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Flat 8225: FLEETWOOD MAC 1975  OFFHAND has already been reviewed as part of the SODD title “Will The Real Fleetwood Mac Please Stand Up”

[Many thanks for the Dr. for sending me this scan.]

Track list: (Hot Wacks lists for side 1 only) Redunzel / Dog Breath 50-50 / Son Of The Clap / The Nancy & Mary Music Parts 1, 2, & 3 / Montana

The Flat release is then ‘name dropped’ as part of this later release:

Frank Zappa: Dupree’s Paradise (2 LP)

* Duke University, Durham, North Carolina, 24-Feb-1973

Label listed on cover and spine as “The Impossible Recordworks”, but on labels as “The Excitable Recordworks”.
Tracks are not seperated, each side consisting of a single track.

Both discs have identical labels, but track listing is as listed on rear cover.

Side A duration: 19:03
Side B duration: 23:11
Side C duration: 20:11
Side D duration: 26:20

The actual catalogue number is IMP 2-24.

Zappa F DP b
* Re-released on Toasted Records with a deluxe color cover[ca. 1981, see the “Frank as Medusa” color cover below]
* Also abridged to Pygmy Pony (Spindizzle/Flat FW 8228)

Musicians: Frank Zappa, Jean-Luc Ponty, George Duke, Ian Underwood, Ruth Underwood, Bruce Fowler, Tom Fowler & Ralph Humphrey
Dupree’s Paradise

Length: 88:20
Sound quality: Audience B
Label: Impossible Recordworks IMP 2.24,

1. RDNZL[listed as “Redunzel”] [06:16]
2. Dog Breath Variations[listed as “Dog Breath”] [03:09] / Uncle Meat [02:43]
3. Fifty-Fifty [instrumental] [07:01]

4. Inca Roads [instrumental] [07:04]
5. Warts & Mice [an improvisation]
6. Improvisation [16:15 (together with “Warts & Mice”)]

7. Montana [06:48]
8. Dupree’s Paradise [09:15]
9. I’m the Slime [04:14]

10. Don’t You Ever Wash That Thing?[listed as “The Nancy & Mary Music”] [20:37]
11. Cosmik Debris [05:58]

Tracks 5-6 are 16 minutes of radiant improvisation. Deluxe black & white cover. Released in 1979.

Review on allmusic.com: “This two-record set is a bootleg recorded by a member of the audience during a concert by Frank Zappa at Duke University (in 1973, not 1974 as shown on the cover), with Zappa leading an eight-piece band that includes violinist Jean-Luc Ponty, keyboardist George Duke, and multi-reed player Ian Underwood (making his final tour with Zappa). The first five tracks originally appeared on a single bootleg LP called Pygmy Pony, but a portion of the introduction to “Inca Roads” was edited out to allow time to include Zappa‘s introduction of the musicians at the beginning of the concert — and to possibly omit the annoying conversation between the person taping the concert and another member of the audience during the early portion of “Inca Roads,” which was very audible on the earlier single LP bootleg.

“RDZNL,” “Dog Breath,” and “Fifty-Fifty” make up the initial long and spirited medley prior to the sudden edit into the middle of “Inca Roads.” A group improvisation works rather well, as does a lengthy jam on “Montana.” The nicest surprise is the instrumental “Dupree’s Paradise,” which didn’t appear on a commercial Zappa release until Pierre Boulez conducted an orchestral version in 1984 (though a nearly 24-minute version was recorded at a 1974 concert but not released until 1988 by Rykodisc). The music on this album makes up for its audio shortcomings.”

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It Coulda Happened this Way — LiveR Than You’ll Ever Be

Chris was tall, lean, had black wavy hair that hit his shoulders, didn’t do drugs, but moved as if he’d been popping bennies. He was Dub’s friend and he was always around. He liked Dylan, but was passionate about the Rolling Stones. Dub liked them too. Me, I was a Beatles guy, but Chris was always playing the Stones, talking up the Stones.

Both Dub and I bought new cars, but I had kids and a wife, rent and bills. Dub did not, so he spent a good portion of his new found wealth on toys. Toys that made the music sound better. There was this high priced stereo place called Radio Lab in Glendale he’d go to for the latest gear. I was never surprised when I got to his place and found him setting up a whole new system. One week it was top of the line McIntosh, the next Marantz. Chris was always there, helping him with the set up, wanting to hear the Stones through the new speakers that not only rocked Dub’s small apartment, but could’ve rocked all the way to downtown LA if Dub had wanted.

I remember one time I got to Dub’s place in the middle of the afternoon and he had this huge, orange, egg shaped, fiberglass chair with a stereo built into it. Chris was ensconced in the egg, listening to the Stones, lost in Mick and Keith land.

“Look what I got.” Dub held up this flute-looking affair and for a second that’s what I thought it was.

“Wonderful,” I said trying to hide my ignorance.

“Sennheiser shotgun mike.” He waved it around the way Obi Wan would wield a light saber a couple generations later. It was obviously very expensive.

“I always wanted one of those,” I said.

“Who wouldn’t?” Dub hadn’t heard a drop of the sarcasm in my voice. He was like a kid who’d just found the present of his dreams under the Christmas tree. I half expected to hear Brenda Lee break out with ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ as he handed the mic to Chris.

“Neat, isn’t it?” Chris said from the chair as Mick started out on ‘Honky Tonk Woman.’

“I don’t know about the mic, but that chair looks pretty fuckin’ neat.”

“Try it.” Chris jumped up holding the mic like a sword.

I got in the chair and I must admit, the sound from that baby was just about the best you could hope for. The Stones were blasting away in my little world, but outside that chair they didn’t sound much louder then a clock radio. Amazing.

“That’s enough.” Chris grabbed my hand, jerked me out of the chair. He really did like the Stones.

“Got this too.” Dub pulled a small tape recorder out of a box that was sitting next to his latest Amp. “Uher 4000 seven-and-a-half inches-per-second reel to reel tape recorder. State of the art.” Those were Dub’s favorite words in those days, “State of the art.”

“What are you gonna do with that?”

“Chris and I are gonna record the Stones. Got tickets for five shows.”

 

“You and Chris?” I shook my head. Recording our own show was something new. It was one thing to get a tape and put it out, but actually going to the concert and recording it, this was heady stuff and it sounded dangerous.

“I know what you’re thinking, but don’t worry, I’m gonna paint the mic flat black. No one’s gonna see it in the dark.”

I looked down at Chris in that chair and I swear to heaven and all the angels above, nobody had ever worn a wider smile. I didn’t know if it was the music or the prospect of seeing them live. Probably both.

So Dub and Chris went on tour with the Stones. They recorded the Los Angeles, San Diego, Oakland and Phoenix shows. In fact, they were on the same plane with the band when they left Phoenix. Chris couldn’t have been happier.

I sat around and watched them work when they got back. I was good with a splicing bar, Dub was better. There was a lot of fighting, arguing, wrangling about what songs were gonna go on the record. There wasn’t enough for a double LP and Dub didn’t want to cram so much music on the disc that it would lose quality. Unlike me, Dub was a perfectionist, he wanted this record to sound like you were really there.

And he had the equipment to do it. He was the first kid on his or any other block to get an equalizer. I remember when he brought it home from Radio Lab. I also remember how upset he was when it didn’t perform the way he thought it should. He fired off an unflattering letter to the company, saying that he was gonna come over and tell them in person what they could do with the turkey they’d developed. Immediately he got a reply back from one of the engineers, saying that he had a two-by-four waiting to crack over Dub’s head the second he showed up.

He took the machine back to Radio Lab, got another that worked the way he deemed it should and used his magic ear to make ‘LiveR Than You’ll Ever Be’ the best live LP released by any band, ever. To this day, nobody, not the Rolling Stones themselves, or anybody else, has been able to match that record for sheer presence. The music is violent. It rips from the speakers, cuts to the soul. Dub belongs in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame for that record.

You can hear his meticulous attention to detail the second you put your needle down on the vinyl. The amps blew out during the first show, apparently surprising Mick, because he said, “sh*t, hang on a minute. Can you hear that?” Dub thought that would be a great way to start the record, so he cut it out of the first show and stuck it before ‘Carol,’ the opening song, a masterpiece of rock and roll editing.

With the tape ready to go, Dub wanted the best when it came to mastering the record, so he and Chris found a place on Sunset. I remember sitting in there late at night while they put on the tape. Like when Ted and I did Stealin’, everybody knew what was going on, but they did an outstanding job with the master.

So now we had a master, but we had nowhere to get it pressed. Again I thought of Jack Brown at Rainbow, but he was too closely connected to my father, so we decided to go to someplace new.

But other than Pete’s, or maybe Jack’s, I didn’t want to go into a pressing plant and neither did Dub. That left Chris and to his credit he was willing and able. After all, he figured, nobody in the biz knew him, so the worst thing that could happen was that they would say no.

“I don’t think that’s a problem,” I said, “because you’ve got a better chance of finding an honest man in the record business, than you do of finding water on the sun.” I knew the first place he went, would do the record, especially if he offered a little more than they charged the real record companies. Everybody in the business in those days was a crook. I remember one of the distributors used to say that if someone who worked for you made you more than he stole from you, then you couldn’t afford to fire him.

Of course, Chris was in for a third of this record. He was the one going to the new plant, after all, and he’d gone on the recording tour with Dub. A new partner, we didn’t care, not in those days. There was more than enough money to go around, besides we were hippies, well kind of.

With the record mastered the three of us climbed into Dub’s Camero and headed out toward Burbank, so Chris could meet the Waddell Brothers, Horace and Bud. We parked outside their pressing plant while Chris went in. It was nail-biting time. Could he pull it off? Twenty minutes later he came bouncing toward the car, hopped in with a laugh and a smile.

“How’d it go?” I asked as Dub started the car.

“He took the money.”

“When do we get our records?” Dub turned out of the parking lot onto Olive.

“Next week.” Chris looked over his shoulder, out the back window, checking to see if we were being followed. It had taken a lot of courage for someone as paranoid as him to go in there and order those records. I was surprised he was able to do it, but then, he really liked the Stones.

A week later Dub and I were up in his tiny apartment waiting for Chris and our new title. We heard him bounding up the stairs. Dub was ready to put the record on the turntable.

“You won’t believe this,” Chris said as he burst into the room.

“What?” Dub and I said in unison.

“Our record is being pressed at the same plant that’s doing ‘Let it Bleed.’ He set the box of records he’d been carrying next to the stereo.

“You’re kidding,” I said.

Dub just smiled.

“Think of it,” Chris said. “The Stones’ real record and the bootleg being pressed together, side by side.

“This can’t be good,” I said as I checked out the box Chris had brought up. Sure enough it was a London Box.

“Why not?” Dub wanted to know.

“He’s worried about someone from London going to the plant and seeing our records there,” Chris said.

“It won’t happen,” Dub said. “Those guys are so lazy. They just wanna sit back in their plush offices and count their money.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It could be anyone, a driver for example.”

“You’re worried about nothing.”

“Besides, there’s nothing we can do about it,” Chris said. A statement that was remarkable coming from him, paranoid as he was.

Dub and I weren’t nearly as paranoid as him, but we were getting there. More and more we were meeting people we didn’t know. Underground types, criminal types, people living on the edge, drug dealers too, because they thought selling bootlegs was safer than dope.

We came up with this grand plan, we’d give ourselves alter egos. Our real names would be our secret identities, sort of like Superman and Batman. We were, of course, still wearing our buckskin jackets, still standing out like Hollywood pimps, and that bright orange Camero of Dub’s was anything but low key.

Chris didn’t need an identity, because he would pick up the records, meet me and Dub somewhere in the middle of the night, transfer the records to the Camero and get himself out of the picture. Back then I wouldn’t have traded places with him for all the cereal in Battlecreek, but that was before I knew Bud and Horace Waddell. You didn’t want to mess with Horace, but if you were straight with him, you didn’t have anything to worry about.

One night after the record had been out for a while, Chris met us in a parking lot close to Tommy’s at nine straight up with a car full of records. There was no moon, clouds closed off the stars. I smelled rain in the air, something else too, the cooking beef from Tommy’s wafting on the wind, mixed with a healthy dose of fear. Chris was even more jumpy than usual. Soon he would be out of the business. It was too much for him.

His paranoia was contagious, all of a sudden shivers knifed up my spine and all I wanted to do was go home, but we had records to deliver, so we set up a chain, Chris tossing the boxes to me and me to Dub, who tossed them into the Camero. By the time we were finished the Camero was stuffed with the brown boxes, trunk and back seat both.

“Drive’s like a sled,” Dub said as we pulled out of the parking lot.

“No fast getaway for us.”

“Not tonight.”

We drove to a residential neighborhood in North Hollywood, where we were supposed to meet the guys buying the records. We’d never met them before, Chris had set it up.

“There,” I pointed, “that’s the address.”

Dub pulled up in front of the house, parked.

“Now what do we do?” he said.

“I don’t know, get out and knock.”

“It’s dark, doesn’t look like anybody’s home.”

“Let’s go.”

Someone came up from behind, rapped on the window.

“sh*t!” Dub said.

It scared me too.

“We’re in the van across the street,” this big guy said. He had an accent, Italian kind of. And he was speaking loud enough for us to hear him with the windows up. He was sure of himself.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said.

Dub rolled down the window.

“We’ll pull up behind you.”

“Okay.” The guy sauntered back across the street, a big Marlon Brando from one of those early biker films.

“Who are we tonight?” I said.

“I’ll be Rick, you be Terry.”

“Got it.”

“I just want this to be over.” Dub shut the engine off behind a dark Ford van.

“Me too.” I got out of the car.

“You got everything we ordered?” Brando asked, only now he didn’t look like Marlon anymore. Up close I could see he had a pockmarked face. He also had dark eyes that said don’t fuck with me and a bulge under his faded Levi jacket that I didn’t want to know about.

“Come on, Terry,” Dub said.

I ignored him.

“Terry, Terry?”

Still I ignored him.

“I think your friend’s taking to you.”

“Me?” All of a sudden I remembered who I was supposed to be. “Yeah, yeah, okay, Rick.”

Marlon opened the back of the van and we got those records in there as fast as we could. Finished the guy reached for that bulge and I was sure this was going to be a rip off, but instead he pulled out a wallet stuffed full of hundred dollar bills. He grabbed them out of the leather pocket.

“Want me to count it out for you, or what?”

“That’s okay,” I said. “We trust you.”

“Sure you do, Terry.” The guy handed over the money, got in the passenger side of the van and the drove off. We never did see the driver.

“I don’t know about you,” I said once we were safely back in the car, “but I never want to see that guy again.”

“And I never want to shift records around in the middle of the night like this. What if a cop would’ve come by?”

“Right, never again.” I didn’t know it, but I’d just lied. I’d be shifting records around in the dark of night for a long time to come.

Source: KBFH recording & broadcast, Convention Center, Dallas, TX – November 15th, 1976

Here is the complete set list for the Dallas show and at least the bold titles are confirmed to be on this album:

Hello Old Friend, Sign Language, Badge, Knocking On Heaven’s Door, One Night With You, Tell The Truth, Can’t Find My Way Home, Blues Power, Layla, Further On Up The Road (w. Freddie King)

Side 2 on the LP is listed as having: Whole Lotta Shakin, Can’t Find My Way Home, Livin’ on Blues Power

I do believe that some of these titles are incorrect and side 2 is from the Dallas recording as well. As the ‘producers’ were already wildly off the mark regarding the year of this concert, does it surprise?

wolfgangsvault has some of the show available: http://www.wolfgangsvault.com/eric-clapton/concerts/dallas-convention-center-november-15-1976.html

King Crimson Senabular 2

Recorded at: University Of Texas, Arlington, TX – October 6th, 1973

  • 1. Lark’s Tongue In Aspic
  • 2. Easy Money
  • 3. Fracture
  • 4. Book Of Saturday

From collectorsmusicreviews.com: “this one from the University Of Texas is among the very best Crimson audience tapes in existence. The producer of the tape was sitting very close to the stage and used an ECM-19B Sony external microphone with a Realistic-7 recorder. The atmosphere and detail present is simply astonishing. […] Previous […] releases of this tape include […] Senabular Flat (8221).

The ferocious performance by the band easily eliminates any trifling concerns. This has to be one of the best concerts caught on tape. In the autumn ’73 tour Crimson were in the transition phase to Starless And Bible Black which would reach its culmination in November.”

****

This very bootleg source has been available for purchase from dgmlive.com for some years now. One of the few instances of an artist making a bootleg source available for purchase. http://www.dgmlive.com/archive.htm?show=343

Soundbites from KC collectors:

“A thoroughly exciting show with an energy which comes through despite the limitiations of listening to an audience tape, albeit a very good one for the age and DGM post production.  Good balance and clarity.  “Fracture” is great listening for the ’new’ section, the improv is a monster, and the “Talking Drum/Larks II” is firery. ”

“The 10/6/73 performance is phenomenal, and the recording is excellent.  Sure, it’s a boot but the sound is warm and full.  This could be the best boot recording I’ve heard – particularly from 30 plus years ago.  In my opinion, the sound quality is MUCH better than the Central Park ’74 show available through the KCCC.  As for the performance, it is wonderful in the established repertoire and the improvs are spectacular.  In my opinion, again.  This performance is every bit the equal of the Concertgebouw ’73 released as The Nightwatch and I’d say even more powerful.  And you get RF’s “happy hippies” announcement.  Don’t hesitate, grab this one. ”

“This is the most impecable version of Larks’ to my knowledge. ”

“I’ve got a copy of the vinyl LP Senabular and it always was one of favourite bootlegs. The Improvised track (which I dubbed Senabular (not original I know)) was my favourite piece of improvisation from my bootleg collection. It really is a first rate concert, as always the RF Announcement is very amusing, typical English humour.”

“Absolutely intense.  One of the best perfomances I have heard from any line up.  David’s Viola/Violin is much more promenant than any other recording I have heard.”

“This is an awesome concert. Yeah it’s a bootleg , but what you have here is , undoubtably , the best quality version of this concert available. Without the inclusion of such bootlegs gems like this are not available to be heard. IMO the sound quality is very listenable and the vibe of this concert is fantastic.”

It Coulda Happened this Way — Bookies & Crooks

Vesta and I were watching this program on Television with Gene Barry and Susan St. James called ‘The Name of the Game,’ sort of a liberal leaning Friday night series about the newspaper business when Ted from Records and Supertape called me up. He had these soundboard Dylan tapes I just had to hear.

“When?” I said.

“How do I get to your place?” He was excited and I gave him directions. He was living in the back of his Record Store on Pico off Robertson in Santa Monica and I lived in Lakewood, a long way to go on a Friday night just to play someone a tape, but his obvious excitement told me there was something about these tapes that couldn’t wait till daylight. Besides, if he was going to drive all the way to my place, then I was going to stay up and listen.

It was almost midnight when he showed up. He was a stocky guy, about five-six or seven, with hair to his shoulders, who didn’t know how to frown. In my life I’ve never met a guy so up. Even when he was down his smile told the world life was great. That night he was higher than you could ever get on drugs and he was juggling a reel of tape back and forth in his hands like it was white hot.

“Put this on.” He handed the tape over.

“I’m all set up.” I took it and felt an electric energy ripple from my fingers to the back of my neck. His mood was infectious and I quickly caught it.

“What do you think?” he said after about a minute of ‘Killing Me Alive,’ an electric outtake from Highway 61.

What I thought was, “How in the world did he get this tape and why wasn’t this song on the album?”, but what I said was, “Let me hear a little more.” Dub was going to have a cow when he got to hear this. Two more songs into the tape and the mask started to slip off the Lone Ranger. “This stuff has gotta get on vinyl,” I said. Up until then, I’d been pretty low key. Nobody in the record business, except my father and Pete at the pressing plant, knew of my involvement with the Dylan bootleg. I wanted to keep it that way, but if I wanted those tapes, I was going to have to decide pretty quick about telling Ted.

“We need to find the Great White Wonder guys.” Ted bounced on the balls of his feet as he paced my living room.

“You found ’em, Kimosabe.” The mask had been whisked away, the decision not hard to make at all, the desire to have the tapes greater than my desire for secrecy.

“You?” He turned, stared at me through the dark. Vesta and the kids were asleep. I had a green lava lamp on. Ted looked ghostly.

“Ya wanna master it right now?” I was good with a splicing bar, fast and accurate.

“Yeah.”

A couple hours later and after a lot of wrangling about which songs were going to go on the record, we finally finished and took off the headphones. Now it was time to see how well we’d done. We sat back to smoke a joint and listen to our effort. We played the tape low, so as not to wake anyone, each lost in our own thoughts when ‘Stealin’’ came on.

“I didn’t say to put that on there,” Ted said.

“I didn’t want it on there either,” I said.

“Let’s take it off,” he said.

“Okay.” I got off the couch to get the splicing bar.

“Wait!”

I stopped.

“What a great title. Stealin’. It’s fate,” he said. And the song stayed on.

The next day Ted and I met with Dub and played the tape. There were some songs left over that Ted let us have and Dub had managed to get ‘Talkin’ John Birch Society Blues’ and ‘Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Willie’ which were taken off Freewheelin’ and a couple other songs, so Birch must have already been percolating in his brain when he agreed to take Ted on for a third of Stealin’.

So now we’ve got this great tape, mastered and ready to go. But we needed somewhere new to get it pressed. Pete never seemed to have more than two presses working at any one time, despite the massive amount of machinery he had in his plant, and oftentimes only one was in production, plus he had regular customers. We needed to go elsewhere.

I knew Jack Brown at Rainbow, but was reluctant to go there, as he’d been involved in a court case with my father, the two of them against a record company that accused Jack Brown of over pressing and selling the illegal over runs to Jack Douglas at Saturn. Go figure. The last thing I wanted to do was get caught at his plant and bring them both more grief.

Then I remember this black guy named Harry. He was a heavy set man who used to come into Saturn all the time looking for that pot of gold with a new single he’d just recorded, usually black acts, but the last time he’d been in he had a white girl from USC in tow and she’d done a cover of ‘Proud Mary.’ She was pretty good, but nobody’s as good as Tina, so I knew right away that song wasn’t ever going anywhere. What stuck out about Harry was that in addition to being able to get records pressed, he ran an illegal sport’s book. No way would a bookie turn us in. So we decided to give him a call.

Harry was almost as excited as Ted when we met at his apartment. Yes, he could get them pressed, for an equal share. So now, like with Great White Wonder, we were four, Harry, Ken, Dub and Ted. Four didn’t work out so well the first time and Dub didn’t think it was going to work this time either. There was a prickly sensation in the air when he and Ted were together and an icy chill when he and Harry met. Dub could be stubborn, Ted unpredictable and Harry, well Dub and Ted had no experience dealing with a smooth talking hustler like him. Dub wanted Stealin’ to come out and he wanted the extra songs, so we agreed that I’d deal with Harry and Ted. Ted and Harry didn’t like each other from the get go. Harry ignored Ted, pretending there were only three partners. Ted thought Harry was a crook. He was, but weren’t we all?

Ted and I got the acetate for Stealin’ cut at Goldstar Studios in Hollywood. We just went in one day with the tape, asked if we could master a record and this guy took us back into the studio, put on a blank acetate, qued it up, put on the tape for a sound check and Bob Dylan’s voice blasted through the studio. Everything else that was going on there stopped and people started to crowd around as this guy started to work.

“Sounds like Bob Dylan,” someone said.

“It is Bob Dylan,” someone else said.

There must’ve been fifteen or twenty musicians and engineers enjoying themselves as we made that record. Listening to the tape loud through their sound system sent chills up my back. I was on edge. Of course, thinking the cops were gonna come busting in and cart us away at any second might’ve had something to do with that. But the cops didn’t come and that night I met Harry and gave him the acetates. It was going to happen. We were doing another record, Dub and me.

A couple weeks later Harry showed up with records.

“What’s this?” I took the first record out of a box and held it up for Harry to see, pointed at the fictitious record company name on the label.

“HarKub,” Harry said. “It stands for Harry, Ken and Dub.”

“Christ, Harry, it’s supposed to be a secret. We don’t want anybody connecting us to this.”

“Relax,” he said, but I couldn’t. I suppose if you’re a bookie and used to dodging the law, making a few thousand copies of an underground record wasn’t a big deal.

Ted’s perennial grin slipped when he saw the labels. I didn’t have to tell him what HarKub stood for, he wasn’t stupid. No part of his name was in there and he wasn’t too happy about that. And he was less happy when he figured out that Harry was pressing extra copies for himself and underselling us all over L.A. My father was still struggling along with Saturn and Ted had arranged a meeting with Harry in the alley that dead-ended behind the one-stop. He’d told Harry that he needed several hundred records and he was going to meet him with a gun and just take them.

“Bad idea,” I said.

“Bad Karma,” Ted said. “Just give me some records and I’m out of the deal.”

“I’ll do what I can.” And I did. I met Harry, paid him for the records, gave them to Ted and now there were three of us.

But Dub too had learned of Harry’s stupid double-cross and didn’t want anything more to do with the man. Harry denied it, but how many fast taking, chunky black guys could’ve been out there selling Bob Dylan bootlegs to the hippy record stores. While I was telling Harry the partnership was over, Dub was remastering Stealin’ along with our next offering, John Birch Society Blues. Harry kept on selling the HarKub Stealin’ for awhile, but eventually he gave up and Dub and I were back on our own with three titles now and we were keeping Pete’s antiquated pressing plant very busy.

Soon after Birch came out we were approached by this guy named Joe who claimed to manage someone called Alice Cooper. He wanted us to do a half Alice, half Dylan Bootleg to help kick off Alice’s career.

“Come to the Ice House,” he said. “Alice is going to kill a live chicken on stage. It’ll really be something to see.”

We declined, both the offer to see Alice live and the bootleg deal, but I’ve often wondered what would have happened if we’d done the record. Alice Cooper undoubtedly would still have gone on to become what he turned out to be, but he’d’ve forever been associated with bootleg records. Would other acts have gone that route? It certainly wasn’t the last time we were approached by a budding rock star or even the real deal and asked to bootleg them.

Joe wasn’t dismayed that we’d turned him down, on the contrary, he turned out to be our biggest customer to date. He bought records in the hundreds, paid cash and did business like a businessman. No clandestine meetings somewhere on Sunset in the middle of the night, he had us deliver the goods up to his apartment in Hollywood, had us up for cokes, a joint (not for Dub) and television. I remember one night when we were up there they had a Holocaust documentary on. We’re sitting around stoned, counting the cash, pigging out on cardboard snacks as we’re watching these Nazi films. It didn’t seem right somehow, but nobody turned the channel. I think it might have been the first time some of that stuff was aired. After a bit we put the cash away, the dope too. We couldn’t eat anymore, not and watch that.

It makes you wonder, the Holocaust, what it’s all about. At the time the war in Vietnam was getting hotter as the months dragged on. Billions in bombs, young lives on both sides. How could we have come through Hitler and the Holocaust and not learned anything at all? I suppose that’s one for the politicians and not us mere mortals.

About this time someone stole that tape from John Lennon in Canada and put out a Beatles bootleg. Someone else put out a Dylan/Band thing called Troubled Troubadour and Dub and I weren’t alone anymore.

[The first ever Beatles bootleg, released in the fall of 1969]

[“Troubled Troubadour” originally started out under this title seen below]

Norty and Ben had been captured and were out of business, but they weren’t tuned in to the counter culture, didn’t know how to hide in plain sight.

Joe didn’t seem to be hiding either. He was buying more records from us than ever and taking them to his apartment was starting to be a hassle, so he had us deliver them to the airport. Not the freight dock, but the passenger terminal. We’d drive up with three carloads of records, the skycap would ask to see a ticket and Joe would hand him a hundred dollar bill, then we’d load the boxes onto the curb as the skycap made out a baggage claim for each and every one. Joe would put a black X on the last box, put the claim tickets in it, tape it up and we’d be off. His customer in New York would meet the plane with a hand truck or two, load them up, open the Xed box for his claim checks, thus saving hundreds of dollars in freight bills, not to mention that there were no records of the shipments.

I remember one night, this young skycap refused Joe’s ticket.

“Get your boss out here,” Joe said. Not angry, but in a way that let the skycap know he meant business.

“What seems to be the problem?” this old black guy in a skycap uniform said.

“Your man here doesn’t like my ticket,” Joe handed him the hundred.

“He’s a fool.” The old guy snatched the money and we unloaded the records.

This went on for quite awhile. We were eating out every night. Dub got a new orange Camero, I got a blue Firebird 400. We were stylin’. We bought hundred dollar leather jackets with lots of fringe that the rock stars were wearing. We looked like Davy Crocket and Daniel Boone.

Then Joe came to us with an offer from some guys in Toronto to buy a set of the Stealin’ and Birch stampers for twenty thousand dollars. This was serious money. Real serious money. The deal was, we’d make them a set of stampers and we got to keep making the records ourselves. These guys, whoever they were, were gonna make the records in Canada, not interfere with us at all. We told Joe we’d think about it. Joe left, we talked it over, but not for long.

“Free money,” Dub said.

“Free money,” I agreed, “let’s do it.”

So we got in Dub’s Camero that night, went to Joe’s, told him the deal was on.

“Great,” he said. “Now all you have to do is fly to Toronto, deliver the stampers and collect the money.”

“What?” I said.

“They want to meet you,” Joe said.

“But we don’t wanna meet anybody,” Dub said.

“That’s right,” I said. “We’re anonymous.”

“We’ll think about it,” Dub said and we left.

“How come they’re paying us twenty grand when all they have to do is copy the records like Norty and Ben did?” I said as soon as we got into Dub’s car.

“I was wondering the same thing.” Dub keyed the ignition and we drove around in silence for awhile.

“Think it’s a setup?” Dub said.

“Nobody’s gonna pay that kind of money for a couple sets of stampers.”

“How come we didn’t see it before?”

“We were stupid.”

“Stupid.” Dub pounded the steering wheel.

“We gotta be more careful,” I said.

“You’re not kidding about that.”

So there we were, Davy and Daniel sans coonskin caps, driving around Hollywood in the middle of the night in a bright orange Camero, wondering what our next move was going to be. We must’ve looked like a couple white pimps, but we were cool, oh so cool.

Meanwhile the Rolling Stones were getting ready to go on tour.

Live at Carnegie Hall, New York City; December 5, 1970. Very good audience recording.

Side 1: Down By The River/ Cinnamon Girl/ I Am A Child/ Expecting To Fly/ The Loner/ I’m Wondering/ Helpless
Side 2: Southern Man/ Nowadays Clancy Can’t Even Sing/ On The Way Home/ Tell Me Why/ Only Love Can Break Your Heart/ Old Man

****

From two reviews:

“While fans have enjoyed Neil Young’s 1974 Bottom Line show (circulated as Citizen Kane Junior Blues), another show many fans are familiar with is the December 5, 1970 show at Carnegie Hall.

In Neil Young: The Definitive Story Of His Musical Career, Johnny Rogan wrote:

The performances at Carnegie Hall in December (4th-5th) were regarded by Young as some of the most important of his career. Young even stated that he would have gladly played for free, just for the pleasure of performing at that prestigious venue. The seriousness with which Young took those performances were evident in some of his adverse comments to the audiences. He demanded silence between songs and when one punter shouted for a song, Young gave him this stern reply:

“Listen, let me tell you one thing. As a performer, when you play Carnegie Hall you look forward to it for a number of years. I don’t take playing here lightly at all and I think that you should have enough faith in me to know that I would plan ahead and include all of the songs that I thought you’d want to hear. That’s OK at the Maple Leaf Gardens… but I’m not Grand Funk Railroad.” [Ed: For this set, he stopped early on Clancy. According to the book Shakey, Young was upset at some noisy fans and called for an intermission.]

…The intimacy that Young achieved during these solo gigs were mainly due to the fact that all his songs were presented in their bare acoustic form. While the electric Down By The River had ended the sets with Crazy Horse during the early part of the year, it was suddenly transformed into the opening acoustic number of his Carnegie set.

There were other surprises too, most notably the acoustic versions of Cinnamon Girl, The Loner, Cowgirl In The Sand, Ohio and Southern Man, all of which were previously well known electric cuts. Young appeared effortlessly to transform them into an acoustic framework, without losing ay of the power or emotion that characterized the original electric versions. Carnegie Hall was a personal triumph and fully demonstrated Young’s ability to take his own show on the road without the necessity of a backing group.

During that Carnegie concert, Young introduced a couple of new numbers, including Old Man and Bad Fog Of Loneliness.”
****

“Neil Young – Live At Carnegie Hall 1970
Bootleg

In the winter of 1970, Neil Young went on his first solo, unaccompanied tour. He had already toured with Crazy Horse backing him, and as part of Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, but this was the first time he went out on his own. It was also at a time when his career was starting to really go somewhere, after his time with CSNY and the recent success of his third solo album, After The Gold Rush. He was becoming seriously popular. The tour has been widely bootlegged, and recently (2007) a concert recording from Toronto’s Massey Hall was released as part of his Archives series. However long before this release Neil Young fans had been sharing recordings of concerts from this tour.
This is one of them, from one of his performances at Carnegie Hall in New York City, in early December 1970. The sound quality might not be quite as good as the official Massey Hall release, but it doesn’t really effect the quality of the experience, the whole concert being performed solo on acoustic guitar and piano. Caught at an exciting time in Young’s career, the songs come from his Buffalo Springfield days and his first three solo albums, plus “Helpless” and “Ohio” from his tenure with CSNY… and a few then-unreleased songs. These are “Old Man”, which would be released on his next album (1972’s Harvest), plus a few that wouldn’t see release until many years later (“See The Sky About To Rain” came out in 1974, “Wonderin'” didn’t see release until 1983, and “Bad Fog Of Loneliness” remained unreleased until the Massey Hall album). All twenty one songs are given new life through these stark solo arrangements, and the recording just makes for more evidence of Neil Young’s genius as a songwriter.”

****

Notes regarding the master:

“Neil is chatty (though the taper turns the recorder off between songs, missing some of the banter), if a bit testy at times about audience noise; at one point, he starts “Clancy,” then stops abruptly and takes an intermission. The setlist includes a few songs that would not be played the following year, including “Cinnamon Girl,” “Wonderin’ ,” “Southern Man,” “Flying on the Ground” and “Birds.” Sound is good to very good.

Neil Young
12-05-1970, Carnegie Hall, New York City, NY (late show) Complete Solo

Source info: AUD>Cass>CD-R>EAC>FLAC Frontend

Setlist:

Disk 1:

1. Down By The River
2. Cinnamon Girl
3. I Am A Child
4. Expecting To Fly
5. The Loner
6. Wonderin’
7. Helpless
8. Southern Man
9. Nowadays Clancy Can’t Even Sing (aborted)

Disk 2:

1. On The Way Home
2. Tell Me Why
3. Only Love Can Break Your Heart
4. Old Man
5. After The Goldrush
6. Flying On The Ground Is Wrong
7. Don’t Let It Bring You Down
8. Cowgirl In The Sand
9. Birds
10. Bad Fog Of Loneliness
11. Ohio
12. See The Sky About To Rain
13. Sugar Mountain

 

Source: Tokyo, Nichidai Kodo – April 4, 1976, last night of Queen’s second Japan tour

Quality: “a bit worse” than the original LP

Set list (bold titles included on the album):

Bohemian Rhapsody (tape & rock part), Ogre Battle, Sweet Lady, White Queen, Flick Of The Wrist, Bohemian Rhapsody (verses), Killer Queen, The March Of The Black Queen, Bohemian Rhapsody (reprise), Bring Back That Leroy Brown, Brighton Rock, Son And Daughter, The Prophet’s Song, Stone Cold Crazy, Doing All Right, Lazing On A Sunday Afternoon, Keep Yourself Alive, Liar, In The Lap Of The Gods…Revisited, Now I’m Here, Big Spender, Jailhouse Rock, God Save The Queen

The quality on the original Marc Records release shown below is described as “great quality, although a bit distant”.