Love, Janis
I just closed the cover on my most recent read: Love, Janis; an in-depth and deeply personal biography about Janis Joplin, written by her sister, Laura Joplin.
I sort of feel like I've said goodbye to an old friend who I never knew, except through her music.
Even though I tend to think of her as someone who had been around for decades, Janis only enjoyed success as a singer for four years. Four years.
She truly was just getting started.
In fact, she officially recorded just 35 songs in the studio (not including live tracks).
One of those songs, the popular "Mercedes Benz," wasn't even meant to be an official recording.
Between takes of another song, she sang it to her band a cappella for fun on October 1, 1970. The tape just happened to be rolling.
She died 48 hours later.
When Beth and I went to Texas in 2001, we made sure to stop in Austin and have a drink at Threadgill's, which was where Joplin got her start while attending the University of Texas. I remember how small the place seemed and how tiny the stage was, but it was right there where the legend was born.
Love, Janis includes many personal letters written by Janis to her family back in Port Arthur, Texas. Laura Joplin skillfully intertwines her sister's letters into the narrative, almost as if Janis is telling her own life story.
Janis dressed the way she wanted to dress. She talked the way she wanted to talk. She was painfully honest. She was extremely intelligent. She liked her smokes and she loved her drink (Southern Comfort). She was a gifted painter... and man, could she sing!
But she didn't play by society's rules. She couldn't care less about expectations.
As a result, she was something of a social outcast in her hometown.
After dropping out of college, she headed to San Francisco and joined the hippie scene in Haight-Ashbury. There she hooked up with a band called Big Brother and the Holding Company.
Within a year, the band appeared at the Monterey Pop Festival.
No one had ever heard of Janis Joplin before the band went on stage. By the time the set was over, no one could stop talking about her.
Within months, she was the talk of the nation.
Her star rose quickly. Meteorically. She was a supernova.
Then a blinding sucker punch to the gut. It was over.
Like ripping the needle off a phonograph album.
Alcohol and heroin.
So stupid. So senseless.
So sad.
She was just 27 years old.
When asked how she thought she would be remembered, Janis said, "My music was when the black and white thing broke down, and black could dig what white sang and white could dig what black sang. It was all music, and got down to where it was supposed to be."
I can dig that, Janis.
We all can dig that.
Even though I tend to think of her as someone who had been around for decades, Janis only enjoyed success as a singer for four years. Four years.
She truly was just getting started.
In fact, she officially recorded just 35 songs in the studio (not including live tracks).
One of those songs, the popular "Mercedes Benz," wasn't even meant to be an official recording.
Between takes of another song, she sang it to her band a cappella for fun on October 1, 1970. The tape just happened to be rolling.
She died 48 hours later.
When Beth and I went to Texas in 2001, we made sure to stop in Austin and have a drink at Threadgill's, which was where Joplin got her start while attending the University of Texas. I remember how small the place seemed and how tiny the stage was, but it was right there where the legend was born.
Love, Janis includes many personal letters written by Janis to her family back in Port Arthur, Texas. Laura Joplin skillfully intertwines her sister's letters into the narrative, almost as if Janis is telling her own life story.
Janis dressed the way she wanted to dress. She talked the way she wanted to talk. She was painfully honest. She was extremely intelligent. She liked her smokes and she loved her drink (Southern Comfort). She was a gifted painter... and man, could she sing!
But she didn't play by society's rules. She couldn't care less about expectations.
As a result, she was something of a social outcast in her hometown.
After dropping out of college, she headed to San Francisco and joined the hippie scene in Haight-Ashbury. There she hooked up with a band called Big Brother and the Holding Company.
Within a year, the band appeared at the Monterey Pop Festival.
No one had ever heard of Janis Joplin before the band went on stage. By the time the set was over, no one could stop talking about her.
Within months, she was the talk of the nation.
Her star rose quickly. Meteorically. She was a supernova.
Then a blinding sucker punch to the gut. It was over.
Like ripping the needle off a phonograph album.
Alcohol and heroin.
So stupid. So senseless.
So sad.
She was just 27 years old.
When asked how she thought she would be remembered, Janis said, "My music was when the black and white thing broke down, and black could dig what white sang and white could dig what black sang. It was all music, and got down to where it was supposed to be."
I can dig that, Janis.
We all can dig that.
