In the fall of 1969 I met the band and started hanging out and jamming with them in their little house in the woods. It was a totally new experience for me and I loved it, but it was just for fun.
Sandy had arranged for the band to play a gig at the Anderson theater, between Jim Kweskin's Jug Band, and Country Joe and the Fish. (February 2, 1968) Even without the Underbelly, this was an odd conjunction. Kweskin was the most commercially successful jug band ever, if you don't count the Lovin Spoonful who were actually jug rock. Kweskin's band had Geof Maldour on washtub bass, and Maria Mouldar, (later to sing Midnight at the Oasis) (what a sweetie she was) singing. Their songs were often lyrically complex, with an urban overtone on a bluegrass bottom. They were easy to like. Country Joe on the other hand, didn't seem to care who liked him. He was ignoring all taboos. Viet Nam Blues -"Be the first one on your block, to see your boy come home in a box". "Gimme an F - F!.. Gimme a U - U!… But with a little stretching you could convince yourself that there was some relationship between the two bands. They both had political songs in their repertoire, and Country Joe did have Country in his name. The Soft White Underbelly?
This was just before the Fillmore East opened, a little further up second Avenue, across the street. The Anderson was a theater with a long history. In fact, it's full name was the Anderson Yiddish Theater and it had been one of the primary venues of the New York City Yiddish stage scene. When you see something by Neil Simon or Mel Brooks or Jerry Seinfeld, it all had its roots in places like the Anderson. But the Yiddish theater had lost its grip when Jewish kids started talking American. And when movies started? Don't ask. The Anderson, the last of the Schtick Palaces, home of Jewish serious theater, and Jewish burlesque too, was finished. In his book “My Life in and out of Rock, Bill Graham says he saw the last Yiddish play there. “The play that closed it was called “The Bride Got Farblundjet”(a little fucked up) with Menasha Skulnik and Molly Picon.” These were giants of the Yiddish stage so the Anderson was central to it all. Now it was dark except when some kid tried to promote a concert or two. Rock and roll had appropriated the space like a cultural hermit crab. This week, in addition to the Kweskin/Country Joe/Underbelly show, there would be the Sunday show put on by the Group Image.
The Group Image called themselves a Hippy Tribe. But they weren't the kind of Hippies that went off to live in a commune in Vermont. These people preferred to be an urban tribe, and to survive in the big city they had devised a maze of interconnected activities . They were great at self promotion and wound up on the cover of Time Magazine. They had a restaurant and places that grew veggies. They had artists that made posters and promotional materials for their shops. And they put on concerts that brought all of these activities together. Every weekend, usually on a Sunday, cause that's when the halls were cheap to rent and the bands available, the Group Image would set up shop somewhere. Their PA company would come in with a sound system, their artists would make and put up posters, their vendors would set up booths to sell foods and crafts, and their band would play.
The Sunday concerts floated, they moved from place to place. They were cheap, maybe two dollars, so they attracted a loyal and appreciative following. If it was snowing, two dollars could buy you a long afternoon of good music and shelter from the storm. If you were up all night and had no where to crash, you could sleep there, and wake up ready for the next night.
The Group Image band was good at what they did. It was a jam band, in the mode of the Grateful Dead. They would go on with a song for as long as they wanted, and most of the audience would be up on their feet, dancing in that wide open whirley way people do when they leave their self-consciousness behind.
Sandy had learned that the Group Image had rented the Anderson for the Sunday before the big gig, and he had gotten the Underbelly on to that bill so they would get a chance to feel out the stage.
I went down to the Anderson with the boys. The theater was big, at least a thousand seats, maybe more. Right now there were a few hundred people in the front. The Group Image Band was playing. The two main guys up front were Rick, the pretty boy of the group, and Artie, the madman driving force. Nobody was an especially great instrumentalist but together they created a full complex sound that danced the people away.
After a long satisfying set, they promise to return and announce the Soft White Underbelly. I stand in the back of the big theater watching as the Underbelly take the stage. The band looks comfortable. This gig is just the right thing to warm up for Saturday's show. They make some loud sounds as they ready themselves. Then they look to Albert and he counts them off. The first song begins with the kind of a riff, loud and tight, that they are to become known for, then they slipped into a jam, just the thing for this crowd. It quickly becomes apparent to everyone in the room that a bunch of superior musicians are playing for their two dollar pleasure and the people love it. They wave and yell when Donald or Jeff takes a lead, or Albert does a few seconds of break on his drums.
For me, something else is happening. These are the guys, this is the music, that I have been singing with every day for weeks. I worry for them, feel a proprietary interest in their success, and... I feel a pride in it, as if it has become my music. The band jams on. Then, not knowing what I am doing, without willing myself to do it, I find myself walking down the dark theater aisle toward the stage. I am watching myself, scared, wondering what the hell I am doing. Then left up the stairs into the wings. I stand there, looking in at the boys as they play, not knowing what will come next. Albert looks up from the drums to see me standing there. He thinks for a second then smiles and gestures that I should come on in. Onto the stage. I walk out onto the brightly lit stage and see surprise on Andrew's face. Everyone's. I walk over to the center mike. The boys wake up a little and the music takes on a renewed power. I have never sung on a big stage like this. I try to look out at the audience. The stage lights are blinding me. I see a few of the front rows but beyond that I hear, I sense, rather than see most of the people. And then as I grab the mike I feel something rising up in me. Oh no. Am I going to puke? Suddenly a very physical hot flash sweeps up from my feet into my face. Smack. I’m shaken. Nothing like that has ever happened to me. Well, its better than puking. I began to sing.
“Strange things are happening at the Yiddish theater. Strange things are happening at the Yiddish theater. Strange people pay their dollars Come and dance for hours and hours To bands with electrical powers At the Yiddish Theater.”
I feel a swell from the crowd. A sudden powerful guttural hum of approval. They like hearing about themselves. The crowd is like a big beast. And the sound of the beast rises and falls as I sing.
The band takes it away. OK, I have to get my breath. Think a minute. Now that the flow of words has stopped I feel released, but off balance, a little exhausted. How had that happened? And what would I do now? I am out here in the middle of this big stage. The lights from above break up on the surface of the mike and add haze to the room, but I can see the first two or three rows. The people out there are all on their feet, but not dancing so much as watching. The band hits a turn and it is suddenly me again.
“People dancing everywhere On the roofs In the stairways Doing what they want to Their ways At the Yiddish At the Yiddish At the Yiddish theater.”
I have seconds to reflect. How is this happening? When I had sung "stairways" the phrase "their ways" had jumped into my head….
“Hey! Hey Mr Underbelly!” Artie from the Group Image is standing up in the second row. He is loud and the band drops in volume as if to listen.
“I am His High Holy One,” says Artie, “the Arch-Bishop of New York”
Everybody laughs.
“Mr. Arch-Bishop,” I say, “You Royal Highest, what brings you to the Yiddish theater?”
“I've been hearing things,” says Artie.
“Things?”
“Strange things,” says Artie
“You mean…?” and we sing together... “Strange things are happening at the Yiddish theater. “ (The crowd ahhhhhs happily.) At that the boys pick it up and take it away for a minute, then Artie goes on…
“So here is my question - why are these strange things happening here at the Yiddish theater and not at my Churches? We are the biggest richest most highly respected places of worship in the whole fucking city. Why don't we get these strange things?”
I have to question this. “You want strange things in your churches?”
“Our churches are filled with strange things,” says Artie, “but we want YOUR strange things too.
“Don't you fear oh High Holy one,” I reassure him, “there is a strangeness today that will soon be in your churches. There is a strange thing happening all over and all under. Strange things strange things”
“Strange things are happening at the Yiddish theater.” We sing together.
The boys hear something, glance at each other, and slam into a finish. The people yell and laugh, jump and cheer. Artie and I look at each other over their faces. Artie nods.
