Guitar Jam: A Fan’s Notes: The All Time Greats

By Chip Lovitt
As I confessed earlier, when it comes to live music I am a total concerta-holic. I've been lucky to see more than my share of great shows. Born at the right time (1952), in the right place (a Long Island suburb 40 minutes from NYC), I grew up in an era of cheap and easy-to-get tickets. Later, in my boy reporter days, I cajoled press credentials from nearly all the major record companies, so I got more than my share of free tickets, too.

Recently, on an Internet guitar page I frequent, we were asked to name our favorite concert. Like many fans, I can’t pick just one. I have dozens. Indulge me, if you will, while I use my next few columns to stroll down my personal Memory Lane. Here, in no particular order or ranking, are some blasts from my past.

This is a true story. It happened to me.

The Who, Fillmore East May 16, 1969 & June 5, 1969.

This is a two-part story in itself. The Who debuted Tommy at the Fillmore East in the spring of 1969 in a triple bill with Sweetwater and It’s a Beautiful Day. The Who was at the peak of its powers, delivering a set that began with their hits, then segued into Tommy in its entirety. It was sensational—the volume, the songs, Townshend doing his windmills and leaps, Keith Moon drumming like joyful madman and musical anarchist he was, Daltrey singing and swinging those mikes, John Entwistle standing stone-still, delivering the most powerful bass playing I’d ever heard. By the time the Who got done with the performance, WE were exhausted, but totally exhilarated.

Here’s the best part. When my best friend Matt and I entered the Fillmore that night, we noticed Chuck Berry and the great blues guitarist, Albert King, were scheduled to do a show a few weeks later. Matt was a huge Chuck Berry fan, so we picked up a pair of $5.00 tickets that very night—fourth row, center.

Cut back to the Who’s late show in May. Sometime during the show, a fire broke out in the deli next to the Fillmore. A plainclothes fire marshal ran onstage and tried to grab the mike. Legend has it that Townshend—notoriously protective of his stage space—didn’t realize who the interloper was, and delivered a well-placed kick to the plainclothesman’s privates, knocking him into the seats.

The Who were arrested after the show and an arraignment was scheduled for early June in New York. Bill Graham, being the showman that he was, shrewdly signed up the Who for a return gig at the Fillmore the first weekend in June. Billing it as “The Triumphant Return of the Who,” the band was added to the Chuck Berry show, for which we now had fourth row center seats. Tommy had gained even more momentum and the band seemed even more energized by the acclaim. By the time the doors opened in the early morning hours of June 6, we felt just like the deaf dumb and blind boy himself. But the power of that show, well, it was like giving eyesight to the blind.

The Allman Brothers, Arthur Lee and Love and the Grateful Dead, Fillmore East
February 13, 1970.

The Allman Brothers first gig at the Fillmore East was as an opening act for Love and the Grateful Dead. Few knew who the Allmans were at the time, despite the buzz created by their first record. Their landmark 1971 Live at the Fillmore East shows were still a year away. But as soon as the band began playing—with those now-famous twin lead guitar harmonies from Duane Allman and Dicky Betts, the double drumming of Butch Trucks and Jai Johnny Johanson, and Greg Allman’s bluesy vocals and organ work—everyone took notice. With tunes like “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed,” and “Skydog’s” masterful slide guitar gracing tunes like “Statesboro Blues” and “Trouble No More,” the band proceeded to blow the roof off the place.

When the band began jamming on “Mountain Jam,” and then capped it with the riff from “Joy to the World,” everyone realized that a truly great band had arrived. Love and the Dead put on a terrific show, too, but the night belonged to the Allmans. I would see the Allmans many times after that, but as good as they were, there was nothing like the original lineup.

Bruce Springsteen at the Bottom Line August 16th 1975.

A college friend came to visit me in New York City that hot summer day and happened to have an extra ticket. At first, I was tempted to dismiss Springsteen, what with all the hoopla and hype. Then, better judgment took over and I went along for the ride. The place was packed with fans, record execs, and the rock press.

Needless to say, I was utterly blown away. The Bottom Line stage may have been small, but it was a BIG show, and Bruce was both larger than life and a rock ‘n’ roll Everyman in one. And the E-Street Band was just the perfect backup band, totally in tune with the Boss. It was a revelation to me as to what a rock ‘n’ roll band could do and what a rock ‘n’ roll show could be. I suddenly understood exactly what Jon Landau meant when he said he had seen “rock ‘n’ roll future” a year earlier after a ‘74 Boston gig. Between “Born to Run,” “Rosalita,” and the rollicking Gary U.S. Bonds’ hit, “Quarter to Three,” for an encore, I became a Bruce believer than night and remain one to this day.

Elvis Costello, The Bottom Line, in NYC 1977.

In 1977, I was music editor for Scholastic, Inc. a major publisher of magazines and books for kids. As the resident record reviewer, I got freebies up the gazoo. Free records and all the free tix I could cadge. When I heard My Aim is True, I said this guy is the real deal—a great new songwriter and rock original. So I did a small review that went into five Scholastic magazines. Turns out though, that a half-page ad dropped out of the magazines at the last minute. So one of the art directors took the postage-sized picture—the classic EC knock-kneed punk pose with the jacket, rolled up blue jeans cuffs, and Fender Jazzmaster—and ran it almost full-page. It was a horribly designed page. No one liked it, except the publicity department at Columbia Records, who sent a clipping to Elvis’ management company, delightfully named A.R.S.E Management. I got a call from A.R.S.E asking if I’d like to be their guest at the Bottom Line. With a bar tab, too.

It was a great show, with tunes like “Mystery Dance,” “Alison,” “Watching the Detectives,” and more. Plus the Attractions were a great back-up band. It was obvious that Elvis was more than just another British pub- or punk-rocker. In fact, it was clear from the start, a terrific new songwriter and performer had arrived.

Next time: Bob Marley, Neil Young and Crazy Horse, and a guitar-star studded tribute to Telecaster Master, Danny Gatton.