1,103. Cheap Thrills – Big Brother & The Holding Company
Janis is at her most Janis here. Freak flags are flying.
I just read Joan Didion's "Slouching Towards Bethlehem" last night and they make a cameo. Twice, I think. Great essay. I almost just re-posted a bit, but I don't want to hold people captive. Any interested inquires, just shoot me a line.
I

Slouching Towards Bethlehem.
I'd heard she was a great writer and had read a political essay and some free snippets, but hadn't ever looked hard enough to find a free, public reprint of it. The Saturday Evening Post has one and I found an Internet Archive of the whole book plus some, so I don't want to even close out my browser. I figure it's like going to the library, right? "Slouching . . ." which is the title of her book and the essay below, has a lot of California in it, especially this one about Haight-Ashbury in '67, a non-sensational look at the dark side of the hippie movement before anyone else was chronicling it.
https://www.saturdayeveningpost.com/2017/06/didion/
But the essay is devastating, as is the one about Joan Baez where Didion reprints Joan's writing verbatim—almost definitely knowing and cringing at how bad Baez' writing was—which is sort of savage in a way (but so were Wolfe and Thompson and all the New Journalists, really). But the part where Baez talks about a "crystal teardrop" and later in the book Didion describes a Haight-Ashbury girl/woman as having "a very young girl's poems, each written out in a neat hand and finished off with a curlicue . . . [d]awns are roseate, skies silver-tinted, [w]hen she writes the word 'crystal' in her books she does not mean Meth." you know the gig is up with Baez and the two Joans aren't going to lunch any time soon.
"My life is a crystal teardrop. There are snowflakes falling in the teardrop and little figures trudging around in slow motion. If I were to look into the teardrop for the next million years, I might never find out who the people are, and what they are doing." - Joan Baez
The first two paragraphs of "Slouching . . ." are so excellently crafted that one sort of stiffens and the hair stands up a bit on one's arms from a bit of foreboding. Good writing.