Charisma

Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Ottis Redding, The Who... Forty years later, they jump at you from the screen, in their youthful splendour, in the documentary by P.E. Pennebaker which I just watched for the first time about the Monterey Pop festival. In June 1967, this festival, with the impeccable sound system, neat rows of chairs,  friendly cops and thousands of innocent faces in all their psychedelic bloom was said to have launched the Summer of Love: there they were, the Mammas and the Papas, Simon and Garfunkel and the Jefferson Airplane singing their sweet tunes, full of American innocence and good will. But alongside, in sharp contrast,  there was already a deep rumble of agression: Pete Townsend smashing his guitar, and Hendrix setting his on fire, over a thunderous menacing version of Wild Thing, after a little ejaculatory performance with the instrument. And Janis Joplin, above all, singing the blues with an impersonation of despair which would soon become all too real. From Monterey to Altamont, only two years elapsed, but a what a difference did they make.