Guitarist and keyboardist David Bennett Cohen was born in 1942, in Brooklyn, New York. He had been part of the folk revival before moving to Berkeley and joining Country Joe and the Fish. The interview took place February 21, 1998, at his home in Forest Hills, New York. His website is here.
Country Joe and the Fish, from left : Barry Melton, David Bennett Cohen, Bruce Barthol, Country Joe McDonald, Chicken Hirsch
Craig Morrison : You came out of the Washington Square folk scene in Greenwich Village in Manhattan.
DBC : Yes, I did. Washington Square is one of my truly golden memories, that whole era. I feel that I’ve been very fortunate in my life, because I was part of the Washington Square folk music scene and then I became part of the San Francisco rock and roll scene, two very seminal scenes.
I started playing piano when I was seven. I studied for seven years and I hated it. I was sort of forced to do it. When I was ten or eleven I started playing guitar and I loved it. Then when I was 13 I went to a camp called Lincoln Farm Work Camp, which was very progressive, very radical, run by some communists or at least inhabited by them. My background was that my grandparents were anarchists. I wasn’t really a "red-diaper baby" but I was close. That’s a term for people like Arlo Guthrie and Country Joe whose parents were communists. This camp woke me up to a lot of things. It’s where I first saw Pete Seeger, who came and did a concert. I met a fellow named Paul Prestopino, a little older than me, who was a magnificent musician, one of the best. He was playing with the Chad Mitchell Trio, making money, almost from the beginning.
When I got back I became serious about the guitar. I fell in love with folk music. I thought it was the best stuff. That summer, 1956, I started going to Washington Square Park. I had heard folk music was being played there on Sundays from two to six. It was very strict. Mayor Wagner only gave a license for stringed instruments—couldn’t have drums, couldn’t have horns—only stringed instruments. Obviously no electronic instruments ; there weren’t any then anyway, none you could take with you. The cops were very strict with us.
That’s where I met people like Roger Sprung, Danny Kalb [future Blues Project], Happy and Artie Traum [future recording artists and makers of music instruction material], Eric Nagler, Perry Lederman, John Sebastian [future Lovin’ Spoonful], all kinds of people, lots of musicians. Lionel Kilberg was in the Shanty Boys band with Roger Sprung and Mike Cohen, no relation to me. [Mike Cohen’s brother] John Cohen was in the New Lost City Ramblers with Tom Paley, another great influence on me. I looked up to him, idolized him. A Chicago musician who used to come to New York periodically was Frank Hamilton. And Bob Gibson, Erik Darling, so many were in that scene. A lot were my age, some were older, like Dave Van Ronk, Roy Berkeley, the generation before us. Izzy Young—he started the Folklore Center, 110 McDougal Street. The Folklore Center was great. He’s a great human being.
I was young, but I had no choice, I was driven. I started high school : I’d get home from school around 3:30, I’d go up to my room and play guitar for six hours. I’d do 15 minutes of homework and go to sleep. This was it, for three years. That’s all I did.
I learned music on guitar from stealing from my friends and listening to records and stealing from records. A lot of folk music, some bluegrass. I was doing a lot of fingerpicking at the time, listening to Merle Travis, Etta Baker, Elizabeth Cotten, Mississippi John Hurt. I heard his “Spike Driver Blues” on the Anthology of American Folk Music. He was rediscovered later. Roy Berkeley, who was a great influence on my life, although he is kind of peripheral in terms of the folk music scene, probably knows more songs that anybody I ever met. He has the most beautiful little Martin guitar, probably a 19th century Martin, and plays with his thumb, that’s all he does. He had two copies of the Anthology of American Folk Music, one that he played, and one that he kept boxed up, that he said he was going to keep that for his grandchildren. Some of the music on those records were really really great. Some of it was not so good, but most of it was really great.
CM : It’s surprising how influential that was too. Because it was almost the only source where you could get old songs from the 1920s and ’30s.
DBC : That was pretty much the only thing. The Library of Congress recordings were really it, and you could get Library of Congress recording of some of the people. Then they started rediscovering people, people like Bayard Ray, the fiddler, and Obray Ramsay. He and Obray Ramsey were cousins. Actually, I played with Bayard Ray. He was an old man when I met him in the early ’70s, when I was living back in New York, and I did recording sessions with him. It was really a thrill for me.
CM : Because you had known his records before ?
DBC : Right. I would struggle listening to the records. You play one cut, and you play it again, you play it again, you play it again, you play it again. You start playing, you try to copy it. This is what we did for hours, me and some friends. Of course, we learned from each other.
CM : I bet you would to the Sunday sessions and say, “I got this,” and some other guy would say, “No, no, you’ve got to move your finger here.”
DBC : That’s right.
CM : A voyage of discovery,
DBC : Yeah, it was really fun. Perry Lederman and I used to ride the subway to Washington Square Park from Brooklyn, and as soon as we’d get on the subways, our guitars would come out and we’d be playing. I would say, “Oh, what was that ?” And he’d say, “Oh, what was that ?” We’d show each other things. That’s basically how I learned the guitar. Some people you didn’t want to ask, untouchable, so you just watch really carefully.
CM : They didn’t want to give away their secrets, maybe.
DBC : No, that really didn’t exist too much within that community.
CM : You held them in too much awe to bother them.
DBC : Yeah, that’s pretty much right. The Folk Singers Guild got started by Dave and Terry Van Ronk, and Roy Berkeley, and a fellow named Pete Stevens, who was the treasurer. It was very loose. You have to realize, these are a bunch of commies who didn’t put much stock in organization. But it got chartered, I think. You paid a minimal amount of dues and you got a little card that says Folk Singers Guild. They had a magazine called Gardyloo. They had such a sense of humor. Nobody took themselves particularly seriously, which was one the things I loved about folk music and that scene. Gardyloo is a bastardization of “guarde au l’eau” which means, in French, watch out for the water, because they didn’t have any indoor plumbing. [In old Edinburgh], they would yell “gardyloo” and throw the slops thrown out of the window.
After six we’d go to somebody’s loft or apartment. We’d meet, exchange ideas, somebody would play, we’d talk any old business, any new business. Then after that, there was a concert, an open mic or singer’s workshop kind of a thing, at the American Youth Hostel building, which was on 8th Street. The same building is now something else. That was our day. Then I’d take the subway home. The Folk Singer’s Guild lasted about a year, maybe a little bit longer, then the treasurer, Pete Stevens, a funny little guy, ran off with the money. It was $40 ! Even in 1958, it wasn’t that much.
[In 1961] Mayor Wagner decided he didn’t want any more music in Washington Square Park and he took away the license and there were riots, the Washington Square Riots. [The one called the Folk Riot or the Beatnik Riot occurred on April 9, 1961.] People got beaten up by the cops. After a few weeks Mayor Wagner reneged and we got our permits back. A friend of mine named Daniel Drasin filmed a lot of that, and at a party at my house he said, “Listen, I’m making this movie about the riots. Would you record some music for me ?” I was playing banjo and this other fellow named Jan Dorfman was playing guitar and we went into my parents’ room and Danny set the tape recorder up and [Jan and] I sang "This Land is Your Land."
A few years later, I went on a date, the first time I’d been out with this girl. We went to a movie in the Village. I can’t remember what the main movie was but then it said [on the poster or marquee] “short subject : Sunday.” We went into the movie and I hear this music. I say, “That sounds familiar.” Then I hear this voice, and I say, “That sounds familiar.” Then the credits went by, and it said music by Dave Cohen and Jan Dorfman. Ah ha ha ! I’d never seen it before. I didn’t even know that Danny had done it, that he had finished it. My date was very impressed, so, of course, that was great.
CM : How did you feel about it when you were watching it ?
DBC : I was blown away. It was the first time I’d ever heard myself on a recording, other than recording oneself. It reminded me of all those people getting beaten up.
When I was about 16, just finishing high school, I heard boogie woogie piano. I was watching TV and I saw Meade Lux Lewis. It blew my mind ! He was so fat that he had to sit sideways to play the piano and he was so short that he couldn’t reach the pedals. But he played ! He was unbelievable. I was blown away by it. Then I went in search of some piano music, and I found that record with the three boogie woogie pianists : Meade Lux Lewis, Albert Ammons, and Pete Johnson. I listened to it over and over again and I learned some of that on the piano.
CM : Had you stopped playing piano for a while ?
DBC : Oh yeah, I had stopped playing piano for several years.
CM : This reopened the piano door.
DBC : Exactly. The music I was learning when I was studying piano, looking back on it, I call it fake pseudo-classical music. Simplified.
CM : It didn’t seem to have any bearing on life.
DBC : Right, exactly, that’s a very good point. Now, I can really look back and analyze things that really touched me about certain music. Folk music, blues, that kind of thing, is really people’s music. It’s music of the common person. It’s not necessarily the lowest common denominator, but it is music of people, music that people appreciate. Lowest common denominator music, I think is like a lot of the very very popular stuff. Now, you can look at somebody like Kenny G : it’s very bland, it’s very sanitized. It doesn’t have any reality to it.
CM : You got back into piano through boogie woogie, and then you were playing piano and guitar.
DBC : Right, although not so much piano because I couldn’t take it with me.
CM : And there wasn’t the same community.
DBC : No, there wasn’t, because with the guitar, you can carry it anywhere.
CM : You can tell by who is carrying one, who is in the music tribe, too. You can’t tell who is a piano player, because they have nothing to show.
DBC : In those days, if you had an acoustic guitar, then you were probably a folkie. And so, you could talk to somebody right away. Now, it’s a little different !
I remember being at Joshua Rifkin’s house for a party. By the way, Roy Berkeley gave great advice, he said, “When you go to a party, make sure you stop playing before all the pretty girls are taken.” That was part of it ! That was part of why we wanted to play ! Anyway, Joshua is a great piano player.
CM : He sparked off much of the ragtime revival with his recordings of Scott Joplin piano pieces.
DBC : He sure did. The revival was mostly due to Josh. He was an old friend of mine who was part of that scene. He graduated from Juilliard. Another close friend from that scene was Winnie Winston, one of the best musicians I know, plays steel and banjo. He’s living in New Zealand. They were going to Music and Art at the time, a high school.
CM : You had all these really driven people like yourself around you. What was your reaction to the popularity of the Kingston Trio ?
DBC : The Kingston Trio came in [in 1958] and I hated it. It was so unauthentic.
CM : Fakelore some called it. It turned millions of people on and it turned you off ! What was the reaction of people on the scene ?
DBC : We just kept doing what we were doing. Then Dylan came to New York. In 1962, I got married and dropped out of music for three years. My marriage was a big mistake.
CM : That period 1956 to ’62 was really intense : community oriented, exchanging.
DBC : My playing, my style came out of that. We were on fire. Even though I stopped playing, I never lost that fire.
In 1965 I left. I went to California. I left the marriage and I went to San Francisco.
CM : What was the pull to go there ?
DBC : Well, number one, it was as far as I could go, and number two, I knew somebody who was in Berkeley, a friend of mine named Bert Soloman, another part of the scene. I got to San Francisco and I called him, and, “Yeah, come on over.” I stayed with him for a few weeks and I got right into the music scene there. That’s when I met Sandy Rothman, Phil Marsh, we’re still friends, a lot of people. There was a club called the Jabberwock, on Telegraph and Russell Street, not far from the university. Joe [McDonald] and Barry [Melton] and Bruce [Barthol] lived behind the Jabberwock. The Jabberwock was a gathering place. The fellow who ran it was Bill Ellert, a big guy, and he calls himself the Jolly Blue Giant. It was a fun scene, and people constantly gathered there. It was the same kind of scene. This was happening in Berkeley, it was happening in San Francisco, in Marin, in Palo Alto, where the Grateful Dead were. Coffee house scenes, music scenes, people playing together.
I joined a band called Blackburn and Snow, and we rehearsed a lot. We didn’t play any gigs. They had a record out, but I wasn’t on that record, and were trying to get a band together. One day Jeff Blackburn said after the rehearsal, “Let’s go see the Airplane.” I didn’t know what he was talking about. I thought we were going to the airport. We get in the car, we drive into the city, go to their house, and there’s these people there playing all these gorgeous guitars. I’m playing the guitar and it’s where I met Jorma [Kaukonen] and Jack [Casady] and we became friends. Another time after another rehearsal, Jeff said, “Oh, the Grateful Dead are up on campus. Let’s go see them.” I said, “I know that name, I know that’s a band.” We got there and saw them, they had just started playing, and I never saw anything like that. Jerry Garcia blew me away. I never saw anybody play the guitar like that. It was so great. After that, I went up and introduced myself, and we became friends.
A few weeks later I left Blackburn and Snow and I decided to start my own band ’cause everybody was having bands. I asked Barry Melton would he be in my band, and he said sure. And we had a band together. He was also playing with Country Joe. I was playing guitar exclusively, I was not playing keyboards at all. But there was a piano at the Jabberwock and I would bang away on it with my boogie woogie. Barry was very impressed with it. So when Joe said to Barry he wanted an organ player, Barry said, “Oh, David can play organ.” I never played organ before in my life ! They asked me to join the band as the organ player.
CM : You merged forces with them.
DBC : Right. I started playing guitar with them. We had Bruce Barthol playing bass. Paul Armstrong was playing guitar, bass, tambourine, sort of filling in, singing backup vocals. They were looking for a drummer and found John Francis Gunning, a street guy, percussionist. Little goatee, always had his eyes closed, leaning back playing congas with all the other guys. He joined, and we had a band. We didn’t have an organ but we had a band. The first gig we played was on the University of California campus.
CM : Under what name ?
DBC : I joined Country Joe and the Fish. They were a loose organization. They had recorded a Rag Baby EP, a jug band thing, which I was not on. At this first concert, I look up and there’s Jerry Garcia and Jerry—at this time Jorma was called Jerry—Kaukonen. They knew me, they didn’t know anybody else. Told me how great I was, and I was impressed and happy because I thought Barry was really good. They really liked my playing.
County Joe and the Fish was a stylistic band, mainly because we didn’t know what we were doing. When they finally got me this Farfisa organ, a single keyboard Farfisa organ, I didn’t know what to do. The only organ player that I’d ever heard of the modern era was Al Kooper, so I started stealing from Al on Dylan’s records. I copied him in my own way. I didn’t get it right. Because I was trying to copy him and not doing it right I developed my own style. They wanted solos and I didn’t know what to do so I stole my guitar licks. I played my guitar licks on the keyboard. I knew what scales I was playing on the guitar for a solo, so I could just transfer it to the piano. My fingers worked so that wasn’t the problem, I just didn’t know what to play. That’s where all the [organ] solos on the first record come from : guitar solos. Plus my boogie woogie, a conglomeration of all that. And so, I became a stylist.
People wrote great reviews about this tremendous style of Country Joe and the Fish with the organ sound, the organ sound, the organ sound. Even Country Joe now says, “We have to have that organ sound.” Pigpen was the organ in the Grateful Dead but he wasn’t out front like I was. And the Doors had Ray Manzarek, he was fabulous. As soon as I heard him, I was stealing his licks. Even now, I listen to people and try to steal things.
CM : Your sound was a big part of the style of Country Joe and the Fish.
DBC : My sound was a big part of their sound because it was mixed up front. Barry’s playing, Joe’s songwriting, even Bruce’s bass playing was style. None of us knew what we were doing, but we just did it.
CM : Bands of that period seemed to really love rehearsing.
DBC : Oh, we rehearsed ! We would rehearse for years. Before the first album, we went to a place in Santa Cruz called the Barn. We played regularly there. Of course, this was the first time we played there with [drummer] Chicken [Hirsch]. John Francis had been with us for about eight months, so he was like a permanent member. A lot of people were very upset when we fired him. We fired him so that we would be better, but at the same time, now we were professional. We were no longer just a bunch of guys playing music. We gained a lot of fans but we lost a lot of our fans who were friends of John Francis. You know, people have loyalties, however misplaced they may be. That’s usually the way it is.
We stayed there ; there were no distractions. We’d go to sleep there, we’d wake up at 8 or 9 o’clock in the morning. We’d rehearse till about 5. We’d take a little break and then we’d perform at night. We wrote "The Masked Marauder" and a bunch of other tunes there. Chicken learned all the songs. We did that for three days, then we recorded the album, and the album took three days to record. We just banged it out. It was amazing. It was one of those suspended moments. I took a quantum leap forward as a musician, the band took a quantum leap forward as a band. We were polished. We were really together at that point. We hadn’t ever rehearsed like this, ever. We’d rehearsed at somebody’s house. We rehearsed here and there. We didn’t have a rehearsal place. It was nothing but music. I was living with a woman, Bruce was living with a woman. Everybody had girlfriends and other things that they did, but everything got suspended except the music. We rehearsed six to eight hours every day for three days, and then played at night. It was an amazing week. We had a couple of those.
After the first record, we rehearsed at the Heliport in Sausalito. We drove 45 minutes to an hour from Berkeley to the Heliport every day. I had the car so I would go around picking everybody up. Joe insisted that we get there by 10 o’clock, ’cause no other bands were there. We rehearsed from 10 to 2 or 3, every day, every single day.
CM : Back to the beginning, how did you get signed to Vanguard Records ?
DBC : We played the Fillmore. One reason we got into the Fillmore without an audition was that Bill Graham was into drummers. Our drummer, John Francis Gunning, was a great soloist but his time all over the place, his technique was nowhere. Eugene “Ed” Denson was our manager at the time, and he knew Sam Charters who part of folk music scene. Sam had the power to sign us [to Vanguard]. Sam came to hear us and he loved us, and then he hated us, and then he loved us, and then he hated us. Then he wanted to sign us, then he didn’t want to sign us. And it turned out, the reason they didn’t like us was John Francis Gunning’s drumming. John Francis was a very sloppy drummer, and he had a drinking problem. Most of us were into pot. Pot and LSD and peripherals like mescaline or hash. Nothing hard. None of us were really into coke. It wasn’t really around then. Occasionally we’d have some, once in a while some more exotic drug would come around. Of course, it’s not exotic now. And Owsley [the acid chemist] was always around.
CM : He had the good stuff.
DBC : He sure did. But John Francis also had a drinking problem. He took a great solo one time and I saw him end it by falling off the stool. We played the Fillmore Auditorium, and I came out after we finished playing, and I saw Izzy Young ! I said, “Izzy, how are you doing ? What are you doing here ?” “Oh, I just came here to check the bands, and quite frankly, I don’t like any bands here except Country Joe and the Fish.” I looked at him and said, “Do you know I’m playing in that band ?” “No !” Ah ha ha, so, that really made me feel good. See, he was used to the New York folkies. The California folkies were different. They were a little more relaxed, a little less manic about learning exactly right. But I don’t know if that had anything to do with it. By that time, nobody was doing folk music. We were all rock and roll musicians. We were playing folk rock. It was different. I think if he had known Jerry Garcia or Gary Duncan or Peter Albin, any of those people ahead of time, he would have known us better.
Then we were going to the studio to do a demo for Vanguard, and John Francis came in late and said he had a toothache. He knew something was wrong, something was going on. Joe has a tendency to be very tactless at times. But I don’t know if tact is such a great virtue anyway, ha ha. He kept telling John Francis, “Play simpler, play simpler.” Finally, he stands up, he throws his sticks down and says, “I’m sorry. I can’t play this way, it just goes against everything I believe in.” And he stormed out. Well, the next day the session was cancelled, and the day after I got a call from Ed Denson saying they just hired Chicken. I knew Chicken because he was the drummer in Blackburn and Snow, so I was very happy because I liked Chicken. We were always friends, always got along. He changed the whole flavor of the band. Again, the style of the band changed at that point. He was simpler, he was more solid, he was not flashy, he didn’t take any drum solos, and the tempo was there. With one musician changed, the whole style of the band changed.
DBC : A style doesn’t evolve in a vacuum, it evolves from influences. Somebody is very good or very out here, then people who already play bring their influences and try to steal from that person. Ralph Gleason interviewed Jerry Garcia one time and he said, “Where do you get your ideas from ?” Jerry said. “Well, we’re just clever thieves.” I have no qualms about admitting that I steal everything. It’s processed through me. I’ll listen to James Booker, Professor Longhair, Otis Spann, Memphis Slim, Barry Goldberg, Mark Naftalin, Al Kooper, and add what I know, and that’s my style.
One of the things that happened in San Francisco, and this is actually true for all the music that evolved from that era, that mid to late ’60s era. It came from folk music. It was kind of folk rock. Probably the person who started all of that was Dylan, when he went electric at Newport.
Take San Francisco, you have the Grateful Dead : they were basically a bluegrass band and then Pigpen brought in a lot of blues influence. Style comes with a level of musicianship. In the Grateful Dead : Jerry Garcia was a very accomplished musician, an incredible musician before he started playing rock and roll.
A few bands had a very distinctive style : Quicksilver Messenger Service, Jefferson Airplane, Grateful Dead, Big Brother and the Holding Company, Country Joe and the Fish, Steve Miller Band, Paul Butterfield Blues Band, all San Francisco bands, well, Butterfield was from Chicago but he migrated [as did Miller]. Also, the Lovin’ Spoonful [in New York], Buffalo Springfield and the Doors [in Los Angeles]. I think they had distinctive styles because either they didn’t know what they were doing—in my case, I didn’t know what I was doing, I just played….
CM : Making it up as you go along.
DBC : Either that was the case, or they were so well schooled that they knew exactly what they were doing.
CM : But there weren’t too many people in that category.
DBC : I think maybe Ray Manzarek had that. He was really great. Dr. John, definitely. An unbelievable musician.
That’s the kind of thing the record companies may have been looking for without knowing. They wanted something unique. Especially in the ‘60s, they were all looking for unique. Now they’re not looking for unique, they’re looking for the same. They want to know what record bin it’s going to go into. If it has more than one style on it they go crazy. They don’t know what to do with it.
CM : A couple of other bands could be included in your list : the Charlatans, the Great Society.
DBC : Absolutely, the Charlatans. They brought another kind of style, a visual style, fashion style, and music. It was folk music made electric. The Great Society didn’t last, wasn’t around long enough.
CM : Right, and then slightly after, Moby Grape.
DBC : Oh, Moby Grape, definitely. Absolutely ! They were the best band. They were the only one that had consistently good musicians in the band. Most of the bands I mentioned had only one really good musician. In the Grateful Dead it was Jerry Garcia, obviously. Quicksilver Messenger Service : hard to say, but out of that band, probably David Freiberg was probably the closest. John Cipollina was unique. Gary Duncan was a good guitarist, a schooled musician, he knew what he was doing, although he didn’t get as much credit. The Jefferson Airplane : Marty Balin and Jorma Kaukonen. Jack Casady’s bass playing is unique but I’m not a fan of it, a little too busy, a little too loud.
CM : Too upfront.
DBC : Yeah. It’s not like what a bass is supposed to be. Same with Phil Lesh. I love Phil, one of the sweetest people in the world, and I consider him a friend. But I’m not a fan of his bass playing. I think a bass is supposed to be a bass, but I’m from the blues, so it’s a different thing.
Big Brother and the Holding Company – well, of course, Janis. But of the musicians, I think the only real musician is David Getz. James Gurley was so out. He was an unbelievable musician but his style, in a sense, was really, really avant-garde. Sam [Andrew] was basically a journeyman musician who constantly works on what his doing, constantly applying himself. Sam is always learning things from books and always trying to learn from people. Country Joe and the Fish, I have to say it was me, I was the most schooled musician. It’s a Beautiful Day : David LaFlamme.
CM : How much interchange was there musically between the bands, or were they all little organisms growing up on their own ?
DBC : We didn’t really hang out a lot together, but there would be times. I remember there was a party at Big Brother and the Holding Company’s place in Lagunitas. Jerry and Jorma were friends. Country Joe and the Fish were separate.
CM : The Berkeley thing ?
DBC : There wasn’t really a Berkeley thing ; we were it. There were a few bands. Frumious Bandersnatch was from Berkeley, and Fred Sokolow’s band, Notes From the Underground. But there really wasn’t a Berkeley scene like there was in San Francisco or in Marin. Joe was kind of upset at times that Country Joe and the Fish felt ostracized.
CM : Why was that ?
DBC :. We were very political. I think that was part of it. I know that the Grateful Dead did not like that. They didn’t approve, even though they were as political as we were with their lifestyle.
CM : Why didn’t they approve ? Because that just wasn’t the way you were supposed to be doing it ?
DBC : I don’t know. I guess. We were all from radical backgrounds, maybe not Chicken, but me : I told you my background was anarchist. Barry and Joe, their parents were both communists, and Bruce’s parents were also communists. We came from that, so you speak out.
Besides his performing career, David Bennett Cohen has had a second career as a music teacher, for folk guitar, blues guitar, rock and roll guitar, blues piano, blues rock piano, ragtime piano, and how to play the Hammond organ. His instructions have appeared on LPs, tapes, videos, and book and CD packages in publications for Homespun, Hal Leonard, Kicking Mule Records, and in excepts online.
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I have posted interviews with members of British invasion bands, psychedelic bands, 1950s hit makers, folk, blues, country and jazz musicians. To go to the index page, click here.
is an ethnomusicologist, teacher, author, and musician
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