The New Years Eve that remains fixed in my mind, in vivid color, and stereo sound, was in 1970-71, when I was living with Connie Moss, and a bunch of counterculture types in a house on West California, in Mill Valley. We had some smoke, a couple jugs of Cribari rotgut, instruments and amps. (a recipe for disaster, right there). The house was at the head of a canyon, with a deck looking out over it, where wed set up the amps. And at midnight, we plugged in, cranked up, and I kicked it off with my Chet Atkins rip-off of Auld Lang Syne, with my Twin cranked up to 11, and the rest of the gang, including John Besharian, John Yu, Lisa Kindred, and several others whose faces are lost in the hazes of time, jumped in. Much spirit, little finesse, but as the jam progressed into full glory, we could see the porch lights of a lot of the houses in the canyon blinking on and off in time with the music. And these were the people who had stayed home on New Years Eve. It was wild, crazy, fun, probably actionable, and damn, but I miss those people.
Posted on: Thu, 01 Jan 2015 18:46:05 +0000
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