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A Visit To Winterland By John Valenzuela
Earlier this summer, I was negotiating to interview Roger Waters when he came to Los Angeles during his In The Flesh tour. My angle was that I wanted to talk to him about the album, Animals, and that the interview would appear in the last issue of Spare Bricks. I felt that Roger would be more open to this line of questions rather than the same questions he was getting hit with at every stop of the tour: "How's the tour going," "Are you excited for tonight's show," and the one continues to amaze me, "So ya ever gonna get back together with the other guys?" Well, as it turned out, his time in L.A. was completely taken up and the interview didn't happen, but I was then told that I could interview him when the live album comes out. Fine. Fast forward to October. I began the negotiating process with the angle that, this time, I'd talk to Roger about Syd to keep in the theme of this issue. As the deadline for this Spare Bricks issue was approaching and I still hadn't any confirmation, my editors and I devised a back-up plan in case I didn't get the interview. I would pay a visit to the site of Pink Floyd's US debut, San Francisco's famous Winterland. Well, actually, the site where Winterland used to be. The last show at the fabled ice-rink-turned-concert-hall was New Year's Eve 1978 with the Grateful Dead and the Blues Brothers. Anyway, you can understand now why I didn't want to have to write this article, because it signaled that I didn't get the interview. In a way, however, it does kind of go along with the whole Syd theme, or really, the feelings of lost opportunities, lost treasures, things that could have been, etc. Too bad I didn't get the interview. Too bad Winterland isn't there anymore. Too bad Syd isn't there anymore. See what I mean? Before I begin this journey, I should tell you that there's conflicting information regarding Pink Floyd's first US gig. All of my Internet friends told me that it was 11/3/67 at Winterland, however, both Nicholas Schaffner's book, A Saucerful Of Secrets, and Miles' book, A Visual Documentary, both state that it was 10/26/67 at the Fillmore. To further to confusion, Miles quotes Roger as saying it was Winterland. Well, Vernon Fitch's Pink Floyd Encyclopedia sites it at Winterland, and since I know Vernon, I'm going with what he said. So, armed with the idea that the Floyd's first US gig was Winterland 11/3/67, opening for Big Brother & The Holding Company, I prepared for the trip. As I always like to set these journeys to music, I brought along all my Syd-related tapes, which sadly aren't that many, but it was enough to get me there. On the way home I could listen to some Santana.
Okay, so I popped on the Copenhagen show. While it was enjoyable to listen to, all I could think was "man, I wish I could have seen this." The Pink Floyd shows were about the experience, the moment, what both band and audience could create right then and there. The music, while being the hub of it all, was just one of the parts, and although the tape is great to listen to (and thank goodness someone in 1967 had the foresight to preserve this), I knew I wasn't getting the full effect. But what was really great about this tape was that I could imagine these gigs happening inside Winterland and let my imagination roam from there. I have old footage of the Grateful Dead playing inside Winterland, so I could picture what it looked like inside. Substitute the Dead visual with the Floyd visual, turn the tape up and voila; I was there! I arrived very late at night in San Francisco, so I drove straight to my friends' house and sacked out for the night. The next day, I told them that I needed to go to 2000 Post, the former site of Winterland. The husband of this team said, "Dude, I know where that is. It's just a big condominium building now." Egad, the thing is hideous. Just a big, ugly monument to "The Bottom Line." I tried and tried to pick up an old vibe, but as I walked around the entire building, all I could feel was the sadness and the shame of it all. Really, do you think for a moment that anyone living in this monstrosity has any clue of what all went down at this location? And there are virtually no signs of its former life; no plaque, no sign, no old black and white photo, nothing. Sad, just sad. If Winterland was equal in size to this place, then Winterland must have been a pretty impressive place for an up-and-coming band to play. True, the Floyd had well established themselves in Europe, but in the US at this time they were only really known on the underground circuit. And with the Fillmore just down the street, this must have been a pretty happening part of town in the late 60s. But not now. Not only is the bulk of the building condos, but there's a few shops on the ground floor to make sure there's more money exchanged on the premises. There was one space available for lease, and I just had to grab a photo by that sign. "2000 Post, Now Leasing." I'd like to lease the whole thing, tear it down, and put another concert hall there. I walked around to the front entrance and approached the main office. Someone was working at the desk, so I asked, "Excuse me, is there any kind of marker or plaque or memorabilia to honor what used to be on this property?" The person looked at me like I was nuts. "I don't understand what you mean. This has been a condo for as long as I've known." I continued, "So you don't know the history of this location? You don't know what was here before the condos?" "No, what was it?" "Winterland." "What's that?" It was becoming clear to me that this was going nowhere. "Oh, just one of the most famous concert venues in the history of rock and roll." "Oh, well, there's no plaque. I'm sorry." On my drive home, I listened to Wish You Were Here. Never has this album felt so appropriate to me. There was a parallel feeling of loss here; both for Syd and for Winterland. I started this trip knowing that the fabled concert hall was gone and that I probably wouldn't like what I saw in its place. I was right, and on the surface, one would think this trip was a waste, but I felt good about the whole experience, much in the same way I feel about Syd. In both cases, it's an enormous loss, but taking solace in the memories and legacies left behind brings back that "warm sadness." Of course, two weeks after this trip, fate played a wonderful hand with my original quest of a Roger Waters interview, but that's another story. John Valenzuela is a staff writer for Spare Bricks.
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As
I commenced the 320-mile drive from Los Angeles to San Francisco, somewhere
near Grapevine, I threw in the first tape, Piper At The Gates Of
Dawn. It had been a while since I listened to the whole thing through
start to finish, and I must say that I quite enjoyed it. When put up
against the entire body of work from Pink Floyd, I don't think it stands
up as tall as most of the other albums, but when you just sit (or drive
in this case) and listen to the entire thing as its own whole entity,
it's actually a very enjoyable album. It covers a broad range of emotions:
the darkness of "Astronomy Domine," the hip-swinging coolness of "Lucifer
Sam," the mind-blowing "Interstellar Overdrive," and the playful childhood
innocence of "Bike." This was a great way for me to reacquaint myself
with our old pal, Syd.
After
a fuel-up in Kettleman City, I threw on the next tape, a little gem
I hadn't listened to in ages called The Sights and Sounds of Syd
Barrett's Floyd. This is a great little number that compiles many–possibly
all–of Syd Barrett's radio appearances. All the BBC stuff, the
famous CBC interview, plus the post-Floyd BBC stuff including his final
radio performance. It was wonderful and sad all at the same time. As
the tape goes along, you do indeed begin to hear the decline. Early
on we hear a coherent and passionately creative person delivering delightful
songs that evoke all kinds of images, both inviting and foreboding.
Somewhere along the way, the decline becomes noticeable. Perhaps it's
around "Vegetable Man." There just seems to be less effort put into
the songwriting at this point. The final radio performance is a true
cacophony of sound, noise and madness. If what David Gilmour said is
true about "it's all extensions of what's going on inside our heads,"
then this last BBC session shows the mayhem that had consumed Syd.
My
last musical warm-up was the tape that has the Copenhagen show 9/13/67
on one side and the Ahoy show from Rotterdam 11/13/67 on the other.
Perfect. The first show is from just prior to their U.S. debut, the
second show from just after. Let me pause here to say that I have NEVER
purchased a Pink Floyd bootleg. I have only ever traded for the tape
collection I've amassed, and I would only ever trade tapes for the purpose
of maintaining historical record, and for my own personal listening
enjoyment. 
Okay,
how depressing is that? This legendary concert hall that played host
to some of the most important bands in the history of rock and roll
died under the almighty dollar and is now reduced to condos? Ugh. The
thought made me sad, but again, it fell right into this whole theme
of loss, so in a way it was a "warm sadness." So we headed to 2000 Post
Street. Part of me didn't want to see it, but more of me did. Kind of
like the photos of a balding, overweight Syd taken over the past 20
years. Part of me feels like I shouldn't see them to preserve the memory,
but my curiosity wins out. We pull up and park at the corner. "Well,"
says my friend, "there it is."
I
left and headed back to the car where my friends were waiting, but on
the way back, something caught my eye in the window of one of the shops.
It wasn't a plaque, and it was undoubtedly unintentional, but nevertheless,
there in the window of this building was the small bit of "vibe" I was
looking for.