Dedicated to my favorite time - the 60s

The twentieth century - and my favorite rock music.

Necessary preface.

The whole story is fictional. The only real songs quoted are the ones that were the source of inspiration for this story. The use of these songs in the text is coordinated with all the performers :). Sincerely - the author.

San Francisco. Avalon. Summer 1968

In the stuffy concert hall, like marijuana smoke, the first beats of blissful, somewhat ragged "electrified" southern blues blurred. Three guitars - bass, rhythm and solo - with a soft but precise support of the drums were sparingly meagerly, but they consistently deduced the same rhythm, creating a feeling of incredible density of sound enveloping listeners and musicians, uniting them into one whole. What other San Francisco groups tried to achieve with light shows, free distribution of LSD and long guitar improvisations - unity, these newcomers who looked like Texas provincials, imperceptibly for everyone, achieved with the help of the usual three-chord blues, which did not act on the brain, eyes and hearing , but on the soul and feelings.

The stocky, low 23-year-old boy with a wide, ugly face in a plaid shirt, unbuttoned on the top two buttons, and in worn jeans, standing at the microphone, sang a low, sharp, unaccustomed voice with a skin of his Negro tonal voice, in which deadly fatigue and fracture On the one hand, it was necessary according to the laws of the genre: the blues is performed only at the limit of power. This blues is a pain. On the other hand, tiredness was explained quite simply: the guy had not slept for the second night, suffering from insomnia and fleeing from her playing the guitar, writing new songs and polishing old ones. In addition, last night there was rain, in the old bungalow, which the group took off almost on the coast itself, the roof leaked, and the guy had a little cold, despite the mild California climate. Now he has a sore throat. But he sang; he had to sing ...

On a highwaaaay thirty people lost their lives.

On a highwaaaay thirty people lost their lives ...

Each line was separated from the other by a furious uncompromising guitar loss. The guy always knew that his guitar was a living creature with his soul and aspirations, and today this creature supported him in his pain.

Well I had some words to holleeeer "And my Rosie took her ride" ...

None of the listeners, amazed at the sincerity of the song, knew that it was not just a tribute to the great American style. No one knew what it was - confession ...

Loudai, California 1967

Her name was not Rosie, but Kelly. Only the other day she turned 18 years old, and she was beautiful as soon as the girls of the American West are beautiful at this age, full of hope and dreams. Only the other day at school was her graduation party, where she rightfully became the “first miss.” She was the daughter of a local sheriff. And his girlfriend - the first, beloved and only, as always happens at this age. And now she was standing in front of him in the garage, where he, sitting on the hood of an old Ford, who remembered, probably, even during the Great Depression, was playing the guitar “Good g olly miss Molly”, and, barely holding back tears, told him:

- I'm leaving, Johnny ...

John put down his guitar and looked at her gloomily.

- Still decided?

Silent nod in response.

- And the father did not mind?

The girl sighed:

- Objected ... But, you know, my mother supported me. She closed with him in the room, they talked for a long time. Swore. But he agreed. And he even said that he would send out fifty dollars a month.

“This is great,” John sighed. - Maybe you will not have to earn money ...

They have been talking about this since last year. Back in the fall, John knew that this was their last joint year of meeting, walking, listening to their favorite music. He knew that after graduation, Kelly would leave to go to Berkeley. She always wanted to study, she dreamed of being a journalist.

John was happy for her, but this joy was lurking somewhere in the very depths of his soul under the hardest feeling of bitterness and - maybe even a little envy. Before her opened a wide, chic world of student life, a big city, new discoveries, new music, dating ... maybe a new love ... The last guy was afraid most of all. But ... and what should she do here in this sleepy little town? There are still spitting and switching channels here, when Martin Luther King is shown on TV, and when biker flocks rush through the city at their annual gathering, they lock doors and windows, and even sheriff, Kelly's father, a thunderstorm and horror of all hippies within a radius of forty miles prefers not to leave the house. What can this fragile, dark-haired, so cute, slightly naive and touching girl wait for? And what can he give her - a laconic, shy lubger working at a local gas station? Well, yes, he has a group. Well, yes, sometimes they perform in the surrounding cafes and clubs - sometimes for a fee, more often for food ...

Kelly squatted in front of the guy, took his hands in her own and asked quietly:

“John ... Why don't you come with me?”

The guy, who had looked a little to the side before, looked at her:

- With you ... And what am I going to do there? In Berkeley?

- Well, what? - spoke Kelly convincing whisper. - Find a job. You will write songs and sing ... But we will be together - isn't it great?

John pursed his lips and sighed heavily.

- Kel, baby ... Do you know how many people there are like me? Do you think they will listen to me?

“They will,” the girl said with conviction. - I know - believe me. You will find those who hear you. And I'll be there. Let's live together, rent an apartment ...

- I ... What about the guys? Do you think they will go with me?

Kelly was awkwardly silent. Under the "guys" meant the three other members of the group of John - older brother and two classmates. They were friends together almost from the cradle. They were united not only by common life, study and hobbies. It seemed that they had a common soul.

- Do you think they will go with me? - repeated John. - Vaughn Dick will be studying for a lawyer from his father, he is already on probation in his office. Tim is already a family ... And so they will just give up everything and rush along with us?

- And you think they like to sit here? - hotly spoke girl. - Johnny, honey, look around! The world is changing - remember how Bob Dylan sang! He really is changing. And we change it - you, me, Dick, Tim, Harvey! Everybody changes him - with his music, love, actions ... You didn’t even talk to them! How can you know what they want and what they don't! ..

“I don’t need to talk to them,” the guy said slowly. - Brother will not abandon the family, but he will not be able to drag her to the apartment, with a small child. We'll just have a fight with him if I even talk about it ... And there is something else. I did not want to tell you, so as not to upset - you still had a holiday ...

- What happened? - Kelly literally dug into the gaze of John, in a sudden seizure of her excitement tightly clasped his hands.

“I recently saw your father,” he said, even more slowly than usual, literally squeezing the words out of himself. - A few days ago. He told me ... that the agenda could come to me. The other day. Maybe in a week, in two. So that I did not go anywhere ... So, just in case ...

- Agenda ... where? - Kelly still did not understand.

“There ...” John shook his head toward the Pacific. - To Vietnam.

There was silence in the garage with an ax.

“Gosspodiii,” the girl's half-breathing-half-whispered through the air. Kelly, suddenly exhausted, lowered her head low. - And what have you decided? - Somewhere from under her knees came her voice.

- Here you can decide something? - crooked smiled guy. “Two fingers pointed at you,” he quoted with a biting irony of the song of the band The Seeds, “and Johnny stomps on the war,” he finished with a quote from the work of Country Joe.

- John, this is not funny! - Kelly sharply raised her head and ...