Today marks the 40ieth anniversary of bluesman Alan “Blind Owl” Wilson’s suicide in Topanga Canyon, California, on Bob Hite’s property. Blind Owl is an oft-forgotten member of the fabled 27 Club and his death marked the first of three 27s over the course of the fall of 1970; Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix were to follow.

Alan Wilson grew up in a Boston suburb and studied music at Boston University. From an early age he was, using a contemporary label, an ardent conservationist and environmentalist. Out of all the musicians who played Monterey in ’67 or Woodstock in ’69, Wilson truly held nature sacred, both in actions and in words. Canned Heat’s Future Blues record included a short plead in the gate-fold where Alan Wilson urged people to save his beloved California Redwoods from extinction. At the time, logging posed a huge threat to the last swaths of these primeval, majestic forests.

Instead of sleeping in hotels while on tour, Blind Owl preferred to roll out his sleeping bag in nearby fields and spend the early morning hours collecting samples that he’d stuff in a huge botany book that he liked to travel with.

When it came to playing music, Blind Owl’s chops on the harmonica and guitar, be it acoustic, electric or slide, was in a sense unrivaled. He possessed an in-depth knowledge of all forms of the blues and a true blues scholar. During the Hooker N Heat sessions, which took place shortly before his death, he proved seasoned enough to follow John Lee Hooker’s odd beats every step of the way. You can hear Hooker mutter in amazement that the pale, bespectacled kid always seemed to know where the old master was going. “You musta been listenin’ to my records all your life!” Hooker says. But Hooker was just one of many masters whose style Alan Wilson knew intimately. Six years earlier, in 1964, Wilson taught Son House, who had long retired from music, to play the songs House had recorded back in the 1930s.

While Alan Wilson’s chops were top-notch, he suffered with severe and chronic mental illness. His bandmates in Canned Heat provided support, but probably not the kind of stability someone like Wilson needed. He had already attempted suicide a couple of times before he did himself in with a handful of reds and a bottle of gin.

During the research for The 27s–The Greatest Myth of Rock & Roll, manager and friend Skip Taylor told us that when he discovered Alan’s body, the musician finally looked peaceful and happy.

Wilson’s songs and music live on through “On the Road Again” and “Up In the Country,” but his talent covers obviously much more than the famous hits. Seek out his work with John Fahey, the aforementioned Son House and John Lee Hooker, as well as “Five Owls” and “Raga Kafi” from Living the Blues‘s trippy “Parthenogenesis.” Yup, that’s Wilson on the hypnotic sitar.

Skip Taylor is currently shopping around a “solo” record that features released and unreleased Alan Wilson material with and without Canned Heat. We’re not holding our breath for this one, but hope it’ll be released sometime in the not-so-distant future.

Be sure to listen to the Stephen Stills clip below where he dedicates “Blues Man” to our tragic guitar hero.

Turning thirty is a big deal. Many experience the last years of their twenties as a transitional phase between youth and maturity. Thirty marks the real entry to adulthood—an age where most people have completed their university degrees, found their vocation, and are comfortably settled in a relationship—or not.

Renowned astrologer Rob Tillett, who spent the seventies as a touring rock & roller in his native Australia and now publishes the popular site Astrology On The Web, says that we spend the end of our twenties “clearing the decks of karmic debris for a clean course for the next cycle.”

“Every twenty-nine years naturally presents us with the challenge to rise to new levels of awareness, or face the consequences of having failed to gain the wisdom required to do so,” Tillett says. It’s a phenomenon known in astrology as Saturn Return.

It takes the planet Saturn twenty-nine and a half years to return to the same position it occupied at the time we were born, a significant event as it marks the end of one cycle and the beginning of another.

Astrologers argue that Saturn Return is one of life’s most important thresholds as it intensifies one’s feelings of sadness, isolation, and purpose. In the words of Rob Hand, author of Planets In Transit, it’s “a time of endings and new beginnings,” a fitting characteristic for Saturnus, the Roman harvest god, the model for the grim reaper.

The Romans celebrated the god at Saturnalia. This festival commenced December 17 during winter solstice, the darkest night of the year. Saturnalia turned society’s laws and customs upside down. Slaves became masters (or at least ate at the same table as their masters), gambling was permitted for all, and, in the words of a Roman commentator from 50 A.D., “loose reigns were given to public dissipation.”

But Saturnalia meant more than a drunken carnival. It was a celebration of Rome’s golden age, an era of peace and harmony that was supposed to have taken place under Saturn’s rule. The Greek poet Hesiod wrote that it was the purest of all ages, a time of balmy weather, leisure, and no fear of death.

Thomas Paine, the American Revolution’s ideological inspirator, wrote, “The supposed reign of Saturn was prior to that which is called the heathen mythology, and was so far a species of theism that it admitted the belief of only one God.” So according to Paine, Saturn is the ur-God, the lone ruler of the vast, ancient universe. Saturn was Ninib to Babylonians and Cronus to the Greek—one of the seven Titans who ruled the world until Zeus kicked them off their galactic thrones.

Saturn is known as the “greater malefic,” or “the killing planet,” and it manifests itself in various ways. “Saturn demands resolution and restructuring,” Tillett says. “Resolution of unfinished business and restructuring of our lives to move forward into the future.”

The changes instigated by Saturn are really fantastic opportunities for those who are ready and capable of making major changes in their lives—harvesting what’s been sown.

“Saturn rules the responsibilities, restrictions and limitations we are apt to encounter, and the lessons we must learn in life. He does not deny or diminish imagination, inspiration, spirituality, or good fortune, but he does demand that these things be given structure and meaning,” Tillett explains.

The 27s died before their Saturn returned, and Tillett postulates that other astrological factors are involved. “The 27^th year is an incredibly hefty one,” he notes. “Astrologically, it’s the building up to Saturn Return, but other key factors are at work too.”

Moving at less than one degree per month, it takes the Moon 27 to 28 years to make it 360 degrees around the zodiac. At that point, the Moon revisits its natal position: “The first progressed Lunar Return at age 27 marks the beginning of the difficult transition from the Phase of Youth to the Phase of Maturity,” Tillett says. “The pace of our lives seems to accelerate, as we hurry to clear the decks of karmic debris, in preparation for the next grand stage of the great journey of life. This transitional phase lasts until the Saturn Return, which usually occurs within a year or two.” (Tillett adds that this process is repeated at age 56 when we experience another transition; from the Phase of Maturity to the Phase of Wisdom.)

Another strong effect occurs when the moon’s pathway crosses the sun’s course. These sensitive points are known as the moon’s nodes (also called the dragon’s head and tail). “A collision between the north and south nodes occur during the 27^th year, which often generates intense insecurities that lead to major transformations of the life-path,” Tillett adds.

A fourth cause of difficulties is completing the 27-year cycle around the Pythagorean Triangle, a numerical and astrological concept that we’ll explore later on.

For The 27s, Tillett theorizes, “Their energy is so heavily pushed into a particular channel [i.e. music] and when that channel dries up, they don’t know how to move through the pathway.”

With Tillett’s perspective in mind, it’s easy to see that their creativity waned, replaced with distractions (bad relationships, drugs, dwelling on missed opportunities, or fumbling for a “real” or “new” purpose) and a sense of out-of-focusness towards the end of their lives. At least that’s the case for most of them.

Robert Johnson stuck his tongue in the honey pot and got stung; Jesse Belvin was caught up in things he couldn’t control—be it hiring a party driver or becoming a victim to American apartheidists; Brian Jones was a medicated mess for the latter part of his life; and as we shall see, Jimi Hendrix fumbled for a purpose; Janis Joplin chose to walk alone; Jim Morrison turned to destructive disgust. Ad nauseum.

Could it be that The 27s were too caught up in their youth and therefore unwilling, unable, or simply not ready to move across that threshold and face the responsibilities and expectations (theirs and/or others’) that come with adulthood?

Excerpt from The 27s: The Greatest Myth of Rock & Roll

A couple of years ago Tin Alley drummer Peter Hofbauer hit a kangaroo (yea, they’re an Australian band) while riding his motorcycle. He nearly died the same way Echo & the Bunnymen’s Pete de Freitas did, but three weeks in intensive care put him back on track to recovery. Hofbauer was 27 years old at the time.

Tin Alley’s latest single, “Out of Control,” spawned from the drummer’s near-death experience at 27. In an interview with Oz Music Scene, singer and guitarist Jim Siourthas provided some background context to the song.

“So we were just playing with the idea of dying at the age of 27, and doing a bit of a search on the internet we found out that there was a club called the 27 Club. So that’s basically what “Out of Control” talks about. The idea was spawned out of Peter’s accident, but it actually talks about Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix and other members of the 27 Club, and what their lives would have been like, and the reason why they died, and so on. So that’s what the song deals with lyrically.”

Speaking of the words, the trio allowed themselves to paraphrase Neil Young’s line (and that Kurt Cobain later included in his suicide note) by singing “Best to burn our bright than to fade into the night.”

In mid-November, 2009, “Out of Control” reached #1 on the Big Pond rock charts where the single (and EP) is for sale. At the time of writing, you can listen to the track on the band’s myspace page. It’s a catchy rocker in the same vein that the Foo Fighters mine, which explains the radio play it’s garnered in Oz. Also available on iTunes.

Jimi Hendrix

Born: November 27, 1942, in Seattle, Washington
Died: September 18, 1970, in a London hotel room
Bands: The Jimi Hendrix Experience, Band of Gypsys

The guitar was an extension of Jimi, a fifth limb he relied on as much as others would a leg or an arm. He played during set breaks or on the bus, recorded or jammed after shows, played along to Bob Dylan records during interviews and slept with the guitar at the edge of the bed.

Hendrix was born in Seattle by a teenage mom while his much older dad was stationed in the south. Jimi’s parents were both poor and alcoholic and they moved around a lot, living out of flop houses, cheap hotels and with friends and relatives, never staying too long in any place. With an upbringing marked by uncertainty, hunger, the death of his mother and belt whippings by his dad, Jimi became shy and introverted. One of his few joys was playing guitar on a broom along to old blues records. Somebody talked his dad into buying him a guitar and he spent his teenage years playing in a band around Seattle, including the premier club in the Northwest, the Spanish Castle. It didn’t take “half a day to get there,” as he later sang in “Spanish Castle Magic,” but traveling in beat-up cars sometimes led to unpleasant delays.

After a brief stint as a parachuter with 101st Airborne Jimi left the army guitarless, wearing issued clothes and $300 in his pocket. He walked into a jazz joint and spent all but $16. Unable to afford the Greyhound back to Seattle, he snuck back on the base and begged to get his guitar back from the guy he’d pawned it to. After recovering the axe, he spent the next three years priming his chops as a hired gun on the Chitlin’ Circuit—juke joints, cafes, dances and parties from Virginia to Florida, in the Delta and over to Texas—not unlike Robert Johnson had before him. Jimi’s knowledge of R&B, soul and rock hits of the day led to backing jobs for the stars of the day—Little Richard, Ike and Tina Turner and many others—but he kept getting fired for being too flashy. Otis Burke traded Jimi like a baseball card on the tour bus to Otis Redding for two horn players. He was fired a week later and left on the side of the road, but the penniless guitarist simply waited till another tour rolled through town for job.

Jimi eventually made it to New York City, playing with Curtis Knight—a pimp with a band—and his own, Jimmy James and the Blue Flames. Hendrix was finally in the spotlight, but his guitar reverberated nightly across an empty room at the Cheetah Club. Luckily, his dexterity caught the attention of Keith Richards’ girlfriend, Linda Keith, who kept bringing musicians and producers into the club until Chas Chandler of the Animals decided to fly Jimi to London. Finally, his career picked up speed. The day of Hendrix’ arrival, his guitantics wowed members of Britain’s musical cognoscenti and he found himself a girlfriend who had previously dated Brian Jones of The Rolling Stones and Keith Moon of the Who. Eric Burdon of the Animals who was present that night recalled later that, “It was haunting how good he was.” A week later Chandler brought Jimi to a Cream show so he could meet Clapton. Armed with his guitar he asked if he could jam—a request so ballsy that the guys were caught off guard. Nobody had ever asked to sit in with Cream before. Grafitti around London at the time proclaimed Clapton was God and here was this unknown, wild haired dude clutching a Fender Stratocaster. Jimi plugged in and played Howlin’ Wolf’s “Killing Floor” in triple speed. Eric’s jaw dropped. “I thought, ‘My god, this is like Buddy Guy on acid,’ ” he recalled later.

The years on the Chitlin’ Circuit finally paid off. Hendrix had learned how to entertain audiences from watching Little Richards, how to bend strings from Albert King, sat by the feet of B.B. and picked up techniques from an apt student of T-Bone Walker and Freddie King. The analytical musical cannibal had finally transformed into a virtuoso anxious to take on the world.

The Jimi Hendrix Experience shook the world with its innovative sounds and fierce electric assaults. He used amps and electronic effects as instruments as much as the guitar, creating dive-bombs, haunting feedback, wah-wah modulated melodies, the sound of a rapid-fire machine gun and Delta blues soaked with dripping washes from the uni-vibe. Jimi suddenly found himself as the celestial center of the psychedelic 60’s, embracing road sex and alterations from acid to speed. Although some women were more important to Jimi than others, he shied away from intimacy and commitment, perhaps ingrained from watching his parents. Off stage, Jimi remained polite, but shy and reserved. He kept few close friends and rarely ventured outside the realm of music, socializing almost exclusively with musicians, producers, groupies and hangers-on. That and an incessant tour schedule and recording dates taxed him.

Jimi Hendrix’ performances became erratic during the last two years of his life. He complained that fans came to hear his early hits and watch him play guitar with his teeth. One night he collapsed on stage. While vacationing in Morocco, most likely the only vacation of his life, an old fortune-teller with a Tarot deck drew the Death card. The card could also mean rebirth, but Jimi freaked out. A few weeks before his death, he told a Danish journalist, “I’m not sure I will live to be 28 years old. I mean, the moment I feel I have nothing more to give musically, I will not be around on this planet anymore.”

Before Hendrix went to bed for the last time, he gobbled nine sleeping pills that belonged to a girlfriend. The German pills were stronger than he was used to and sometime in the early morning hours he puked, suffocating himself in deep sleep. Before Jimi went out that last night of his life he had worked on a new lyric: “The story of life is quicker than the wink of an eye.” Jimi’s ended at 27.

Alan C. Wilson (“Blind Owl”)

Born: July 3, 1943, near Boston, Massachusetts
Died: September 3, 1970, in Topanga Canyon, California
Bands and affiliations: Canned Heat, Son House, John Lee Hooker, John Fahey

The least glamorous of The 27s, Alan Wilson was more than anything a pure and frail human being, a blues scholar, a great harmonica player, and a guitar player with a solid foundation in Delta blues. Raised in Boston, Alan left for California to help John Fahey with his thesis. Fahey gave Alan the nickname “Blind Owl,” due to his coke-bottom glasses, and introduced him to Bob “The Bear” Hite, another record collector. Together with Henry Vestine, a Mothers of Invention alum, the trio formed Canned Heat in 1966.

Canned Heat started out as a purveyor of the Delta blues tradition, but got caught up with the psychedelic ’60s and added more of a contemporary spin to their boogie. The Bear had a gravelly voice, while Alan sang with a high-pitched, often tortured lilt. Although Canned Heat is now largely forgotten (the band still tours with one member from the golden age, Fito de la Parra) it was one of the more popular bands of the late 1960s. Canned Heat headlined both the Monterey Pop Festival and Woodstock and the group’s songs pop up in movie soundtracks and commercials.

Struggling with chronic depression, Alan Wilson overdosed in Bear’s backyard on the eve of departure for a German festival that also marked one of Jimi Hendrix’s last performances.

BlindOwl.net

The 27s won the 2009 IPPY award for popular culture

We just came back from New York City and Book Expo, which is the largest book trade show in the country. Long lines for our official author signing and we even ran out of books. Thanks to everybody who showed up!

Friday night we headed down to The Providence, a former church and recording studio where Jimi Hendrix, John Lennon and even Guns N Roses have all laid down tracks. It’s a really cool club and definitely worth checking out if you’re ever on the west side.

The Independent Publisher Book Awards is a broad-based awards program to laud the best in independent publishing and we were up against the best of the best produced in small, medium, and university presses across the country.

The show, which you probably understood by now, was held at The Providence and The 27s won silver in the popular culture category. David Byrne of the Talking Heads won this last year for one of his books, so we’re psyched for the recognition.

Kurt Cobain

Born: February 20, 1967 in Aberdeen, Washington
Died: April 5, 1994 at his home in Seattle, Washington
Band: Nirvana, Fecal Matter

By Cobain’s own account, he had a happy childhood until his parents divorced when he was eight years old. For the first year he stayed with his mother, followed by a couple of years with his father, Don Cobain. After Kurt’s rebellious teenage spirits reared its ugly head his life turned transient, as he was forced to live with various friends and family members until they could no longer deal with his negativity and tantrums. Don Cobain changed the course of his son’s life when he gave Kurt a guitar for his 14th birthday.

Kurt didn’t find many people to jam with in high school, but he set out creating songs and improving his chops. One of his first bands was named Fecal Matter, fittingly named by Kurt who loved anything gross & perverted. Nirvana’s first incarnation came to life in 1987 after Cobain convinced Krist Novoselic to start a band with him. The two friends went through seemingly more drummers than Spinal Tap until they settled with Chad Channing. The trio recorded Bleach in 1988, which Sub Pop released the following year to great underground acclaim. Cobain still wasn’t completely happy with Channing’s skills on the skins, so the latter was casually replaced when Dave Grohl was available for a new gig.

With Grohl behind the drums, Nirvana gelled better than any power trio since Cream or the Jimi Hendrix Experience, and with the music industry finally looking for something else besides hard glam rock, divas, and pop posers, Nirvana seemed to fit the bill. In 1991, Nirvana’s major label debut, Nevermind, crushed the charts with a vengeance. The press jumped on the “Seattle—Grunge City” bandwagon and Cobain became an involuntarily spokesperson and tastemaker for Gen X.

Kurt Cobain first met Courtney Love after a show in Portland, Oregon, but it remained a casual encounter until Dave Grohl introduced the two during the Nevermind recordings in the summer of ’91. The two quickly developed mutual crushes, which evolved to a cross-country courtship during the fall. They didn’t bond strictly through romance, however, both claim that heroin and pills were an important part of the mix too.

The following year, in early 1992, Courtney Love was pregnant, so Kurt Cobain soon proposed they get married. The ceremony took place on Hawaii’s Waikiki Beach and photos show Kurt smiling, but his eyes are sedated from shooting up that afternoon. It didn’t take long for the press to catch on, and Courtney Love was often lambasted as a new Yoko Ono. Kurt & Courtney preferred to be compared to punk’s dreaded couple, Sid and Nancy. Following a highly publicized magazine article in Vogue where Love was quoted as saying she’d been using drugs during her pregnancy, Frances Bean Cobain came to the world August 18, 1992, as a normal healthy baby.

Although the becoming a father turned Kurt Cobain’s life into something positive, the dichotomy of mainstream success and underground cred became sort of an existential struggle for Cobain, and he chose to self-medicate with copious amounts of heroin. Cobain overdosed on heroin in July 1993 before a concert in New York City, and again from a combination of champagne and Rohypnol in March 1994 at a hospital in Rome, Italy. Cobain’s last week included a failed intervention, followed by a heroin binge, before Kurt bought a shotgun, and flew to LA where he checked himself in to rehab. Unfortunately, the stay was cut short when he jumped the fence and went back Seattle. During the first week of April Cobain’s wife, family, and friends searched for him in vain.

April 8, 1994, an electrician found Kurt Cobain with a self-inflicted shotgun wound to the head. According to the coroner’s report, Cobain died April 5, 1994. He was 27 years old. For those interested in learning more about the conspiracy theories surrounding Kurt Cobain’s death, be sure to read Love and Death: The Murder of Kurt Cobain.

TotalNirvana.net
NirvanaClub.com

Gary Thain

Born: May 15, 1948, in Christchurch, New Zealand
Died: December 15, 1975, in London, England
Bands: Uriah Heep, Keef Hartley Band, The New Nadir, The Secrets

Thain left his native New Zealand when he was 17 and lived as a bass player from then on until he died ten years later of complications from a drug overdose in London. Gary Thain paid his dues playing R&B in German bars, and made it to London during the height of the Swinging ’60s.

He played in a jazz-rock trio called New Nadir, and Jimi Hendrix got up on stage with them one night at the Speakeasy. Thain’s next project was holding down the groove in the Keef Hartley Band, a tremendous British blues band. He stuck around for all six records and even played Woodstock.

In 1972, Thain received a phone call from prog rockers Uriah Heep, flew to the US, and ended up touring and recording with the band during its golden age. Gary Thain was fairly quiet, thin and frail from his drug use, but recognized as one of the two best musicians in the group.

Gary Thain was electrocuted while on stage in 1974, blacked out and suffered severe burns. The band cancelled the rest of the tour. Gary never fully recovered and was asked to leave the band shortly thereafter. A few months later his girlfriend found him dead in the bathtub.

Uriah-Heep.com

Here’s a great live audio montage of Uriah Heep’s “July Morning” with Gary Thain’s groovy bass turned way up in the mix:

Pete Ham

Born: April 27, 1947, in Swansea, Wales
Died: April 24, 1975, in Surrey, England
Bands: The Iveys, Badfinger

A Welsh singer, guitar player, and songwriter, Pete was a dedicated musician who spent as much time as possible honing his craft for his group Badfinger. The group’s predecessor was founded in his hometown Swansea while Pete was still in his teens, and they played a lot of the same venues as Steve Winwood and The Who. A small-time manager named Bill Collins saw the group’s potential and took them under his wing, letting the members live and practice out of his London home. Collins encouraged The Iveys to work on song writing and Pete took the advice to heart.

While the rest of London went psychedelic, The Iveys remained old fashioned in both dress and songwriting. Although the group’s talent attracted attention from several record companies, Collins stayed put, waiting for a better opportunity. A former Beatles roadie, who worked for Apple records, took a strong liking to the group, and Paul McCartney signed them on in 1968. The single “Maybe Tomorrow,” which trailed on the Billboard 100, selecting a follow-up proved difficult. In 1969, Paul McCartney gave them “Come and Get It” and an opportunity to record that track and a pair of their own for the movie The Magic Christian, starring Pete Sellers, Ringo Starr, Raquel Welch, and a John Cleese cameo. Before the release, the group changed their name to Badfinger and went for a slightly harder rock edge.

In November 1970, Badfinger released their second LP (No Dice) and the single “No Matter What” reached number eight on the Billboard charts (“Without You” from the same album became a hit for Harry Nilsson (1971) and Mariah Carey (1993). Signing on with business manager Stan Polley in 1970 proved to be a bad decision. He came highly recommended, but his mob ties and clever financial acrobatics only became obvious to the band members down the road.

Badfinger played acoustic guitars on George Harrison’s monumental triple record All Things Must Pass (1971), sang backup vocals on a Ringo Starr single, and Pete Ham performed “Here Comes the Sun” on acoustic guitar with George Harrison on his Concert for Bangla Desh. Ass, Badfinger’s last record for Apple, failed to reach the Billboard Top 100. The follow-up, the eponymous Badfinger, was met with little enthusiasm, but 1974′s Wish You Were Here was lauded by Rolling Stone magazine and other outlets. In a lawsuit with Warner Brothers, Polley was asked about money supposedly stashed away in an escrow account, but he didn’t respond to the requests since the money had vanished. In retaliation, WB removed Badfinger’s records from its catalog. Pete Ham soon found himself in a rut. He had written Top 10 singles and worked hard for Badfinger, but had no money and little fame to show for it.

April 24, 1975, Pete Ham hanged himself in his studio and his suicide note blamed Stan Polley for his death. Pete Ham’s daughter was born the following month.

Pete Ham and Badfinger performing their pop-classic “Without You”

Badfinger.org
PeteHam.net

Brian Jones

Born: February 28, 1942, in Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, England
Died: July 3, 1969, Hartfield, Sussex, England
Band: The Rolling Stones. Also recorded the Master Musicians of Joujouka

Brian was true rock royalty and in the early days, the only bad Rolling Stone. He basked with blonde babes and fathered enough offspring to fill a soccer team. But his thirst for the limelight quickly overshadowed his art, which led to his demise.

Brian Jones was born into a respectable family in Cheltenham, England, during a time when such families reprimanded their offspring using corporal punishment, even in public. His parents, Lewis and Louise, were more concerned about their family’s image than instilling happiness in Brian and his four-years-younger sister Barbara. Louise told her son that Pamela, another sister who had died of leukemia at the age of two, had been sent away for being naughty. They weren’t unusually cruel compared to other families, but years of verbal and physical abuse scarred Brian’s psyche for life.

Brian Jones’ boyhood was filled with altar service, depression, school pranks, chronic asthma and various nervous disorders. Despite of his nervousness he was capable of coaxing other boys in the schoolyard to do or believe things they’d regret later. The few who came back with clenched fists were met with meekness in Brian’s green eyes.

His mother taught him piano and he could practice clarinet at home, but listening to jazz and swing or practicing other instruments was done covertly and away from the house. Jones picked up an acoustic guitar and became infatuated with rural bluesmen such as Blind Lemon Jefferson, Lightning Hopkins, Ledbelly Leadbetter—and the mysterious Robert Johnson. In his teens, Brian became one of a handful young, amateur blues musicians playing on a scene dominated by scholarly trad. jazzers. He often sat in with various outfits and was capable of laying down decent jazz strums, but he was known to wander off stage if the band started playing numbers he felt were a bit too trad. The behavior garnered him off-stage attention, which he seemed to enjoy. Band members would often try to make him come back because his musical abilities helped the overall cohesiveness. Around this time, Brian became a father for the second time. His first, when he was 16, had been put up for adoption. This time was different. He took odd jobs to pay for his son and the mother, who eventually followed him to London after he moved there.

Brian Jones founded the Rolling Stones as a skiffle group in 1962. The band’s repertoire in the early days consisted of Chuck Berry numbers, Bo Diddley covers and a selection of other blues songs. Brian assumed leadership and his initial fortitude facilitated the band’s sudden success. He chose cover songs, hustled gigs, signed contracts and distributed proceeds (always skimming a little extra before disbursing the others). Women found the broad-shouldered sparkplug adorable. Brian was often nasty on stage and was known to egg on patches of the crowd for the sheer hell of it, but in between he’d turn those green beams in the direction of a special girl watching from the side of the stage and she’d melt. His charm lingered latently and he could be funny, jovial and cordial, his husked voice softly lisping underneath a blond mop top.

The Rolling Stones’s Cavern was a London club called Craw Daddy. Within months, Rolling Stones’ reputation made people stand in line for hours for an opportunity to sweat and shake in immobility. Girls with bouncing tops up front, gawking guys in the back. When the Beatles, who had already garnered reputation beyond Liverpool’s Cavern, listened in they were impressed enough to invite the band to one of their concerts as well as talking them up to potential producers and the press.

Brian Jones was never a songwriter, but what and how he played refined the overall sound. He doesn’t have a song to his name because he was constantly paranoid about letting others hear what he was working on. He wanted to stick with variations of the blues, while Keith and Mick were rockers. Ultimately, his failure to produce material made him irrelevant, so Mick and Keith moved into position as principal architects of the Stones’ direction. But that was in the studio and backstage. In public, Brian clung to the role as co-leader and bad-boy partier. His choices indicated that being a star was more important than playing music—he adored the spotlight. Skipping out on duties with the Stones, he flew to Monterey with Nico on his arm, so he could introduce Jimi’s Experience to the American audience.

In 1968, Brian spent time in Morocco recording tribal music, posthumously released as The Pipes of Pan at Joujouka. Brian’s leadership had already slipped, but his frequent escapades and propensity to avoid recording dates (he failed to show up during the recording of “Satisfaction”) rendered him persona non grata by his band mates. He would typically show up after Keith had recorded all the guitar tracks, leaving him to add other instruments. The trajectory of figuring out an arsenal of instruments led to a marked disinterest in the guitar, but Brian’s colorations added zest. “Paint it Black,” Rolling Stones’ third British number one single, sounded strangely haunted thanks to his sitar. Jones reached the apex of multi-instrumentation in 1966 on Aftermath and Between the Buttons. He played marimba on “Under My Thumb,” “Yesterday’s Papers” and “Out of Time;” dulcimer on “Lady Jane;” sitar on “Cool, Calm and Collected” and “Mother’s Little Helper;” trombone on “Something Happened To Me Yesterday” and flute on “All Sold Out.”

For fifteen months, Anita Pallenberg was his girlfriend, and she made him laugh and forget about his deficiencies. His persona became increasingly mysterious and some have talked about the couple’s kinkiness: sado-masochism and even coprophagy. But the bliss ended after he had to fly back to London from a road trip on the continent due to a bad case of asthma. With Anita alone in the backseat, it didn’t take long for Keith to win her over.

The Stones’ founder turned into an emotional train wreck and two drug busts from the police with subsequent court appearances furthered his condition. A psychoanalysis ordered by the court found him to have an IQ of 133, but “losing his grip on reality. He vacillates between a passive, dependent child with a confused image of an adult on one hand and an idol of pop culture on the other.” He was put on a diet of tranquillizers and moved out of London to Cotchford Farm, an estate previously owned by Winnie the Pooh author A.A. Milne. Brian looked pale, grew tubbier and was generally zonked from a combination of medicine, booze, depression, asthma and frail nerves. In early June, Mick, Keith and Charlie drove out to sever the ties between Brian and the band. It was a sense of relief for both parties and Brian was promised a golden handshake equivalent of $1.7 million.

July 3, 1969, was a hot day at Cotchford, the air filled with pollen, but news about the check from the Stones organization lifted Brian’s spirits. He drank heavily, sucked on his inhalator and popped tranquilizers. Although he was hardly fit for stable movement on land, he decided to take a dip in the deep blue swimming pool that night. Anna, the latest of his string of nursing girlfriends, and Frank, a brute of a foreman that was living in an annex while supervising a posse of cowboy builders employed by Mr. Jones, eventually got out to fetch cigarettes, leaving Brian alone. He must’ve felt a drowsy calmness while splashing alone in his pool, eventually sinking to the tile-covered bottom. Brian Jones was 27 years old.