Black Gold

Just received my vinyl of Richie Havens' "Something Else Again", from 1968. Reading Greil Marcus' book on the Basement Tapes. Just how good was the rock music from that era? Man; I can only imagine dropping the needle on this lp (or a vast many others) on my hi-fi system in my apartment with some friends around, crashing on the floor and letting the music (and some of God's organic assistance) take me to another place. Obviously, those are the windmills music lovers still tilt after. When was the last time I had a party just to listen to an album? I may have only done it once, which was for the Allman Brothers Band's latest, which was about 2003, when I was still in Fresno. A dear old friend has shared many a story of throwing on an album (onto a quadrophonic system, no less!) with friends and turning up the volume. I've never heard this Richie Havens album until now. It's astounding. Of course, it sounds dated. It should; it was released in 1968, a year before his legendary performance at Woodstock. I can only imagine how people, including his friends in Greenwich Village, took this one. It's leaps and bounds ahead of his first album "Mixed Bag", a personal favorite of mine. Enough folk, enough rock, enough psychedelia, enough percussion and polyrhythm. This is one great record. I love listening to so much of the music from that era on vinyl. It's nearly a sin to listen to it digitally, until one wants to be mobile, of course. It works best late at night for me to dig my vinyl collection. My little living room with the furniture I love; a sanctum sanctorum of sorts. I crawl onto one end of my couch with a book or my beloved New Yorker and on go the records. For the last year, it's been nothing but Joan Baez or Judy Collins or Richie. Occasionally it will be something even from the '70s but that's pushing it. When the morning breaks, I'll put on Brahms or Grieg or a baroque fugue if I'm up early enough. Vinyl doesn't work in mid-day; too busy and no time to concentrate. It's as if the music and medium have aged enough that when it comes time to listen, it becomes an act of worship, of contemplation; communion. With the past. Ever try to listen to something from the dying days of vinyl, the 1980s? Right. Now with the resurgence of records, I've often wondered just how it must feel to only be able to listen to Bruce or the Truckers or T&S in my living room at ten at night instead of in my car or outside or kitchen. Wouldn't mind finding some Arlo and even some Bakersfield country for my ol' record player. Given where I live, the lp discoveries only come in the form of eBay or garage sales, neither very promising.
Excuse me, I need to turn the record over...