"The Flying Burrito Brothers play at the Avalon Ballroom, April 1969." "A Sonic Journal Album."

What, you may ask, is the difference between a 'live recording' and a 'sonic journal'?

The answer: Lots.

A sonic journal comprises an accurate 'sound snapshot' of the actual sound as experienced in the hall while the show was being presented. One way of expressing it might be to say it is a 'capture' of the show's audio field, or that it IS 'the show', at least the sound part, as well as the overall 'feel' and ambience of the event- the 'Zeitgeist' so to speak, a unique quality which differs from every other show. This special quality is a result of the philosophy behind my approach to concert sound 'reinforcement'.

A live recording is done by recording the various instruments and vocals, then mixing them in a studio. The microphones may be the same as used in the PA. Usually there are some additional mics which are tracked but not used for the front-of-house sound. Some two track 'live recordings' are made from the mixing desk, and commonly called 'soundboard' tapes. The feed is taken from the same board that feeds the PA, but they do not sound like the concert did to those in the hall.

Most live sound production, starting well before I got into it, was mic'd and mixed like a studio record. In the studio the standard practice is to mic each musical voice (track) so as to isolate it as much as possible from all other sounds. Following this approach live leads to the situation where many mics are placed onstage (and most are used (because they are there). As many as 40 inputs feeding the PA is not be exceptional. Obviously these 40 signals can also be be sent to a multitrack recorder, and that recorder can have additional mics as well. This will become a 'live recording' in the usual meaning of the term.

In the traditional FOH mix, an attempt is made to make everything as loud as everything else, and many feeds are panned to the middle. Each instrument, each drum, each cymbal has its own mic or direct box, all of which are used. This, plus the usual split location PA, with the speaker stacks separated by a good many feet, makes for a sound in the hall that bears little or no resemblance to what the band is doing onstage, it is almost entirely the 'creation' of the soundman.

I began my soundman career at a time before there were high quality, loud PA's suitable for music. I began with no preconceptions as to how to go about making a band loud enough so they could play to a reasonable sized audience at the levels they preferred (very loud, of course) and have everything balanced and their vocals understood.

I decided that the sound the band produced in a rehearsal situation was the best, they could hear each other and enjoyed playing. My task was to figure out how to make the onstage sound work in the same way. Once that was done, the next task was to 'sample' that onstage sound and amplify it, and present it to the audience. Phil Lesh and I used to call this the 'Microcosm and the Macrocosm', after the alchemical Principle of Correspondence: 'As Above, so Below' from the Kybalion. In those days quality mics were expensive, and the kind of mixing boards used in most venues for live sound- such as baseball stadiums and churches- had limited sound quality. Not satisfied with this situation, I searched for quality components to assemble my own mixing desk.

I chose a setup of four rack-mounted Ampex MX-10 mixers. They were 4 mic (tube) preamp mixers with nice big rotary faders. This small quality mixer was made for classic location recording. It was simple and very quiet. It had quite a good dynamic range. When connected together the four units allowed me twelve mic (or line) inputs with a simple choice of left, right or both channels- from each input. There was no eq, no panpots. I rarely used the both-channel feed option, preferring to have each mic feed just one of the two channels. I relied on mic placement to bring each voice's presence to the other side of the PA. The single channel feed is a very important key to creating a sense of real 'space' or dimension, as even one mic into both channels brings a kind of 'fuzziness' into the mix, like a film on a mirror. Too many mics in both channels (by switch or panpot) quickly burys and destroys the 'space' entirely.

I have never worked in a studio, so I had no reason to think I had to isolate each instrument, after all- it was a complex three-dimensional sound I was trying to capture. By moving my few mics around a bit, I was able to define a nice clean, open sound. By getting the band to try different stage setup configurations we managed to tune the onstage sound to work as well for us as the equipment of the time allowed. Vocal monitors were a problem right up to the time in-ear units became available, although today's floor boxes are light-years beyond anything we had.

My two-track tape deck was connected to the stereo PA feed. I turned it on and forgot about it- except for changing reels as needed. The tapes represented a special kind of diary of my mixes. It sounded just like the show did on playback. The tapes of a show were fairly complete so long as I was not too busy with some crisis or other in the hall to fail to notice the amount of tape left. And trust me, crises seemed to be an integral part of rock and roll as we knew it. My journal was not a 'live recording, and was not made with the intention it would ever become a record. It was just an unusual diary, if it was not perfect and complete it still fulfilled its purpose. The journals provided me with a way to listen to any show later on and locate and analyse a problem so it could be fixed. Listening to them in the beginning of my sound career certainly helped my mixing art as well. After a while it got to where I rarely played a journal tape unless the musicians were interested, and very few were then and seem to be still in that mode.

I took care to make sure the signal on the tape exactly matched the sound I heard in the hall. During this process I checked that the hall sound matched the sound onstage as closely as possible. To bring into the tape signal a balance and presence missing from the pure PA signal input, I set up two mics which I plugged into the mic channels on the tape deck- these mics were not sent to the PA. By adjusting the placement and level of the supplementary mics, the sound on the tape could be matched to the hall, compensating for the in-hall sound the onstage amps provided. The tape's signal is thus designed to represent a 'balanced source' of the show sound. A pair of mics set up in the audience cannot duplicate the show on playback, it is incomplete- only a balanced source will provide duplication.

Right from the beginning I held the strong belief that the soundman out front should be 'transparent' in his work, by which I meant the musicians themselves are really the only ones who know what their music to be, not controlled or contrived by someone who is not an active part of the band- like the FOH soundmixer. The logical extension of this idea led to the now famous (or infamous) 'Wall of Sound', a system which eliminated the FOH soundboard completely. The Wall happened well before the technology was mature enough for it we literally were designing on the fly, 'without a net' so to speak. The Wall in use proved to be a huge, labour-intensive exercise. The sound it produced for large venues worked pretty well, as those who heard it will testify, but it rapidly became obvious it was beyond our ability to continue to lug it around. We were, as always, pushing the envelope.

I have since designed a far better and simpler single-point source that works on the musician-in-control principle- but I doubt it will ever be realised, without a band like the Dead and their willingness to push the envelope, who would pay to build it?

I call this system 'Touchstone' after the black stone on which the purity of gold is tested. If a sound system is truly transparent and controlled by the performers, nothing can be hidden, the truth of the music is revealed. Not a tool suitable for amateurs or those without great talent.

I have never met another soundman who thinks the way I do about the 'microcosm/macrocosm. Without this guiding principle you won't find anyone capable of producing a true 'sonic journal'- even if they can grasp the 'accurate show-capture' concept.

During my turn as FOH soundman for the Grateful Dead, I mixed every band who played as an opening act for the Grateful Dead, so long as they showed up without their own soundman. If they brought a soundman, I could take a (well earned) break. For this reason I have no recordings of the many top-rated acts who were on the same venue with us. Most young bands could barely afford to feed themselves on what the earned, let alone hire a soundman (the FBB, as I recall, did not even have a roadie to help them move and set up their gear). I rarely had much free time during a night's shows as a result.

In 1969 the Dead played 146 shows, and virtually all of them had opening acts, sometimes more than one. During my days as their soundman I must have mixed several hundred shows, and most of my journals have survived. I hope that a way can be found to make more of them available- there was a lot of really wonderful music played back then. It will all depend on the bands, the surviving musicians and their heirs, as to whether any of my journals is to be converted into a product. While I own the tapes and the sound, including the production values I have added, the music itself and the performance of it belongs only to the musicians and whomever they were contracted to at the time.

The Flying Burrito Brothers were a new group, full of youthful energy, at time they seemed to be not all that well rehearsed, so the music sometimes is all over the place. The problem tends to fade away with age and maturity.

The Burritos, like the Dead, travelled with and used the famous Hammond B3 organ, a large, heavy mechanical sound-generator which was intended to sit in a parlour, not be used as a rock band's keyboard instrument. It was built like a tank out of heavy wood and iron, and was paired with the unique Leslie rotating-horn speaker enclosure- with same style of heavy wooden construction it also weighed a ton- or at least felt like it going up a flight of stairs. It was really nothing like a real organ, which is a collection of pipes, but it sounded great. No other keyboard could cut through and carry on in the same league with electric guitars and amplified drums. This instrument fits well in the Burrito's sound. The band played a lot of covers, like most groups do in the beginning. Although their interpretations were good, I thought the best songs were the few original pieces scattered through the set.

Yes there are some rough bits- just like in real life. Like life, whatever is in a sonic journal is there warts and all, nothing can be 'fixed'. It is what the audience paid to hear. The time to correct things is at the time of the performance. Afterwards it is history and should be appreciated for what it is. A 'live recording', on the other hand, may have some or even a majority of the tracks replaced or 'massaged' prior to mix-down (for example, the 'Steal your Face' album had to have most of the live tracks over-dubbed due to serious performance and recording problems).

As you listen to this CD you will 'be' at the show, or at least, as near being there as the auditory part allows. The tracks cannot be edited, altered or mixed (on the disk) with other music. Or for that matter, combined with a different night even if at the same venue. Each show has to be experienced as a whole without distractions- only then is the show 'recreated'. Put it on, turn it up good and loud, and if you can, lower the lights... I think you will quickly understand perfectly.

- Owsley 'Bear' Stanley

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Quite often, people ask me, “What is your favorite band of all time?” expecting me to say Led Zeppelin or the Stones. The Mothers of Invention? Jimi Hendrix, perhaps? My one and only answer usually surprises them: The Flying Burrito Brothers. I have literally been waiting for this album to appear for decades.

One of my favorite claims to fame is that except for their consummate road manager, Jimmi Seiter, I have been to more Burrito Brothers shows than anyone else on the planet. I didn’t miss a single gig in Los Angeles, and would hitchhike hundreds of miles to swoon over “Do Right Woman” or “Hot Burrito #1,” afraid I might miss the most heart-wrenching versions yet. Even at eighteen, I knew something very special was going on and I didn’t want to miss a single momentous note. Listening to this oh-so-alive music once more has been an extremely heady experience, taking me down to the dance floor over and over again.

The best thing about this remarkable trek back to San Francisco, 1969, is just how perfectly it captures the live Burritos experience, beginning with their usual rousing opening number, “Close Up The Honky Tonks.” It’s overwhelming to hear the medley “Undo The Right / Somebody’s Back In Town” again—the ideal country combo. And “Sin City” sounds exactly like I heard it played so many times. In my opinion, this original incarnation of the band is the truest—Gram, Chris, Sneaky Pete, Chris Ethridge, and the ever-adorable Mike Clarke. You can really hear Hillman’s pure, sweet harmonies, accenting Gram’s plaintive melodies just right. And Sneaky Pete’s psychedelic, oft-imitated, innovative pedal steel breaks all the rules, loud and clear. Close your eyes and you can almost see the rhinestones twinkle on their scandalous Nudie suits while the trippy-hippie light show swirls ’round and ’round.

I was fortunate enough to see the short-lived version of the Byrds at the Kaleidoscope on Sunset, featuring the newest member, Gram Parsons, and witnessed the birth of a brand-spankin’-new sound. Chris Hillman had put his mandolin and penchant for bluegrass on the back burner, fired up again after fortu-itously meeting the like-minded country boy in line at the bank. The sold-out Hollywood audience that night was dumfounded. The result seemed to surprise even Roger McGuinn, and it would eventually shake up the rock world, but acceptance of what Gram called “Cosmic American Music” was slow in coming.

After Gram refused to tour with the Byrds in South Africa due to apartheid, the Southern upstart was promptly fired. Shortly afterward, Chris Hillman quit the band, Gram contacted him immediately, and the Flying Burrito Brothers started making history.

Some nights only a handful of country-loving diehards showed up at the Palomino Club or the Troubadour to revel in the long-haired, soulful strum and twang, but it only seemed to fire up the Burritos. Gram had a laser-beam focus, determined to bring together seemingly disparate types of music—country, blues, and rock—to create a sound that is now as accepted and familiar as he believed it would be.

The recently discovered treasure you hold in your hands has the Burritos opening for The Grateful Dead at the Avalon Ballroom, and features a plethora of daring cover tunes, from Hank Williams’ “You Win Again” to George Jones’ “She Once Lived Here.” There’s even a raucous take on Waylon Jennings’ wicked “Sweet Mental Revenge,” long before he joined forces with Willie and became an outlaw. It’s hard to imagine these selections being controversial today, but trust me, in the late ’60s it was a prescient, dramatic, cheeky move.

I had always thought of country music as lame and corny, played by backwoods guys with crew cuts, until Gram sat me down with a fat joint and played me albums by Merle Haggard, Waylon, and George Jones, the man he called “The King Of Broken Hearts.” I instantly understood his passion for honky-tonk, and am eternally grateful to him for enlightening me so profoundly. More than once I saw Gram weep while singing “She Once Lived Here,” tears sliding down his face, his voice cracking—“I see her face in the cool of the evening/I hear her voice in each breeze loud and clear.”

I was crazy about Chris Hillman, and Gram soon became a true-blue pal. Along with Miss Mercy, (one of the girls in my group, the GTO’s), I was invited to several The Gilded Palace Of Sin recording sessions. We both happily warbled off-key on the chorus of the stoner song, “Hippie Boy,” feeling very honored indeed. I became an honorary “Burrito Sister,” and was privy to the real tales behind the tunes. I knew, for instance, that Gram’s love, Nancy, refused to call him “old man,” because she felt he was too young at age 23 for such a term. She called him her “old boy,” which wound up as a lyric in the stunning “Hot Burrito #1.” I also knew Gram was concerned that calling out “Jesus Christ!” on “Hot Burrito #2” might keep the song from being played on the radio, which, sadly, turned out to be wishful thinking. I saw the Burritos off at the station when they left on their infamous train tour, and patiently waited for postcards and phone calls, playing their first album incessantly until they came back again.

I was there at the Avalon Ballroom that intoxicating night in April of ’69. For awhile I had the dance floor to myself, twirling alone to the cheating R&B song “Dark End Of The Street” and the soul-shaking Delaney and Bonnie tune “Get Ourselves Together.” Some of the tie-dyed, head-banded Grateful Dead fans seemed to appreciate the new blend of sounds, but I still felt like I was in on a thrilling secret. Even though this band has influenced more musicians than can ever be counted, the Flying Burrito Brothers are still somewhat of a secret—a secret I’m glad you’re in on.

It’s an intoxicating honor to have the Burritos sing me back home with songs I used to hear, making my old memories come so brilliantly alive.

- Pamela Des Barres
- Download Pamela's Notes (PDF)

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