The conclusion of an awesome adventure with ZZ Top in 1976...
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Of course, Point Blank turned out to be nothing but a footnote in rock history. They were never able to repeat the sound or feel they had on their one chart hit, ‘Nicole.’ I remember after the initial rush of excitement being unimpressed by them. There was nothing that set them apart. Ham didn’t have his second ZZ Top and though a few years later he would hook up with Clint Black ZZ would turn out to be the one major defining act in his arsenal for practically the next thirty years. But what an act they were and, despite Ham’s recent departure, still are.
After Point Blank the next performer was Johnny Winter. This was my first of five times seeing him over the next twenty five years. The odd thing about it is before I sat down to write this I didn’t realize I’d never once attended a show because he was there. He was either an opening act every time or the one time he was the headliner he wasn’t the reason I’d gone to the show. I love Johnny, I really do. I have four or five of his recordings but it’s just always worked out that the other people playing before or after him were the reason I was there.
As is his reputation Johnny put on a blues laced show. With no more than half the band members that Point Blank had in their arsenal he produced twice the soul. Despite the huge black tarp above shielding the stage from the intense rays of the sun the albino slide guitar player rocked us deep into the late hours of the afternoon.
His brother Edgar followed performing almost note for note most of his recent album ‘Frankenstein.’ Rick Derringer kicked it out on ‘Rock and Roll Hoochie Coo’ with Johnny joining in too. Edgar was superb on the album’s title cut. It sounded exactly like it did in every teenager’s car that had an eight track player inside,
If you’ll allow me to digress for a moment I’d like to make a comment about the concept of the perfect ‘album sound’ at a live concert. It was never important to me. In fact, I’m disappointed if the sound intended for vinyl, (or whatever the format), comes across too exact at a live show. I don’t want a stage play to sound or feel like a movie, I don’t want a sporting event to appear as it does on television and, I learned this watching the Boyzz, I want the sound at a live music show to be different than the studio cuts. Rougher, slower (or faster for that matter), anything really to tweak it a bit. If all I wanted was the ‘recorded sound’ I wouldn’t bother to buy a ticket.
At least one of the Winter Brothers is still at it. I saw Edgar with Ringo Star’s All Star Band a couple of years ago. Frankenstein still sounded perfect. I’m not sure exactly to what extent but health problems have taken a heavy toll on Johnny for most of the last decade or so. Despite that, over the length of a long career he sure has provided a lot of good times.
Blue Oyster Cult was big that summer. Commercially, they were at their peak, not only in popularity but record sales too. To keep them off headliner status you had to be a top tier act, no pun intended, yourself. The Cult was in the middle of touring what would prove to be the biggest commercial album in their history, ‘Agents of Fortune.’ Besides their classic ‘Godzilla’ the albums single, ‘Don’t Fear the Reaper’ is easily the most recognizable song of their still active career.
But that summer no matter which group you came to see or if you just came for a day long party everyone stayed to the end to see ZZ.
I don’t remember the exact time it all started but the skies turned pitch black the second they doused the stadium lights. There, sitting on a mountain top high above the Texas shaped stage was the silhouette of a wolf. As lightening crackled across the painted desert backdrop the lone wolf lifted its head towards the full moon and howled. The Boyzz, dressed like the front cover of ‘Fandango’, appeared out of nowhere, center stage, under a blanket of white light, so bright it lit up virtually all of the outfield grass in front of them. We were about two hundred feet from the stage when the whole thing touched off.
I stayed with my friends throughout ‘Thunderbird’, ‘Chevrolet’, and most of the third number, ‘Precious and Grace’. I asked a couple of the guys in my group if they wanted to try and get closer to the front. They didn’t respond. I could tell they were happy where they were at. Their loss. I was the one who’d driven. Nobody could leave without me. I told them not to worry; I’d be back. If I didn’t make it before the encore finished I’d meet everyone at my dad’s car.
The exhilaration I felt the moment I took my first step forward told me I’d made the right choice. I never regretted leaving my friends behind. I grabbed my blanket and “World Wide Texas Tour” tank top and started weaving my way through the crowd. No, I don’t still have the shirt. I did though for the next decade or so before my loving wife at the time decided to donate it during a Goodwill clothing drive that fleeced at least half the husband’s closets in the neighborhood.
As I got closer the sound wasn’t as clear but the feel was better. The intensity of the performance is something I’ve never forgotten. With each step I took the thump of Dusty’s bass smacked me hard in the chest. The tone from Billy’s guitar was considerably more muffled than it’d been only a hundred feet or so behind me. But the big, chunky chords he seems to always hit with perfect timing had a feel that wasn’t nearly the same as it was back out by second base.
I’ve been reading articles online lately suggesting that maybe the stories about the live animals ZZ took on tour with them were nothing more than fabrications promoted by the band members and the gullible rock journalists and fans of the time. That’s not how I remember it.
On one side of the stage I could make out the silhouette of a long horn steer standing high above us on a raised platform. On the other side, inside the same type of contraption, was a large buffalo. Both of them moved. I saw them move. I’ve never questioned if they were real or not. I didn’t get close enough to see the rattlesnakes inside the Plexiglas box at the foot of the stage but I’ve read reports by other people who attended the tour that swear they were there.
Why isn’t there any photographic evidence that survives from the time to support their existence? First of all the band’s manager was a control freak. The band’s live shows were always a guarded secret when Mr. Ham was in charge. No doubt photo journalist passes were a tough thing to obtain not to mention full of restrictions in their usage. Heck just getting news about the band, particularly at that time, was always slow in coming.
Of course everyone didn’t have cell phones with digital cameras attached to them either. As a rule the general public didn’t carry professional quality cameras around with them. Instamatics with the rotating cube flash on the top was about as state of the art as it got for most of us.
By “Rattlesnake Shake” I was as close as I was going to get. I was on Billy’s side probably thirty feet away and hemmed in like the cuff on a pair of dress pants. I was just south of the ‘sardine section.’ When the Boyzz busted into ‘La Grange’ the stadium’s scoreboard flashed the song title in three story high letters.
The show ended with an encore of ‘Mexican Blackbird’ (“she’ll spread like an eagle for you!”), El Diablo, (a very underrated song when it’s done live), and, ‘Tush.’ Just like during La Grange the stadium scoreboard flashed the word ‘Tush’ in letters larger than life.
The show’s ending turned into a blur for me. The Boyzz, just as they do now, quickly left the stage. The lights inside the stadium came on illuminating all of the day’s sins. Beer cups, soda cups, clothing, hot dog wrappers and trash of all kinds, both known and unknown, was strewn everywhere across the Angel’s previously perfect baseball diamond. In the harsh artificial light everything that was left, including the rock and roll faithful themselves, looked tired and a bit worse for wear.
When I got to the top of the stairs leading out from the field I spotted my friends pushing their way across the packed concourse. How I was able to notice them inside that rolling tide of people I’ll never know. When I finally caught up with them I was so excited I could barely contain myself.
“Wasn’t Billy great?” I kept on asking everyone around me, not just my buddies. “Don’t they make a fucking unbelievable amount of sound for only three guys!!??”
Despite the exhaustion from the 12+ hour day there was a smile on everybody’s face and a shitload of electricity still filling the air. Yelling, screaming, fist pumping was everywhere. For a few magic moments on a very special day at the end of my teenage years, all was perfect in my world. My friends as well as everyone else who was there learned a simple fact that day if they didn’t already know it before. That fact being that wherever and whenever that “Little ‘ol Band from Texas” straps on the guitars and sets up the drums they’ll forever be a force to be reckoned with. Have Mercy!
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