Sample Rate:48000hZ
Resolution:24Bit
Bitrate:2304kbps
Side One
The Train Kept A-Rollin'
You're A Better Man Than I
I'm Confused
My Baby
Side Two
Over Under Sideways Down
Drinking Muddy Water
Shapes Of Things
White Summer
I'm A Man
Columbia Records (P-13311)
1971 Re-Issue
This show comes from a rather infamous Lp. With the success of Led Zeppelin, Epic decided to cash in on Jimmy Page and so released this Lp. The hardcore are familiar with the story - the drums were recorded with a single mic, crowd noise was added with the sound of clinking glasses, etc. The result? Jimmy immediately had the Lp pulled off shelves....but not before some got out. This set is taken directly from the original Epic vinyl . The set includes an early version of Dazed & Confused (here called "I'm Confused"), which includes Keith Relfs original lyrics. The release has always been pretty panned over the years, but I've always enjoyed it quite a bit myself.
Arguably the most famous lost live album in history, Live Yardbirds Featuring Jimmy Page, cut at the Anderson Theater in New York on March 30, 1968, has been issued twice on vinyl legitimately (only to be suppressed by legal action) and innumerable times since as a bootleg. In August 2000, Mooreland St. Records put out the first authorized CD edition of the performance, and it is a complete revelation. The original master tape has been improved significantly; the absence of vinyl noise is an obvious plus, but the sheer impact of the instruments is also startling, given that the show was taped by a producer who had never recorded a rock band before, on equipment that was ten years out of date. The producers have expanded this reissue with help from a separate reference tape, an audience recording that preserved the complete unedited show; it's somewhat low-fi, but it captures material edited from the finished master, and it allows for the restoration of little nuances. Page's guitar (which goes out of tune several times) is the dominant instrument, alternately crunchy and lyrical, but always loud and dexterous; the roughness of Keith Relf's singing is also more apparent, but his shortcomings don't really hurt the music. The performance also reveals just how far out in front of the psychedelic pack the Yardbirds were by the spring of 1968; Page had pushed the envelope about as far as he could, in terms of high-velocity guitar pyrotechnics. Ironically, this album isn't quite as strong as the contemporary Truth album by Jeff Beck, mostly because the Yardbirds were still juggling three sounds: the group's progressive pop/rock past, the psychedelia of 1968, and a harder, more advanced blues-based sound. It's clear that they had few places left to go with the first two; "Dazed and Confused," by contrast, represented something new, a slow blues as dark, forbidding, and intense as anything that the band had ever cut — it showed where Page, if not this band, was heading.
March 30, 1968, and the Yardbirds had come to the Lower East Side's Anderson Theatre to make what was ultimately to be their farewell concert in New York. That had fallen on evil times, this most progressive of the English rhythm 'n blues bands that had coalesced around the old Crawdaddy Club in Richmond. And now they were entering the twilight, with rumors of an imminent break-up following them wherever they would go. Gone were the screaming girls, the anguished teenyboppers who would plaster themselves all over the stage as soon as Keith Relf stepped toward the microphone; gone also were the hit singles, the flash of a Clapton or Beck, the incredibly progressive drive that was so much a part of them during the good years. All that was left was the rhythm section of McCarty/Dreja, Keith's voice and harp and a good-credentials-but-who-is-he-anyway lead guitarist named Jimmy Page.
And so, for the hordes of fans who faithfully made the pilgrimage to Second and Fourth on that star-crossed night, the question was whether or not the Yardbirds would be able to get it on in the way most of the remembered; like the way Clapton sort of nudged that perfect four-second break in "Here 'Tis" or all those insane stops and starts in "I'm Not Talking"; or maybe "Happenings Ten Years Time Ago" which is definitely so far ahead of its time.
Which meant that now, on this Saturday night, you were sitting in your seat about halfway down and over to the left, breathing in that very particular atmosphere which comes when you know you're on the verge of an event, aimlessly staring around an old vaudeville museum piece from a timeless, far away era, to the stage, up to the galleries, just killing time....
Well, getting the benefit of three years' hindsight to look back at the occasion, let me tell you that you're in for one of those maniac rock 'n roll times, which you're going to carry out of that theatre and tell all your friends about, and which they're about to tell all their friends, and so on, until you have on your hands a concert which approaches legend. LEGEND! You know, like the time when the Rolling Stones played at the Academy of Music, or the Shangri-Las came to St. Augustine's, or the Beatles first appeared on Ed Sullivan, or... (blow the dust off; a little rustle of the rock 'n roll history pages) ...maybe even when the MC5 played that day in a Chicago park. You know the kind. Even if you weren't there, you probably still went through each and every one of them, feeling all the little imperceptible ways those performances changed the world around you.
But this night, it was the Yardbirds' turn. Like on the group's first series of albums, the machines of loving grace had long been set up, all prepared to perform their god-given function, which was to take down in meticulous detail the events about to transpire, as unobtrusively as possible. All the wires were checked, amps switched on, the house lights beginning to dim, the crowd instinctively bringing its hands together, the surge forward: (mumble mumble) "live on Epic Records at the Anderson Theatre The Yardbirds!" And then there was Keith walking out, a little stiff (is he getting older?), and it's his voice that's next--"Thank you very much indeed thank you we're gonna start off with a thing called 'The Train Kept A-Rollin'.'" And then they've begun.
And from the very start, you know it's about to happen. The Greatest Concert Ever, at least of this week, and if you think of the Yardbirds like I do... which is to say that there were groups that came out of England and there were Groups That Came Out Of England and the Yardbirds were a GTCOOE... well, you get the picture. Jimmy Page, already in the process of forming the New Yardbirds (which would eventually become a combination called Led Zeppelin, and if you listen to "I'm Confused" on the first side, you'll understand how that little number works), plays guitar on this album like you would not believe. There's a point toward the end of "I'm A Man" where he literally becomes possessed by strange, unknowable forces, and if you don't believe me, it comes somewhere during the second break. He also bows his instrument like a violin on two separate occasions, and the sound is as sweet as if it were a Stradivarius in his hands.
Let's not forget Keith, either. As a master of ceremonies, he always knew that subtle set of tricks to keep the crowd moving with him from song to song, to deliver each patterned phrase with a kind of flourish and genuine sincerity, disarming even the staunchest of Cliff Richard's fans. There are times when he sounds bitter here, a little tired of running on the music business treadmill for so long; and there are others when he comes off as hopeful, refreshed and pleased by the exciting reception, buoyed up for another time. Musically, his voice and harp have never sounded better, taking on a live edge that sometimes got lost on his more restrained studio stuff, and he weaves through each separate part of the group with the natural air of a born leader. This is his band, you remember, nursed carefully along the whole road and no matter all the hard times that have gone down, are going down, will be yet to come, he's proud of them.
For Jim McCarty and Chris Dreja, this was similarly their finest moment, standing in the shadows and keeping the whole structure from toppling over. Dreja played bass as he once had played rhythm guitar, a stable mass held taut by a single string, and McCarty's precise and militaristic rhythms kept close watch on him. You never noticed them much, until you happened to look, and it was always reassuring to find them both right there, driving along like twin steam shovels.
But even though none of the group could probably yet admit it, there was a feeling of finality to the night that couldn't be denied, a notion that the Yardbirds as we had known them were soon to be no more. They played most of their older hits during the course of the show, gleaming standards that had easily stood the test of time, had been refined to the point of perfection. There was some new stuff--like Garnett Mimms' "My Baby," or Jimmy's new showpiece of "White Summer"--but they were somehow outside the pale of the Yardbirds, not actually a part of their accepted world. Keith must have noticed it: "Nostalgia," he comments at the end of "Over Under Sideways Down," the crowd cheering mightily as if building on it. Even then, though, the standard Yardbird brands of nostalgia were still a generation ahead of their time. Which is why, in case you were wondering, we're all here today.
This is it, folks. This One You've Been Waiting For. The Yardbirds: Live At The Anderson Theatre. March 30, 1968.
Knock yourself out.
--Lenny Lane
Cavalier Magazine