HAWKWIND December 5, 1973 By John S. Blackman © John S. Blackman 2015 first draft: August 21, 1979 Last draft 12-15-15 1 * * * “The affirmation of self cannot take place without the negation, or abandonment of self.” – Joshu Sasaki Roshi “To become aware of the Self does not mean to be conscious of one’s own self; on the contrary, it means to have lost any hankering after the small self (ahamkāra) and, being lost to one’s self, to discover, recover, be the Self (atmān).” – Raimundo Panikkar, The Vedic Experience, p. 81 “Telepathy and the allied powers will only be understood when the natures of force, of emanations and radiations, and of energy currents, is better grasped. This is rapidly coming about as science penetrates more deeply into the arcana of energies and begins to work – as does the occultist – in the world of forces. It should also be borne in mind that it is only as the centres employed are consciously used that we have that carefully directed work which will be fruitful of results.” – Alice Bailey, Telepathy, p. 11 “. Jesus said that in heaven there is neither marriage, nor giving in marriage, because in the blissful state of union there is no sense of ‘otherness,’ or separation.” – Paul Foster Case, The Tarot , p.112 “Whoso knoweth himself knoweth his Lord.” – Ibn ‘Arabi * * * 2 HAWKWIND MD, DE and I drove from Santa Barbara to the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium on December 5, 1973, expecting little more than another good ol’ space-rock concert. I recall no particular omens while traveling down the coast that night, other than the enormous cumulus stacks parading like giant Aztec warriors across the sunset, looking every bit as if they were preparing for battle. Not long after we had arrived and settled into our seats (Section E, Row 11, Seat 49 for me), the vibe began to tingle a little bit more than usual. I had never seen so much weed smoked before any concert, bar none, as before this one. The smoking was fast and furious, as if with a certain sense of urgency. I remember noting before the show started that no one – literally no one – was smoking tobacco. Just joints – and lots of them. And it seemed that nearly everyone was smoking. Solo singer/guitarist Candy Johns was introduced as a special friend of Hawkwind, and would we give him a warm welcome. It seemed a bit odd that a folkie would be opening for such a heavy-duty band as Hawkwind (the term Heavy Metal hadn’t been invented yet, and it might not quite apply anyway); but what the heck, we thought. Unfortunately, his first song was terrible, and his second was worse. After a few bars of his third song the crowd became visibly upset. The crowd actually started to become a bit surly, which was unusual for the time. People began to boo. But Candy Johns plunged ahead, and kept playing, almost defiantly now. Something was not quite right. He just kept playing – and not very well, it seemed. And the crowd kept booing, louder with every song. Was this some sort of joke, I wondered to myself? Or was it some sort of clue as to what was happening, or what was about to happen? As we had each partaken of a moderate offering of F & T’s most amazing pure liquid clear light Vitamin L, naturally it was at first difficult for us to discern whether this was intended as a joke, or a serious effort – or, as we were later more psychedelically to speculate – was this (either consciously or unconsciously) something that would agitate the crowd, something that would generate emotional energy, which could then be used to focus the power of the crowd, via our combined attention, via our group energy? Soon the audience’s feeling of discontent was so intense that Candy Johns was forced to leave the stage in humiliation. The crowd was literally so horny to hear Hawkwind’s space rock that it simply couldn’t abide this folkie’s off-key, sloppy ramblings. The crowd hounded him off the stage. 3 This was weird. Having come of age as teenagers in the 1960's, we had heard some pretty lame opening acts before; but we had never experienced anything quite like this. The audience was unusually surly, almost combative – which was also a little odd for a bunch of people who were stoned out of their minds. Smoking joints usually led people toward acceptance of mediocre opening acts (or at least a bit of passive tolerance) rather than hostile rejection – at least so quickly. The MC who had introduced Candy Johns came on stage and scolded us for booing him off stage. There was some confusion and trepidation in the crowd, but also a sense of anticipation, as if getting rid of Candy Johns was going to lead to something good, and that something was happening, or was going to happen. The crowd’s collective inability to interpret the situation was electric: was this Candy Johns guy for real? Are they really serious about trying to make us feel guilty for booing this guy off the stage? Should I be angry? Should I be embarrassed? Or should I be laughing? What is going on her here, anyway??? Many in the crowd were making sideways glances at their neighbors, trying to see how others were reacting to this admittedly confusing situation. There was nervous laughter from the crowd, and scattered catcalls and hoots. But most of all, there was a portentous murmuring. and ever-growing cries from the crowd of “Hawkwind!” “Hawkwind!” Nothing happened on stage for a long time, which only heightened the tension. There were no announcements, nothing for the crowd to go on, save for an electronic burbling sound occasionally rubbing up against the rising murmur of the crowd. Was the band not going to show up because we had insulted their “close friend, Candy Johns” (as the MC had suggested might be the case)? Or were they just playing with us – or preparing us in some way? Suddenly a woman appeared onstage – a very spaced out Joanna Leary. There was a sense of urgency in her voice as she told the story of the time she and her husband Tim heard Hawkwind’s “Silver Machine” on some jukebox in some cosmic café somewhere in Switzerland. At the time she made it all sound very exciting, mysterious and almost revolutionary, what with all her talk about spaceships, space people and the like. Unfortunately, my recollection of this part of the concert is a bit fuzzy – but then, she may have been a bit fuzzy that night too, so perhaps there wasn’t much to recollect about this anyway. But truly it was odd to see Timothy Leary’s wife pop out onto a stage so unexpectedly, talking about space ships and what-not, while all these crazy things were happening, and while we were coming on to the liquid clear light . At the time, though, this form of confusion was much preferable – and more propitious, as it turns out – than getting scolded again by another local DJ for the Candy Johns debacle. Then Joanna Leary disappeared stage right, about aw quickly as she had come. It wasn’t long before there were more cries of “Hawkwind!”. Hawkwind!”. “Hawkwind!”. The anticipation was mounting. Candy Johns was the only opening act, and all of Hawkwind’s equipment had been plainly visible on stage all the while we had been in the 4 auditorium. Lights would flicker occasionally, sometimes playfully, sometimes a bit ominously, although never quite in any intelligible pattern. (This visual foreplay with the audience, which was subtle but apparent during Candy Johns’ performance, might have accounted for the intensity of the crowd’s impatience with him.) Some of the amplifiers and speaker boxes were painted wildly with day-glo paint. Strange, unfamiliar boxes flickered, with even stranger, unfamiliar lights. Finally a disembodied voice came over the PA. Hawkwind was welcoming us to the “Space Ritual.” Then the voice began a “countdown to Hawkwind.” The electronic burblings that had been percolating in the background ever since Candy Johns had left the stage were becoming slightly more noticeable – yet they still only played at the edge of the crowd’s consciousness. It was hard to tell if the burbling sounds were really ‘there’ or not. “Three minutes to Hawkwind,” the disembodied voice intoned. I remember thinking the voice was sounding more serious than the situation seemed to warrant, but there was still that nagging sense in the background, wondering if there was something more important than usual going on . Strung across the top of the back row of speakers on stage was what appeared to be a hollow plastic tube, about two or three inches in diameter. Once or twice before the band took the stage I could have sworn I had seen bits of light flash through it, traveling quickly from one side of the stage to the other. Then the ‘subtle electronics’ of moments before started to become a swirling ocean of sounds – although it seemed that only about half the crowd noticed, so eager were they to see Hawkwind. The countdown continued . At “Zero!” Hawkwind took the stage, amidst deafening electronic rumblings and an enthusiastic reception from the crowd. The members of the band calmly picked up their instruments and began a drone, half tuning, half playing. They appeared to be gathering the energies of the moment, building momentum to launch the first song – much as the wise wizards of old (and the wise-wizard bands of the present, such as King Crimson, or the Grateful Dead were wont to do in the days when pure bald-ass improvisation and kick-out-the-jambs sonic assault was desirable, acceptable, and even expected.