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Bob Harvey Writes
Here follows a text that Bob wrote to me via email. Unedited except the mails have been concatenated. The bio has been redone with this new info and info from the interview. For the latest Bob Harvey update go to this page.
The biography that was written on me is basically very positive, but not completely factual.
I was born november 17, 1934. I was an aquaintance of Marty Balin because we both played in a group that appeared/hung out in the Drinking Gourd on Union Street in San Francisco. I played bass with the Slippery Rock String Band. One friday night in early March 1965 we were doing our regular gig. We took a break and came off stage. As I walked past the table where Marty Balin and Paul Kantner were sitting, I heard Marty say, " I want it to be a 'folk rock group'. Without even missing a beat, I responded, "can I play bass"? Marty said, "come over to my place tomorrow and we'll see how it works. No, roped in is not exactly the right term. Jumped in, leapt in, oh well, mine aren't much better. I wanted in before anything even existed. At that point it was just Marty & Paul talking about what if. For the next several weeks they tried out lead guitarists, singers and drummers. Jerry Peloquin was the only drummer that showed promise, but his main problem was that he was anti marijuana. Because he was a really good drummer, he might have made it anyway if he would have kept quiet, but he was loud and insulting in his references to weed and those who smoked it. A couple of weeks of that and he was gone.
The Slippery Rock String Band was formed in 1963. I was holding a
friday night hootenanny at a coffee house in Burlingame called the
Golden Lamp. Lee Cheney (flat picker), and Chuck McCabe
(five string banjo) were regulars. I sang harmony on a
few songs with them and decided to take up the upright bass in order
to become a 3rd member of the team. Pete Albin was another regular at
the Golden Lamp. He and I were both attending College of San Mateo at
the time.
In early 1965 when I ask Marty about playing bass, he was still singing with The San Francisco Town Criers.
No I had never played any"folk rock" before, but I loved the Beatles and was drawn immediately to that form of music. The appeal was that it was the hippest thing happening and I felt like that was the direction where all the action was.
I don't know what happened to Peloquin. Jeff Tamarkin interviewed me for a book on the Airplane and he had been unable to locate Jerry, but perhaps he has had better luck since.
According to my journal, June 1965 was when the original lineup was finalized. Jerry Kaukonen had finally made the move from Santa Clara to an apartment in San Francisco and had informed us that he was now Jorma. We were rehersing at theMatrix everyday and helping renovate the room. Marty and his lawyer partners had informed us that we were part owners in the club. Towards the end of June we met at Jorma's apartment on a weekend, got stoned and sat around making lists of names that seemed appropriate for the group. Jorma had listed his favorite Blues Musicians, among them was Blind Lemon Jefferson which everyone agreed was an absolute killer of a name. Jorma came up with a list of four or five Blind Jefferson names, among which was Blind Jefferson Airplane which blew us all away, but Paul said that while it was a very cool name, the public wouldn't accept it and we should have another name as our public name and keep Blind Jefferson Airplane as our "secret" name, but after a few days of everyone freaking on the name, we forgot the secret vs public, dropped the Blind and it was "Jefferson Airplane" I firmly believe that the name played as important a part in making the group an almost instant success, as any of the music. there was no original music for a long time and I have a reel to reel tape recorded in the Matrix in about August of 1965 that proves that it was a very very rough sound indeed. The name was right, the timing was right. When Herb Cain wrote about the band in his column the stampede was on. We were good because everyone expected it. It was magic and the most exciting experience that I've ever had in my life.
Signe was already rehearsing with us when Jorma made the decision to come aboard. Paul had been talking to him about the band and talking to us about him before Signe came, but Jorma drug his feet and had a hard time making the decision. He had a large group of students down the peninsula and it took them offering him all kinds of electronic goodies and other incentives before he came around.
Signe's brother John was doorman at the Drinking Gourd. He suggested that we listen to Signe and once was all it took and she was in.
I believe that Airplane was simply a spontaneous combination of words. If it was more than that, Jorma never made it known.
I seen it in print a time or two that Jefferson Airplane was simply a name for a roach clip. I had never heard anything like that back when it was happening. It sounds like more of Paul or Marty's way of playing mindfuck.
In many ways Marty and Paul both paid lipservice to wanting to be unique, which in retrospect doesn't make a lot of sense There wasn't even one original song in the whole repertoire. The three original songs I offered were turned down coldly by Marty. Even "Flower Bomb" which was David Crosby's was snubbed by Marty. Paul Liked it and I liked it. In fact I think it would have been a gigantic hit. But after saying how the band had to be unique, which was the reason for being accoustic and electrified - all that went out the window the minute RCA said they would sign us IF we went all electric - all ROCK & ROLL. Paul and Marty both say they weren't looking for stardom or for big money - & I say BULL SHIT. Stardom and money were about the only things that really meant ANYTHING.
For the names of the songs I'll have to dig out my journal.
Most of the reel to reel has disintegrated, but I can come up with a chunk or two. I doubt if I can give you an entire song. That 33 year old tape is turning to dust.
The excitement was the newness of the whole scene in SF. We became a generation that belonged. We had identity. We were accepted, and we had status. Even the flower children in the park had it, but up on stage it was magnified 100 times and it was sweet. I was someone who had never really felt accepted, anywhere. Suddenly I was more than accepted I was idolized, sought out, sought after. I'd never been good with females. Suddenly I was excellent with females. Pam Bloom was a little blond that I sat across the isle from in Geology class at SF State. I had tried a few times to get a conversation going, even asking her questions about the instructors instructions and she had ignored me, cold shouldered me and slammed the door in my face. One night at the Matrix, there she was at a front row table and we were making eye contact. Not just passing or fleeting eye contact, but Deep, Moving, Emotionally Explosive eye contact. I have never taken things for granted with females, because of the fear of rejection, but there was no fear or hesitency in that contact. I knew that she was interested in me and that all I had to do was go get her. She had no idea that I was the same person she had seen in class. In fact she didn't even want to hear that and didn't. I was someone else. I was somebody and she didn't want to be shown what she had seen before, or hear about it.
Giving someone one who is insecure with women, a few experiences like that, and there were many, and you have someone who is hooked as securely as if he were on hard drugs, maybe moreso.
I think Jorma's head was right where RCA was or he would have refused to sign and it would have all been over, but up to that point he hadn't really had it defined in his own mind, just exactly what he wanted the band to be.
They kept talking about original material, but I never heard one original song by the band. Crosby's "Flower Bomb" was the closest thing, but Marty snubbed it.
The RCA tentative offer came in late September, a few weeks before I left.
Of course the experience was worth it. It was the push and the pain that turned me into a writer.
Bob Harvey
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