Back when I was working at Hollywood Sporting Goods, on Hollywood Boulevard, the Tubes did an in-store at the Peaches down the street. Fee came in his platform heels, as Quay Lewd. They blew in from KMET, signed some albums, and then were gone. I didn’t see the band again until later that evening, at the Roxy.

Al Kooper produced that record, the Tubes’ debut, with not only "White Punks On Dope", but "What Do You Want From Life" and "Boy Crazy". Would it be stretching to call it a masterpiece? I don’t think so.

Today Al Kooper was inducted into Hollywood’s RockWalk, in front of Guitar Center, on Sunset Boulevard.

Felice goes to every induction, Guitar Center’s CEO is on the board of the foundation she runs. She gets a check just before the inductees put their hands in concrete. I’ve never been. But today I went, to hang with Al, to have a good time.

There were more VIPs than attendees. Not that you’d know this if you watch a squib on TV, there was a ton of media. But the real action was with the friends and hangers-on, about 175, who’d come to recall the Summer of Love. Well, not really. Rather an event that occurred that same summer, a bit further down the coast, the Monterey Pop Festival.

Jim Ladd was the master of ceremonies. He introduced the local councilman, who’d bizarred me earlier. Who was the dude in work boots? And jeans and a denim work shirt? It’s like he’d just came from Griffith Park, putting out the fire, and that’s what they were talking about, saving our city, thanking the police and firemen. Not that anybody would have thanked these same personages forty years earlier, they were the enemy. But now they’re us, or our younger brothers and sisters.

First inductee was Otis Redding. You should have heard Jim wax rhapsodic about Otis. About being not only a great artist, but a great businessman. Owning his own copyrights, putting out his own records, investing in real estate. And the bucks must still be coming in, since one of his kids was sporting a Louis Vuitton tote bag.

Listening to Zelma Redding was like watching an old newsreel. She was THERE! Otis got home from Monterey at three in the morning and wanted to talk about achieving his goal. Otis may have composed his classic sitting on the dock in Marin, but he was a Georgia boy, he had roots, maybe that’s why his music was so great.

And then Lou Adler strode up to the dais.

Lou… He was the Sergey Brin of his day. A benevolent businessman. Without Lou, there’s not only no Monterey Pop Festival, but no Mamas & Papas. Lou was cool in his leather sneakers, striped jacket and cap. He wouldn’t be this young if he lived in New York, but this beachhound and Lakers fan is as much a part of the California sound, the California ETHOS, as Brian Wilson. Hearing him talk about the festival, about Al Kooper being the stage manager and Michelle Philips being in charge of advertising, one recalled the birth of this business, before it was run by conglomerates focused on the bottom line. Hell, the acts at Monterey played for FREE! Maybe that’s why the business was such a juggernaut back then. In an age when the labels keep the music locked up and acts look to their handlers before making any decisions, spontaneity and soul have been eviscerated, and we’re the worse for it.

Michelle had a bit of stage fright. She was moved by the induction of her old act. Or maybe she was just freaked out that she was the only member left, still reeling with the passing of Denny just a few months back. Thank god the music lives on, because it seems like most rockers die before their time.

But Al Kooper still survives. A bit worse for wear, but his attitude and skills remain. Stunningly, for such a loquacious guy, Al found it hard to speak too. He said it was great to finally be recognized, that he never got any awards. Blondie and Patti Smith might be in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but the man who played the organ on what is considered to be the greatest single of the rock era is not.

And they played some of Al’s compositions, as well as records he performed on and produced. The body of work was staggering. I loved hearing "I Love You More Than You’ll Ever Know", but it was his productions that stuck with me.

After the gig was over, Lonn asked me to sit in on the interview, which is done for posterity after every RockWalk induction.

Lonn asked about Bobby Colomby, and "The Modern Adventures Of Plato, Diogenes And Freud". I wanted to know about "Free Bird". Did Al KNOW that it was gonna be one of the two most famous songs of the rock era?

Of course not.

Well then how about "Sweet Home Alabama". When I heard it during the ceremony I was reminded how one can never burn out on the track, how it’s truly a classic.

Turns out the first album was done. But Al got a call from the band. They had a new song, they wanted to record it NOW! Well, the album was being pressed, but if they would come up to Atlanta and demo it for him… Al heard it in rehearsal and cut it immediately, capturing the spark, BEFORE THE FIRST ALBUM WAS RELEASED!!

And I’m talking to Al about being a producer. Wasn’t the producer a key element of a record’s success?

Al smiled and said I’d answered my own question, without the producer, you had…Lynyrd Skynyrd’s fourth album. Oh, Al wanted it to be good, he was rooting for them. But without him…

And what did he add?

The missing parts.

The old musicians talk in code. But they can communicate, with other musicians. Those that are left. Hell, the guys in Badfinger who killed themselves mentioned Al’s old manager in their suicide notes. Not that that’s any satisfaction for monies Al’s never gotten.

But Al’s got the stories. Cutting the horn parts in "You Can’t Always Get What You Want". Getting Stephen Stills in to complement Mike Bloomfield on "Super Session".

And I’m thinking how I’m eating this up, how I’m living the life of my dreams. But most people just don’t care anymore. We’ve outlived our era. They’re lining up for "American Idol", I see them on Fairfax every Sunday night, but genuine stars, legends, creators, they’re now ignored.

There was a pulse once. When Felice took the mic and recounted her trip to Monterey in a friend’s Ford, tears came to my eyes. It’s the music that links us. We remember, we understand, it not only makes us us, it keeps us together.