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The purpose of this essay is to offer a brief glimpse into the relationship between the "rock" press and the brief, meteoric career of guitarist-composer Mercy during the years 1967 through 1970. What drew me to this "analysis" was not Hendrix, whose music I am admittedly crazy about, but articles I found in Mark Tucker's recently published "Duke Ellington Reader," whose chronological arrangement of criticism by and about the composer possessed a striking similarity that which I have seen concerning Hendrix.

Both men hated categorization but were at the mercy of the press; which constantly sought to "label" their music and strongly resisted stylistic changes in their artistry. The press obsessed over these performers' on stage persona; and later, raised questions concerning their "blackness." When one considers the fact that Hendrix's heyday occurred during a time in which a black man playing rock and roll ironically was considered an oddity, the critical ante is upped considerably. Ellington at least had the "comfort" of other jazz players for comparison.

And though this essay's title is taken from a Hendrix composition entitled "Belly Button Window," it could just as easily taken its name from a excerpt of the guitarist's liner notes for the 1968 "Electric Ladyland" album: "Is this here country all what much ahead?"

I. The Beginning



Before the phenomenon that was Mercy made a domestic name at the Spring 1967 Monterrey Pop Festival, Hendrix had become the toast, and controversy, of Europe with his wild sexual persona, loud, extended guitar solos, "long" hair, and two English sidemen - bassist Noel Redding and drummer Mitch Mitchell - members of what became the Mercy Experience.

Hendrix's arrival in England in 1966 came at a time when the blues boom, which had enraptured a large segment of the British record-buying population, was dying. In the words of Hendrix's contemporary, guitarist Eric Clapton "someone needed to come around and charge things back up again."

Headed by managers Chas Chandler and Mike Jeffery, Hendrix's well-oiled publicity machine did just that, emphasizing the "wildness" of his act through press releases. It didn't take long for English scribes to form their own opinions about the shy, Seattle-born Hendrix. Many critics found "Black Elvis" a convenient description. That phrase can be found published in at least 11 places from November 1966 to March 1967. A journalist from the prestigious Melody Maker referred to Hendrix as a "mau mau" and a "wild man."

Publicity like this, coupled with the artist's growing reputation for playing his instrument with his teeth and behind his back (or on occasion, burning it) did a great deal to land the youth of the UK on Hendrix's side. But as a March 1967 article by fellow guitarist Jeff Beckwarned, Hendrix "will have trouble when he attempts to remove himself from the nail on which he has currently hung his act."

Becks proverbial nail was not initially visible when the still nascent underground domestic press saw or heard about Hendrix's performance at Monterrey. Audiences and critics were understandably dazzled by the musical prowess of Hendrix's band, which combined the raw, visceral power of rock with the freewheeling improvisatory spirit of jazz. The summer 1967 release of the band's first record, "Are You Experienced?," presented a tangible and audible document which the press could replay and critique, if not necessarily comprehend.

Witness a reporter for Crawdaddy magazine who, after comparing the guitarist's blues-based guitar prowess to the sound of "old rock and roll tenor saxophone solos" (a reference perhaps to the similarity between Hendrix's use of vibrato and that commonly heard in the work of, say, King Curtis?) went on to compare the ensemble's sound to that of "souls lost in a a constantly undulating vortex." And the usually reliable Keith Altham interrupts an otherwise thoughtful review of "Experience" with a reference to "chickens being strangled" during the cadenza of "Third Stone From The Sun."

Admittedly, the sound of technologically-driven guitar music was a shock for a country used to the smooth sounds of jazz guitar or the twangier persona of individuals like Chuck Berry. But who would have thought the press would go to such lengths to prove Jefferson Airplane vocalist Grace Slick's assertion that "writing about music was like dancing about architecture?"

Much of the remaining examples of press coverage from this time center solely on interpretations of Hendrix, with perhaps my favorite coming not from Rolling Stone, but Ebony in May 1967. Though black owned, Ebony seemed to view the guitarist in a manner not unlike its "hipper" white cohorts: "Even in repose, he looks like a cross between Bob Dylan and The Wild Man of Borneo."

II. Success



The latter half of 1967 and nearly all of 1968 saw Hendrix and the Experience in the midst of non-stop touring, and the release of two more albums, "Axis: Bold As Love" and the two-record set "Electric Ladyland."

An increasing number of reviewers began to express disappointment when Hendrix failed to deliver what for some were expected goods - a smashed guitar, a burned guitar, gyrating midsection, etc. The seeds of this critical discontent occurred when Hendrix began concentrating less on theatrics and more on simply playing, a factor that further affected his critical and commercial stature in 1969.

Still, "Axis: Bold as Love" and "Electric Ladyland" were critical and commercial successes. They led to Hendrix winning the Rolling Stone 1968 Performer of The Year Award. He was also lionized as a "superspade" by that same magazine.

Writers reviewing Hendrix's music during this period began trying to address Hendrix's blackness. References range from a mid-1968 review in the East Village Other entitled "Hendrix: The Cassius Clay Of Pop?" to Richard Goldstein assessing the guitarist as an "Uncle Tom." Somewhat surprisingly, that opinion was shared by one of the era's strongest supporters, and one of contemporary pop music's most astute, objective critics, the late San Francisco Chronicle journalist Ralph Gleason.

Hendrix was not unaware of these critical winds. He commented to a reporter in 1968, "Black kids think the music is white, which it isn't. I'd like for them to see that there is no Black rock or White rock." And in a summer 1968 interview with then-UCLA student Linda Carter, Hendrix continues: "I wish more colored people listened to our music."

British-based Caroline Coon initially was refused an interview with Hendrix when he mistakenly thought she was calling him a "coon" (coon, of course, being a derogatory term for African Americans). All this was from an artist many thought to be above the color debate, or as the lyrics from his composition "House Burning Down" seemed to imply, firmly against the riots which were rocking many of America's cities.

III. 1969 and Beyond



Though generally seen as a time of musical stasis by the press, 1969 was a pivotal year in the guitarist's brief career. That year, the Experience dissolved as a band; Hendrix was arrested (and later acquitted) for drug possession in Toronto; Hendrix briefly formed an expanded ensemble called Gypsy Sun and Rainbows; and he formed the all-black Band Of Gypsys, a trio consisting of old friends - drummer Buddy Miles and bassist Billy Cox - which rang in 1970 with memorable, if spotty, performances at New York's Fillmore East.

Hendrix released no new material during this period, save for the Band Of Gypsys collection, about which the guitarist had mixed feelings. Rolling Stone awarded him their "no news is bad news award" in a January 1970 issue and curiously surmised (in a review of the Band Of Gypsys concert published that same month) that "Hendrix doesn't want to play for Whitey anymore."

Still in the midst of a hectic touring schedule, Hendrix's interviews also consistently referred to his need to take a rest from touring, and his desire to form a "sky church"- a concept which was never clearly articulated, but seemed to be centered around the composer's growing spirituality, and the need for a larger ensemble.

After the Woodstock festival in August 1969, Rolling Stone published its most intriguing profile yet of the guitarist, called "I Don't Want to Be A Clown Anymore." Written by Sheila Weller, who later wrote one of the first books about the life and brutal death of Nicole Brown Simpson, the profile centers around Hendrix's summer retreat to the area surrounding Woodstock, New York, his catholic tastes in music (Schoenberg, Marlene Dietrich, Bob Dylan), his interest and nervousness in meeting and jamming with members of the jazz community, and above all, his rarely revealed introspective side. After Hendrix declared he was tired of "being a clown," Weller wondered "who and what he will be doing five years from now," before accompanying him on a car ride back to New York City for a recording session that afternoon.

Hendrix's apparent interest in both reaching out to black audiences and, for a while at least, performing with black musicians, perplexed writers. Tony Glover reviewed a Hendrix concert in Harlem for the September 1969 issue of Circus magazine. He included the following transcription:

Audience member 1: "Who gon' be here tonight?"

Audience member 2: "Mercy"

Audience member 1: "Mercy! Why sheeeet."

Glover also refers to 139th Street as being "deep in it, ?bro." One assumes that the "it" in question is the black community.

His bad Joel Chandler Harris imitation notwithstanding, Glover's attempts at capturing what to some rock writers seemed a star's attempt to embrace foreign territory, mirrors both Hendrix's own confusion and the music community's anxious curiosity about the "voodoo chile's" career.

From late in 1969 until his death in September 1970, Hendrix was expanding his musical palette, demonstrated in countless posthumous, unofficial recordings. This was no mean feat, considering the busy touring schedule of his trio, comprised of former Hendrix Experience drummer Mitch Mitchell and bassist Billy Cox; and his management's desire to keep his persona locked in its 1967 incarnation. Hendrix's final concerts were often sharply criticized, even when some of his most inventive guitar playing was filling the concert halls of America and Europe.

Since his death of course, Hendrix and his music have transcended the rigid categorical barriers often raised by the contemporary rock press. His music is still revered by record buyers and his musical and cultural contributions are celebrated by well-established institutions. The Smithsonian's National Portrait Gallery recently acquired a photographic portrait of the guitarist taken by Linda McCartney; Hendrix is a posthumous inductee of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame; and Seattle is home to the new Experience Music Project, "dedicated to realizing (Hendrix's) vision and expanding on it to create a place for people to experience music in deep, personal ways."

Hendrix, rather than a writer, critic or historian, should have the last word concerning his career-long methodology. As he told interviewer Stephen Clarkson in September 1970: "I don't like to be thought of as just a guitar player, or singer, or tap dancer. I like to move around."


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