Jefferson Airplane: "White Rabbit"

July 29, 1967 (2 weeks)

There's an AI-assisted version of Jefferson Airplane's "White Rabbit" on YouTube. It wasn't what I was looking for but it certainly does the trick. I had been wondering if there's a much longer recording of the song out there, perhaps in demo form or maybe from a chaotic, acid-soaked gig. I imagined something that was at least eight minutes long and even half-expected to come across some unlistenable shit which clocks in at nearly half-an-hour. But a five minute "White Rabbit" will certainly do even if it isn't as extreme as I'd been picturing.

By the sounds of it, this AI extended version of "White Rabbit" is more or less the same as the original two-and-a-half-minute release until Grace Slick's cries of "feed your head" die down and a heretofore unheard buzz-saw guitar solo comes in. This goes on for long enough to lure the listener (or this listener at any rate) into assuming that it will continue for the remainder of its playing time. But then at the three minute, thirty-eight second mark Slick returns with some all new verses. It's all pretty convincing until a minute later when the singer goes back to the key lines of "feed your head" and she hits a note that she likely wasn't capable of — and whatsmore, it's one that goes on for several seconds. Realistic or not, I will admit that it's a satisfying way of bringing this five minute version to a conclusion. (The presumably AI-generated lyrics rely far too much on references to Alice in Wonderland: the Mad Hatter isn't missed in the original and it only feels like he's present here in order to pad out the verses)

AI Slick's (that's Artificial Intelligence Slick, not Al Slick!) note brings to mind Liz Phair or PJ Harvey or Courtney Love — in fact, it doesn't quite sound like any of the indie rock babes of the nineties in particular but all of them in general. It might as well be the first Riot Grrl anthem. The only problem is, under the conditions imposed by CD length glut, music industry trends and band indulgence, an alt.rock "White Rabbit" would have been at least five minutes in length, packed with unnecessary guitar solos and extra verses that only end up hammering the point home. In other words, a mere facsimile of the Jefferson Airplane original and, in its own way, every bit as contrived as the AI version. 

Jefferson Airplane's Surrealistic Pillow is a fascinating debut — even if it isn't strictly speaking their first album. It isn't necessarily brilliant from start to finish but that doesn't mean it doesn't make for an interesting listen. The cliche goes that an artist has their whole lives to make their first album but then only a few months to make a follow up. Too true but this saying neglects to mention that bands have to figure out what they're doing on their freshmen releases. Just throw everything at the wall to see what sticks. On Surrealistic Pillow, some of it stuck — but a good deal of it plopped onto the floor creating on hell of a mess and an unholy stench. (The great critic Ian MacDonald considered it to be the album's "only unquestioned success": a little harsh but not too far from the truth)

Despite what I wrote above about 'CD length glut', album running time has long been an issue. By 1967, more and more LPs were getting longer. Both Bob Dylan and the Mothers of Invention had put out double albums a year earlier while The Rolling Stones' Aftermath clocked in at around fifty-three minutes. On the other hand, The Beatles, Beach Boys and Byrds were still in the habit of being economical with time. (The latter's superlative '67 release Younger Than Yesterday has a running time of under thirty minutes) On the underground scene, the big album of the time had been The Velvet Underground & Nico with a pushing it but still manageable forty-eight minutes. Wisely, the Jefferson Airplane chose to err on the side of brevity.

The good thing about keeping things relatively concise is that flab gets trimmed as much as possible. Poor songs like "Plastic Fantastic Lover" are still present but at least they don't drag while the highlights are unable to wear out their welcome. A five minute "White Rabbit" might still be effective enough to impress but cut in half and you're just left wanting more — even if you're ultimately grateful that they kept it short all along. At just two-and-a-half minutes, it only has time to build itself up. It begins in a murky atmosphere of a lonely bass, bluesy guitar and military percussion. Then Slick comes in and it's clear she is in complete control. Every line she sings is done with precision and authority. Though short, the song takes its sweet old time getting to a climax that, to the shock of precisely no one, also doesn't stick around for very long.

At a time when silly and trivial bubblegum pop songs were clogging up the number one spot on the RPM chart, Jefferson Airplane getting to number one with this utterly mesmerizing single makes for a refreshing change of pace, all the while ushering in a purple patch of stellar chart toppers as the supposed golden summer of '67 began to fade, giving way to autumn. Yet, even most of the finest pop-rock of the era couldn't hope to compete with this. Jefferson Airplane would remain a very hit-and-miss act (a trend that would carry over into spinoff band Jefferson Starship; quality control would dip when they eventually evolved into Starship) but they would have been worth discussing had they never done anything beyond this one hundred and fifty second masterpiece. That extended AI "White Rabbit" is all well and good but I have no need for it any longer.

Postscript: Turns out, there is a lengthier recording of "White Rabbit" by Slick's previous band The Great Society. It opens with a free form exploration complete with a wild, Coltrane-esque sax solo courtesy of one Peter van Gelder. The tune is more upbeat, almost resembling jangle pop, which goes well with Slick's more rushed, less assured performance. The only real stand out is the strong drumming of Jerry Slick (Grace's then husband). It sounds very much like the work-in-progress it was. The extended opening may have worked in a live setting but there was clearly no need for it as a studio creation. Simplifying the arrangement, a more languid pace and a commanding vocal would be all that they would need to alter it from 'we may have something' to 'Jesus Christ, what the hell is this?'

Score: 10

Jefferson Airplane: "Somebody to Love"

June 17, 1967 (1 week)

"Among the velvet-trousered denizens of the Scotch of Saint James, the feeling was that the vaunted San Francisco Sound was strictly Amateur Hour."

— Ian MacDonald

How things had changed. Though the British Invasion was immensely popular, it wasn't without its critics. American pop stars were surprisingly slow to react to The Beatles, with the output of acts such as The Beach Boys and Four Seasons still being rooted in Phil Spector's Wall of Sound. State-of-the-art recording facilities and crack house bands ensured that bigs acts signed to major labels would have nothing but the best at their disposal. (This was also during the last days of the staff songwriters in New York so there was always professional material available if need be) The Beatles generated plenty of excitement but their records were dismissed by pros in the States as rough and unsophisticated. (Only struggling folk artists from Bob Dylan down to David Crosby and John Sebastian were astute enough to look past their supposed faults)

Jump ahead three years and roles had been reversed. The British had become the backbone of rock's aristocracy while a new generation of bands, especially those that came from outside of Los Angeles, seemed crass, unable to play their instruments and were incapable of composing great pop. Hence the Ian MacDonald quote above. There were exceptions of course. Members of the Grateful Dead were all accomplished jug band and bluegrass musicians while the quintet that made up the ill-fated Moby Grape were all talented songwriters, including Canadian-born Alexander 'Skip' Spence who had been the original Jefferson Airplane drummer. 

MacDonald's essay on Jefferson Airplane goes to great lengths to describe their amateurism. He's probably not wrong but looking at the "Somebody to Love" cover above — which is identical to the sleeve of their debut album, the hit-and-miss Surrealistic Pillow — I don't think it's Spencer Dryden clasping a banjo which stands out. ("That's about right," MacDonald dismissively asserts; the critic mistakenly claimed that it was Jack Casady, which I suppose is an easy mistake to make: it's not as if many people were paying attention to anyone beyond Grace Slick) Rather, it's the sight of guitarist Jorma Kaukonen on the bottom left. In his shades and boyish t-shirt, he could easily pass for a member of The Velvet Underground.

Though contemporaneous, the Velvets never had much regard for what was going on in California. Their darkness supposedly represented an antidote to all that hippie free-love idealism centred around San Francisco's Haight-Ashbury district. While there's some truth to this, the doom which emanated in some of Jefferson Airplane's work suggests they shared more than a little in common. (Meanwhile, both The Doors and Love weren't exactly all flower power, peace 'n' love down in LA) The only thing really separating the two was that the New Yorkers had one-time professional songwriter Lou Reed as well as the classically trained violinist John Cale leading the way while no one from the Airplane was nearly as prodigious.

Yet for that "only 10,000 people bought the first The Velvet Underground album but everyone who did formed a band" malarkey, they never had anything even in the same universe as "Somebody to Love" (and don't think for a second that there weren't garage bands all over North America who were all about the Jefferson Airplane). Sure, I dig "I'm Waiting for My Man" and "Venus in Furs" and "The Black Angel's Death Song" but these are songs to rock out to and contemplate and be unnerved by respectively; "Somebody to Love" is as cool as anything Reed ever recorded while being the kind of thing people can't not sing along with.

As simple and direct as vintage Velvets, the trump card is Grace Slick, who wasn't just an attractive, charismatic front but a powerful vocalist which is easy to overlook. Male or female, there wasn't anyone who sounded like her. Amateurish? Maybe. Certainly she wasn't going to be anyone's first choice to do Bachrach and David or Greenway and Cook covers but that wasn't what she was there for. You can sort of hear in her original version with previous group The Great Society that she was in need of an accompaniment that was as committed as she was. There's something hesitant about her voice which contrasts sharply with the confidence she oozes in the more famous recording here.

The Bay Area was said to have been full of groovy kids dropping acid but the truth was much darker and suspect. "You'd better find somebody to love" is a surprisingly threatening statement that seems to reflect the countercultural ideals while offering a sobering warning to all. Slick and her bandmates may not have known that the Haight was soon to devolve into cults, madness and murder but they surely could see through the bullshit. Just because they were amateurs doesn't mean they didn't know what they were talking about.

Score: 8