Monterey Pop

This is a classic documentary of 60s rock, captured live before all the hype and hoopla of hippiedom sank most of these acts (and many others). The Monterey Pop Festival kicked off the Summer of Love and remains the prime event of that epoch. The film should be seen by anyone who claims a passing interest in "Woodstock" or "the 60s." I give it 10 stars.

It was a great experience. I was 18 and hitch hiked to Monterey with a girl and her Doberman. One ride all the way. As soon as we got dropped at the fairgrounds, some people asked if we had a place to stay, took us to their pad, let us shower, and made breakfast. That was a good sign. I had no desire to go to Livestock; nothing could ever compare to those three days in Monterey. You see all the people with coats and blankets because it was cold at night and early morning. For weeks before we had been hearing the ads on the radio (KRLA)about all the performers and they kept saying the Jimi Hendrix Experience. We had no idea who this guy was; we were going to see and hear everyone we could. But that night, after The Who had tried to demolish the stage and Lou Adler and John Philips were scrambling to regain order, the stage went dark and a lone figure walked to the mike at center stage. When the spotlight came on we could see it was Brian Jones. He introduced Jimi Hendrix and when I saw, and heard, the most amazing things ever done or played on a Stratocaster (on any guitar for that matter)life wasn't the same. Hendrix took music to an alien world and came back with sounds and style that were beyond my imagination. This film is not the greatest quality and certainly--in a technical sense--pales in comparison to contemporary concert movies and videos; however, it was the first true rock festival, and if you were there you know what I mean. But if you let go of the need for cinematic purity and enormous production values, what you'll enjoy is an island of (not corny) peace, love, and incredible music.

Organized and planned by Mamas & The Papas leader John Phillips and associates The Monterey Pop Festival was a concert featuring various acts of the time from different parts of the world. Held in Monterey, California from June 16-18, 1967 the two day event hosted an array of musical luminaries some of whom gained bigger recognition from the concert. The highlights of the gig showcase the eclectic talents involved: Hugh Masekela's loud Afrobeat Jazz; Big Brother & The Holding Company's memorable lead screecher; Ravi Shankar's lengthy sitar workout; Otis Redding's rocking Soul; The Who's pioneering high decibel destruction; and Jimi Hendrix's legendary show stealer which elevated Rock performance like no other since Elvis and raised the standard of guitar playing unparalleled since. Interposed with the performances are shots of the crowd (lots of pretty girls) and interviews with the audience. One can immediately see the influence the event and the film had on the Woodstock and Isle of Wight concerts and documentaries. A simple and effective document of a place and time, "Monterey Pop Festival" is a visual and audio legacy of an age when legends walked the earth and the promise of a better future seemed truly and genuinely real.

I found this documentary on DVD at my local library.

I know all about the 1960s, I graduated from high school, I graduated from college, I completed my graduate studies, I got married, I started my career, I had my first child. She will be 49 later this year, 2018.

But I never went to any music festivals. So finding this film on DVD was a joy. It has a good mix of on-stage performances and views of the mostly young crowd away from the stage. While I didn't know any of them I recognize all of them. That is how we looked and behaved in the late 1960s.

Funny, when I was younger I avoided Janis Joplin, I just hated her singing style. But I saw a documentary on her, I became a fan of sorts. And here at roughly 25 minutes into the documentary she performs "Ball and Chain" which was a real show-stopper., showing her extremely wide range of talent. There is a memorable shot of Mama Cass Elliot in the crowd mouthing "WOW" when Janis' performance was over.

Anyway, good film that brings back good memories.

I wasn't at Monterey in '67, and neither were 99.999% of the people now commenting on this film. To read so many of these comments you'd think that the entire audience was now online and writing reviews. They criticize the song selections, the blaring omissions, the crowd scene inserts, and even the haircuts. They seem to be saying that this film doesn't quite present an accurate picture of the unprecedented 3 day phenomenon that was the Monterey Pop Festival. Well, WHAT would present an accurate picture of that amazing event? I suppose, maybe, hearing someone who was ACTUALLY there tell us his or her story of those wild days. Someone like, I dunno... D.A. Pennebaker? Hey, right, he WAS there, and this film is HIS story (history). At only 78 or so minutes it's more so his impression, his true reaction, in condensed user friendly form, like a good story is supposed to be.

It was a powerful moment in pop culture - something of an evolutionary turning point. Monterey Pop was very soon understood to be the coming-of-age party for the next generation of cultural leaders. As I watched it the first time some 25 years ago I remember feeling like I was witnessing a natural birth. The birth of a new social order that cherished and honored peace and love above all else. Like all births it wasn't all pretty. Often it's messy and painful and even scary.

Pennebaker opens his story with the splendid Janis Joplin and Big Brother and the Holding Company's up tempo "Combination of the Two" playing over pre-concert footage. The hippy dippy love and peace vibe was so thick and fun. Appropriately, Scott McKenzie is then heard over more concert prep footage singing "San Francisco (Be Sure To Wear Flowers In Your Hair)", which festival co-founder John Phillips wrote to promote the event. The first stage act we see are The Mamas and The Papas doing "California Dreaming" - a fine expression of the spirit of the day. Sensational rock acts including Canned Heat, Simon & Garfunkle, and Jefferson Airplane follow. Big Brother & The Holding Company really get things deep with Janis wailing a remarkable "Ball and Chain." The romance sours a bit as Eric Burden and The Animals perform a sinister "Paint It Black." It then gets very rough when the Who really beat up the crowd with what sounds like early Punk, their ultra loud hooligan posture in stark contrast to the relatively mild preceding sets - ominous signs of a possibly troubled pregnancy. Destroying their instruments at the end of their set in a fit of hyper adolescent rage seems to be a not-to-be-topped show-ender. This may be a stillbirth.

And it would have been if The Who hadn't been later followed by the yet not well known Jimi Hendrix who then assumes total control of The Delivery. The water's broken, The Baby is coming and Doctor Jimi is Chief Physician. But he's not your typical Md with an axe. He is transforming before our eyes, mutating, expanding into enormous dimensions and capacities into a monumental Shaman. A molten force from prehistorical depths erupting and reforming endlessly, now being entirely recreated. He writhes and coils as if caught in the throws of powerful contractions. An electric, sonic fetus has instantly developed on stage into a gargantuan, cosmic sound. His symphonic offspring, now fully formed, complete, gorgeous, pure like Apollo, the god of healing who taught man medicine. The god of light. The god of truth, who can not speak a lie. And then Jimi sets fire to his guitar - a ritual sacrifice, appeasing the greater gods that this brand new, better, infant world he has just ushered in might live and prosper.

Pretty heady stuff, aye? And the truly amazing, wonderful bit that still thrills me is that Ravi Shankar outdoes Jimi. Ravi had done it earlier on the preceding Sunday afternoon, but realizing the awesome achievement of Shankar's act, Pennebaker wisely saves this astounding performance for last. Time, after all, is just an illusion. In what starts like a modest and polite display of a bygone technique, Ravi's raga soon has summoned the attention of everyone and directed it to the Here And Now. The rhythmic syncopation building upon itself, repeating and quickening, everyone's awareness now finely focused on the increasingly heated, emphatic call and response between Ravi's Sitar and Alla Rakha's Tabla. The pace and intensity increase and hold the entire population helplessly captive. It's a formidable, inexorable current that has grasped everyone's consciousness as the pace continues to build and grow. Each pass seems to be the limit but the next surpasses. Everyone's psyche is pummeled with ferocious spasms of rhythm. We are not just witnessing but actually experiencing the conception of our new life. A great cosmic mind f*** with the potent seed of eternity being implanted into the open, pulsing, unsuspecting, tender minds of all.

Tho they didn't know it yet, on that Sunday afternoon of the final scheduled day of the Monterey Pop Festival, a roundish, dark skinned, simple cotton cloth swaddled gnome had very thoroughly, graciously ravished the collective mind of that naive bunch. And you can see it on the stunned, gaping faces of anonymous spectators and fellow performers alike. They just didn't have the words or ideas or emotions to grasp what was happening.

So it was in such a fertile, pregnant state that Janis, and Pete and Jimi took that evening's and next morning's stage and completed the inevitable, miraculous act that Ravi had so cunningly initiated.

This is what I felt when I first watched that edited, incomplete personal tale that is "Monterey Pop." That deformed near-abortion is, to me, perfect. As perfect as any life can be.