////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////.....///////////////////////.......////.....................................................................
.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
IF THINGS ARE NOT ALIGNED CORRECTLY PLEASE CLICK YOUR MAXIMIZE BUTTON
MUSIC IS THE OXYGEN OF MY WORLD
.
Followers
Click on these links for more exciting ROCK AND ROLL EXPERIENCES
Jefferson Airplane - Flight Log - 1966 - 1976
“The music of a well-ordered age is calm
and cheerful and so is its government.
The music of a restive age is excited and
fierce, and its government is perverted”
Lu Pu-We, Chinese Philosopher
“They played with all the delicacy and
finesse of a mule team kicking down
a picket fence.”
Leonard Feather, 1967
San Francisco has always acquiesced easily
to the new and the power charged ten
years ago, the white city in the bay gave
rise to a band with the opaque, nonsense
name Jefferson Airplane and watched it
expand to color a whole time, then
shattered from within under the weight of
its own questing. For its members the
Airplane was a dream, a playground, a
business, a podium, and asylum. Marty
Balin opened a club for the band to play
in and called it The Matrix, which trans-
lates from Latin as womb. Colleges covered
the walls and similarly the group was a
collection of artfully balanced, strangely
disparate elements. But it was more than
a collage because it was alive and in const-
ant motion. It was a mobile fashioned
by a lunatic calder, hung in a slipstream
of blinding change. They played it fast
and loose from the very beginning.
Paul Kantner had been traveling up and
down the California folk circuit for
three years when Balin and he met
one night in a small club. They dis-
covered they shared a fantasy, and
Kantner and the ex-dancer, sometime
poet, assembled a band; people came
and went at first but soon it
stabilized. Jorma Kaukonen, a tall,
thin guitarist, came as a set with
a shy, spectacled bass player named
Jack Casady. A female singer, Signe
Anderson helped Balin and Kantner
with the vocals and Skip Spence,
later of Moby Grape, sat behind
the drums.
Their first night was a Friday the
13th in August 1965, and in the wake
of Ralph Gleason’s adulatory review,
a legion of record company executives
came scurrying to San Francisco, like
ants to a lost sugar cube. RCA signed
them to a five year contract, not
quite realizing that the cube had
been spiked and that the music about
to flow from that old Victrola was
unlike any Nipper had heard before.
One guest that first weekend was
the daughter of an investment banker
and an ex-model named Grace Slick
(nee Wing) “It looked like fun so I
thought I’d try it, “she later said.
she and her husband Jerry formed
a band called The Great Society but
when Signe left to devote her full
attention to mother hood, Grace
caught the tail of the revving Airplane.
she brought with her two songs, White
Rabbit and Somebody to Love that were
to be the AM singles that
announced a media explosion called
The Summer of Love. The English bands
were exploring the limits of raunch,
but the Airplane were the first to howl.
Kaukonen whined like a million
stripped gears. Casady marched across
a continent whose “logic and pro-
portion had fallen sloppy dead.” And
Grace knifed through the waves
they made like a silk-sailed galleon.
There was a exultant pride to it and
an irresistible invitation to both find
someone to love and feed your head.
The message has remained the same
ever since.
With a voice so full of passion it
could bring a padlock to tears, Balin
sang his songs with a hint of melan-
cholia more in tune with nineteenth
Century Europe than blazing
Twentieth century California. Comin’
Back to me, written and recorded in
one day, neither challenges nor invites
but instead describes in a way that
requires one “to read between the
pages of a look”.
With the success of their second
album, Surrealistic Pillow, came
freedom for the band to record at it’s
own pace (slow) and under its own
direction (A quote from the period
applies here, “We’re not crazy, we’re
just sort of loose.”) The result of
close to six months in the studio was
After Bathing At Baxter’s, and it
drove them right back into the under
ground. No AM singles on this one, just
gale force vocals, Kaukonen’s lightning
and Casady’s cathartic thunder.
“Baxter’s answered “Sgt. Pepper’s: The
Beatles found innocence and beauty
in the commonplace and a new aware-
ness of loneliness and despair. The
Airplane, with a thoroughly American
attitude, found instead a towering wild-
erness, a new frontier to confront.
* * * * *
BREAK CHINA LAUGHING
Grace had become a glacial icon and
commanded the stage with a hauteur
that rivaled Catherine the Great. But
gleefully, she continually battered the
expectations planted by her image.
Once in New York, she performed as
Adolf Hitler. Her hair was bound in a
tight bun; a long leather coat dis-
guised her figure; and a toothbrush
mustache transformed her face. On
top of this, she stood ramrod straight
and sang every word with a German
accent. “Do you vant somebody to love?”
She barked. Well . . . maybe not. Another
time, while sucking a lollipop she
bared her breasts to an army of storm
clouds threatening an outdoor gig in
New York in vague hope of stopping the
rain. It poured for hours but the band
played anyway, water dripping from
their power cords. In her life and her
songwriting, it never occurred to Grace
to be anything other than liberated.
her lyrics’ slashing social observations
often crossed the thin line between
sarcasm and viciousness but always
viciousness with a point. Greasy Heart
depicted decadence with a venomous
sneer – “he’s going off the drug thing
cause his veins are getting big.”
on Manhole, her pitch-black sense of
humor careened into pure surrealism.
Crown of Creation honed the delirious
fury of Baxter’s to razor sharpness. In
the midst of the love songs, the vision
had grown darker. The strobe-eyed
Pagans new saw, not incense and
balloons, but android legions
cutting deep into the nation’s
heartland. It was a chilling
vista, sketched in acid-
Bosch, but one whose power
was undeniable.
A live album, Bless Its Pointed Little
Head, signaled just how many light
years they had traveled since they
began their journey. Somebody to
Love had been transformed from a
pulsing challenge into a banshee
Holocaust. The sweet harmonies had
given way to incandescent vocal
acrobatics with Marty and Grace
locked in wailing somersaults high
above the fierce roar of the band.
when they played the Fillmore East,
Second Avenue cracked and trembled.
No music had sounded like this before.
With the album Volunteers and the
incinerating political pyres of the
late ‘60’s, their concerts became tribal
war dances. The land of the free had
become the land of bilk and money
and the Airplane were in the front row
of its outlaw chorus. Musically the album
offered dense embellishment to the
leaner style of Crown of Creation.
Kaukonen multi-tracked fuzz leads
and Nicky Hopkins overlaid thickly
chorded piano parts. The angry lyrics
shook clenched fists in the faces
of the warmakers. “Fight back! Fight
back!” Balin would scream at the end
of Volunteers. He did too, at Altamont,
leaping from the stage to be cold cocked
by an Angel. In retrospect, the politics
seem more romantic than practical.
but these were rock stars not
politicians and, at the time, they
stirred souls. “One generation got
old/One generation got soul/This
generation’s got no destination to
hold/Pick up the cry!”
* * * * *
CREATURES OF FAME,
LIGHTNESS AND LIBERTY
After singing We Can Be Together,
they decided they could be apart. The
first signs were not of break-up but
of expansion. Casady and Kaukonen
began moonlighting in a fluid aggre-
gation they called Hot Tuna (Actually
they called it Hot Shit but more discrete
voices prevailed.) The impulse was to
re-explore the blues and folk roots
that had always underpinned their
playing and to work in a less structured
context than that offered by the
high flying Airplane.
Hot Tuna and Hot Tuna Electric,
their first two albums, were recorded
live and it was two years before the
pair moved into the less spontaneous
atmosphere of a studio. Jorma’s
songwriting straddled the extremes
of grinding lust (Feel So Good) and
quiet introspection (Genesis) and
there was too much of it for the
Airplane to ever do it all. His abilities
on acoustic guitar had been well
camouflaged since “Pillow’s”
Embryonie Journey and won him
new fans in Tuna although he always
maintained his old following with
the searing electric work that had
become his trademark. Casady
was Omni present. A completely
unique bass player, he added a
note of stentorian grandeur to all
that he played, he would have
been the perfect musician for the
coronation of an Inca or the
funeral of a Pharaoh.
The energy whirling in and around the
Airplane was beginning to overload. Its
members no longer saw the band as a
vehicle capable of carrying all their
creativity. As Hot Tuna emerged so did
Paul’s first solo project, Blows Against
The Empire, which was nominated for
the science fiction Hugo Award. Drummer
Spencer Dryden was the first to leave.
Joey Covington replaced him and helped
give the group it first real single hit
in years, Pretty As You Feel. Later in 1970,
they added Papa John Creach, an extra-
ordinary blues violinist, who brought a touch
of funk to the band. In early 1971, Balin
departed the dream he’d helped make real
but the group carried on through two more
albums. Bark and Long John Silver,
the latter with ex-Quicksilver Messenger
service member David Freiberg added
to the lineup.
The career of Jefferson Airplane
paralleled the life cycle of the dis-
sident culture of which they were part.
they peaked when it did and when the
culture began to dissolve so did the band.
Especially through the songwriting of Paul
Kantner, they served as minstrels to
its progress. First came the joyous
hedonism of psychedelica and then
growing antagonism as we all realized
strom Thurmond was not about to drop
acid at Grace’s polite invitation and
finish his days boogying naked in the
park. As the nightmare of the way in
Vietnam gnawed into the nation, outright
revolution became the theme but the
revolution never came and the would- be
revolutionaries of their constituency
dispersed to country retreats or
barbiturate numbness. This too,
that scornful separatism, found
its way into Kantner’s writing
in the form of his epic of
Planetary exodus Blows
Against The Empire. But
Crown Of Creation honed the delirious
fury of Baxter’s to razor sharpness. In
the midst of the love songs, the vision
had grown darker. The strobe-eyed
Pagans now saw, not incense and
balloons, but android legions
cutting deep into the nation’s
heartland. It was a chilling
vista, sketched in acid-
Bosch, but one whose power
was undeniable.
By the time of their second album,
Red Octopus, Balin had become a
full-fledged member along with
English bassist Pete Sears, drummer
John Barbata and 19 year old lead
Guitarist, Craig Chaquico. Starship
had gone on to even greater success
than the old Airplane achieved and
included in this collection is a live
recording of Please Come Back.
The Airplane reflected both the
strengths and weaknesses of the
time and the people that spawned it.
naïve, uncompromising, idealistic and
baroque, they produced an ethnic
art form, folk music for white, middle
class acid heads. They entertained
themselves and their audiences with
dreams and rushes. What it all meant
and means is hard to say. The music
simply is and this is a record of it.
Patrick Snyder, Rolling Stone
SPECIAL THANKS TO BILL GRAHAM & RALPH
J. GLEASON
THANK YOU TO: KEN CLANCY AUGIE BLUME
MEL ILBERMAN NANCY BLUME
JOAN DEARY DORIS COOK
JACK KIERNAN DIANE GARDINER
MYRON ROTH MEL GOLDBLATT
HARRY JENKINS NED HANDSOME
HERB HELMAN HEIDI HOWELL
DON BURKHIMER JAMIE HOWELL
GRELUN LANDON ROSE MARY LEAVER
LYNNE MORSE STAN MONTEIRO
MICHAEL ABRAMSON LINDA RICE
JUDI PERLMUTTER STU GINSBERG
BILLY BASS ADRYAN HAVELKA
JEFF BAUM SKIP JOHNSON
BEAR MIKE KLENFNER
GARY LACKMAN LORA LOVRIEN
CYNTHIA BOWMAN BOB MCCLAY
RON BROWN GLENN MCKAY
JOE BUCHWALD TOM MCKAY
CHICK CASADY TONY MAY
JOAN CHASE MARY ANN MAYER
BILL COBLENTZ SCOTT MUNI
JIM COE DON PEARSON
HOWARD DANCHIK WAYNE ROOKS
TOM DONAHUE TOM ROSS
RON DONC CHUCK SETON
RON DUDLEY FRAN SHANAHAN
PAT DUGAN BONNIE SIMMONS
WALT FLEISCHER KATHY SNELLING
BOB GORDON HERB SPAR
GUT CAROL STRAUSS
FRED HAB ER JUDY THOMPSON
AND ALL OF THE OTHER WONDERFUL PEOPLE WE HAVE POSSIBLY FORGOTTEN
TO INCLUDE.
_____________________________________________________
AIRPLANE SURVIVORS
BILL THOMPSON: PRESIDENT OF GRUNT RECORDS
MANAGER-JEFFERSON AIRPLANE/
JEFFERSON STARSHIP/HOT TUNA
JACKY KAUKONEN: SECRETARY-JEFFERSON AIRPLANE/
JEFFERSON STARSHIP/HOT TUNA/
BILL THOMPSON
BILL LAUDNER: ROAD MANAGER-JEFFERSON AIRPLANE/
JEFFERSON STARSHIP
PAT IERACI: PRODUCTION COORDINATIOR FOR
(MAURICE) GRUNT RECORDS
JEFFERSON AIRPLANE/JEFFERSON
STARSHIP/HOT TUNA
PAUL DOWELL: EQUIPMENT MANGER-JEFFERSON
AIRPLANE/JEFFERSON STARSHIP
PHOTOS BY: ROGER RESSMEYER
TONY LANE
JIM MARSHALL
DAVE PATRICK
B. BECKHARD
JIM SMIRCICH
CHARLES STEWART
RANDY TUTEN
ALBUM COORDINATOR: PAT IERACI (MAURICE)
MASTERED BY: JOHN GOLDEN
KENDUN RECORDERS, BURBANK
BOOKLET DESIGN: CRAIG DECAMPS
COVER AND ART DIRECTION: ACY R. LEHMAN
SIDE A
COME UP THE YEARS 2:30
JEFFERSON AIRPLANE TAKES OFF 1966
WHITE RABBIT 2:27
SURREALISTIC PILLOW 1967
COMIN’ BACK TO ME 5:15
SURREALISTIC PILLOW 1967
WON’T YOU TRY SATURDAY AFTERNOON 5:02
AFTER BATHING AT BAXTER’S 1967
GREASY HEART 3:25
CROWN OF CREATION 1968
IF YOU FELL 3:30
CROWN OF CREATION 1968
SIDE B
SOMEBODY TO LOVE (LIVE) 3:46
BLESS ITS POINTED LITTLE HEAD 1969
WOODEN SHIPS 6:00
VOLUNTEERS 1969
VOLUNTEERS 2:03
VOLUNTEERS 1969
HESITATION BLUES (TRADITIONAL) 5:05
HOT TUNA 1970
HAVE YOU SEEN THE STARS TONITE 3:42
BLOWS AGAINST THE EMPIRE 1970
SIDE C
SILVER SPOON 5:40
SUNFIGHTER 1971
FEEL SO GOOD 4:35
BARK 1971
PRETTY AS YOU FEEL 3:07
BARK 1971
MILK TRAIN 3:26
LONG JOHN SILVER 1972
JA DA (KEEP ON TRUCKIN’)* 3:40
BURGERS 1972
PUBLIC PERFORMANCE CLEARANCE – BMI, EXCEPT *ASCAP
and cheerful and so is its government.
The music of a restive age is excited and
fierce, and its government is perverted”
Lu Pu-We, Chinese Philosopher
“They played with all the delicacy and
finesse of a mule team kicking down
a picket fence.”
Leonard Feather, 1967
San Francisco has always acquiesced easily
to the new and the power charged ten
years ago, the white city in the bay gave
rise to a band with the opaque, nonsense
name Jefferson Airplane and watched it
expand to color a whole time, then
shattered from within under the weight of
its own questing. For its members the
Airplane was a dream, a playground, a
business, a podium, and asylum. Marty
Balin opened a club for the band to play
in and called it The Matrix, which trans-
lates from Latin as womb. Colleges covered
the walls and similarly the group was a
collection of artfully balanced, strangely
disparate elements. But it was more than
a collage because it was alive and in const-
ant motion. It was a mobile fashioned
by a lunatic calder, hung in a slipstream
of blinding change. They played it fast
and loose from the very beginning.
Paul Kantner had been traveling up and
down the California folk circuit for
three years when Balin and he met
one night in a small club. They dis-
covered they shared a fantasy, and
Kantner and the ex-dancer, sometime
poet, assembled a band; people came
and went at first but soon it
stabilized. Jorma Kaukonen, a tall,
thin guitarist, came as a set with
a shy, spectacled bass player named
Jack Casady. A female singer, Signe
Anderson helped Balin and Kantner
with the vocals and Skip Spence,
later of Moby Grape, sat behind
the drums.
Their first night was a Friday the
13th in August 1965, and in the wake
of Ralph Gleason’s adulatory review,
a legion of record company executives
came scurrying to San Francisco, like
ants to a lost sugar cube. RCA signed
them to a five year contract, not
quite realizing that the cube had
been spiked and that the music about
to flow from that old Victrola was
unlike any Nipper had heard before.
One guest that first weekend was
the daughter of an investment banker
and an ex-model named Grace Slick
(nee Wing) “It looked like fun so I
thought I’d try it, “she later said.
she and her husband Jerry formed
a band called The Great Society but
when Signe left to devote her full
attention to mother hood, Grace
caught the tail of the revving Airplane.
she brought with her two songs, White
Rabbit and Somebody to Love that were
to be the AM singles that
announced a media explosion called
The Summer of Love. The English bands
were exploring the limits of raunch,
but the Airplane were the first to howl.
Kaukonen whined like a million
stripped gears. Casady marched across
a continent whose “logic and pro-
portion had fallen sloppy dead.” And
Grace knifed through the waves
they made like a silk-sailed galleon.
There was a exultant pride to it and
an irresistible invitation to both find
someone to love and feed your head.
The message has remained the same
ever since.
With a voice so full of passion it
could bring a padlock to tears, Balin
sang his songs with a hint of melan-
cholia more in tune with nineteenth
Century Europe than blazing
Twentieth century California. Comin’
Back to me, written and recorded in
one day, neither challenges nor invites
but instead describes in a way that
requires one “to read between the
pages of a look”.
With the success of their second
album, Surrealistic Pillow, came
freedom for the band to record at it’s
own pace (slow) and under its own
direction (A quote from the period
applies here, “We’re not crazy, we’re
just sort of loose.”) The result of
close to six months in the studio was
After Bathing At Baxter’s, and it
drove them right back into the under
ground. No AM singles on this one, just
gale force vocals, Kaukonen’s lightning
and Casady’s cathartic thunder.
“Baxter’s answered “Sgt. Pepper’s: The
Beatles found innocence and beauty
in the commonplace and a new aware-
ness of loneliness and despair. The
Airplane, with a thoroughly American
attitude, found instead a towering wild-
erness, a new frontier to confront.
* * * * *
BREAK CHINA LAUGHING
Grace had become a glacial icon and
commanded the stage with a hauteur
that rivaled Catherine the Great. But
gleefully, she continually battered the
expectations planted by her image.
Once in New York, she performed as
Adolf Hitler. Her hair was bound in a
tight bun; a long leather coat dis-
guised her figure; and a toothbrush
mustache transformed her face. On
top of this, she stood ramrod straight
and sang every word with a German
accent. “Do you vant somebody to love?”
She barked. Well . . . maybe not. Another
time, while sucking a lollipop she
bared her breasts to an army of storm
clouds threatening an outdoor gig in
New York in vague hope of stopping the
rain. It poured for hours but the band
played anyway, water dripping from
their power cords. In her life and her
songwriting, it never occurred to Grace
to be anything other than liberated.
her lyrics’ slashing social observations
often crossed the thin line between
sarcasm and viciousness but always
viciousness with a point. Greasy Heart
depicted decadence with a venomous
sneer – “he’s going off the drug thing
cause his veins are getting big.”
on Manhole, her pitch-black sense of
humor careened into pure surrealism.
Crown of Creation honed the delirious
fury of Baxter’s to razor sharpness. In
the midst of the love songs, the vision
had grown darker. The strobe-eyed
Pagans new saw, not incense and
balloons, but android legions
cutting deep into the nation’s
heartland. It was a chilling
vista, sketched in acid-
Bosch, but one whose power
was undeniable.
A live album, Bless Its Pointed Little
Head, signaled just how many light
years they had traveled since they
began their journey. Somebody to
Love had been transformed from a
pulsing challenge into a banshee
Holocaust. The sweet harmonies had
given way to incandescent vocal
acrobatics with Marty and Grace
locked in wailing somersaults high
above the fierce roar of the band.
when they played the Fillmore East,
Second Avenue cracked and trembled.
No music had sounded like this before.
With the album Volunteers and the
incinerating political pyres of the
late ‘60’s, their concerts became tribal
war dances. The land of the free had
become the land of bilk and money
and the Airplane were in the front row
of its outlaw chorus. Musically the album
offered dense embellishment to the
leaner style of Crown of Creation.
Kaukonen multi-tracked fuzz leads
and Nicky Hopkins overlaid thickly
chorded piano parts. The angry lyrics
shook clenched fists in the faces
of the warmakers. “Fight back! Fight
back!” Balin would scream at the end
of Volunteers. He did too, at Altamont,
leaping from the stage to be cold cocked
by an Angel. In retrospect, the politics
seem more romantic than practical.
but these were rock stars not
politicians and, at the time, they
stirred souls. “One generation got
old/One generation got soul/This
generation’s got no destination to
hold/Pick up the cry!”
* * * * *
CREATURES OF FAME,
LIGHTNESS AND LIBERTY
After singing We Can Be Together,
they decided they could be apart. The
first signs were not of break-up but
of expansion. Casady and Kaukonen
began moonlighting in a fluid aggre-
gation they called Hot Tuna (Actually
they called it Hot Shit but more discrete
voices prevailed.) The impulse was to
re-explore the blues and folk roots
that had always underpinned their
playing and to work in a less structured
context than that offered by the
high flying Airplane.
Hot Tuna and Hot Tuna Electric,
their first two albums, were recorded
live and it was two years before the
pair moved into the less spontaneous
atmosphere of a studio. Jorma’s
songwriting straddled the extremes
of grinding lust (Feel So Good) and
quiet introspection (Genesis) and
there was too much of it for the
Airplane to ever do it all. His abilities
on acoustic guitar had been well
camouflaged since “Pillow’s”
Embryonie Journey and won him
new fans in Tuna although he always
maintained his old following with
the searing electric work that had
become his trademark. Casady
was Omni present. A completely
unique bass player, he added a
note of stentorian grandeur to all
that he played, he would have
been the perfect musician for the
coronation of an Inca or the
funeral of a Pharaoh.
The energy whirling in and around the
Airplane was beginning to overload. Its
members no longer saw the band as a
vehicle capable of carrying all their
creativity. As Hot Tuna emerged so did
Paul’s first solo project, Blows Against
The Empire, which was nominated for
the science fiction Hugo Award. Drummer
Spencer Dryden was the first to leave.
Joey Covington replaced him and helped
give the group it first real single hit
in years, Pretty As You Feel. Later in 1970,
they added Papa John Creach, an extra-
ordinary blues violinist, who brought a touch
of funk to the band. In early 1971, Balin
departed the dream he’d helped make real
but the group carried on through two more
albums. Bark and Long John Silver,
the latter with ex-Quicksilver Messenger
service member David Freiberg added
to the lineup.
The career of Jefferson Airplane
paralleled the life cycle of the dis-
sident culture of which they were part.
they peaked when it did and when the
culture began to dissolve so did the band.
Especially through the songwriting of Paul
Kantner, they served as minstrels to
its progress. First came the joyous
hedonism of psychedelica and then
growing antagonism as we all realized
strom Thurmond was not about to drop
acid at Grace’s polite invitation and
finish his days boogying naked in the
park. As the nightmare of the way in
Vietnam gnawed into the nation, outright
revolution became the theme but the
revolution never came and the would- be
revolutionaries of their constituency
dispersed to country retreats or
barbiturate numbness. This too,
that scornful separatism, found
its way into Kantner’s writing
in the form of his epic of
Planetary exodus Blows
Against The Empire. But
Crown Of Creation honed the delirious
fury of Baxter’s to razor sharpness. In
the midst of the love songs, the vision
had grown darker. The strobe-eyed
Pagans now saw, not incense and
balloons, but android legions
cutting deep into the nation’s
heartland. It was a chilling
vista, sketched in acid-
Bosch, but one whose power
was undeniable.
By the time of their second album,
Red Octopus, Balin had become a
full-fledged member along with
English bassist Pete Sears, drummer
John Barbata and 19 year old lead
Guitarist, Craig Chaquico. Starship
had gone on to even greater success
than the old Airplane achieved and
included in this collection is a live
recording of Please Come Back.
The Airplane reflected both the
strengths and weaknesses of the
time and the people that spawned it.
naïve, uncompromising, idealistic and
baroque, they produced an ethnic
art form, folk music for white, middle
class acid heads. They entertained
themselves and their audiences with
dreams and rushes. What it all meant
and means is hard to say. The music
simply is and this is a record of it.
Patrick Snyder, Rolling Stone
SPECIAL THANKS TO BILL GRAHAM & RALPH
J. GLEASON
THANK YOU TO: KEN CLANCY AUGIE BLUME
MEL ILBERMAN NANCY BLUME
JOAN DEARY DORIS COOK
JACK KIERNAN DIANE GARDINER
MYRON ROTH MEL GOLDBLATT
HARRY JENKINS NED HANDSOME
HERB HELMAN HEIDI HOWELL
DON BURKHIMER JAMIE HOWELL
GRELUN LANDON ROSE MARY LEAVER
LYNNE MORSE STAN MONTEIRO
MICHAEL ABRAMSON LINDA RICE
JUDI PERLMUTTER STU GINSBERG
BILLY BASS ADRYAN HAVELKA
JEFF BAUM SKIP JOHNSON
BEAR MIKE KLENFNER
GARY LACKMAN LORA LOVRIEN
CYNTHIA BOWMAN BOB MCCLAY
RON BROWN GLENN MCKAY
JOE BUCHWALD TOM MCKAY
CHICK CASADY TONY MAY
JOAN CHASE MARY ANN MAYER
BILL COBLENTZ SCOTT MUNI
JIM COE DON PEARSON
HOWARD DANCHIK WAYNE ROOKS
TOM DONAHUE TOM ROSS
RON DONC CHUCK SETON
RON DUDLEY FRAN SHANAHAN
PAT DUGAN BONNIE SIMMONS
WALT FLEISCHER KATHY SNELLING
BOB GORDON HERB SPAR
GUT CAROL STRAUSS
FRED HAB ER JUDY THOMPSON
AND ALL OF THE OTHER WONDERFUL PEOPLE WE HAVE POSSIBLY FORGOTTEN
TO INCLUDE.
_____________________________________________________
AIRPLANE SURVIVORS
BILL THOMPSON: PRESIDENT OF GRUNT RECORDS
MANAGER-JEFFERSON AIRPLANE/
JEFFERSON STARSHIP/HOT TUNA
JACKY KAUKONEN: SECRETARY-JEFFERSON AIRPLANE/
JEFFERSON STARSHIP/HOT TUNA/
BILL THOMPSON
BILL LAUDNER: ROAD MANAGER-JEFFERSON AIRPLANE/
JEFFERSON STARSHIP
PAT IERACI: PRODUCTION COORDINATIOR FOR
(MAURICE) GRUNT RECORDS
JEFFERSON AIRPLANE/JEFFERSON
STARSHIP/HOT TUNA
PAUL DOWELL: EQUIPMENT MANGER-JEFFERSON
AIRPLANE/JEFFERSON STARSHIP
PHOTOS BY: ROGER RESSMEYER
TONY LANE
JIM MARSHALL
DAVE PATRICK
B. BECKHARD
JIM SMIRCICH
CHARLES STEWART
RANDY TUTEN
ALBUM COORDINATOR: PAT IERACI (MAURICE)
MASTERED BY: JOHN GOLDEN
KENDUN RECORDERS, BURBANK
BOOKLET DESIGN: CRAIG DECAMPS
COVER AND ART DIRECTION: ACY R. LEHMAN
SIDE A
COME UP THE YEARS 2:30
JEFFERSON AIRPLANE TAKES OFF 1966
WHITE RABBIT 2:27
SURREALISTIC PILLOW 1967
COMIN’ BACK TO ME 5:15
SURREALISTIC PILLOW 1967
WON’T YOU TRY SATURDAY AFTERNOON 5:02
AFTER BATHING AT BAXTER’S 1967
GREASY HEART 3:25
CROWN OF CREATION 1968
IF YOU FELL 3:30
CROWN OF CREATION 1968
SIDE B
SOMEBODY TO LOVE (LIVE) 3:46
BLESS ITS POINTED LITTLE HEAD 1969
WOODEN SHIPS 6:00
VOLUNTEERS 1969
VOLUNTEERS 2:03
VOLUNTEERS 1969
HESITATION BLUES (TRADITIONAL) 5:05
HOT TUNA 1970
HAVE YOU SEEN THE STARS TONITE 3:42
BLOWS AGAINST THE EMPIRE 1970
SIDE C
SILVER SPOON 5:40
SUNFIGHTER 1971
FEEL SO GOOD 4:35
BARK 1971
PRETTY AS YOU FEEL 3:07
BARK 1971
MILK TRAIN 3:26
LONG JOHN SILVER 1972
JA DA (KEEP ON TRUCKIN’)* 3:40
BURGERS 1972
PUBLIC PERFORMANCE CLEARANCE – BMI, EXCEPT *ASCAP
BARK
WHAT CAN YOU DO WITH THE BAG
YOU CAN:
TAKE IT TO THE STORE . . . WEAR IT AS A HAT
HANG IT ON A DOOR . . . USE IT AS A SPAT
TAKE IT TO THE TOILET . . . WEAR IT AS A TIE
TEAR IT, BOIL IT . . . MAKE IT AIRPLANELY FLY
TAKE IT TO THE BEACH . . . DO SOME ORIGAMI
PUSH IT OUT OF REACH . . . WRAP IT IN SALAMI
TAKE IT OUT TO DINNER . . . USE IT TO PITCH WOO
FRAME IT TO A WALL . . . USE IT TO WAX FLOORS
WEAR IT AS A SHAWL . . . RECORD ON IT HOCKEY SCORES
TAKE IT TO THE PARK . . . CALL IT JAGGY BAGGY
GIVE IT TO A NARC . . . DECLARE IT TO BE SAGGY
PUT IT IN YOUR TYPEWRITER . . . CALL IT JAGGY BAGGY
USE IT TO HELP SIGHT HER . . . DELCARE IT TO BE SAGGY
FLY IT AS A KITE . . . TAKE IT OFF YOUR HANDS
STARE AT IT AT NIGHT . . . FILL IT FULL OF SANDS
EAT IT WITH RICE PUDDING . . . WASH IT IN WARM WATER
USE IT TO KEEP YOU FOOTING . . . PRETEND THAT IT’S YOUR DAUGHTER
PUT IT ON A BUSH . . . USE IT TO BARF INSIDE OF
WITH IT, DO A PUSH . . . SAY THE BAG IS LOVE
PUMP IT FULL OF GAS . . . HANG IT ON A TREE
SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS . . . PRETEND THAT IT’S YOUR KNEE
GLUE IT TO YOUR CHEEK . . . FILL IT FULL OF HOLES
RINSE IT IN A CREEK . . . SMEAR IT WITH JELLY ROLLS
RENT IT AS AN APARTMENT . . . USE IT AS A SNOT RAG
LEND IT AS A COMPARTMENT . . . USE IT AS A MOUTH GAG
TAKE IT TO A SHOW . . . SELL IT AS A BOAT
USE IT TO PLAY GO . . .PRETEND THAT IT’S YOUR THROAT
SING IT AS A SONG . . . USE IT AS A BOOK
CLANG IT LIKE A GONG . . . USE IT AS A ROOK
WRITE ON IT SOME MUSIC . . . TAKE IT TO A DANCE
WITH SOME WIRES FUSE IT . . . WEAR IT AS YOUR PANTS
MIX IT IN YOUR BLENDER . . . PASTE IT AS WALLPAPER
PUT IT ON YOUR FENDER . . . TO YOUR EARS DO TAPER
PATCH IT ON YOUR CEILING . . . FRY IT WITH SOME EGGS
LOOK AT IT WITH FEELING . . . TAKE IT TO A GOLF COURSE
ADMIRE IT WITH GUSTO . . . DEFACE IT WITH PENS
WITH IT WIPE UP PUSSO . . . WAVE IT AT SOME WRENS
WALK IT, THROW IT . . . EAT IT, FOLD IT
SPINDLE IT, BOWL IT . . . LEAVE IT, HOLD IT
PEEL IT, REEL IT . . . SAW IT, CAW IT
KNEED IT, SEED IT . . . RAW IT, AW IT
BAG IT, TAG IT . . . TAPE IT, NAPE IT
HOG IT, DOG IT . . . APE IT, CAPE IT
CHEW IT, SPEW IT . . . PRICE IT, DICE IT
GNU IT, PEW IT . . . MICE IT, ICE IT
PRAISE IT, CHEER IT . . . DAMN IT, BOO IT
RAISE IT, LEER IT . . . JAM IT, GOO IT
HIKE IT, PASS IT . . . BUNT IT, SINK IT . . . LIKE IT, SASS IT . . . RUNT IT, LINK IT . . . LUCK IT, TUCK IT . . . MOVE IT, GROOVE IT . . . DUCK IT, BUCK IT . . . LOSE IT, CHOOSE IT . . . ROCK IT, ROLL IT . . . KNOLL IT . . . HUMPH IT, AHEM IT . . . PSHAW IT, TSK IT . . . GRUMPH IT, AMEN IT . . . GNAW IT, WHISK IT . . . CONDONE IT, DEBASE IT . . . SNOT IT, ROT IT . . . DEBONE IT, REFACE IT . . . POT IT, KNOT IT . . . CALL IT, BUT SHOUT . . . CALL IT, BUT YODEL . . . CALL IT, BUT OUT . . . CALL IT, BUT NODEL . . . DON’T CALL IT, HONK . . . DON’T CALL IT, BEEP . . . DON’T CALL I, ZONK . . . DON’T CALL IT, PEEP AND ZAP IT, CRAP IT . . . RUG IT, BUG IT . . . NAP IT, WRAP IT . . . HUG IT, ZUG IT . . . YES THERE ARE MANY THINGS . . . YOU CAN DO WITH THE BAG . . . EVEN WITHOUT WINBGS OR ZINGS . . . (PUT IT IN YOUR FIREPLACE)
THE EARTH MOVES AGAIN
LYRICS AND MUSIC BY PAUL KANTNER
In golden Hannibal Carthage days marchin’ onto Rome
knockin’ on the door and findin’ nobody home there
Rome she cut our army down and left them in the snow
So now I go to where I come from
Now I go home to the Sun
When the earth moves again
When the earth moves again my friend
Let the lady ride on thru
When the earth moves again
Egyptian kings they sing of Gods and pyramids of stone
And they left the deserts clean and they left
. . . . .the deserts golden
And shinin’ as a beacon for those that need a road
Into the day and thru the night we go and find our way home
When the earth moves again
My love to all the people leave behind
Search out the new ground around you
When the earth moves again
. . . . .your head can pull your body around n you can
. . . . .leave whenever you can find the ground
. . . . .take what you find on the land
. . . . .sea foam glass is sand
if you’ve only lived on earth you’ve never seen the sun
or the promise of a thousand other suns
. . . . .that glow beyond here
And if you care to see the future look into the eyes of your
Young dancing children don’t be afraid of our ways
When the earth moves again
When the earth moves again
Watch the lady ride and sigh
When the earth moves again
Moses Moses the red sea closes
Over you when you least expect it to
When the earth moves again
When the earth moves again
FEEL SO GOOD
Lyrics and Music by Jorma Kaukonen
Baby mine
Feel so good
All the time
If you would
The girl knows how to love
Both night and day
She knows how to feel so fine
All over in every way
Ain’t no lie
If you go
I won’t die
Sure won’t grow
Sit ‘round running numbers
Sit ‘round with my friends
Wasting time now, watching the sky
Waiting for the story to end
Until she
Sets me free
With her motion
Rolls me ‘round
Like the ocean
I can’t wait to get some more
of what the girl’s got to give
living without her’s like loving a wall
and that ain’t no way to live
CRAZY MIRANDA
Lyrics and Music by Grace Slick
Crazy Miranda lives on propaganda
She believes anything she reads
It could be one side or the other
Free Press or Time Life covers
Follows newsprint anytwhere it leads
But still she can’t seem to read
And nobody knows
Nobody knows what she needs
It could be gloves
All the pretty ladies textbooks
Tell her how to have the “next look”
The Bible tells her stay as plain as you are
She wants all the pretty boys beside her
To write some pretty words to guide her
To say they love her lody as well as her mind
She wants some kind of sign – a sign of gloves
Oh never mind – she’s not your kind.
PRETTY AS YOU FEEL
Lyrics and Music by Joey Covington, Jack Casady, Jorma Kaukonen
You’re only pretty as you feel
Only pretty as you feel inside
You’re only pretty as you feel
Just as pretty as you feel inside
When you wake up in the morning
Rub some sleep from your eye
Look inside your mirror
Comb your hair
Don’t give vanity a second chance
No no no
Beauty’s only skin deep
It goes just so far ‘cause
You’re only pretty as you feel
You’re only pretty as you feel inside
Just as pretty as you feel
Now you’re feelin’ pretty
Now you’re feelin’ good
Now you’re ready to face the world girl
Now you’re feelin’ good
Go out there ‘n’ knock ‘em silly girl
Go out there ‘n’ show ‘em how ta thrill
‘cause you’re only pretty as you feel
Only pretty as you feel
You’re only pretty as you feel
Just as pretty as you feel inside
Feelin’ so pretty, feelin’ so pretty
Pretty mama.
LAW MAN
Lyrics and Music by Grace Slick
Law man – I’m afraid you just walked in here
At the wrong time
My old man’s gun has never been fired but
There’s a first time
& this could be, this could be the first time
Law man you look to be a lot younger than me & I’d
Hate to shoot a baby
You’ve got a long way to go before you’re old & slow &
It could be
It could be a good time if you change your mind
Well I’m tired and sweet from making love and it’s
Just too late you’ll have to wait
Bring your business around here in the morning
Well I’ve heard your line & you’ve heard mine & I’m
Just too tired to take a side
Bring your business around here in the morning
Don’t you want to be easy
Look there let let some of the things you see go on by
Or you can burn them into your brain go on home
Don’t you see the children, they’re just like you
They want everything to be fine but they lit it slide
And the laughing lets you know that smiling breaks the rules
Law breaker you know it could be me & if you had your way
We’d all be down
Under the face of a clock that’s just too old to be wound
& you can see now the old hands won’t move around
One way or the other, fool card brother
This could be, this could be, the first time
ROCK AND ROLL ISLAND
Lyrics and Music by Paul Kantner
Can you make it to the island rock and roll island
In the middle of the time seas . . .
Back thru time in firesign
Magnetic flow all around me . . .
. . . . .sonar laser quasar pulsar
. . . . .bombarded with argon . . .
Open your hands and build a park
Clear your mind and touch the dark
We go down down down //// back home
Walkin in the park flashin in the dark
No care for the narcs you know we’re home free . . .
And if you make it to the island rock and roll island
All you got to know is that you are the rules . . .
. . . . .do it in the sunshinbe it really is magic
. . . . .you’ll never get this high if you try
‘California rock and roll thunder
Gonna bring you up from down undr
We go down down down gonna/get back home
Never get so high when you try
I never been this high when I try
I never been so high but I try
I never get this high when I try y’know when I try
Can you feel us coming . . . and going and coming
Can you feel us singing
Electric in your
Body . . . . .
Can you make it to the island
. . . . .north winds rollin’ behind you
Can you make it to the island
Look around you tell me what you see
See the people look at you look at me
We are alive and we see that
What we are and what we will be
Will not explode until the
Twenty ninth century
We have only begun to grow you know
Only begun to grow
Just begun to grow and go you
Grow we are seedlings of the
Sun
We go down down down down down
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . back home . . . .
THIRD WEEK IN THE CHELSEA
Lyrics and music by Jorma Kaukonen
Sometimes I feel like I’m leaving life behind
My hands are moving faster than the moving of my mind
Thoughts and generations of my dreams are yet unborn
And I hope that I can find them ‘fore my moving
. . . . .gets too worn
If only I can live to see the dawning of the dawn
So we go on moving trying to make this image real
Straining every nerve not knowing what we really feel
Straining every nerve and making everybody see
That what they read in the Rolling Stone
. . . . .has really come to be
And trying to avoid a taste of that reality
On an early New York morning a mirror in the hall
Showed to me a face I didn’t know at all
Lines were drawn around a pair of eyes that opened wide
And when I looked inside them I found nothing left inside
So I wolked into a little room that whistled like a sigth
As dawnlight closed around me know my mind
. . . . .was still in gear
Thinking thoughts of playing more and
. . . . .singing loud and clear
Trying to reach a friend somewhere and
. . . . .make that person smile
And maybe pull myself away from that old lonesome mile
That often comes to haunt me in the morning
(bridge)
All my fiends keep telling me that if would be a shame
To break up such a grand success and tear apart a name
But all I know is what I feel whenever I’m not playing
And emptiness ain’t where it’s at and neither’s feeling pain
Well what is going to happen now is anybody’s guess
If I can’t spend my time with love I guess I need a rest
Time is getting late now and the sun is getting low
My body’s feeling tired from carrying another’s load
And sunshine’s waiting for me a little further down the road.
YOU CAN:
TAKE IT TO THE STORE . . . WEAR IT AS A HAT
HANG IT ON A DOOR . . . USE IT AS A SPAT
TAKE IT TO THE TOILET . . . WEAR IT AS A TIE
TEAR IT, BOIL IT . . . MAKE IT AIRPLANELY FLY
TAKE IT TO THE BEACH . . . DO SOME ORIGAMI
PUSH IT OUT OF REACH . . . WRAP IT IN SALAMI
TAKE IT OUT TO DINNER . . . USE IT TO PITCH WOO
FRAME IT TO A WALL . . . USE IT TO WAX FLOORS
WEAR IT AS A SHAWL . . . RECORD ON IT HOCKEY SCORES
TAKE IT TO THE PARK . . . CALL IT JAGGY BAGGY
GIVE IT TO A NARC . . . DECLARE IT TO BE SAGGY
PUT IT IN YOUR TYPEWRITER . . . CALL IT JAGGY BAGGY
USE IT TO HELP SIGHT HER . . . DELCARE IT TO BE SAGGY
FLY IT AS A KITE . . . TAKE IT OFF YOUR HANDS
STARE AT IT AT NIGHT . . . FILL IT FULL OF SANDS
EAT IT WITH RICE PUDDING . . . WASH IT IN WARM WATER
USE IT TO KEEP YOU FOOTING . . . PRETEND THAT IT’S YOUR DAUGHTER
PUT IT ON A BUSH . . . USE IT TO BARF INSIDE OF
WITH IT, DO A PUSH . . . SAY THE BAG IS LOVE
PUMP IT FULL OF GAS . . . HANG IT ON A TREE
SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS . . . PRETEND THAT IT’S YOUR KNEE
GLUE IT TO YOUR CHEEK . . . FILL IT FULL OF HOLES
RINSE IT IN A CREEK . . . SMEAR IT WITH JELLY ROLLS
RENT IT AS AN APARTMENT . . . USE IT AS A SNOT RAG
LEND IT AS A COMPARTMENT . . . USE IT AS A MOUTH GAG
TAKE IT TO A SHOW . . . SELL IT AS A BOAT
USE IT TO PLAY GO . . .PRETEND THAT IT’S YOUR THROAT
SING IT AS A SONG . . . USE IT AS A BOOK
CLANG IT LIKE A GONG . . . USE IT AS A ROOK
WRITE ON IT SOME MUSIC . . . TAKE IT TO A DANCE
WITH SOME WIRES FUSE IT . . . WEAR IT AS YOUR PANTS
MIX IT IN YOUR BLENDER . . . PASTE IT AS WALLPAPER
PUT IT ON YOUR FENDER . . . TO YOUR EARS DO TAPER
PATCH IT ON YOUR CEILING . . . FRY IT WITH SOME EGGS
LOOK AT IT WITH FEELING . . . TAKE IT TO A GOLF COURSE
ADMIRE IT WITH GUSTO . . . DEFACE IT WITH PENS
WITH IT WIPE UP PUSSO . . . WAVE IT AT SOME WRENS
WALK IT, THROW IT . . . EAT IT, FOLD IT
SPINDLE IT, BOWL IT . . . LEAVE IT, HOLD IT
PEEL IT, REEL IT . . . SAW IT, CAW IT
KNEED IT, SEED IT . . . RAW IT, AW IT
BAG IT, TAG IT . . . TAPE IT, NAPE IT
HOG IT, DOG IT . . . APE IT, CAPE IT
CHEW IT, SPEW IT . . . PRICE IT, DICE IT
GNU IT, PEW IT . . . MICE IT, ICE IT
PRAISE IT, CHEER IT . . . DAMN IT, BOO IT
RAISE IT, LEER IT . . . JAM IT, GOO IT
HIKE IT, PASS IT . . . BUNT IT, SINK IT . . . LIKE IT, SASS IT . . . RUNT IT, LINK IT . . . LUCK IT, TUCK IT . . . MOVE IT, GROOVE IT . . . DUCK IT, BUCK IT . . . LOSE IT, CHOOSE IT . . . ROCK IT, ROLL IT . . . KNOLL IT . . . HUMPH IT, AHEM IT . . . PSHAW IT, TSK IT . . . GRUMPH IT, AMEN IT . . . GNAW IT, WHISK IT . . . CONDONE IT, DEBASE IT . . . SNOT IT, ROT IT . . . DEBONE IT, REFACE IT . . . POT IT, KNOT IT . . . CALL IT, BUT SHOUT . . . CALL IT, BUT YODEL . . . CALL IT, BUT OUT . . . CALL IT, BUT NODEL . . . DON’T CALL IT, HONK . . . DON’T CALL IT, BEEP . . . DON’T CALL I, ZONK . . . DON’T CALL IT, PEEP AND ZAP IT, CRAP IT . . . RUG IT, BUG IT . . . NAP IT, WRAP IT . . . HUG IT, ZUG IT . . . YES THERE ARE MANY THINGS . . . YOU CAN DO WITH THE BAG . . . EVEN WITHOUT WINBGS OR ZINGS . . . (PUT IT IN YOUR FIREPLACE)
THE EARTH MOVES AGAIN
LYRICS AND MUSIC BY PAUL KANTNER
In golden Hannibal Carthage days marchin’ onto Rome
knockin’ on the door and findin’ nobody home there
Rome she cut our army down and left them in the snow
So now I go to where I come from
Now I go home to the Sun
When the earth moves again
When the earth moves again my friend
Let the lady ride on thru
When the earth moves again
Egyptian kings they sing of Gods and pyramids of stone
And they left the deserts clean and they left
. . . . .the deserts golden
And shinin’ as a beacon for those that need a road
Into the day and thru the night we go and find our way home
When the earth moves again
My love to all the people leave behind
Search out the new ground around you
When the earth moves again
. . . . .your head can pull your body around n you can
. . . . .leave whenever you can find the ground
. . . . .take what you find on the land
. . . . .sea foam glass is sand
if you’ve only lived on earth you’ve never seen the sun
or the promise of a thousand other suns
. . . . .that glow beyond here
And if you care to see the future look into the eyes of your
Young dancing children don’t be afraid of our ways
When the earth moves again
When the earth moves again
Watch the lady ride and sigh
When the earth moves again
Moses Moses the red sea closes
Over you when you least expect it to
When the earth moves again
When the earth moves again
FEEL SO GOOD
Lyrics and Music by Jorma Kaukonen
Baby mine
Feel so good
All the time
If you would
The girl knows how to love
Both night and day
She knows how to feel so fine
All over in every way
Ain’t no lie
If you go
I won’t die
Sure won’t grow
Sit ‘round running numbers
Sit ‘round with my friends
Wasting time now, watching the sky
Waiting for the story to end
Until she
Sets me free
With her motion
Rolls me ‘round
Like the ocean
I can’t wait to get some more
of what the girl’s got to give
living without her’s like loving a wall
and that ain’t no way to live
CRAZY MIRANDA
Lyrics and Music by Grace Slick
Crazy Miranda lives on propaganda
She believes anything she reads
It could be one side or the other
Free Press or Time Life covers
Follows newsprint anytwhere it leads
But still she can’t seem to read
And nobody knows
Nobody knows what she needs
It could be gloves
All the pretty ladies textbooks
Tell her how to have the “next look”
The Bible tells her stay as plain as you are
She wants all the pretty boys beside her
To write some pretty words to guide her
To say they love her lody as well as her mind
She wants some kind of sign – a sign of gloves
Oh never mind – she’s not your kind.
PRETTY AS YOU FEEL
Lyrics and Music by Joey Covington, Jack Casady, Jorma Kaukonen
You’re only pretty as you feel
Only pretty as you feel inside
You’re only pretty as you feel
Just as pretty as you feel inside
When you wake up in the morning
Rub some sleep from your eye
Look inside your mirror
Comb your hair
Don’t give vanity a second chance
No no no
Beauty’s only skin deep
It goes just so far ‘cause
You’re only pretty as you feel
You’re only pretty as you feel inside
Just as pretty as you feel
Now you’re feelin’ pretty
Now you’re feelin’ good
Now you’re ready to face the world girl
Now you’re feelin’ good
Go out there ‘n’ knock ‘em silly girl
Go out there ‘n’ show ‘em how ta thrill
‘cause you’re only pretty as you feel
Only pretty as you feel
You’re only pretty as you feel
Just as pretty as you feel inside
Feelin’ so pretty, feelin’ so pretty
Pretty mama.
LAW MAN
Lyrics and Music by Grace Slick
Law man – I’m afraid you just walked in here
At the wrong time
My old man’s gun has never been fired but
There’s a first time
& this could be, this could be the first time
Law man you look to be a lot younger than me & I’d
Hate to shoot a baby
You’ve got a long way to go before you’re old & slow &
It could be
It could be a good time if you change your mind
Well I’m tired and sweet from making love and it’s
Just too late you’ll have to wait
Bring your business around here in the morning
Well I’ve heard your line & you’ve heard mine & I’m
Just too tired to take a side
Bring your business around here in the morning
Don’t you want to be easy
Look there let let some of the things you see go on by
Or you can burn them into your brain go on home
Don’t you see the children, they’re just like you
They want everything to be fine but they lit it slide
And the laughing lets you know that smiling breaks the rules
Law breaker you know it could be me & if you had your way
We’d all be down
Under the face of a clock that’s just too old to be wound
& you can see now the old hands won’t move around
One way or the other, fool card brother
This could be, this could be, the first time
ROCK AND ROLL ISLAND
Lyrics and Music by Paul Kantner
Can you make it to the island rock and roll island
In the middle of the time seas . . .
Back thru time in firesign
Magnetic flow all around me . . .
. . . . .sonar laser quasar pulsar
. . . . .bombarded with argon . . .
Open your hands and build a park
Clear your mind and touch the dark
We go down down down //// back home
Walkin in the park flashin in the dark
No care for the narcs you know we’re home free . . .
And if you make it to the island rock and roll island
All you got to know is that you are the rules . . .
. . . . .do it in the sunshinbe it really is magic
. . . . .you’ll never get this high if you try
‘California rock and roll thunder
Gonna bring you up from down undr
We go down down down gonna/get back home
Never get so high when you try
I never been this high when I try
I never been so high but I try
I never get this high when I try y’know when I try
Can you feel us coming . . . and going and coming
Can you feel us singing
Electric in your
Body . . . . .
Can you make it to the island
. . . . .north winds rollin’ behind you
Can you make it to the island
Look around you tell me what you see
See the people look at you look at me
We are alive and we see that
What we are and what we will be
Will not explode until the
Twenty ninth century
We have only begun to grow you know
Only begun to grow
Just begun to grow and go you
Grow we are seedlings of the
Sun
We go down down down down down
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . back home . . . .
THIRD WEEK IN THE CHELSEA
Lyrics and music by Jorma Kaukonen
Sometimes I feel like I’m leaving life behind
My hands are moving faster than the moving of my mind
Thoughts and generations of my dreams are yet unborn
And I hope that I can find them ‘fore my moving
. . . . .gets too worn
If only I can live to see the dawning of the dawn
So we go on moving trying to make this image real
Straining every nerve not knowing what we really feel
Straining every nerve and making everybody see
That what they read in the Rolling Stone
. . . . .has really come to be
And trying to avoid a taste of that reality
On an early New York morning a mirror in the hall
Showed to me a face I didn’t know at all
Lines were drawn around a pair of eyes that opened wide
And when I looked inside them I found nothing left inside
So I wolked into a little room that whistled like a sigth
As dawnlight closed around me know my mind
. . . . .was still in gear
Thinking thoughts of playing more and
. . . . .singing loud and clear
Trying to reach a friend somewhere and
. . . . .make that person smile
And maybe pull myself away from that old lonesome mile
That often comes to haunt me in the morning
(bridge)
All my fiends keep telling me that if would be a shame
To break up such a grand success and tear apart a name
But all I know is what I feel whenever I’m not playing
And emptiness ain’t where it’s at and neither’s feeling pain
Well what is going to happen now is anybody’s guess
If I can’t spend my time with love I guess I need a rest
Time is getting late now and the sun is getting low
My body’s feeling tired from carrying another’s load
And sunshine’s waiting for me a little further down the road.