October 05, 2007, 1967 rides again!, By Doug Robinson

Now that I am snugly settled back into our casa after two months working on Love In: A Musical Celebration of 1967, I thought I’d use this month’s column to give you a behind-the-scenes look at that gig.

I was the Musical Director for this complex off-Broadway show (way off—it was in San Diego), as well as the keyboard player. Since so much of the experience was exciting and surprising to me, I figured it might also be interesting for you.

For example, the job of Musical Director goes beyond writing arrangements and rehearsing the band, and includes everything from personnel manager, whip cracker, slave, tie breaker, deal maker, cat wrangler and hostage negotiator. It’s also the most fun I’ve ever had onstage.

Love In was a live multimedia theatrical concert, produced and directed by filmmaker friends of Glenda’s and mine, Anthony and Christina Adams. This off-Broadway show (way off—it was staged in San Diego) was filmed for a 5.1 DVD release and featured several iconic guest musicians as well as choreography for dancers. The narrative storyline was delivered by Tony award winner Ben Vereen and a stunning psychedelic light show combined trippy effects with historical footage.

The inspiration was the 40-year anniversary of the 1967 Summer of Love. Although the entire decade of the 60s introduced us to hundreds of important musical figures, that particular year had special significance thanks in part to The Monterey Pop Festival, the then-new convention of love-ins starting with the ‘Human Be-In’ in Golden Gate Park, the widespread use of psychedelic drugs by artists and their fans and the birth of an aggressively counter-culture press that rallied young people to support the burgeoning anti-war movement.

Our eight-piece house band backed up artists such as Jesse Colin Young (“Get Together”), Peter and Gordon (“I Got to Pieces”,“World Without Love”), Vince Martell from Vanilla Fudge (“You Keep Me Hanging On”), Strawberry Alarm Clock (“Incense and Peppermints”) and others. Ben Vereen had a few musical features as well, including two numbers from his run in Hair, the Broadway musical that shook up everyone due to its anti-establishment theme and full frontal nudity.

The biggest eye-opener for me was dealing with guest stars. These iconic musicians were the ones the audience is paying to see and that perspective wasn’t lost on anyone. There were a few egos that needed extra support now and then, but mostly everyone seemed happy to have the chance to reconnect with their fans.

I have many fine stories to tell over lunch, but I want to describe my blissful encounter with the great Buddy Miles, a drummer/singer who burst onto the scene with Electric Flag and then later with Jimi Hendrix’s Band of Gypsys before starting his own group. Buddy’s career has been the stuff of rock and roll legend—huge hits, drug busts, prison time and finally surviving heart surgery and a stroke. Having heard that he was out on the road touring, the director contacted him to see if he’d do our show. Buddy was delightful to talk with and eager to appear in Love In, so the deal was struck.

When he showed up the night before the first performance, however, he was sleeping in a wheelchair and hardly coherent when awakened. I kneeled down, took his hand and introduced myself. He just smiled and said “See you tomorrow, baby.” We didn’t get a lot of sleep that night, worrying about whether he was going to be able to deliver.

Showtime! Buddy sat in the wings on his wheelchair, waiting for Ben Vereen to finish his introduction while the band played a motif from Buddy’s first number. Suddenly, to my left, I saw Buddy slowly dancing, bobbing and weaving his way to the chair in center stage as the crowd went wild. He sat down, grabbed the mic and started vocalizing the nastiest, bluesiest scat singing I’d ever heard. Then he started working the crowd, telling them how much he loved San Diego, how much he loved the house band, and how happy he was to be singing for everyone on his 60th birthday. After a few minutes and some improvised riffing between Buddy and our sax player, I realized that Buddy didn’t remember the lyrics to his song and was probably stalling for time! No matter, he was rocking the house with his improvised rap and occasional yowls and moans. We launched into his second song and just as we thought he’d start singing, he decided to talk some more. It was hysterical—the band didn’t exactly know what to do, but they were watching me as I was watching Buddy and I just led everyone through the song at a pace I thought matched Buddy’s dialogue. It felt a little like working with my father when he had Parkinson’s and his mind was obviously trapped inside a body that wouldn’t cooperate. Then, like this time, my only priority was to make sure that the man had a dignified experience.

For the next five shows, Buddy never sang more than a line or two of his lyrics, but he danced, he jived, he roared with rock and roll abandon and the crowd honored him each night with lengthy standing ovations. It was an amazing experience, and I doubt anyone on that stage will ever forget it.

My next column will be dedicated to previewing the artists that Antonio Lozoya and I have lined up for the 13th annual Festival Internacional de Jazz y Blues. I believe it is going to be the best jazz festival ever.

Doug Robinson is a composer living in San Miguel de Allende.