If you had asked me what my favorite recording was in the period 1976-1996, I'd have answered, unequivocally, After Bathing at Baxter's. In the last couple of years, though, I've realized that the recording I've listened to more times in my adult life is that double live Great Society set - originally released by Columbia as How it Was and Conspicuous Only in its Absence.
I'd avoided listening to Baxter's too often, being afraid of "wearing out" the recording. Not physically, as in wearing out the vinyl (for you kids out there, we were living in the primitive acousto-mechanical days of sound reproduction), but psychically, following my Augustus Owsley Stanley III theory of music appreciation. See, the music, transmitted in the vibration of the æther (okay, the air), registers on the ear, and is translated into electrical impulses that trace a particular path through the neural network of the brain. Our enjoyment of any piece of music results from the stimulation of a specific, pleasure-inducing pathway through the brain. Listen to a piece of music too often, and the novelty of that unique, sequenced, patterned stimulation might become less exhilarating.
But anyway, for those who haven't made the Great Society an important part of their lives, some background. These LPs were supposedly recorded at the Matrix. To my ear, the ambiance of the room on some of the cuts sounds a little bit bigger than the cramped space of the Matrix, so it's possible at least some of the recording was made at the Avalon or the Fillmore. As to when, or if it was recorded on more than one night, I don't know. My best guess is that it was recorded towards the end of the summer of 1966, since David Miner had left the band by that time. Grace is singing his songs, and although he's credited with "rhythm guitar" on the cover, I can't hear a second guitar. Have I just missed it? If I have, it could be Grace playing. In the Barbara Rowes biography there's a photo of her playing guitar. She also plays recorder, bass, organ, and, uh, tambourine. Sings a little, too.
Those young adults who formed the nucleus of the Great Society were highly educated members of an affluent community. Their parents had passed through the fires of the Great Depression, World War II, and McCarthyism, and were indulgent with their children. Still, surely they expected their children to make use of the advantages provided for them. Surely they expected their children would move into adulthood along the same conventional lifepath that they had chosen. Their children however, consciously chose another path, and ended up being crucially in the right place, at the right time. In the churning cauldron that was the 1960's, the cultural upheavals that shaped our lives were largely played out to a soundtrack composed in the Bohemian community of San Francisco, California. Gary Duncan guesses that before all the hype of "The Summer of Love", there were probably only about 800 real hippies. The Great Society were heartily among them. Those few short years were a time of freedom, experimentation, exploration, daring, immoderation. A decidedly unconventional time. The live Great Society recordings encapsulate this experience, preserving a bit of the essence of that Wild Tyme.
Why does this recording resonate with me? It represents the Path Not Taken, the Other Side of the life that I had chosen. Since I was a young child, I had a true passion for science. Reduced to the metaphysical, that translates into a profound interest in why things are the way they are, and ultimately, what lies behind the Big Curtain. As I became older, I followed the path that might allow me to become a priest at the altar of revealed (by reproducible methods) truth. The passion burned, but less brighter, as the wonder over everything became, by necessity, focused onto the disciplines and languages I needed to acquire - mathematics, study, research, critical analysis. All of this tempered by the assimilated ideals of hard work, self-reliance, and familial loyalty that shaped the growth of my character.
But the Path that I had chosen required a conventional path, at least for someone of ordinary talents. Those truly brilliant individuals can make their own rules. The discipline I developed, the facility that I had for the various required skills was sufficient to carry me to a level where I've been able to work a rewarding job for the last twenty years. But I'm merely am acolyte, not a priest. Those additional skills I needed to work a higher level were clear to me, but I lacked the extra discipline to take them, learn them.
As in the study of science, so it is for the study of the arts. That is: There is no such thing as a natural talent. In any profession, ability is the result of a lifetime of study, trial and hard work. So it is for the musical artist, or any artist. Those technical abilities and critical facilities can only be acquired a high level of concerted, disciplined study. Those thoughtful young adults in the Great Society applied their pooled abilities not to those occupations practiced by their parents, but to the petit renaissance brewing in San Francisco.
What if the Great Society had stayed together? I contend that this live set from Summer 1966 is superior to any performance of Jefferson Airplane that I've heard from that same period. Darby's guitar is spectacular, whereas as far as rock and roll guitar goes, Jorma was a year or two away from reaching a mature style. Of course, Jorma was/is much more than a "rock and roll guitar player", but Darby had a measure of elemental "other" as well. No one in the Airplane could match the musical versatility of Peter Vandergelder, although Jack played bass on a higher level. Paul Kantner was a credit to the Airplane side, in retrospect; it's probably unfair to compare his post-1966 catalog to David Miner's pre-1966 output. The Airplane would have had Marty, and maybe, Signe. The Great Society would have had Grace, ... and Grace was The Bomb.
The deck seems at least a little stacked towards Great Society. But even if you disagree, the ultimate trumps would have been "Somebody to Love" and "White Rabbit". Without the financial sucess of Surrealistic Pillow, not to mention the presence of Grace, Jefferson Airplane would not have been granted the resources, and, most importantly, the freedom in the use of those resources, by RCA. Their oeuvre then falls down like a row of dominoes...Baxter's, Crown, Volunteers...
Who knows how the Great Society would have been treated in the studio as they recorded their first album? Would memories (and reputations) bruised by the embarrassments of the earlier sessions have caused the band to choke, panic? Could those two songs have been recorded in a commercially viable manner, yet still maintain their integrity? Probably. And then, the Great Society would have been the breakout band from San Francisco.
The breakup of the Great Society has always been a little clouded - with a recording contract in the mail, why did Grace (with Jerry's blessing) decide to bail? Why did she let it all ride on the Airplane's chances for Top 40 stardom? Was she freaked by Darby's dabblings with heroin? Was it just greed? Or was it just chance?
Who knows? Like the rest of us, Grace made her decision, and took a fork in the road.