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Trying to remember a story about Jimi Hendrix


bradm
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Years ago, I heard a story about a famous guitarist who, after seeing Jimi Hendrix for the first time, put his guitar away and didn't play again for like a year. I originally thought it might have been Michael Bloomfield, but I don't think that's right. Does anybody else know this story? Who's it about?

Aloha,

Brad

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i remember seeing a show about eric clapton saying something like that when he first saw jimi, i think there was a few guys sitting around a table, clapton, mick jagger, someone else, and they watched jimi, and eric said something along those lines, that he thought it was all over, that jimi just put them all out of a job,, i might be wrong tho. i dunno

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One of the greatest pints I ever drank took place at the West Town bar a couple of years ago with a local Hamilton music legend named Richard Keelin, who performed in New York City during the early to mid 1960s folk music boom (via Florida, via David Crosby).

Anyway he tells me a great story about all the folk music circuits where you go from coffeehouse to coffeehouse in Greenwich Village and pass a hat around for 8 hours a night, singing and earning your keep. In between a couple of coffehouses he stops by the Cafe Au Go Go (I think that's what he said) to see what's happening and, as he crosses the threshold of the doorway, stops dead in his tracks at the sound of a guitar player just wailing away. It was the first time he had heard of Jimi Hendrix. Keelin just leans against the doorframe letting the music just sink in and eventually looks over to the man on the other side of the doorway, who looks back just shaking his head in amazement, jaw dropped. That was Bob Dylan.

I loved hearing that freakin story. Man, I just popped down the street for a late-night pint and ended up talking with Richard for hours, him just laying on story after story about the likes of Joni Mitchell, David Crosby and so on. What fun!

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I have another story, it comes from my Grade 11 Biology teacher. He was a great teacher, a little odd, but a good guy. Very stern though.

Anyway the topic of Woodstock somehow comes up in class one day.

"Yeah, Woodstock," he says. "It wasn't all it was cracked up to be, you know."

And we're all like, "What do you mean?"

He says, "I only have one memory of Woodstock. I woke up in a porta-john. There was this loud wailing going on, but I couldn't tell what it was. Once I could muster the energy to move, I opened the door and was blinded by the sun...and about a mile away I could barely make out the figure of Jimi Hendrix onstage playing the Star Spangled Banner."

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One of the greatest pints I ever drank took place at the West Town bar a couple of years ago with a local Hamilton music lover legend named Marc Olszewski, who drank copious amounts of booze in town during the early to mid 1990s bar boom (via Brian Hamilton, Esau and Paisley).

Anyway he tells me a great story about all the bar band music circuits where you go from piss house to piss house in the downtown core and pass a doobie around for 8 hours a night, smiling and earning your wrinkles. In between a couple of pubs he stops by the Pepperjack Cafe (I think that's what he said) to see what's happening and, as he crosses the threshold of the doorway, stops dead in his tracks at the sound of a guitar player just wailing away. It was the first time he had heard of the Fat Cats. MarcO just leans against the doorframe letting the music just sink in and eventually looks over to the man on the other side of the doorway, who looks back just shaking his head in amazement, jaw dropped. That was Willy, the over-grown poodle.

I loved hearing that freakin story. Man, I just popped down the street for a late-night pint and ended up talking with MarcO for hours, him just laying on story after story about the likes of Adventure Village, Puddicombe Farms and so on. What fun!

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