by Greg Lake
The last show on this leg of the UK tour was played in Wigan on 1 April 1971. Not so many well-known bands came to play in Wigan so none of us really knew what to expect. As is often the case in smaller towns and cities, though, the audience was fantastic. It was one of those special nights when everything just seemed to go right and the atmosphere in the room was truly electrifying.
People often ask me to name my favourite ELP performance and, of course, the ones that often spring to mind are the big festivals and more historic events. Looking back now, however, I think that some of ELP’s greatest performances took place in the small city halls and theatres in the United Kingdom and the United States during the early days of the band’s career.
On 15 April 1971 we boarded a plane at Heathrow and flew out to the States, giving me the chance to rekindle the love affair with the States that had started when I was in King Crimson. Of course, having witnessed the band’s meteoric rise to fame in the UK and Europe, a sense of expectation was building about how we were going to be received in America.
Shortly after landing at JFK airport, we were greeted by Dee Anthony, my old friend and manager from the King Crimson era, who remained involved in the initial days of ELP. Dee bundled us all into a waiting limo and I remember the drive into Manhattan on that beautiful spring day; Dee pulled his old trick out of the hat and arranged for WNEW, a major radio station in New York, to play ‘Lucky Man’ as we drove across the Brooklyn Bridge on our way into the city. It is hard to imagine a more welcoming start to a tour.
The idea behind Emerson, Lake & Palmer’s first US tour was that it would be a short introductory run of dates just to get the band established. The first show was to be a sort of warm-up date that took place at Thiel College, Greenville, Pennsylvania, on 21 April 1971. Although the intention was to keep this show small and low-profile, by the time we arrived there the word on the street had already spread and the demand for tickets was starting to cause a problem.
The first full show we played was on 24 April 1971 at the Eastown Theatre in Detroit. The promoter there was a remarkable man called Bob Bagaris. He was of native American descent and his personality was very calm and deliberate, rather like the stereotypical ‘Red Indian’ chiefs that were depicted in the cowboy films of the era.
Detroit, the home of soul and Motown, was an exciting place to be. Despite the fact that that form of music has little influence on the musical style of ELP, we all respected the players and writers who had made it so successful, and performing in Motor City had special meaning for us. The show went really well and the audience reaction was fantastic. At the time, it would have been hard to imagine that a year or two later we would be playing in the same city to audiences of 60,000 people.
The next shows on the tour were at Bill Graham’s famous Fillmore East in New York, where Bill Graham himself introduced us to the audience on 1 May 1971.
The show began with ‘The Barbarian’ from the first ELP album and, as we played through the music, I could almost see the audience being transformed from being enthusiastically inquisitive to being absolute believers. As it was a New York gig at a legendary venue, we were nervous, but I must say that one of the great things about ELP was our innate ability to rise to the occasion. Somehow, whenever the need arose, we could always dig in and find that little extra spirit to push it over the top and that is exactly what happened that night.
We knew that if we wanted acceptance and success in the United States, then this show had to be a success and, thanks to the good grace of the people of New York, that is what happened.
The next show was at Shea’s Theater in Buffalo – famous for its ‘Mighty Wurlitzer’ organ – on 2 May 1971, and then back to New York to perform at another landmark, Carnegie Hall, on 26 May. Apart from being a beautiful theatre, Carnegie Hall has world-class status in terms of prestige and it was an honour to perform there. I was aware of some of the great names that had stood and performed on that stage, and it was extremely humbling: Frank Sinatra, Luciano Pavarotti, the Beatles, Paul Robeson, Bob Dylan, Mark Twain, Maria Callas . . . the list goes on.
There is a classic joke about Carnegie Hall, which was told by the wife of the famous violinist Mischa Elman. One day, after a rehearsal that apparently hadn’t pleased Elman, the couple were leaving Carnegie Hall by the backstage entrance when two tourists looking for the entrance approached them. Seeing his violin case, they asked him, ‘How do you get to Carnegie Hall?’ Without looking up and continuing on his way, Elman simply replied, ‘Practice!’
The final show on the first US tour was a free concert that took place on 29 May 1971 at the Edward A. Hatch Memorial Shell in Boston. The Hatch is a beautiful outdoor venue set on grass alongside the water, and it is the traditional home of the Boston Pops. At free events, the audience is quite different from the normal ticket-buying audience that comes along specifically to see you perform. Many people simply turn up because it’s free so in a sense you are often faced with a bit of a challenge to win them over, and so it was here. As we started the show, I thought, There’s something wrong – the reaction to the music is not the same. We had to dig deep and turn up the heat during ‘Tarkus’. Thank goodness all three of us were experienced enough not to allow our confidence to be shaken or diverted away from the main objective: winning over the audience with the quality of the music.
As the concert continued the audience became far more enthusiastic until, in the end, we walked off to another standing ovation. We finished the first tour on a high note, firm in the belief that the American audience was happy to embrace our sound, embedded though it was in old European traditions.
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Exactly one week after performing in Boston we arrived to play at the Mehrzweckhalle in Zofingen, Switzerland, on 5 June 1971. For some reason, Switzerland always seemed to play a role in the career of ELP. Works Volume 1 was recorded in Montreux, where we lived for a while, and the album cover for Brain Salad Surgery was painted by H. R. Giger, who lived and painted in Zurich.
The next show on tour was performed at the Konzerthaus in Vienna, a great place for us to perform our version of ‘Pictures at an Exhibition’. We had obtained special permission for Keith to use its historic pipe organ to open the show, which was great until we came to the actual moment, only to discover that the pipe organ was tuned at a slightly different pitch than the normal 440 tuning we were used to.
Without a shadow of a doubt, the long list of world-renowned Austrian classical music composers is truly formidable, but I always wondered whether the country really connected with rock music in the same way that some other European countries did. I felt that the people there had a sort of arm’s-length academic interest in modern music but somehow had not embraced the free-spirit ideal that lies at the heart of rock and roll. However, we seemed to go down very well with the audience and the show was a success.
A couple of days later, on 9 June 1971, we performed for the second time at the infamous Circus Krone in Munich, which we had now been assured would be completely safe and that there would definitely be no repeat of the water-cannon incident that brought our first visit to a premature end.
Show time arrived and we took to the stage. Everything seemed to be going okay until it came time for me to perform my acoustic set. As I started to play the J200, some heckler in the audience started shouting abuse at me and causing a disturbance. I continued on and put up with it as long as I could, but eventually I stopped playing and told him to ‘be quiet’ (well, perhaps I didn’t use those exact words). I tried to explain to him as best I could that there were a lot of people who had paid good money to come and hear the show, and that he had no right to rob them of their enjoyment. The audience cheered but, undeterred, the heckler still continued on with his tirade until, to the delight of everyone else, the security guards finally moved in and ejected him by force. The concert continued on unimpeded and we left to a standing ovation after our ‘Nutrocker’ encore, but it seemed that there was some sort of
a hex on Circus Kone as far as we were concerned.
The tour continued with sold-out shows in Germany and the Netherlands, with a performance at the Concertgebouw, Amsterdam, before we returned to London on 20 June to play the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, another sell-out.
By the end of this run of European dates, we were all pretty tired and in need of a break so before setting off again to play our second tour of the USA, we decided to take a short holiday.
Whenever I get the chance, I always like to go back to Dorset where I grew up and get together with my oldest friend, Jon Petterssen. As very young lads, Jon and I used to go poaching trout together, and it was he who originally taught me how to fly fish. We have been close friends ever since. Apart from fishing, we also share a lifelong passion for music and played together for a while in the Shame during the late 1960s. Whenever Jon and I are able to meet up, we always like to go fly fishing in Dorset’s chalk streams. There is something special about two old friends walking up a river together, absorbed by the enchantment and magnificence of nature.
In terms of rest and relaxation, fly fishing is not the same as sitting around on a beach. It is so absorbing that you become completely detached from the real world and all of its stresses and strains; I find that I am restored in a way that no other form of holiday could possibly hope to achieve. I suppose some of this is purely down to that old adage that a change is as good as a rest, but far more important for me is the fact that I become completely immersed in nature and become reinvigorated by all of its life-giving properties.
After spending my few precious days of rest with Jon, I returned to London on 10 July and began to prepare for the forthcoming return trip to the United States of America.
CHAPTER 7
Rocked by the King
Just before starting the second US tour in July 1971, we were due to spend a few days relaxing at the Four Seasons Hotel in San Francisco, recovering from the eight-hour time difference.
Just after I had checked in, the phone rang in my room. It was Dee Anthony calling to ask if I would like to go and see Elvis perform live on the shore of Lake Tahoe, just over the California state border with Nevada. Of course, Elvis had never performed in the UK and so this was a very special chance for me to go and see the man everyone referred to as ‘The King’.
The next day we flew up to Lake Tahoe and Dee had organised wonderful log-cabins for us to stay in that were situated in the forest right beside the lake itself. I was looking out of my window, admiring the fantastic scenery, when all of a sudden there was a knock at my front door. There was Dee, standing in front of me with a huge smile on his face waving a handful of tickets he had somehow magically acquired for us to go and see Elvis perform at the casino of the Sahara Hotel that evening. I could tell by the level of Dee’s excitement that this was obviously going to be something special.
I had never been to a proper casino before and, although I had images in my mind from movies, I really had no idea what to expect. We arrived a little late and were asked to go straight in and take our seats as soon as possible. As we entered the room, the first thing that struck me was that, rather than being a theatre, it was a very large dining/cabaret room filled with large, red-leather banquette couches each seating four or five people. The table in front was lit by two small lamps with shades that would be dimmed as soon the show began. As we sat down, people were being served with their after-dinner coffee and cognac, and the room was buzzing with expectation.
I immediately found the scale of the venue strange. It was hard to judge the seating capacity, but it was probably no more than 2,000 people. I suppose I had expected the King of Rock and Roll to be performing at much larger venues than those ELP were selling out at that time, but it was much smaller.
When I asked Dee about this, he looked at me with a confident smile. ‘Just wait and see,’ he said.
Literally moments after he had said these words, the lamps on the tables began to dim and the audience started to applaud. There were a few seconds of darkness as the tension continued to build. It almost felt as if a boxing match were about to take place and I knew that something very special was about to happen.
Over the PA system in the darkness came the first notes of the theme from the film 2001: A Space Odyssey, ‘Thus Spake Zarathustra’ by Richard Strauss. If ever there was a better piece of music befitting the announcement of a king, I have yet to hear it.
As soon as the symphonic music climaxed, I heard the sound of an electric guitar together with a snare drum. It was the opening chords to ‘Jailhouse Rock’. As these first chords start to play, I suddenly saw the unmistakable silhouette of Elvis with his back to the audience, his shadow being projected up on to a huge backdrop, thirty feet high. There he was: the man they call the King.
The audience exploded with excitement as a spotlight suddenly shot down and Elvis spun around singing the opening line: ‘Going to a party in the county jail . . .’ Before he had even finished the first verse at least three women in front of me had fainted!
He performed only about thirty seconds of ‘Jailhouse Rock’ before he broke into ‘Since my baby left me . . .’ Again, he only sang around thirty seconds of the song and I saw another woman pass out as he broke into the next: ‘You ain’t nothing but a hound dog’.
I just could not believe what was happening. By the time Elvis had finished this spectacular opening, it was just as if a bomb had gone off. The audience was out of control, screaming, cheering, and some even looked to be pleading. There was something almost religious about the level of devotion and spirituality that was taking place. This was more than a rock concert; what I was seeing was a congregation that had come to pay homage to its god.
Elvis was clearly overjoyed by the response, and as the mayhem began to subside and settle, he went up to the microphone, half laughing and yet clearly moved. He said, ‘Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen. I’m really not worth it.’
I remember thinking to myself then, if this wasn’t enough, then what on earth would I have to do in order to be worth it?
It was not until I saw Elvis perform live that I really understood why people refer to him as the King. At the time I saw him perform this particular show, it was not long after his famous black-leather comeback shows when he was almost certainly at the very top of his game.
As I watched Elvis perform on stage, I could not help but be absolutely fascinated by the way he looked. Firstly, he was six feet tall, had jet-black hair, pearl-white teeth and a suntan to die for. Everything in his wardrobe was custom designed to make him look impressive and, of course, no expense was spared on jewellery and so on.
Elvis’s live show was not very long in terms of some of today’s concerts, but every single song he performed was a platinum hit: just one hit after the other, after the other; it was simply relentless.
My final memory of the show was Elvis performing ‘Polk Salad Annie’, which was not so well known but became a staple of his concerts in the early 1970s. As the song drew towards the end, Elvis left the stage with a wave while the band kept playing round and round again on the main riff until eventually they came to a stop.
Suddenly the main florescent house lights came on and a chilling voice came over the PA with those now famous words, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, Elvis has left the building.’
It really was like waking up from a beautiful dream and coming face to face with reality.
All around me there were people collecting up their belongings, women with black mascara running all down their faces, people who were confused, clearly in a state of shock, looking totally drained. I scanned the room: it was eerie – like seeing the devastation after a tornado has passed through. That is the effect that Elvis had upon people: he was such a joy to watch and to listen to that when he had gone you somehow felt totally alone and empty.
As we made our way out of the casino, we passed the Elvis merchandising stands. People were pushing and shoving just to buy items of memorabilia, some of whi
ch were limited to only one or two per person, and people started fighting each other for them.
When we eventually got outside, Dee looked at me and said, ‘So, what did you think?’
There was really no need to ask because he knew as well as I did that we had just witnessed what can only be described as a masterful performance by the King of Rock and Roll.
For a while afterwards, I must admit, I felt quite depressed because I knew that I would never be that good, but then I began to accept that, be it big or small, we all have our own contribution to make. I suppose, looking back now, things didn’t work out too bad after all.
By the time we embarked on the US tour, the stature of ELP had really begun to take hold and we were now performing in far more prestigious venues all over the world. Very near the beginning of the tour, on 19 July 1971, we played the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles, California. I believe that this was the first ever show where large synchronised video screens were used so that everyone in the audience would be able to see the performers close up. We would no longer just be a dot in the distance to the people furthest away in the largest venues.
ELP always travelled to the venue separately. This was partly for convenience and partly because we spent so much of the day together it was good for us to create as much personal space as possible whenever the chance arose. The drive to the Hollywood Bowl that night stands out, though, because our management had arranged for three white limousines to drive us to the show. The cars drove one behind the other in procession up to the venue, and as we got closer we began to go past thousands of people making their way to the show as well. As soon as they saw the cars go past, they started to shout and scream. By the time we reached the venue, we were very nervous.
As the Hollywood Bowl is an open-air amphitheatre set against the backdrop of the Hollywood Hills, it was a most impressive sight when we walked on to the stage and looked out at the audience sitting beneath the stars. Again, as with all of these iconic venues, it was impossible to walk on to the stage without reflecting on some of the great names that had performed there before us. The show went extremely well and the band had succeeded in notching up another landmark show in its career. Keith managed to fall into the orchestra pit at one point, and it was later revealed that he had broken a rib, but that didn’t stop him.
