Gone Are the Gods

This afternoon at the diamond exchange my co-worker Ava was reading scripture. This good woman is worried about my soul. I told her about my loss of faith, but also that I was content in my non-belief.

"I am happy where I am."

"But I don't want you to burn in hell." This single mom had a heart of gold.

"Believe me. I will not burn in hell." I've never done anything so bad to deserve the torment of eternity. "I'm a good man. Most of the time."

"But you don't believe in God."

"When I was young, hippies believed that a guitar player was God." ERIC IS GOD was spray painted across walls in the UK and America. Clapton's searing performance with Cream had earned that accolade.

"No man is God."

"Jesus was a man." Earlier Christianity argued the duality of his natures. Half-God. Half-man. Every variation on that theme.

"He was a God." Ava sucked in her breath. She was standing with Satan. Her lips moved with prayer. "You are going to Hell."

Along with all the other non-believers and heretics, but so are those devotees to Eric Clapton, for the British rock star was knocked off the pedestal by the arrival of the one and true guitar god.

Jimi Hendrix.

The Jesse James of rock burst onto the screen with his staggering performance at the 1967 Monterrey Pop Festival. A long way from his first gig at Seattle's Temple De Hirsch. At the end of covering the Troggs hit WILD THING he set his Fender Stratocaster on fire. From that moment to his final appearance in Germany Hendrix was the mountain.

I saw him at Boston Garden in 1970 with my good friend Wayne Shepard. The opening bands were Illusion and Cactus. Their sets were short. No one had come to see either band. We were waiting for the Jimi Hendrix Experience Part 2. Jimi took the stage with Mitch Mitchell on drums and Billy Cox on bass.

The set consisted of Fire, Lover Man, Hear My Train A Comin', Foxy Lady, Room Full of Mirrors, Red House, Freedom, Ezy Ryder, Machine Gun, The Star-Spangled Banner, Purple Haze, and Voodoo Child (Slight Return).

I kept shouting out THE WIND CRIED MARY. Wayne worshiped Jim. He elbowed me to shut up. I stopped after the LSD hit my brain. I don't remember much after that other than singing "Cuse me while I touch the sky."

Jimi didn't burn his guitar with lighter fluid that night.

Only with his fingers.

40 years ago.

When I was young.

And listening to him tonight bring me back to those days.

18.

Jimi lives on.

Forever.

One day maybe Ava, my co-worker will understand my worship of the Left-Handed Guitar. He was human. Like the rest of us.

To see PURPLE HAZE please go to his URL

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cnFSaqFzSO8