Goose Lake Festival reassessed

By STEVE SEYMOUR

It should be mentioned along with Monterey and Woodstock as one of the great outdoor rock festivals, but it isn't.

In fact, the Goose Lake International Pop Festival, held near Jackson, Mich., on Aug. 7-9, 1970, may have drawn more spectators than Monterey, plus it didn't rain like Woodstock.

The influential line-up included Jethro Tull, Chicago, the Small Faces featuring Rod Stewart, Mountain, James Gang and the Flying Burrito Brothers, plus Ten Years After and John Sebastian, fresh from their Woodstock appearances the previous summer. Michigan's best acts, like Bob Seger, Mitch Ryder & Detroit, Teegarden & VanWinkle, Frost, the MC5, Brownsville Station, the Stooges, SRC and Savage Grace were also featured.

Festival-goers had a weekend of highlights and variety. Friday's program included the classical baroque rock of the New York Rock 'n' Roll Ensemble,

Sebastian's "Darling, Be Home Soon," and Ten Years After performing "Sweet Little Sixteen." Saturday saw the original Stooges performing "1970" during their last time on stage together, while Mountain jammed on "Mississippi Queen," a hit from a few months before. Sunday's stage featured a batch of Michigan bands, including Savage Grace performing a killer version of "All Along the Watchtower." Jethro Tull closed the show.

The weekend was over. The bands played. There was no violence. In the end, tens of thousands of rock music fans enjoyed themselves and only a tiny percentage were arrested on drug charges. Yet publicity at the time created a negative perception of Goose Lake in the public consciousness which continues to this day.

The event was conceived by concert promoter Russ Gibb and construction executive Richard Songer. While many people were trying to replicate the Woodstock phenomenon, Gibb already had experience promoting the Detroit Rock & Roll Revival, held on May, 30-31, 1969, three months before the fabled upstate New York festival.


Russ Gibb

The men spent months planning for the various contingencies involved in staging a major rock festival, including sanitation, health, security, traffic and parking. "We were concerned with the health and happiness of the crowd," Gibb told me in a recent telephone interview from his home in Dearborn.

Still, locals were opposed to the festival even before it happened. Jackson County Prosecutor Bruce Barton tried to obtain a court injunction declaring the festival to be a public nuisance, but failed.

Contemporary press estimates said as many as 200,000 young people were drawn to the Goose Lake event, held at a specially-built park on a 390-acre site owned by Songer.

One great stage was constructed in turntable fashion, which could be rotated in a few minutes, making the wait between acts a brief one. "People would get into mischief if there was too much time between sets," Gibb commented. There was also a huge tower for sound equipment. Gibb had a helicopter for transportation and ran the operation from a trailer on a hill overlooking the grounds.

"It was a major operation, like a little city," Gibb recalled. Goose Lake hired medical staff and security guards to accommodate the crowd.

Admission to Goose Lake was $15, although tens of thousands may have entered without tickets. Leaving may have been more difficult since the grounds were surrounded by razor-wire fencing.

Almost immediately, the festival was the subject of negative publicity regarding the use and sale of illegal drugs. Gibb said he was shocked when he saw headlines calling the event a "drug festival" or "pot party."

Gibb said Goose Lake representatives, including Attys. Bernard Fieger and Roger Craig, had conferred with state government officials to discuss law enforcement and other concerns. At that time, Michigan State Police Director Col. Fredrick Davids requested, and received, 60 passes to allow both uniformed officers and plainclothesmen to enter the grounds during the festival. Local authorities were reported to be reluctant to make drug arrests for fear of sparking a riot.

As the festival ended on Sunday, Aug. 9, 163 persons were arrested. That number represented less than one arrest for every 1,000 people who attended.

In the end, however, there were no violent crimes, no riots and no injuries related to drug usage.

Gibb sees media bias in the news coverage of the Goose Lake Music Festival. Although Billboard, the music trade magazine, praised the festival as "best run and organized," most were critical. "They lie by omission," Gibb observed. "For the news media the word hippie translated into drugs," he added.

Politicians were also quick to condemn. Gov. William Milliken pledged to help stop a festival planned for the next month while African-American State Sen. Basil Brown said drug laws would have been strictly enforced had the festival been attended by a largely black audience. In addition, State Sen. Lorraine Beebe called for a public hearing to discuss rock festivals, while the Jackson County prosecutor announced he would seek court action barring another rock festival at the Goose Lake facility.

While New York boasts the legendary Woodstock and California brags about Monterey, Goose Lake is rarely mentioned. Instead of being enshrined in the annals of rock 'n' roll history, the Michigan festival got a bad rap.

DJ details 'Paul Is Dead' rumor

by STEVE SEYM0UR

"R. I. P. Paul!" So said the graffiti on the wall in the northeast stairwell on the campus of Bay de Noc Community College, where I was enrolled as a freshman in the fall of 1969.

The cryptic writing, in black marker, referred to Paul McCartney, founding member of the Beatles, rumored to be deceased. As a Beatles' fan, the scribbling caught my eye.

If you paid attention to hearsay at the time, McCartney had actually died years before and was replaced in the group by an impostor named William Campbell, winner of a look-alike contest.

Russ Gibb

The "Paul Is Dead" rumor was first widely circulated during a broadcast on Detroit's WKNR- FM by famed disc jockey Russ Gibb on Oct. 12, 1969, shortly after the release of the Beatles' "Abbey Road" album.

During a phone-in segment, an Eastern Michigan University student named Tom Zarsky told Gibb that hints concerning McCartney's demise had been included in the band's albums since 1966. The caller suggested the DJ play the Beatles' "Revolution No. 9" backwards. When Gibb spun the disc counter clockwise, the phrase "Turn me on, dead man" emanated from radios all over southeastern Michigan.

Gibb also spun "Strawberry Fields Forever," which included a muffled voice at the end apparently saying "I buried Paul."

Listeners were shocked by what they heard.

Specifically, the rumor alleged McCartney had died in a car accident in 1966 as revealed in the lyrics to "A Day in the Life:" 'He blew his mind out in a car, he didn't notice the light had changed.'

Gossip spread quickly, especially on college campuses, as fans pored over their Beatles albums looking for more clues. The group's records were flying off the shelves.

At Michigan State University, audio professor Oscar Tosi even performed voice tests from known McCartney recordings and recent ones. His tests were inconclusive, as I recall.

The major media began to take notice of Gibb's radio revelations. By Oct. 21, the Chicago Sun-Times picked up on the story, while the New York Times and Los Angeles Times, followed with stories the next day.

Apple, the Beatles' business organization, denied the gossip and quoted McCartney as saying "I am alive and well and unconcerned about the rumors of my death." The company told reporters that McCartney was on a motoring tour somewhere in England with his family and refused to reveal his exact location.

Gibb also remembered Derek Taylor, the Beatles' press officer, making an especially lucid comment: "How do you prove you're alive other than being alive?"

Still, McCartney's explanation didn't quell the rumors. Even evidence like "Hey Jude" and "Get Back"--two recent examples of McCartney's musical prowess--weren't enough to convince some fans that he was still walking the earth.

Finally, Life Magazine ordered London correspondent John Neary to get to the bottom of the matter. He waded through a bog to find McCartney and his family at their Scottish farm. Initially angry at having his privacy invaded, McCartney finally submitted to questions and pictures, calling the rumors of his death "bloody stupid."

The McCartneys appeared in a black and white photograph on the cover of the Nov. 7, 1969 issue under the headline "Paul is still with us."

McCartney may have been annoyed by the death rumor, but it didn't hurt his career. "Abbey Road" stayed at the top of the Billboard top pop albums chart for weeks and became the group's biggest selling album.

The "Paul Is Dead" rumor turned out to be an incredible promotional campaign, happening quite by accident, and costing the Beatles' record company nothing. Well, just a stamp.

The rumor didn't hurt disc jockey Russ Gibb, either. For his part in selling millions of Beatles albums, Gibb received a thank you note from the president of Capital Records.

A media personality in Dearborn, Gibb may be best best known for his role in the "Paul Is Dead" rumor, although he was also owner of the fabled Grande Ballroom and a well-known concert promoter.

Today, almost four decades after that infamous Sunday afternoon radio broadcast, Gibb continues to answer questions from the news media in such places as Brazil, Canada, Australia and Escanaba, Mich.

Self-effacing, Gibb sometimes refers to himself as "The Great Ghoul" in one of the most fascinating chapters in Beatles history.

While Life Magazine may have convinced most people of the "cute" Beatle's continued existence, it didn't end the intense interest many fans have searching for "Paul Is Dead" evidence. The Beatles have always denied the existence of any clues. Their fans, however, working like bloodhounds, have discovered hundreds over the years.

So, if you'll excuse me, I have to go home and play a few old Beatles records backwards.

Hip-Pocket discs failed to ignite

Hip-Pocket records and player

By STEVE SEYMOUR

While compact discs have been the industry standard for decades, many people recall an earlier era when tapes and records dominated the marketplace. Few, however, realize there was a brief time in the late 1960s when a format smaller than the CD vied for the music fan's attention.

Smaller than the circular label on a long playing 33 rpm record album and paper thin, Hip-Pocket Records were introduced by Philco, the electronics division of the Ford Motor Co. in 1967. The new configuration was launched with songs by Tommy James and the Shondells, mega-hit makers at the time.

James, who grew-up in Niles, Mich., had a knack for turning out smash singles such as "Mirage," "I Think We're Alone Now," and "Hanky Panky." Roulette Records leased those recordings along with "Getting Together" as the first pair of releases on the new format.

The product itself, sometimes referred to as a flexi-disc, was packaged in a 5 x 6.25 inch envelope featuring a color photograph of the artist, similar in concept to the picture sleeves designed to display 45 rpm records. However, the customer had to tear open the paper packaging to retrieve the disc. This wasn't seen as a problem since the product's main selling point was that it was disposable.

The discs, which featured one song on each side, played at 45 rpm, just like conventional seven-inch vinyl discs, but would only work on single play phonographs. In other words, the discs could be utilized on any player which didn't automatically return the tone arm. Several companies manufactured a portable battery-powered record player especially for Hip Pocket Records.

Hip Pocket discs retailed for 69 cents each and were available at F. W. Woolworth Co. and Ford dealerships.

Over the years, I've collected 19 of the 41 discs which were released on the label over a two year period. Among my favorites are Mitch Ryder, The Happenings, Five Americans, Wilson Pickett, Percy Sledge, The Buckinghams, Jay and the Techniques, John Fred and His Playboy Band, Box Tops, Country Joe and the Fish and the Isley Brothers.

At first, Philco leased songs from Mercury, Atlantic and Roulette, adding smaller labels in 1968.

Everything released on the label was by a proven heavy "hitter" so to speak, except No. 23 in the series. This disc featured "Room at the Top" and "Most Children Do" by a group called The Fallen Angels. Several different groups have gone by that name over the years. This quintet hailed from the Washington, D. C. area and were contracted to Roulette Records, the label behind Tommy James.

But, The Fallen Angels were a far-out psychedelic outfit and would not conform to Roulette's hit-making process. After two albums for the label, and no hit singles, the group was dropped. They disbanded in 1969. Their Hip Pocket release, complete with paisley background, remains a testament to their counterculture steadfastness.

Philco even had a competitor in the marketplace. Americom Corp. introduced "Pocket-Discs" which retailed for just 50 cents each, but came in generic sleeves. Americom had something even bigger to offer the music fan, The Beatles. The Capitol/ Apple label released "Ballad of John & Yoko," "Get Back," "Hey Jude" and "Yellow Submarine" as well as John Lennon's "Give Peace as Chance" in the new format.

Americom envisioned a vending machine to dispense the discs, eliminating the possibility of theft. In addition, the company also issued titles by the Beach Boys, Deep Purple, Steppenwolf and the Jimi Hendrix Experience.

Philco countered by giving away a random selection of five discs with the purchase of their mini radio phono. They even dropped the retail price of their entire catalog to 39 cents each.

Advertising on the back of some of the packages reminded customers that 25 to 50 records could be carried in "pocket or purse" and urged people to mail them with greeting cards as gifts. They were promoted as "almost indestructible" and "are the most portable form of music."

But the record-buying public wasn't interested, and the flexi-disc experiment came to an abrupt halt.

While today considered merely a fad, Hip-Pocket Records and Pocket-Discs can still be found at antique stores, record conventions and on EBay. Discs having to do with the Beatles usually draw the highest prices, often into the hundreds of dollars.

Compiling a complete collection of Hip-Pocket Records can be challenging, although most titles can be found for a modest price.

You might want to bid on that disc by The Fallen Angels and show them they were right not selling out to record company manipulation just to get a hit.

College shows echo from past

Josh White Jr.

By STEVE SEYMOUR

As a student at Bay de Noc Community College, I attended a pair of concerts which would have a lifelong impact, although I didn't know it at the time.

Occupying the old high school building on Escanaba's south side at this time, Bay didn't even have a place to hold a formal concert, yet plans were finalized to bring folk singer Josh White Jr., then on a tour of college campuses, to the Upper Peninsula.

Already, a quarter century of musical history surrounded White who was just 29 he appeared at the Escanaba high school auditorium on Feb. 25, 1970. His initial fame was traced to performing with his legendary father, Josh White, at Cafe Society, the country's first integrated night club. The boy also landed a role on Broadway, but continued to perform and record with his father for the next 17 years.

The elder White cast a long shadow. He was an acclaimed singer, guitarist, actor and social leader. White is recognized as the performer most responsible for introducing black folk, blues and gospel music to the white audience in America. He was unfairly blacklisted during the McCarthy era, but returned to prominence in the 1960s.

White suffered health problems as the decade wore on and died of heart disease on Sept. 5, 1969.

The younger White was prepared to continue on his own, schooled in American folk music by a master. Billed as a "total entertainer," White performed in Escanaba little more than a year after his father's death.

Guitar in hand, White put on an entertaining program, singing tracks from his newly released "The Josh White Album," on the United Artists label. Suitably impressed with White's knowledge of American music styles, it would be more than three decades before I saw him perform again.

Jim Lewis

Back at college the following fall, word spread about a blues show scheduled for Wednesday, Oct. 14, 1970. About 150 young people packed the student center to hear local residents Jim Lewis and Dave Lark deliver songs by the likes of Willie Dixon, Siegel-Schwall Band, John Hammond, B. B. King and Tom Rush, along with original material.

I was there to photograph the event for the Bay Beacon student newspaper. It was the first time I saw Lewis or Lark perform solo.

Lewis, or "Louie" as he was nick-named then, had just returned from a stint as a traveling bluesman. According to a poster from the period, Lewis "spent three years as a rambler, hitchhiking throughout the U. S. with no responsibilities except to himself. In his travels he attended many rock concerts and festivals including Ann Arbor Blues Fest, Bloomington Rock Fest, Milwaukee Rock Fest and weekly festivals which were held at Tartar Field in Detroit." Lewis further honed his chops performing at the University of Detroit, as well as Ann Arbor clubs The Ark and Mr. Flood's Party.

Young people were beginning to discover the music at the foundation of rock 'n' roll. The Ann Arbor Blues Festivals of 1969 and 1970 were the first such events in North America to feature modern Chicago-style blues. Featured were dozens of great contemporary blues players including James Cotton, Buddy Guy, John Lee Hooker, B. B. King, Lightnin' Hopkins, Magic Sam, Fred McDowell, Muddy Waters, Otis Rush, Son House, Hound Dog Taylor, Junior Wells and Howlin' Wolf. At 6 foot, three and 300 pounds, the physically and musically impressive Wolf was Lewis' inspiration.

Only 22 at the time of the Bay College show, Lewis was fully realized as a blues singer and guitarist. Perched on a stool, Lewis played some numbers his audience probably never heard before. The college crowd responded enthusiastically, perhaps realizing the artist had paid his dues, learning at the feet of the masters. Lark's set was also well received, at times drawing comparisons to Jimi Hendrix, the guitar great who died just a few weeks before.

So it was in 1970 that I attended two concerts which expanded the audience's exposure to blues and other American roots music whether by design or not.

Over the next decades I enjoyed many types of music in a concert setting, including seeing the folks behind those influential performances so many years ago.

At the turn of the millennium, Lewis increased his musical appearances, touring around the Upper Peninsula with the Shuffleaires which included "Big" Al Ek, Mary Corbett and Dan Stephens. Even in succeeding years when Lewis performed at 8th Street Coffeehouse in duos with Corbett or Jay Brodersen, his setlist was a virtual textbook of American blues and roots music.

The Lark Brothers Band, meanwhile, are equally informed in their choice of material, blues or otherwise and have played before a packed house at 8th Street more than once.

White, who lives in Detroit, returned to Escanaba for a coffeehouse gig as well. During the show, he carefully explained to the audience the intricacies involved with his father's performance of the traditional folk song "House of the Rising Sun," later made famous by The Animals.

Today I understand my appreciation of music would have been significantly diminished had I not attended two concerts at the dawn of the 1970s.