Yes, Stephen, Chris, Chris (two Chrises) and whoever
First Bob Jones in his column in the DomPost calmed me down from my rancour about the media ignoring me yet again, then watching DVD of Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock balanced things out. Voodoo Child an incredible 15 or so minutes segueing into the absolutely astonishing Star Spangled Banner delivered like an airborn attack on a Vietnamese village, totally virtuoso, and just about as savage as anything out of popular music. His body language seemed mild though, all that peace and rainbows stuff. What a guy! Not long after Woodstock I saw his last performance, which those of you who have read my Treadmill Tapes know about, but for the guy who has not, I was at Ronnie Scotts impromptu late at night, say midnight, after Eric Burdon and War, Jimi strolls on to empty stage, about three of us in the audience, does his thing, goes home and dies accidentally. I was a street away and read the headline at Shepherds Bush tube. I am so glad Buddha sticks were too strong for my tummy.
This is straying a little from my Irish NZ novel gig tomorrow, but I have to do something to get a response to my blogs. Maybe Jimi was a black Irishman, like Phil Lynott? After all, Shakespeare has been said by some Irish to be of that persuasion. Scuse me while I kiss the sky.
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