“Coffee would be about it.” He said some acts stopped working with him because he wouldn’t allow them to get high during recording sessions. “I wouldn’t let The Eagles have any drugs in the studio and in the end that was part of my reason for being fired” after producing their first two albums, he said. Still, he noted that their next album, “Hotel California,” was a smash hit and “Sound Man” is full of such even-handed assessments. Johns gave the Stones their first recording session, in 1963, only to see the band go off with producer Andrew Loog Oldham. “I wasn’t best pleased,” Johns said during an interview at his airy London mews house. “But that’s life.” He went on to work with the band as an engineer for well over a decade. He recorded the Beatles in 1969 for the then-disintegrating band’s final album, “Let It Be,” and was the one who suggested they play a gig on the roof of Apple Corps’ London headquarters. “It was a difficult time for them,” Johns said. “But equally I also witnessed them having a really good time and being hysterically funny and just ordinary blokes.” Johns describes several lightning-bolt musical moments, like hearing Led Zeppelin for the first time after Jimmy Page, an old friend, asked Johns to record his new band. “My jaw was on the floor for the next week,” he said.
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Pete Townshend has “symphonized” The Who’s “Quadrophenia.” | UTSanDiego.com
But Santana is a different breed of man than most rock musicians, so those common autobiographical tropes do not form the core of the book. What we are treated to instead is the anatomy of a life lived in music, one steeped in the belief that playing music is a noble calling and that the role of the musician is to seek enlightenment, so that enlightenment might be shared with the listener. This will be rough going for hippie-haters, for Santana is clearly a card-carrying hippie. Yet his take on values we might, sadly, write off as hippie tenets the concept that all men and women are brothers and sisters, that music might awaken us to our true purpose in life, that borders and nationalities and even the idea of race are merely constructs crafted by the hands of unenlightened men and women are run through the authors long-held Eastern-tinged spiritual beliefs. Those beliefs are of the wholly selective variety; Santana is a devout reader of texts on the religious impulse, and he spent a decade as a disciple of the Indian spiritual pedagogue Sri Chimnoy, leaving only when he felt that his discipleship had served its purpose. Along the way, he constructed a personal spiritual code that suited his own needs, based on what he learned over the decades. I believe there is a supreme being, a supreme creator, and whether its Jesus, Buddha, Krishna, or Allah, its as John Coltrane said: All paths lead to God, he writes. Divinity has many names but only one destination.
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Men recall what happened when 11 lost lives at The Who concert 35 years ago – Story
7, 2010 file photo,Roger Daltrey, left, and Pete Townshend acknowledge the crowd after performing during the second half of the NFL Super Bowl XLIV football game in Miami. Townshend and Daltrey are taking the band on the road for a series of shows in the U.K. celebrating its 50th anniversary. Daltrey suggested it would be their last major tour, referring it to the start of their “long goodbye” during a news conference Monday, June 30, 2014, at Ronnie Scott’s jazz bar in London.
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Carlos Santana’s memoirs celebrate music as spiritual quest – Life & Arts – The Buffalo News
3, 1979, was an array of Who tunes one in particular Baba ORiley which stuck in my craw. I knew little of the disaster that happened that evening, other than 11 people had been killed in a human stampede. Something gnawed at me, though. Im not sure if it was The Whos music of which I later became an avid fan of or just an irregular attachment to something that occurred when I was all of 2 years old. Either way, I listened to that anniversary broadcast until midnight on a school night and, though I didnt know those who perished at the feet of an unruly mob, I felt a kinship. They loved music. So do I. Flash forward and I’m 1,000 miles from Cincinnati. Uncle Sam had brought me to Ft.
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