John Paulus, Larry Taylor, Fito De La Parra and Dale Spalding
Your very first gig with Canned Heat was opening for The Doors in Long Beach December 1, 1967. What was that like?
The Doors weren’t that big either at that time. They were actually a little boring to me to be honest (laughs). None of us were famous then.
It was an earlier phase but could you could still feel something?
You could feel that a great movement in music was broiling, about to come out, in those times. It was like a renaissance of music. The British Invasion was over. Rock had softened up. Then people like Jimi Hendrix, Cream, Janis Joplin, and us came in and grabbed the black roots again, and said, “Wait a minute! This is rock n roll!” It has to be rhythm and blues oriented. It can’t be just like The Beatles. They put all this European influence on it, which is nice, okay, but that wasn’t it. That wasn’t what we were trying to do in the sixties. Then we started improvising a lot, and playing a lot, and developing a lot. That’s how it felt in that gig with The Doors. Something was happening. Something was going to happen. It was brewing. It became very big, like at Woodstock for example, or Monterey Pop and all those festivals.
What do you think the difference is between a band like Canned Heat, and The Doors is? Do you feel you’re just on a totally different vibe instrumentally?
We were both from Los Angeles. We were LA bands representing the LA music scene. San Francisco was already popping all kind of great bands. And, we were both blues-oriented. Canned Heat was much more blues-oriented, much deeper in the blues. The Doors strength was more in [Jim Morrison’s] poetry than in the music they developed. The music was good too, but we were more into improvising and playing a lot of music, and the words were just sort of there, but not as important as the poetry of Jim Morrison. But it was great. We played a lot together, The Doors and us. I actually saw Jim before he died…before Alan [Wilson] died too…they both sat at the table and talked, God knows what kind of shit they talked about. They were dead a few months later, both of them. It was weird stuff. You know, you should go try to find that “Devil Got My Woman” by Skip James. He’s got that voice…(Fito sings a soulful, high-pitched blues line) “Woahh baby.” You know, just like Alan used to do.
You’re talking about the LA music scene in the sixties. Did you feel that there was a palpable vibe of something special happening, or do you think it has been over-romanticized?
We were young. We didn’t really care, or even expect the kind of success we got. We were doing it because we wanted to make people aware of this kind of music and make blues palatable for white audiences. We never expected to get worldwide hit records. That’s what made Canned Heat sort of come across from the rest of all the blues bands that came around, that were great, but they never had worldwide hit records. This includes John Mayall, Paul Butterfield, Alexis Korner, who were like the pioneers of white blues. The hits opened a new avenue for us to educate people on the blues. If someone liked “Goin up the Country,” we could tell them to listen to “Bull Doze Blues.” We could say, “Listen to where this comes from!” That was our mission, more than the money or the fame! Nightclub owners were afraid of the blues. They thought if you played that music, no one would come.
It ended up that Canned Heat started leasing out the Kaleidoscope Club on Sunset, and you guys hosted bands like The Grateful Dead and Jefferson Airplane. Can you tell us about that?
Buffalo Springfield, The Doors, and Sly and the Family Stone too. I still have all those posters. We lived that era, and I miss it. I miss walking through Sunset and finding live music. There’s hardly anything anymore. It used to be brewing all over the place. There were all these little clubs. There was Gazzarri’s, The Galaxy, Red Velvet, and all those were on Sunset Strip. It was quite a movement and I consider myself very lucky that I lived through it.
One Canned Heat album, Live at Topanga Corral, was actually recorded at the Kaleidoscope. You still hung out up there in Topanga though right?
Of course. We played at the Corral all the time. That was another fantastic place. You know where the Corral was? Linda Ronstadt played there, the Stone Poneys, Spirit, and Neil Young. All these bands came to the Topanga Corral. I drummed there too.
“Bull Doze Blues” offered the rhythm for “Goin up the Country.” Alan’s lyrics seemed to speak for a generation, not just the sixties, but to any generation that’s looking for the peace and the love…
Well, he also mentions there’s “A new game” and “I don’t wanna play.” He’s talking about Vietnam. We’re going away from here because we don’t want to play. We’re not going to Vietnam. That was the message then. Alan was very talented. But, he messed up. He died too young.
That song inspires the sentiment of freedom when you hear it. Do you think it is only in that moment?
It’s also Woodstock. “Goin up the country” is going from New York up to to Catskill Mountains. That’s why it’s called “Goin up the Country,” and that’s why it’s sort of the Woodstock anthem. When you think of Woodstock you think of that song because, “We’re going up the country, babe don’t ya wanna go?”
Do you think that weekend has been over-romanticized?
It has been over-romanticized, but not anymore. Now it’s probably under-romanticized. It’s probably ignored by many people. Many young people don’t know about it. Only people that are interested will know, and that’s ok.
What’s your closing advice to young musicians riding that wave of hope?
My advice to any young musician would be to join and go for the music, for the music itself. Most likely you’re not going to make any money, you’re not going to be famous, you’re not going to get the recognition you deserve, but the power of the music itself will fulfill your life… for the rest of your life…no matter what. And there is a chance, a slight slim chance you will be recognized. Never do it just for that reason, because you are bound to be disappointed. If you come in for the proper reasons and the right reasons which is to play music and have communion with people. Then, if you are successful you will love it and it will be the icing on the cake, and if not, you will still have a life.
Just the music itself, I’m telling you! Back when we were playing all these joints in Mexico City to ten, maybe fifteen people, we were loving it! We were playing fucking James Brown and Jimmy Reed. Just loving it.
Sure, all that’s in the past. That’s what happened to music. Maybe there will be another renaissance someday with great musicians, but we don’t know. Look how the world is going. All this corporate influence and commercialism.
Still, look at what happened today. They were here today, you were here today. There’s still room for rooted music. It’ll never go away. The trends will change. They come and go. The blues will always be there. It will never be very famous or very big, but it doesn’t need to be. That’s what we always wanted, for that form of music to be recognized.
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