Showing posts with label grateful dead. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grateful dead. Show all posts

Thursday, 7 March 2013

MORE ON THE SALLY OREN STORY

Amb. Oren’s Wife Was Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane Groupie
Sally OrenSally "played Frisbee with the Grateful Dead and served as Jefferson Airplane’s muse."
Sally Oren
Photo Credit: Cynthia Cumming
Sure, you have every reason to doubt a Rock n’ Roll story from The Jewish Press only a couple of weeks after our beloved editor Yori Yanover gave the world his Purim prank about the Rolling Stones defying the BDS’ers to perform in Israel. But this story doesn’t come from us, it’s been published by Jeffrey Goldberg in the Atlantic Monthly.
According to Goldberg, Sally Oren, wife of Michael Oren, Israel’s ambassador to the United States, who today is in her early 60s and plays the role of diplomat’s spouse with distinction and grace, was a free spirited Rock n’ Roll groupie in San Francisco a mere 45 years ago.
JEFFERSON STARSHIP AT GONZO

LINK: Six Degrees of Sally Oren Just one woman links Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, and Bibi Netanyahu.


Scholars of Middle East politics and students of the San Francisco–centered psychedelic-rock movement of the 1960s have for years asked the same vexing question: Just how many degrees of separation exist between Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and the Grateful Dead’s Jerry Garcia?

The answer, it turns out, is one. The person who connects Benjamin Netanyahu directly to Jerry Garcia—and Shimon Peres to Jim Morrison, and, for that matter, Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas to Janis Joplin—is Sally Oren, the wife of Michael Oren, Israel’s ambassador to the United States. Oren, who today is in her early 60s, plays the role of diplomat’s spouse with distinction and grace. She hosts embassy functions and speaks at Jewish communal gatherings; she wears elegant gowns and attends White House parties. Forty-five years ago, however, she played Frisbee with the Grateful Dead and served as Jefferson Airplane’s muse.

I have known Oren for years, but only recently did I learn about her strange and enchanting past. At a dinner that included senators and Supreme Court justices, her daughter, Lia, told me—apropos of what, exactly, I cannot recall—“Jefferson Airplane wrote a song about my mother.”

I trusted Lia, but something like this demanded confirmation. “Did Jefferson Airplane write a song about you?,” I asked Oren. Somewhat abashed, she answered, “Two songs, actually.”

I eventually persuaded her to tell me the full story. We met one morning at the embassy residence in Washington, D.C. The tale begins in earnest at the Fillmore, the legendary music hall in San Francisco operated by the equally legendary concert promoter Bill Graham. Oren—then Sally Edelstein—was one of four daughters of a father who owned a clothing store called Outside In, in the Mission District, and a mother who inclined toward bohemianism. The family was musically omnivorous. When Oren was 13, a family friend introduced the Edelsteins to Joan Baez and brought them to a concert in which Baez had invited her sometime boyfriend Bob Dylan to play. Oren found him “grating.”

The great innovators of psychedelic music—Quicksilver Messenger Service, Jefferson Airplane, the Dead—were more to her liking. By the time she was 15, she and her sisters were spending several nights a week at the Fillmore. When San Francisco authorities tried to ban teenagers from the hall, the Edelsteins testified before the city’s Board of Supervisors that it was a perfectly fine place for their daughters to be. “My parents were permissive, I guess,” Oren told me. As time went on, Graham, a Holocaust survivor, became a sort of surrogate father to Oren and her sisters.

The Edelstein girls were, by the straitened standards of our current age, remarkably free to do as they pleased. It helped that the Fillmore was, in fact, a serene and fairly harmless place. “We went to the YMCA dances, but they were creepy, just a rough and very rowdy crowd. Not mellow like the Fillmore,” Oren recalled. “There was some chemically induced mellowness, I admit.” It also helped that the sisters were interested in neither sex nor drugs, just in rock and roll. They were strikingly innocent: “Once, I remember, I was with my friend Fatty—we called her that because she was so skinny—and we somehow ended up in Jerry Garcia’s house in the Haight. The Dead had kind of a group house there, and there was this huge, sexually explicit photograph on the wall. I was so embarrassed.”


JEFFERSON STARSHIP AT GONZO


Monday, 21 May 2012

DAWN OF THE DEAD: Bloody Magnificent!


As regular devotees of this blog are probably aware, although most of what I write here is about things released by the magnificent Gonzo Multimedia, sometimes I jump ship and review things produced by other people that interest me, and that I think will interest you.

Note that last sentance please. I am particularly interested in the biology of Chinese civet cats, and breeding obscure South American cichlids, but I will confine my writings on these subjects to elsewhere.

I have been rather fond of the music of The Grateful Dead since the summer of 1976 when, with the money I earned from my first job (a whopping £12 a week) I went insane and bought enormous numbers of records. This was much to the chagrin of my parents who thought that I should have saved it . They were probably right, but the glorious twelve or so weeks between taking my O levels and finding out that I had failed most of them were a glorious vista of musical exploration.

Every week I would go into Braddick’s record shop in Bideford, which is now an undertakers owned by the same firm, and buy handfuls of whatever looked interesting. In that way I discovered Kevin Coyne, Elephant’s Memory, and The Grateful Dead – through a budget price double album collecting together 'Wake of the Flood' and 'From the Mars Hotel'. Here, if I may digress, it is interesting to note someone who bought this record was future prime minister, Tony Blair, who named his university band Ugly Rumours after something that could allegedly be seen on the cover.


I don’t like to admit that Blair and I have even slightly similar musical tastes, but last week it was announced that David Cameron’s favourite band is Pink Floyd and that Nick Clegg harbours a fondness for the music of Throbbing Gristle (I am lying on one of these counts).


Rob Johnston from Chrome Dreams is a jolly nice fellow, and has sent me several of his excellent DVD documentaries (or should I say 'rockumentaries', as I am in a Marti de Bergi mood) to review.


This – the wittily titled 'Dawn of the Dead; – is the third, and I am glad to say it is just as good as its two predecessors. I am really impressed with what this company does. There has long been a gap in the market for intelligent, witty, and informative documentaries of rock music, and as the practitioners of the great music dream of the 60s are now in or about their early 70s, this seems like a very sensible time to do what they are doing.


The Grateful Dead DVD, like its two predecessors, looks at its subject with aplomb and flair. It tells the story of the nascent San Francisco psychedelic theme, and – for the first time – I have actually heard music by bands such as The Charlatans, The Warlocks and Mother McCree's Uptown Jug Champions.


At the risk of committing an appalling sin of post-psychedelic apostasy, none of these bands were terribly good. Right from the beginning the artistic milieu that surrounded them – the light shows, the artwork, and the street theatre – was completely extraordinary. The music, however, at first at least, wasn’t terrible good, and even the earliest footage of The Grateful Dead wasn’t anywhere near as impressive as the footage of Jefferson Airplane, or Big Brother and the Holding Company. I guess you had to be there.


“I guess you have to be there”, is something which is said again and again when discussing the early days of the San Francisco psychedelic movement. Even such authorities as Ralph Gleason admit that, and – on Sunday night – for the first time I actually felt that I had been. There was more archive footage of be-ins, happenings, and free concerts in the park than you could shake a stick at, and I am ever likely to see again, and some of the insights that it gives about characters like Chet Lems and Bill Graham are extraordinary. The unexpurgated interchange of epithets between Graham and one of the major San Francisco users of the time was unforgettable.


Something that I had not realised was quite how may dodgy bedfellows the original hippy movement had. Its links with the Hell’s Angels movement (which is something we can come back to in a minute - are well known, but the fact that early Grateful Dead concerts took place in a strip club, and the fact that the moral leaders of the hippy movement found it necessary to warn young women arriving on Hight Street for the first time how to avoid gang bangs leaves somewhat of an uneasy feeling and a nasty taste in your mouth. As somebody who only became involved in the counter culture during the neo-hippy revival of the 1980s when the movement was almost fanatically non-sexist, non-racist blah blah blah, the levels of sexual exploitation that seemed to have been rife in the early hippy movement are unsettling. I have to admit that I found this last year when I was researching the early Oz magazines. Some of the things in them are completely inappropriate by today’s standards.


The real shocker was Altamont. This ill-starred festival has entered popular culture to such an extent that there was even a joke about it in an episode of Sabrina the Teenage Witch. I last saw saw Gimme Shelter some years ago and cannot my copy of, so am unable to compare its coverage of the festival with the coverage in the Chrome Dreams video. The fact that at least some of the coverage is credited to the Maysles brothers would suggest that it came either from the more well known film, or – at least – from the outtakes. However, I really cannot remember Gimme Shelter being quite so horrible as the segment that I watched on Sunday night.


It was one of the most scariest bits of footage I have ever seen, and even sat in my favourite chair with my elderly orange cat on my knee I was more than a little freaked out. This rendition of the Altamount story is no less than a masterpiece, and everyone responsible for this documentary should be commended. I cannot recommend it highly enough, and look forward to what turns up in my postbag from them next.

...BECAUSE SOME OF US THINK THAT THIS STUFF IS IMPORTANT
What happens when you mix what is - arguably - the world's most interesting record company, with an anarchist manic-depressive rock music historian polymath, and a method of dissemination which means that a daily rock-music magazine can be almost instantaneous?

Most of this blog is related in some way to the music, books and films produced by Gonzo Multimedia, but the editor has a grasshopper mind and so also writes about all sorts of cultural issues which interest him, and which he hopes will interest you as well.