counter with a Chesire cat smile ori ' his face·and says ~'I'll take it. 1 How much?" Well, hell, after that demonstration, I just couldn't take his·money so, suµimoning all my strength I managed to croak out a . few words · s~ying in effect "H's yours man, gratis.!' He said thanks and walked out leaving us like so many zombies. We all knew that things would be ·different from now on; we knew we had finally witnessed The Greatest Guitarist to Ever Live. About 2 or 3 years later, I was waiting for a bus in Topeka, Kansas, of all pl~ces. While I waited, I sat down at one of those Rent-A-TV's, the kind you put a quarter in and get to watch for a half-hour or so. Well, I'll,tell you, there isn't n;i.uch on the Tube in Topeka; but they do have a , Public TV station there and I just . happened on it by chance. All of a sudden those very same artery-hardening riffs jumped out at me and I insta~tly recognized them as · the very same that had mesmerized me in that little town in Pennsylvania years before. .Here he was, shrunk to three inches by that video wizard but still the same giant among guitari~ts. I watched it until it was over, unable to perform even the simplest of bodily functions. Right as he finished some creep jumped on stage and screamed "AWRIGHT LADEEZ AND GENTUHLMEN LES HEAR IT FER THE UNBELIEVABLE ROY BUCHANAN." So that's who he was (and , is)!' · 'Well, I tell you; I searched every record . st·ore from coast to coast for ' months until they finally released his first album. I cried myself to sleep every night until f got his second album and my friends almost committed · me while awaiting his third .and newest, That's What I'm Here For. But still I'm, not ·satisfied. I've just eaten 25 hits of seconal and if they don't release another one soon, they're going tG have one dead hombre on their han.... -Andy Cutler . Shakin' St.Gazette Staff:
Where all the Kidz wanna do is just keep on rockin' and rollin' and reelin' with the feelin' Vol. 1, No. 7. ------------ ·--- --------- The End Of Andy Cutler?
Hey, lovers, rally the forces cuz here's a- concert battle that beats the Lo!.,! Reed/Judy Collins and Eddie Kendricks/Billy , Preston ba1ttles of previous is;ues. Here's a Battle of the Bands between two bands who ain't got . no b~nds. Feb. 22, UUAB presep.ts Proctor and Bergman (from the Firesign Theatre, who have a new LP out; 'by the , way) in the Fillmore Room at 8:30 PM. ; Tickets are $2-students, $2.50-loafers and : · the opening act will be Charles Octet and Firedog. Who are these merry madmen up ., against? Well, we listened to the ·~ oppositions albums, followed their advice >., and ... duh ... we just can't seem to
Hookfoot ROARIN' Hookfoot (A&M)
eyes peeling through my skull and paralyzing my frontal lobes and said in a low voice, "Plug it in." That's all he said and I just about killed myself getting over to the demonstration amp. Plugging it in, I tested it briefly myself arid made sure all ,was working correctly. Carefully, I handed it to him. - None of the kids had opened their . mouths, they had said nothing and only ·stared in awe .as if struck dumb by this guy's presence. Now, most of these guys were wiseacres and would have definitely· said something to this presumptious dude, but they, were as amazed at this guy as I was. I then ventured to a~k him if he wanted a wah-wah pedal or some ,other device to test the axe's capabilities. Well, he just gave me another look, not - menacing or evil, but one that seemed to · ~Y "You shofld know better:'' Then he started to play. Play is not the word for what he did,. Starting off slow, he coerced the screaming voices of eagles from that lowly instrument. Working' his way from ' the piercing beginning, he began to peel the reluctant notes off the guitar, moaning and screeching, hurling them high in the air, hitting the ceiling and cascading them on our heads like cats a~d dogs in a violent storm. It was as if a new man had picked up that axe and transformed it into a vehicle for some forgotten Gods. None of us present will soon forget it. His hands blurred in their flight along the neck, suddenly stopped and the effect was like running long and hard and suddenly stopping. My senses reeled ·and I thought I was somewhere ' else. I was staring so dumbfoundedly, I · felt as if my chin had sunk to my waist and my tongue was mopping the.floor. It seemed hours before anyone could speak, but it couldn't have been more than a minute. So then the guy walks up to the
Eric .Clapton 1; still others would go with Alvin Lee. Invariably I was always treated as the·supreme source of information and . I always gave them the same answer to their question: the greatest guitar player of all tiine was either dead or hadn't been born yet and we ,probably w.ould never know or hear · this semi-mythical individual. I also added that probably the best guitarist I had ever heard was Frank Zappa, but he was not the "greatest" as h~ relied on electronic distortion devices (as they all did) and the Greatest Guitar Player of All 'f.-ime would not need any devices at all on account of his incredible talent . Anyway the arguments always went on along with life ·in that small town and the months passed and the seasons changed. The day it happened started out as Saturdays always did. After about noon, the pµnks and the freaks came down to drink bottomless Cokes , smoke miles of cigarettes and continue their fruitless search for the Ultimate Guitarist. I was trying to read a trade magazine when the bells al;iqve the door tinkled the entrance of a customer. In walked this guy . I'd never seen before, who looked like he could have been the father or at least older brother of any of these kids. He couldn't have been younger than 30 and looked so ordinary, it was painful when he asked to see our very best guitar. I thought that he was kidding, I mean this dude didn't want that model and I asked if he was sure he wanted the best. Before going further, I have to tell you about this guy's eyes. On the surface, they looked as everyday plain 'n' . ordinary as 'everything about him, but on doser look, WOW I There was a fearful - gleam of · passion and almost demonic spark in those eyes and I knew the minute I saw them, this dude was no average Joe. Well, he just looked at me with those
A rockwriter's exasperation: I don't know-what's wrong with these guys. They h~v..e such potential. Good God, a whole · new area of creative quality in rock music. Maybe they're too lazy or maybe I'm wrong or maybe they're just too damn: busy. · A rockwriter's faxsheet: Hookfoot as a whole backed Elton John up to his Honky Chateau album. Caleb Qttaye has played guitar ,on so · many albums, it's· enough ·to boggle the mind: Pete Townshend, Lou Reed, Nilsson, Al Kooper, Mike Hugg, Bill Quateman, Philip Goodhand-Tait, Shawn Phillips, John Korigos, Ralph Mc'Fell, Dick . Heckstall-Smith, JI/lick 'Grabham, Tony Hazzard, Nigel Olssen, Bernie Taupin, David Elliot ... and many more. ,A rockwriter's explanation: Now all this wouldn't make ,a peaches 1bit 1 0 1 difference if Caleb wasn't not only the most distinctive guitarist this side of Rory Gallagher, 1-
THAT'S WHAT I'M.HERE FOR Roy Buchanan (Polydor) .
I used to work in a little qiusic store in a small town in Southern Pennsylvania. Not too much ever happened and no one ever expected too much to happen. I was lucky I had the job, ·being a transient of sorts. One day as l was passing thru town on my w,ay north, I happened to see the "Help Wanted" sign in the window and being a fair guitarist with some musical knowledge, I was hired on the spot. Every small town has a hangout, some places it's a cafe or a gas station but'here it was the music store, the only one in a 150 mile radius. So in the towns where the kids hung out at cafes or gas stations, they'd love food or cars, the kids in this particular town were music crazy. Every afternoon when the junior high and high school 'let out - and on Saturday afternoons, they'd all be down, their , ·. patch jeans, Frye boots and plaid worksheets. There was a running argument on who was the best guitarist alive today. Some would ,say Jeff Beck; others would say
but the most creativ~ and Aw ... why's he still singing the blues? If ' imaginative guitar player around. He you had a buddy like Steve Miller .. who baits, lures and attacks' each song with went out of his way to get you on all the \ the fury of a tornado. His playing has TV rock shows ~nd then jammed with " character, razzle-dazzle and a flashy speed you so that everyone could sit up and that is unmatched by the heavyweight take notice, you'd be in like Flynn. This guitarists. Because of his decreasing ~ime, we'll play Steve Miller and 1 participation in Hookfoot lately, this may announce tbat UUAB will present the ·i - account for the drop in fire of their last I James Cotton Blues Band and Luthar two albums. \ Allison in the UB Gym Feb. 23 at 8: 30 A rockwriter's biased history: 1971 PM. Tickets are $2.50 for students and $3 i marked the release of Hookfoot, a for non-students and night of stunning debut. With Caleb • Quaye performance and if you want, ·you can get (guitar, keyboards), Ian Duck (guitars, tickets for both this show and the Feb. \ harp), R,oger Pope (drums) and the first 22 Proctor and Bergman show combined , bassist, Dave Glover, Hookfoot's strength for a meager $4. How UUAB figures there 1 was in the careful interplay between are actually people whose tastes are so 'guitars; between piano and guitar and all diverse that they'd like both shows, Oh with the steadfast rhythm team of Glover well we jus' walks 'em likes they talks · and Pope. The rockers great, the slower 'em, else ya lose that Shakin' St. beat.
Editor: Gary Sperrazza , Graphics: Dave Meinzer Contributing Editors: Andy Cutler Michael Sajecki Staff: Cornelius Johnson . Melissa Beckman Fred Eyre
Chris "Sigh" TrancheH R~ckin' Ron Camacho Spiritual Guidance: Alan Harrington pf Harvard U.
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