the first band to leave without stopping the music. There was a band playing-"Not Bad", I thought-when suddenly I noticed that the guitar player was unusual and that wasn't all. This guitar player had the instrument upside down and somehow was clipping the strings with his teeth, or his tongue. I couldn't believe my eyes or my ears. The sounds and licks were way out there. Was he really playing the thing with his teeth??? I found myself walking across the empty dance floor that could have easily held 2500 dancers. I moved closer to the stage, bent way down low, and looked up, trying to see what he was doing. He actually was playing lead guitar with his teeth. No trick. There was no tape recorder off to the side playing his licks. Far out! A few tunes later I knew that this was not a circus act, this was quite simply the greatest guitar player I had ever seen. Amazing range. Lightning speed. Pure notes. Two melodic lines at once. U-n-b-e-l-i-e-v-a-b-l-e. When they left the stage, I felt, because I had opened the club for the previous two weeks, I could go back stage without a problem and he blew me away by telling me that he had played with Little Richard before coming to the city from Florida through the musicians' union. I told him he should not be the backup in any group, that he didn't need to be playing for Little Richard or anybody else. He was good enough to be out front with his own group. He was the best guitarist I'd ever seen. He asked where things were happening in the city and after he told me he was staying uptown, I told him to get down to the Village. That's where he could find many young musicians looking to play. Right then and there, I decided to hook him up with Manny Roth at the Cafe Wha?. Within a month, Jimi put together his first band: "Jimi James And The Blue Flame". Jimi might have been totally unknown to the general public at the time, but he played to packed Village crowds of teenagers night after night and some of the most famous rock 'n' roll guitarists in the world went through major changes whenever they stopped to hear him play. Especially the few I sent down to the Wha?. A music-loving lawyer friend of mine, Johanan Vigoda, brought members of the "Yardbirds" and the "Kinks" and their manager over to see me at the "NightOwl". They were flipped out about how I used my thumb, but I said, "No, no, you haven't seen anything. Come with me." And I took them around the corner and into the "Cafe Wha?. They came away so visibly shaken and depressed from Jimi's awesome, powerful performance that you could tell that he had made these skilled musicians see that he was in another league way above anything any of us ever thought to reach for. I shook my head watching their expressions as Hendrix did his thing from song to song, from riff to riff, from behind his back to his teeth. It was mind boggling how he blew some of the finest guitarists in the world completely away. A few years later-after Woodstock, in fact, at the Isle of Wight Festival in the British Isles in late August 1970-I saw Jimi Hendrix again. He was now a huge success, recognized for his genious, praised universally as "the best guitarist in the world". But, he was terribly unhappy, extremely depressed, and he asked for my help. "I'm having a real bad time with my managers and lawyers", Jimi said. "They're killing me; everything is wired against me and it's getting so bad I can't eat or sleep...You've been doing this longer than me, man, I need to talk to a lawyer, man. You must know somebody." I told him that I have a very good lawyer that he should talk to-Johanan Vigoda-a legend in the music world and a man who was going to play an important role in my recording career. I told Jimi that I would be glad to introduce him and that I would be in London for four days after the festival and would be going directly back to New York. I told him to come by and see me when he left the Isle of Wight. Jimi never showed up. The next thing I heard about him was some three weeks later. He was found dead, a drug overdose. Another great, great talent trying desperately to do his thing, a truly unique human being who found the pressures and competing influences around him too much to bear. The truth is, he didn't actually die from an overdose of addictive drugs as was first reported in typical scandalous fashion by the press. He died from being up for days at the festival, drinking a lot of beer and not being able to sleep. He took sleeping pills, threw up in his sleep, and choked to death. Another victim of "Show Business Disease". I do not believe that I am exaggerating when I say that all of these extraordinary talents turned to drugs, alcohol, and other stuff as escape from th ordeals and routines of high-powered show business. Perhaps it is easy for people to label such abuse as self-inflicted excess, but I have seen some of my best friends go under from very close range and I know how painful it was for them to endure another deadly symptom of "Show Business Disease": the isolation and the loneliness in the midst of the maddening crowd. Performers with the rarest of gifts-like Elvis, Jimi Hendrix, or Janis Joplin- got tons of praise or scorn for things that fell real short of their real talents, things that did not deserve such attention. They were pampered to the point where they lost real time and sense of themselves. That kind of adulation is hard to stop while it is happening. Sadly, people who surround the victims of "Show Business Disease" usually are not too much help. In fact, most performers find themselves relying too much on the people who made them stars. This does little for their need to get a true sense of themselves, much less to grow or live happily. The simple truth is that decisions made by managers or advisers are only designed to keep their performers' careers on track, not to help the performer enjoy freedom, or live more responsibly. Their primary goal is to make a percentage of what the artist makes, without whom they would not have a job in what they call "show business". Fame is more than a goal; it is a way of life and it can be a seductive trap that few people are prepared to handle. Those that do handle the trappings of fame may shine in the limelight and make contributions to the world that go beyond their artistic talents. Muhammad Ali is a great example. So were Arthur Ashe and John Lennon. Such people are very rare. True inspiration is an aspect of life so little understood by those who shuffle the papers. In my case, I had no delusions of grandeur. I didn't care about becoming rich or famous. Not then, not now. My goal was to communicate, to do only the music I loved.>>>>This concludes Chapter Eleven of Richie Havens' new book entitled "They Can't Hide Us Anymore".<<<<I hope you see how these thoughts and observations by Richie seem to apply to Tim Buckley. I know I do....Jzero <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> From:  JimG (JIMGIBEAU)  8/11/1999 9:22 pm  To:  Jzero1  4 of 6    188.4 in reply to 188.3  What a thoughful, kind, and graceful man! (Incidentially, Judy Collins has a vivid, brief description of Tim in her memoir. I'll try to find a copy and post it.)        From:  Jzero1  8/12/1999 10:49 am  To:  JimG (JIMGIBEAU)  5 of 6    188.5 in reply to 188.4  You're right Jim… Richie's a guru. To me, he is the "Gatekeeper" of the sixties. He absorbed all that went on and all that came out of that decade. You gotta read his book. While you're at it, you should check out Richie's Web Site and take a peak at the man's resume' {they call it a Fact Sheet on their menu}. Richie Havens has lived quite an eventful life, and accomplished so much along the way. His address is http://www.richiehavens.com/index.htm>>>>Your thought about posting something Judy Collins said is a good idea. <<<<Jack -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From:  BOBS11  8/12/1999 8:39 pm  To:  Jzero1  6 of 6    Greetings from Sweden. Great to read Richie Havens reflections..and great to browse around this site. I have always respected Richie Havens music and remember a terrible argument I had with my father when we were trying to get through to each other back in the late ´60´s and I played RH for him. I still have the album "The Great Blind Degree" somewhere in my attic. There was a piece about the generation gap on the album cover which I thought described the problems of "youth vs the oldies" situation. If I remember correctly it was about the generation gap being a mental barrier rather than the number of years you had lived. Skål !! Bob

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