23. Pete Painted Jimi Hendrix
... being a reflection on Jimi Hendrix and myself, just because it looks good to see the two of us in the same sentence, and Pete Olding, who made that sentence possible
I have never been a big fan of the music of Jimi Hendrix. I have always found it a bit overblown, a bit self indulgent, a bit too far from the mainstream pop-rock that I grew up on in the seventies. If I had to nominate a flamboyant guitarist that I absolutely admired, it would be Marc Bolan, who to my uncultured mind, could reach Hendrix-like heights of sonic drama but also had the added value of being able to bang out a great singalong pop song.
No, I was never a great fan of the music of Jimi Hendrix, but Wow! I found his image inspiring! He looked amazing! Far cooler than Bolan or Bowie, or any of the rest of those glam rock bands that I loved. Those people made great music, and looked pretty good for a bunch of art students in fancy dress. But to my mind, there was something infinitely cooler about Jimi Hendrix.
Maybe it was because he was black. I didn’t know a lot of black kids in Hull in the mid 1970s, and therefore black people had a bit of a mystique about them1. Me and my mates might have aspired to become pop stars like Noddy Holder, maybe Bryan Ferry, or even Bolan or Bowie at a pinch, but no one I knew was ever going to look like Jimi Hendrix. No one I knew could ever possibly be that cool. His style, his blackness, his being American, and his not quite digestible music were all a bit of a closed book to me. I could only admire him from a distance, feeling that I couldn’t properly understand what he was all about, but knowing that it was very cool.
If it hadn’t have been for those meddling kids in the Sex Pistols, giving me and my mates some kind of musical role models that we could really relate to, the Lord alone knows how we might have turned out. Probably not much different to how we did really, but with longer hair. Then again, I’m not entirely sure about that. I like to think that even now, approaching half a century later, I still have a bit more of the Johnny Rotten about me as I approach my dotage, than of the Bolan, Bowie or Hendrix.2
Pete Olding has championed3 art in Mexborough for many years. He founded the Raven Gallery, which attracted a wide variety of Yorkshire Artists to exhibit their work in the town, and gave it a reputation as a centre for fine art to match the reputation for poetic expression nurtured in recent years by Ian Parks. He has recently moved his centre of operations from a self contained gallery to a suite of stalls in the indoor market. This is a brilliant move - there are still exhibitions, but also a publicly accessible studio, where you can see him and other artists at work, participate in workshops and learn the skills to become an artist in your own right. And whilst you are there, you can pick up a pack of fresh breadcakes, some sausage rolls, fresh eggs, a bag of boiled sweets, and perhaps even a couple of pairs of those massive knickers that they only seem to have out on display in indoor markets.
I have taken the opportunity to dabble in a bit of painting there myself, but my watercolours are even clumsier than my wordsmithery, so I shall stick to the pen and keyboard for now.
An early exhibition at the Raven showcased the work of Pete himself, and knowing that the town is full of poets, he suggested that for the opening night, people might bring along a piece of poetry to read about one of his pieces of art. I knew that he had once produced a fantastic colourful painting of Jimi Hendrix, and that was the one that I wanted to write about.
It turned out that Pete no longer had the painting in question (it was either a part of a huge wall mural somewhere, or had been snapped up by a lover of fine art and guitar based rock) however, he did have a photograph of it, which he was happy to display in the gallery, just for my benefit.
I had further demands though. I knew the had also produced a piece called The Entertainer which was a portrait of me.4 I wanted that piece to be displayed alongside the photograph of the Hendrix one, so that I could stand next to them both and deliver a poem which brought out the obvious similarities between us both. I wrote it and read it, and the night was a roaring success, with many other poets having created work to compliment the Pete’s art.
Fast forward a few years, and I was having a chat with Pete before I went off with Judy for on a trip to Ilkley in the Yorkshire Dales. He told me about a project for his Artworks on Walls business, with fellow artist Dave Watson, which had involved producing outdoor pieces celebrating the history of Ilkley. They had included a painting (this time by Dave) of Jimi Hendrix, much like the one I had written about.
Why would the town of Ilkley want a colourful portrait of Jimi Hendrix next to the municipal car park in the town centre?
Well…
One Sunday evening back in March 1967 - Jimi Hendrix turned up in Ilkley to play a gig at the Troutbeck Hotel. A keen eyed music fan had seen the relatively unknown guitarist playing elsewhere and had managed to book him for £50, but between the booking and the actual concert, he had become an immense superstar, he had hit number 6 in the charts with Hey Joe, and followed it up with Purple Haze, which by the time of the show, was about to take the number one slot. Suddenly everyone wanted to see him. The best part of a thousand people flocked to the small hotel ballroom which was not designed to hold even a third of that number. It was absolutely crammed to the rafters. The police were summoned, and a brave officer of the law struggled through the crowd, mounted the stage and turned off the power. The concert was over before the band had even got properly stated on their second number.
Whilst the fixtures and fittings of the hotel were being trashed by angry teenagers, the lad who had booked Jimi scarpered back with him for a calming cup of tea - probably a herbal tea of some sort.
In 2017 there was a piece on the telly to mark the fiftieth anniversary of the gig.
Nothing like that has ever happened at one of my poetry performances, but there is a connection between me and Hendrix…
Pete Painted Jimi Hendrix (And he Also Painted Me)
Pete painted Jimi Hendrix At his psychedelic peak Eyes closed as if in ecstasy So elegant, so chic Caressing his guitar strings To make them squeal and squall Pete painted Jimi Hendrix (He did one of me an’all) What a handsome fellow The epitome of cool Confident and self-possessed The Man! Nobody’s fool Light years ahead of all the rest Stunning ability Pete Painted Jimi Hendrix (And also did one of me!) Behold, Regard the manly pose How masterful he seems He takes the plaudits in his stride His life the stuff of dreams He truly is a legend A colossus, through and through! Pete painted Jimi Hendrix (And he did one of me too!)
By the end of the 1970s, whilst there were still not a lot of black people in Hull, I had made a couple of close friends, who were both black, and undoubtedly very cool. Dumiso “Dece” Gambe, whose family came from what was then Rhodsesia, but was soon to become Zimbabwe, played guitar and wrote punk songs with me in our first Band The Z-Men. He went on to have a career in music in London. Unfortunately he died a few years ago. Roland Gift actually made it as a rock and film star, enjoying a string of hits in the 1980s with Fine Young Cannibals and appearing in Films such as Sammy and Rosie Get Laid and Scandal. He still ocasionally acts on the telly, and has written for Radio 4.
I don’t think that I have much John Lydon in my character. He is far too cynical and contrarian for me. The man has virtually turned into Jeremy Clarkson with a punky haircut. I based my development on the fictional Jonnny Rotten, the rascal who Lydon portrayed in his youth. He may have been cynical and sneering, but what I picked up from him was mainly his daft, playful side, that was full of glee, and determined to express himself in his own way.
When I say champion, I mean it in the sense of “an ardent defender of a cause” as far as I know, Pete hasn’t won any medals or honours, although, (if he would accept one) I reckon an MBE wouldn’t be entirely out of the question.
It is actually done in pastel, so it is not, strictly speaking, a painting, but for the purpose of my poem, both Mr Hendrix and myself are done as paintings, and both of us are larger than life superstars. I shall leave it to you to decide who looks the coolest.
Very much enjoyed this. I first came across Jimi Hendrix in about 1972 It was Hey Joe on a strange set of compliations records of my dad 's which included songs like Cumberland Gap and Running Bear, and I still enjoy all of them
Both paintings are fantastic
I noted the Johnny Lydon comment and thought I needed to say the following.
When I was 17 I used to go to the Adelphi to see my friends band, One of my friends at the time was Francis Jack who said he had two friends who both had bands.One friend was Eddie the Mad banana and the other was Mad Mike Montez. I was therefore fortunate enough to see you with The Velvetones and I thought you were a fabulous singer, with a mixture of humour and pathos and for many years, when asked, I said my favourite bands were The Clash the Velvetones and the Gargoyles, not forgetting the Pistols.
Unfortunately as the years passed I lost my Velvetones tape and though still living locally became so wrapped up in mundane things meaning that music took a back seat and much of your music and that of the Gargoyles became just a distant memory
Then thanks to YouTube I found the video of Skinhead girl, a favourite song along with Jim, and ice cold Joe and this led me to following Ted Key which eventually led me here, AND bandcamp which
means I can download the Velvetones music.
and of course the Gargoyles
I bought your book as well,infact I bought it twice as the first got lost.
My favourite bands list therefore remains intact
As ever an enjoyable read, even if don't quite agree with some aspects - it is refreshing to read rational articles (yes I am talking about Mike OBrien). Interesting to learn about Mex art scene and to hear about how younger people regarded music of their and previous generations. I was perhaps a bit young, in the head at least, as I was Animals and Stones as Purple Haze came out. Dad would have called it a row up.
What we should do before we judge any performer is to be aware of the circcumstances of their out put. With Jimi Hendrix, the majority of available stuff is post mortem; it is sweepings up, rejects from the studio bin than Hendrix would never permit to exist, let alone be passed off as his 'genius'. The way to get to him truly is to acquire any work composed by himself from the album Axis Bold As Love backwards. I'd suggest that would be Axis; Are You Experienced; Electric Ladyland or Band Of Gypsies.
Some live material is good, but Hendrix hated his off days and was aware of his inferior performances. They wouldn't be out there either. To go deeper I recommend reading Sharon Lawrence's biography. But Jimi was a perfectionist (it drove other band members etc mad). Sadly he was 'managed' by entreprenuers (and I don't mean Chas Chandler) who relied on his own antics/genius as PR to sell the act - they were bean counters, not appreciators of quality product.
I'd planned to go and see him soon as I realised what he was about. Then, come Noc 70, I was in hospital with hospital earphones on hearing this amazing guitar. Being told i should give up bikes, I though guitar's the thing if I can make it sound like this. Then heartbreak, as the DJ says "and that's the posthumous release of Jimi Hendrix's Voodoo Chile (Slight Return).
Marc Bolan was something indeed with Tyranasaurus Rex, but he sold out with Trex. A lot of whites went on for colourful garb, headbands, even make-up - and looked pretty silly - and sounded worse. It's a cultural thing, though how BB King wears suits acceptably baffles me. The lads from the swamps wanted posh, not dungarees. But as he later said, let's take it back to the swamp. A show is one thing - I could set fire to my arse and it'd be a show. But a taseful firework display, that's summat else.
As for punk, the behaviour of its devotees disgusted me. Just in my late twenties, I felt old as I scorned the spitting and shoving and the acute lack of musical knowledge or should I say ability. When I found out the railed against hippies, that rankled. We were JFK, Luther, thank heavens Hitler was defeated and lets keep freedom alive. Hello Americanised capitalism and art school rock. I thought the Stranglers were OK, but they apparently denied being punk. Blondie claims proto but they were others before who could be so-dubbed, just as Jimi could be glam etc. I know what answer he'd have had.... He waved his flag, others got their pecadillo out:). Cheers Mike, like the poem too