Super Session
When Al Kooper was shopping on the King’s Road, Brian Auger and Julie Driscoll’s version of "Season Of The Witch" was playing in all the shops.
Al Kooper was kicked out of his own band. Well, not exactly, it was like working for the man. They froze him out, they forced him to quit. And when he was free, Al approached Clive Davis, offering his skills as a staff producer. Clive bought, to the tune of three hundred bucks a week, plus an office, a secretary and an expense account. Only one problem, Al had nothing to produce.
Al met Mike Bloomfield at a Dylan session. They played Newport together. Then they led strangely parallel lives. They both went on to play in blues bands, Al in the Blues Project, Mike in the Paul Butterfield Blues Band. Then they each founded horn-based acts, Blood, Sweat & Tears and the Electric Flag respectively. Then they both quit.
Al felt that live Mike was jaw-dropping. But that no one had captured his magic on vinyl. So he decided to make a record with him.
They’d both played on Moby Grape’s "Grape Jam", the jam session record that accompanied "Wow". Al envisioned a similar project. Mike said fine, as long as they did it in California. Al said sure, and rented a house on Columbia’s dime, having been taught how to do this by San Francisco producer David Rubinson. Al told Mike to pick a drummer, and he’d bring a bass player. Mike chose Eddie Hoh, whom Al was completely unfamiliar with, and Al brought his old buddy from Queens, Harvey Brooks.
Booked into the Columbia studio in L.A., they spent a night recording, they got half an album. When Al went to wake up Mike for the following day’s session he found his bed in the rented house still made, with a note upon it stating that Mike had been up all night and had decided to go home.
HOME? What did that mean? It was still early in the morning. Al combed the abode, looking for Mike. And when he couldn’t find him, when he realized he truly had gone back to Marin, he started to freak. Who was going to play at that day’s session?
He picked up his black book, called three guitarists, but only Stephen Stills responded. He came down to the studio with a brand new Marshall stack and finished the album. Oh, they were one cut short. Harvey Brooks said he had a tune. And that’s how "Harvey’s Tune" ended up on "Super Session".
The album went on to sell millions. I told Al that the formula could be REPLICATED!
But Al didn’t believe it. You see "Super Session" wasn’t premeditated, it was spontaneous. He just wanted to get Mike’s guitar down. He figured the album would sell 15,000 copies.
This was back when albums weren’t made for the masses so much as fans, those bitten by the music bug. Oh, there was a Top Forty, but there was a definite shift. To FM. Where it wasn’t about hits, but stretching out, fulfilling your vision. Like the 11:07 version of "Season Of The Witch" laid down by Kooper and Stills.
The Internet is today’s FM radio. The usual suspects are playing to Top Forty. Executives equivalent to Mitch Miller are delivering nothing out of the ordinary, just variations on what has come before. They’re playing it safe. While unsigned acts are testing the limits in their basements and posting the results all over the Web. In the late sixties, the labels woke up and followed the musicians, they realized there was money in those aural adventures cut by twentysomethings who followed their muse. And the modern record business was born. The one everybody hearkens back to. The days of Mo Ostin and Warner Brothers.
Actually, Mo passed on Blood, Sweat & Tears. As did Jerry Wexler. But Clive’s predecessor at Columbia bit, and when Clive took the reins, Al convinced him a deal was already in place and he should honor the commitment. That’s how you get ahead, with people, with musicians. You see a spark, you nurture it, creating an environment where it can grow, and you ultimately harvest a great crop. Well, not always. But if you’re investing in the usual suspects, the same hack songwriters and producers, you’re not going to grow anything.
There’s no culture at labels today. They’ve lost control of the game. You start with love, then comes the money. Acts that love to play, fans who love the sound.
I disagree with Kooper. I believe there’s an audience for great playing. Start with Eddie Van Halen. Or another guitarist with innovative chops. Add a drummer, a full band, and a producer with knowledge of musical history. It would be cheap to record, and the truth of the music would resonate with the audience. If there was truth. If there were no superfluous rappers, no three minute radio edits, no safe moves. People recognize greatness. "Super Session" still sells today. It’s in the grooves.
