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"At
the time, it was just unheard of to not live in L.A., Nashville, or New York
if you're actually in the business. So the people at A&M pretty much thought
that we'd just quit the business and gone home. But, of course, we hadn't.
We were just going back to what we'd originally done, which was traveling
around and perform[ing] our songs for people. We got out of our contracts
with no problem, 'cause they just assumed we'd quit the business.
"Our
management went to the east coast to shop some labels. Buddah [of which Kama Sutra was a sister label] signed us, because [Buddah
executive] Neil Bogart at the time was known as the king of bubblegum -- you
know, [Buddah Records act] 1910 Fruitgum Company and all that stuff. He was
trying to shatter that image, and looking for album artists. And that's what
Tom and I were. We were never about singles. Every song on our albums was
just as important as the next one. All of our albums, we meant to be whole
packages."
Both
Weeds and Tarkio
would be recorded in the San Francisco Bay Area with producer Nick Gravenites. Brewer & Shipley's management hooked the duo up with Gravenites,
who'd already made a name for himself as a member of the Electric Flag, as
well as writing songs recorded by the likes of the Paul Butterfield Blues
Band. Gravenites was instrumental in assembling the backup musicians for
Weeds, who included guitarist Mike Bloomfield (who'd played with Gravenites
in the Electric Flag); keyboardist Mark Naftalin, who'd played alongside
Bloomfield in the Paul Butterfield Blues Band; violinist Richard Greene, who
in the '60s played with bluegrass giant Bill Monroe, the Jim Kweskin Jug
Band, the Blues Project, and Sea Train; and Nicky Hopkins, the most esteemed
session keyboardist in '60s British rock, who'd played on important records
by the likes of the Beatles, Rolling Stones, Kinks, and Who. The countrified
feel to much of the record was supplied in part by ace pedal steel guitarist
Red Rhodes, who played on such classics as the Byrds' The Notorious Byrd
Brothers and James Taylor's Sweet Baby James.
"Down
in L.A. was pretty much made up of L.A. studio guys, plus a friend or two
here and there," observes Michael Brewer when asked how the duo's recorded
sound changed between their first and second records. "Weeds took on a life
of its own; it kind of created sort of a hybrid music between our style and
[the session musicians'] style." Brewer was also pleased with the album's
country-rock accents: "Weeds, along with the Byrds' Sweetheart of the Rodeo,
were two of the first albums of the time to incorporate more of a country
thing. We liked the sound of the pedal steel guitar played other than just a
real twangy, hokey old-fashioned country...the instrument itself, we
thought, could be incorporated into more of a folk-rock genre."
All of
the material on the record was original save Bob Dylan's "All Along the
Watchtower" and the more surprising "Witchi-Tai-To," which had been a small
hit for Everything Is Everything. Brewer & Shipley learned it off an FM
station beaming out of Little Rock, Arkansas, as "while we were traveling
all over the heartland late at night, that would be one of the only things
we could get on the radio. 'Witchi-Tai-To' was getting a lot of FM airplay,
and we just loved it, 'cause Tom and I have always been into Native American
culture and music. I'm from Oklahoma, so I grew up with it all around me. We
learned it off the radio, and sang phonetically. I think we got the Indian
part right, but I don't think we're singing the English right to this day."
Their
next album, Tarkio,
boasted a similar sound, again with the help of session players and Gravenites. The most celebrated guest appearance was by Jerry Garcia, who
contributed pedal steel guitar. "Wally Heider's studio in San Francisco had
a bunch of the Bay Area [musicians] in there every day," says Brewer. "It
was like going into the office. The Dead was in there every day, or some
offshoot of the Dead; the Airplane or offshoots were in there every day, Hot
Tuna or whoever. We knew a lot of them from back in the folk days. I met
Paul Kantner when he played banjo and had a flat-top haircut, so we went
back a ways with some of these people. Jerry had just started playing pedal
steel guitar. He came in one day, and we were working on some stuff. We
said, 'Hey Jerry, we got a song here, would you like to play pedal steel?'
And he said, 'Sure." So he set up his pedal steel and played on a song
called 'Oh Mommy, I Ain't No Commie' -- the B-side to 'One Toke Over the
Line.'"
As can
be gleaned from those song titles alone, there was an increasing reflection
of the turbulent times in the lyrics. Tracks like "Fifty States of Freedom,"
"Don't Want to Die in Georgia," "Tarkio Road," and "Song from Platte River"
mused on both freedom and the restrictions placed upon it for many young
people circa 1970 who were redefining personal expression in the United
States. "Our music has always been somewhat autobiographical, reflecting our
own experiences at the time," explains Brewer. "Our first three albums are
like mini-time capsules in retrospect. Vietnam was still raging, and a lot
of social unrest. We were experiencing that along with a lot of other
people. I think that's why a lot of people could relate as well as they
could to the music.
"Tom
and I were traveling all over the heartland, and especially in the South, we
pretty much were living Easy Rider. 'Cause here we were, a couple of guys
wearing Nehru shirts, beads, and you didn't see a whole lot of that in those
days. We really did have to pick and choose where we stopped to get
something to eat or check into a motel or get gas." One such experience
inspired "Don't Want to Die in Georgia": "One time we were doing something
in Atlanta.
John Lloyd, a black man who was a regional representative for Kama Sutra,
was showing us around. There was so much tension, just because of the way we
looked. And here we are with a black man too, and everybody knows how they
were regarded, in those days especially. 'Don't Want to Die in Georgia' was
sort of a metaphor for 'don't want to die anywhere,' really. It just
happened to be Georgia.
"A lot
of people would say a lot of that stuff was very political. But to us, it
wasn't political at all. It was just social commentary, rather than
political commentary. And even though we had social commentary, we also had
spiritual commentary. That's probably why we're glad the message came across
without slapping anybody in the face, or trying to cram anything down
anybody's throat. We were just reflecting our own views. We've always pushed
love as the only answer we know of that might fix things. I don't know how
that's ever gonna happen, but that's what we think."
It was
a far more lighthearted song, however, that would both give Brewer & Shipley
a Top Ten single in early 1971 and spur condemnation from the highest levels
of American government. "One Toke Over the Line" was, discloses Brewer, not
envisioned as a single by the duo "at all. We wrote that one night in the
dressing room of a coffee house. We were literally just entertaining
ourselves. The next day we got together to do some picking and said, 'What
was that we were messing with last night?' We remembered it, and in about an
hour, we'd written 'One Toke Over the Line.' Just making ourselves laugh,
really. We had no idea that it would ever even be considered as a single,
because it was just another song to us. Actually Tom and I always thought
that our ballads were our forte.
"But
the first time we played Carnegie Hall, we were opening for Melanie. We went
over really well, got a couple encores. But we kind of ran out of songs, and
for our second encore, we said, 'Let's do that new tune we just wrote.' So
we did it, and Neil Bogart came backstage and says, 'I love this. You gotta
record it, you gotta put that on the album,' because we were in the process
of recording Tarkio. So we said okay, recorded it, added it to the list, and
didn't have a clue that it would ever be released as a single, much less end
up being the controversial thing that it was. In fact, vice president Spiro
Agnew named us personally on national TV one night as subversives to
American youth, which we thought was hysterical. We made Nixon's enemies
list, which was a badge of honor we hold dear to our hearts to this day.
"So go
figure. Who would have guessed? Much less that it would end up being a
classic rock song still played all around the world, in movies and stuff. It
cracks me up. 'Cause we were just kidding, we were just entertaining
ourselves. Other people chose to make a big deal out of it."
Brewer
& Shipley would go on to record five more albums in the 1970s before
splitting at the end of the decade, although they reunited in 1986 and
returned to recording in the 1990s, continuing to play live today (check
their website,
www.brewerandshipley.com, for details on their current
activities). This reissue of their second and third albums is a consummate
document of their rise to national prominence, and records that remain
sources of pride to Brewer, who cites Weeds as "probably my favorite album
that we did from the old days."
~
Richie Unterberger
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