Flushing NY, and Newport '69?

[dalsh327]

Were these shows recorded/filmed, or are there audience tapes out there?

Someone told me the Flushing Queens show had a band called The Flock play there, but I didn't see anything mentioned about them on the official site. All I know is that it was where the Worlds Fair and someone I knew was at the show.

[badgeholder]

Were these shows recorded/filmed, or are there audience tapes out there?

Someone told me the Flushing Queens show had a band called The Flock play there, but I didn't see anything mentioned about them on the official site. All I know is that it was where the Worlds Fair and someone I knew was at the show.

There are three audience recordings from Newport (7/6/69) out there. (rumor has it there is also film, but that's another story)

No recordings from Flushing Meadows on 7-13 or 8-29/30 have appeared yet, at least that I know of. Here's two photos from the 7-13 gig, where they sat in with the Jeff Beck Group

[SuperDave]

There are three audience recordings from Newport (7/6/69) out there. (rumor has it there is also film, but that's another story)

No recordings from Flushing Meadows on 7-13 or 8-29/30 have appeared yet, at least that I know of. Here's two photos from the 7-13 gig, where they sat in with the Jeff Beck Group

I've never heard about Zeppelin playing Flushing Meadows in '69 on July 13th as it isn't on the "Timeline" here. Can this be verified for certain?

We all know the Central Park show of July 21st, which is a great one and has been heavily bootlegged, but I've never heard the shows from Flushing, Queens at the Singer Bowl on August 29 and 30th. Has anyone heard these and are they available? How is the performance, sound quality etc. Would like some good info on these!

[sam_webmaster]

They jammed with the Jeff Beck Group at their gig on 7-13-69, (no Zep gig there that day).

another photo with Jimmy:

ledzeppelin.com/image/photos-home/led-zeppelin/1968-1969/singer-bowl-jam-7-13-69

and backstage photo

[dazedjeffy]

Led Zeppelin joined Jeff Beck, Rod Stewart, Glenn Cornick of Jethro Tull and Alvin Lee of Ten Years After on stage for Jailhouse Rock. John Bonham played drums for Rice Pudding.

The Beck Group's rowdy encore of "Jailhouse Rock" occasioned a drunken invasion from backstage that resulted in what history has dubbed the "nine man jam", including Jimmy Page, Robert Plant, and John Bonham, during which Bonzo started pounded out "The Stripper" while removing his clothing piece by piece.

"It was one of those riotous sorts of day," Beck recalls, "everyone's energy level was 100 percent and we were throwing things at each other onstage. I threw a mug of orange juice at Alvin Lee and it stuck all over his guitar. It was just one of those animal things. Three English groups at the same place has to add up to trouble!"

Rod Stewart: "The stage was full of people-we were doing 'Jailhouse Rock' and it was fucking incredible. I finished the whole thing by shoving a mike stand up John Bonham's ass and he got arrested, the cops pulled him off and I ran away . . . we were all pissed out of our heads. And the Vanilla Fudge couldn't follow it."

The audience actually began leaving at the end of the jam, and during the Fudge's set, when Vince Martell took a solo, there were even a few boos. They were so demoralized that by the end of the evening they'd decided to split up.

[dazedjeffy]

and

From Don Murfet's autobiographical book "Leave It To Me":

The two bands' paths were to cross several times over the next few days as their respective tours wended their way across the States – but it was at the Singer Bowl, a massive sports complex doubling as a concert venue just outside New York's Flushing Meadows that things really came to a head. Jeff and the boys were supporting America's flavour of the month, Vanilla Fudge. More significantly, as it turned out, Alvin Lee's new band, Ten Years After, were opening the star-studded bill. The Zep boys and their entourage said they'd be there to lend Jeff a bit of moral support. I thought that was quite touching to begin with – such selfless solidarity between two of the UK's best bands while they were touring on foreign turf. But of course it wasn't as simple – or as innocent as that. Nothing ever was! Hindsight being 20:20, maybe I should have sussed that there was more to their eagerness to attend than geeing their mates along. In fact that had nothing to do with it. The Zep boys were there to get their own back on Lee for some pretty nasty remarks he'd once made about Jimmy Page – and Jeff Beck's roadies seemed happy to help them wreak their revenge, egged on, inevitably, by Bonzo and Richard Cole. Chick Churchill – one of Ten Years After's associates – was unlucky enough to be caught without backup in a locker room by a vengeful rabble of roadies who scared the crap out of him before ruthlessly stripping him of his clothes. Then they stripped him of his dignity by dumping him naked and trussed like a lamb to the slaughter in the starkly lit corridor outside. Next it was Ten Years After's turn for the revenge of Zeppelin. Hidden in the anonymity of the shadows in a corner in front of the stage, the Zeppelin crew pelted Alvin Lee mercilessly from the moment he took the stage with anything that came to hand – including hot dogs, burgers, orange juice and probably much messier and more painful missiles. It was glorious! Lee and his band had no idea who

the mysterious assailants in the shadows could be. The shower of debris stole their thunder, undermining the storming performance they'd had their hearts set on and, understandably enough, mediocrity was all they couldmuster.

In retrospect, Peter and Jimmy – the two partners in crime – had to be behind this. It was their way of saying, 'Don't ever mess with the Zeppelin!'

If that had been the sum total of their retribution for an offcolour comment, I guess it would have been 'fair dos'. But they'd already planned a masterstroke that would add insult to injury. Of course, as far as the audience was concerned, Led Zep's joining The Jeff Beck Group on stage was an impromptu jamming session. I knew different! Having ruined Alvin Lee's set, a band that hadn't even been booked to play was about to steal the show. And steal the show they did. But even the Led Zep boys hadn't planned the finale that was to be the highlight of the night!

Bonzo had been at the backstage booze. Nothing unusual about that – or about the fact that, drunk as a lord, his drumming on the fast blues the galaxy of rock stars was playing was as blisteringly bang on the nail as ever. What was a bit unusual was the fact that he'd suddenly decided to do a 'Full Monty' while he was at it, still hitting that kick drum with mechanical, maniacal precision and venom despite the strides and underpants tangled round his ankles. For most of the audience, the sight of his private pubics made public was just a bit of a Bonzo bonus to the already exciting event. But, among the ogling crowd, some punters were lessimpressed at the sight of Bonzo's manhood flapping about on the drum stool. I clocked one humourless woman talking animatedly to one of the fairly heavy local police presence. Like a chill wind, the prudish outrage swept through the crowd and it was clear to see that the cops were not amused. Now I'm not saying I'd normally think Bonzo getting his kit off was going too far. On the contrary, high spirits and outrageous behaviour like that are the all part of the sheer joy of rock 'n' roll – and long may it stay that way. A few people will always be upset by it - but when the police are among the ones with the hump, that's when the fun stops and the trouble starts. Of course, it was my job to make sure it didn't. I could see the cops rallying together, conferring and calling for backup. I had to get Bonzo off the stage before they couldarrest him. Suddenly I had a plan. I took Henry the Horse aside and told him to kill all the lights the moment the performers finished their song. He did so, plunging the stage into darkness for about ten seconds – just long enough for Richard Cole and I to grab Bonzo by the arms, pull his pants up and drag him full pelt backstage. Obviously we couldn't hide him in the band's dressing area – that was the first place the cops would look for him. So we lugged him into another locker room nearby which, since it was fully equipped with shower facilities and suchlike and plastered with sporting paraphernalia, I assumed was an American Football players' changing room. Somewhere out there, the police were stumbling about in the darkness, their mood turning as black as the blackout we'd plunged them into.

I kicked the door shut and locked it. Hearts banging as loud as Bonzo's drumming and holding our breath in case we were heard, Richard and I set about tidying up the legless sticksman. We waited. Bonzo, by now, was unconscious, draped lifelessly over a chair, marooned helplessly in the empty tiled expanse of the backstage changing room. The distant rumble of angry men echoed along the corridors outside – then suddenly loomed uncomfortably close. And then there was an explosion of outraged voices. At first it was an incomprehensible babble. Then it was way too close and way too clear.

'Where is the dirty motherfucker?' one loud American voice kept roaring with an authority that cut through the general furore. At least, I thought, we were safely locked in this room. No one could hear us. Bonzo was temporarily out of the game. Keep schtum and we'd be in the clear. But then there was a thunderous banging at the door - the kind of banging that won't take no for an answer. The door burst open to reveal five or six huge cops with waists as wide as their minds were narrow. Some traitor must have given them the master key. We were outnumbered, out muscled, outweighed and, most importantly, outlawed.

Richard and I stood in front of Bonzo in a forlorn attempt at solidarity – as if we could hide him; protect him. Two of the police posse strode forward – too close for comfort, intimidating, demanding to know if this was the drummer who'd just given his public a pubic performance (not that they put it that delicately!).

'Look, he's just drunk – he's harmless,' I spluttered. 'Look at him – he didn't mean any harm...'

The cops looked with distaste over my shoulder at the inert figure sprawled over a chair in the middle of the bleakly lit and Spartan room. Neither was impressed. Their collective sense of humour bypass was obviously complete. I suppose it wasn't much of an excuse. It can't have been - because then they whipped out their batons threateningly, making it utterly clear that they meant business.

To be honest, at that point, Richard and I had given up the ghost. We were all going to get nicked and that was that. But neither we nor the cops had reckoned on a far superior authority. I'd thought the police had made a fairly impressive entrance just minutes ago. But the door through which they'd marched with such self-righteous import suddenly exploded open to admit the furious and fighting mad figure of Peter Grant. He was always almost ludicrously huge – but fluffed up, furious and bristling with rage like a giant Mother Hen hell bent on protecting her chicks he almost took the door off its hinges. The door wasn't the only thing almost unhinged by his entrance: the cops clucked in panic – overshadowed and overawed and chickening out completely.

'I'm the manager of the band,' Grant boomed imperiously. 'Who's in charge here?'

The gobsmacked police officers silently pointed out their Captain, whose eyes met Peter's and were fixed in his glare.

'You and me need to talk – alone.' Peter said quietly. 'Get your men out of here.'

With a wave of his arm the Captain dismissed his troops and Richard and I followed suit – we didn't need telling. Closing the door carefully behind us, we left Bonzo, Peter and the Captain in the room and waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, after about ten minutes that seemed a lot longer, the Captain emerged, all that anger drained from his fat face, and beckoned his men to follow. Bemused, we gingerly stepped back into the locker room, where Peter greeted us with a smile.

'Well done!' he beamed. 'Now, let's get Bonzo on the bus.' I didn't need to be told twice. I grabbed the still-prone Bonzo and hauled him bus-wards and within minutes Peter and Led Zep, complete with their semi-conscious drummer, were speeding out of town. No charges. No arrest. In fact, it was as if the incident had never happened. I was in awe of Peter's unique brand of diplomacy that had somehow convinced the outraged cop Captain to let the matter drop. It was amazing the authority that guy commanded. Maybe it was his sheer size and physical presence...Well, that and the sheer size and physical presence of his wallet – as I found out when I asked Peter later on the bus.

'That was a cheap get-out, Don!' he laughed heartily. 'It only cost me $300!'

So now I knew how Led Zeppelin did business – and how the big man made problems just disappear. It was a lesson I'd take to heart – and which would take me to the very heart of the stellar supernova that Zeppelin were about to become.

[Ligger]

The photo of Beck and Plant was taken by Thom Lukas. It was used in the biography, "Jeff Beck: Crazy Fingers." It also appears in the Beckology box set booklet, miscredited by the publisher to Chuck Pulin.