Country Joe and the Fish -- "Not So Sweet Martha Lorraine" (1967)

You know that it's a shame and a pity

You were raised up in the city

And you never 
Learned nothing 'bout country ways

I guess I never learned nothing 'bout country ways or city ways neither.  That's because I grew up in a town of about 35,000 souls that wasn't really the city or the country. 

So I never learned nothing 'bout high-rise apartment buildings or subways or streetwalkers.  And I certainly never learned nothing 'bout hunting or fishing or milking cows.

Then what exactly did I learn?  Not a whole helluva lot, boys and girls.  

So here I am -- 62 years old today and still trying to catch up for lost time.

Country Joe McDonald at Woodstock

One thing I do know is that the lead singer and co-founder of Country Joe and the Fish was "Country Joe" McDonald.  But I did not know about Barry "The Fish" Melton, the lead guitarist and co-founder of Country Joe and the Fish.

After contributing to six Country Joe and the Fish studio albums and appearing with the band at it's memorable performances at the Monterey Pop Festival and Woodstock, Melton decided to become a lawyer.  He didn't attend law school, but rather took courses from LaSalle Extension University before taking (and passing) the California bar exam in 1982.

Melton practiced law in San Francisco for about a decade, then was a public defender in two different northern California counties from 1994 until 2009.

Barry "The Fish" Melton

Today, Melton (who will turn 67 in two weeks) is in private practice in Lake County.  He specializes in criminal defense work. 

Country Joe McDonald never became a lawyer, but he was a witness in a famous trial -- the "Chicago Seven" conspiracy trial, which took place in 1969.

His testimony at that trial got off to a roaring start:

THE CLERK: You will remove your gum, sir.

THE WITNESS: What gum?

THE CLERK: That you are chewing on.

THE WITNESS: I am afraid that I don't have any gum.

THE CLERK: You may be seated, sir.

McDonald was then examined by the famous radical defense attorney, William Kunstler:

MR. KUNSTLER: Would you state your full name, please?

THE WITNESS: Country Joe.

MR. KUNSTLER: What is your occupation?

THE WITNESS: I am a minister in the New Universal Life Church. I am a rock and roll star, I am a producer of phonograph records. Father, husband, leader of a rock and roll band. Singer, composer, poet, owner of a publishing company, and a few other things.

MR. KUNSTLER: Do you currently have a rock and roll band?

THE WITNESS: Yes, I do.

MR. KUNSTLER: What is the name of that band?

THE WITNESS: Country Joe and the Fish.

Radical defense attorney William Kunstler

At this point, prosecuting attorney Schultz interrupted Kunstler:

MR. SCHULTZ: For the record may we have the witness's full name? Country Joe is really not sufficient.

THE COURT: I am assuming that his Christian name is Country. He is under oath. He was asked his name.

MR. SCHULTZ: It might be the name that he uses and not the name that was originally his.

THE COURT: Is Country your first name?

THE WITNESS: Yes.

THE COURT: That is your first name or Christian name, is that right?

THE WITNESS: Some people call me Country, yes.

THE COURT: What is your real name?

THE WITNESS: Country.

THE COURT: You say some people call you that. What is your real name, sir?

THE WITNESS: I am afraid I don't understand what real means.

Judge Julius J. Hoffman

Later, Country Joe broke out into song -- much to the chagrin of the Judge Julius J. Hoffman:

THE WITNESS: At that point Abbie Hoffman wanted to know what the song was, and then I -- then I sang the song. It goes: [he sings] "And it's one, two, three, what are we fighting for? Don't ask me, I don't give a damn. The next stop is Vietnam. And it's --"

THE COURT: No, no, no, Mr. Witness. No singing.

THE WITNESS: "five, six, seven -- "

THE COURT: Mr. Marshal --

[the marshal goes over to Country Joe and puts his hand on Joe's chin to close his mouth]

THE MARSHAL: The Judge is talking.

THE COURT: No singing is permitted in the courtroom. You are here to answer questions. You may continue telling about this conversation.

(I highly recommend that you click here to read the entire transcript.  It is a hoot.)  

The song that McDonald attempted to sing that day in the courtroom was "I Feel Like I'm Fixin' to Die Rag," an antiwar song that Mc Donald wrote in 1965 -- supposedly finishing it in less than 30 minutes. 

The song was released on the album of the same name in 1967, but it is known today because McDonald gave an impromptu solo performance of it at Woodstock in 1969. 

But I think "Not So Sweet Martha Lorraine" (which was released in 1967 on the Electric Music for the Mind and Body album) is the most enduring accomplishment of Country Joe and the Fish.

The lines quoted above come from the song's chorus.  That's because I couldn't decided which of the song's verses to quote.

The first verse, which includes these lines, is pretty weird:

She hides in an attic concealed on a shelf
Behind volumes of literature based on herself
And runs across the pages like some tiny elf

The next verse is pretty weird, too:

Then softly she will explain
Just exactly who was to blame
For causing me to go insane
And finally blow out my brain

The final two verses are much weirder -- to use technical musical terminology, they are "weirdissimo."

Here's the final verse in its entirety:

Now she's the one who gives us all those magical things
And reads us stories out of the I Ching
Then she passes out a whole new basket of rings
That when you put on your hand
Makes you one of the angel band
And gives you the power to be a man
But what it does for her you never quite understand
Sweet Lorraine, ah, sweet Lorraine

(Say what?)

"Not So Sweet Martha Lorraine" song was released in May 1967, just as tens of thousands of hippies and other members of the counterculture descended on the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood of San Francisco for what is now known as the "Summer of Love."

I visited Haight-Ashbury -- or "the Haight," which is what we cool kids call it -- last month while in San Francisco for my sister's wedding.

Rooky Ricardo's Records

One of the highlights of the visit was Rooky Ricardo's Records, which opened on lower Haight Street about 25 years ago.  It stocks thousands of 45s and LPs, and its owner -- Richard "Funky Dick" Vivian -- not only has an encyclopedic knowledge and soul and R&B records, but also can teach you the Mashed Potato, the Pony, the Stroll, and many other sixties dances.

More of the inventory
at Rooky Ricardo's

Click here to view a brief video about Rooky Ricardo's.

Flipping through record bins is thirsty work, but the Toronado Pub -- a scruffy dive bar that offers an incredible selection of foreign and American craft beers -- was just across the street from Rooky Ricardo's:

Toronado Pub

Here are a few of the beers that were on tap at the Toronado that day:

There are lots of little surprises in the lower Haight if you keep your eyes open,  like this beautifully painted door:

And this building mural:

This building stands just below Haight on Fillmore:

Less than a mile from the Toronado is the intersection of Haight and Ashbury Streets, which was ground zero for the "Summer of Love."  The neighborhood is full of beautiful Victorian houses:

No visit to the Haight is complete without making the obligatory pilgrimage to the house at 710 Ashbury where the Grateful Dead lived from 1966 to 1968:

Here's "Not So Sweet Martha Lorraine":

Click below to buy the song from Amazon:

Hot Tuna -- "Easy Now" (1974)

By this time tomorrow

Who knows where I'll be?

I almost always know where I'm going to be tomorrow.  Sometimes I wish that wasn't the case, but that's just not me.

For example, during a recent 12-day personal-business-personal trip to San Francisco, San Diego, and Granbury, Texas, I always knew where I was going to be tomorrow.  One day I woke up not knowing where I was going to spend the night, but that was an exception to my usual policy of planning trips well in advance.

One afternoon while we were in San Francisco, my first-born child (he's the one who is most like me, I think) and I spent a couple of hours in Haight-Ashbury, which is the quintessential San Francisco neighborhood for members of my generation:

Haight-Ashbury has been cleaned up quite a bit, but it's still a very eccentric neighborhood.  Here's the storefront of the Piedmont Boutique on Haight Street:

Haight-Ashbury has some spectacular examples of the wonderful Victorian houses that San Francisco is famous for.  Here's one group of Victorians on Ashbury Street:

Janis Joplin once lived in this pink Victorian on Ashbury Street:

Here's a close-up of the doorway of that house, which probably wasn't quite as gussied up when Janis was crashing there:

The most significant "Summer of Love" site in Haight-Ashbury is the house at 710 Ashbury Street that served as the Grateful Dead's communal home between October 1966 and March 1968:

Here's a photo of the Dead and assorted hangers-on sitting on the steps of that house in 1967:

Today there are odd little images of the band's members on the sidewalk in front of the house:

Here's a closeup of an image of the late Jerry Garcia:

After our architectural explorations, we slaked our thirst at the Magnolia Gastropub and Brewery, which stands just a block from the corner of Haight and Ashbury.  The Magnolia is very serious about their beer:

We sampled the Proving Ground IPA (very hoppy indeed -- 100 IBUs), Tillie's Union Ale, Kalifornia Kölsch (served in 9-ounce glasses instead of imperial pints, for some reason), and the very odd Weekapaug Gruit.  (Gruit refers to unhopped beer, which was popular in Europe in medieval times, but was replaced by hopped beers hundreds of years ago.  Gruit is flavored with a mixture of herbs instead of hops.) 

A few blocks west of Ashbury Street is the house at 2400 Fulton Street that the Jefferson Airplane moved into in 1968:

You Airplane fans out there are probably aware that the band issued a compilation album titled 2400 Fulton in 1987.  Now you know where the album's title came from.

In 1969, the Airplane's lead singer, Grace Slick, underwent surgery to remove nodes from her throat, so she was unable to perform for some time.  Several of the band's members formed Hot Tuna to give themselves something to do during Grace's recuperation.

Hot Tuna became the acoustic alter ego for the Jefferson Airplane -- after Grace recovered, Hot Tuna opened for the Airplane's live concerts at the Fillmore East and elsewhere.

Jefferson Airplane/Hot Tuna's Jack Casady

But the Airplane was not long for this world.  Marty Balin -- the primary creative force behind Surrealistic Pillow -- left the group early in 1971.  The rest of the group split into two factions -- Grace Slick and Paul Kantner (who had a child together) on one side and Jorma Kaukonen and Jack Casady on the other.

Kantner founded the Jefferson Starship, leaving Hot Tuna to Kaukonen and Casady, who eventually morphed it from a bluesy acoustic band into a hard-rock power trio.

When I worked at the Federal Trade Commission in the 1980s, people would bring in unwanted books and records and leave them on a table in the library for anyone who was interested to take home.  That's where I found a copy of Hot Tuna's fourth album, Phosphorescent Rat, which had been released in 1974:

I must have listened to the entire album at least once, but the only song on it that did anything for me was "Easy Now."

"Easy Now" is a great rock song, despite being very simple.  (Maybe it's a great song because it's very simple.)  It features a nasty, distortion-heavy lead guitar line and suitably growly vocals, but what makes the song special is its perfect "Goldilocks" rhythmic groove -- not too fast and not too slow, but just right.

The song's structure is repetitive and hypnotic.  Every four-bar phrase climaxes with a heavily accented second beat in the fourth measure, followed by two beats of near silence.  I would be happy if the song was twice or even thrice as long as it is.

Jorma Kaukonen

The lyrics of the song are simple but perfect as well.  The singer is restless -- he's got the "riding pneumonia" (which is similar to the "rockin' pneumonia and the boogie-woogie flu," I suppose), so he decides to hit the road and head for Mexico.

"What's he going to do when he gets there?" you might be wondering.

You're missing the point.  Getting to Mexico isn't the point of the trip.  The trip is the point of the trip.

The singer most likely will just head somewhere else once he reaches Mexico.  Hell, he might just turn around and come back home.  (You don't have a problem with that, do you?)

Here's "Easy Now":

Click here to buy the song from Amazon: