University of Virginia Library

Janis Joplin

'I Can Excuse Anything If It's Free.'

By Barry Levine
Cavalier Daily Staff Writer

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Miss
Janis Joplin."

Gyrating, rocking, whipping her
hair and body as a musical
instrument in motion, Janis Joplin
Saturday night moved in her
rasping blues that is as much a part
of her language as her music.

Her voice at times rising to the
famous wall, Miss Joplin and Co.
played their blend in a strong beat
that never quite reached the fever
pitch of her other concerts, but
nevertheless belted the hard-beating
Southern Comforting blues with
unsurpassed soul and unrehearsed
body English.

"There is a fine line, a very thin
line between real and fake," Miss
Joplin said after the concert.
Behind their rope fence, her crew,
with flowing hair and ragged shirts
set up their world and moved in it
to the jazzed-up beat of "Piece of
My Heart" and the slow wall of
"Kozmic Blues."

In the front, one student
jumped on stage to dance to the
admiration of his low-lying friends.
Several others climbed on backs to
dance in the golden spotlight of
opportunity.

Following the concert, Miss
Joplin, in a dressing robe and with
her ha wrapped up in a towel,
made very clear her feelings about
the over performance of some of the
audience and the nonperformance
of the rest.

"You should see a really good
concert," she told a student who
came backstage to apologize for
being "carried away."

"I can excuse anything if it's
natural and free. Look man, you
can take your clothes off out there
if that's natural and free.

"But that tonight wasn't
natural. They make a lot of. . .stuff
out there so their sister up in the
balcony can say "Oh, that's
Char' "

Trying to warm up the audience,
a group known as the Jam Factory
at times sang lyrics that had all the
depth of a Jam Session. Their music
began as a slick combination of
Blood, Sweat, and Tears and
Chambers Brothers in songs whose
main uniqueness seemed to be their
constantly shifting beats. At times
they were on the verge of moving
into Moody Blues, at other times
into hard rock, but mostly they
occupied the medium between
known as "nice tunes."

The only exception was the last
number, which began with the long
grinding warmup that tasted like
Vanilla Fudge, and then
unexpectedly moved into a rock
recital of Genesis that showed the
Babel of noise about equality and
freedom to be only an earshot
away.

Their strong brass beat remained
silent as the black organist spoke
over the rhythmic cascade, talking
of brotherly love and impersonal
hatred. The organ beat echoed in a
church like throbbing background,
then stopped sharp as the organist
screamed at the University of
Virginia audience:

"Get out of here, nigger!"

Earlier, they had asked the
crowd to forget "your ties and
suits," and move with the beat.
"Get free of your mores and rules,"
they had sung, but the audience,
for the most part, remained
attentive and inactive.

"Are you dead?" they snag, and
it seemed as though the only one
moving in the mood was a
stagehand swinging wildly behind
the band of amplifiers.

Then Janis arrived, sneaking out
to the side of the stage, and, like a
prize fighter loosening for the bout,
warmed up by moving and dancing
frantically to the beat of the
Factory's closing number. She
moved onstage, and belted the
blues.

Caressing the microphone, she
shook to the rolling sound,
straining to get the last ounce out
of every note.

When the ushers seemed to be
preparing a confrontation with
some of the front runners, she let
everyone know where she stood.
"Leave the ushers alone," she said
among other things. "They might
have a heart attack or something."

Though "Ball and Chain"
degenerated into a promise to
"speak for you," Miss Joplin lost
none of the force in her concert
that makes her sometimes grinding,
sometimes smooth voice and body
a performance of Free Woman in
motion.

Of course, not all agree. In the
middle of the concert, a balding
usher turned to a security guard
and snickered, "You call that
moosic?"