The Living End!
Litkicks Bitter End Blowout

by Marie Countryman

For over a week now, I have been struggling to capture on paper an event
that was so much larger than the sum of its parts, that it overwhelmed
me, staring at the computer monitor, fingers almost paralyzed on the
keys.

The joyous 5th anniversary of Levi Asher’s Litkicks’ web site,
organized and produced by Levi Asher and Brian Hassett was a marvel in
meticulous planning and organization that came to life as spontaneous
improvisation and collaboration between musicians and print and web
poets and writers, many meeting for the first time.

If I had to choose a few words to encapsulate the experience, I would
have to choose 1)continuation from the beats who broke the barriers of
self expression to the freewheeling web writers of today, and 2)mutual
appreciation and support. No egos knocking into one another, no one
slamming on the stage or competing aggressively with one another to top
the performance that just had finished. Fluidity and flexibility were
also key, particularly when Charlie Plymell, who had made no previous
plans for musical accompaniment, was so taken by Mark Thomas’s piano
rendition of Philip Glass’s ‘Wichita Vortex Sutra’ that he asked me to get
Thomas to stay on stage as a Wichita Kansas segue into his set (which
included a beautiful fable, ‘The Prince of Tides’ written on the event
of JFK Jr’s tragic plane crash). Also accompanying him was a woman only
known as Jesse, who came up and improvised her own unique blend of scat
and improv singing accompanient. Jesse had never worked with Charlie, in
fact, she had never even worked with Hersh Silverman, who she had come
to accompany for his reading. Among other pieces, Hersh read a new poem
– ‘The Literary Kicks Summer Happening’ in tribute to the event. Both were
flawless collaborations, among many sparkling and unexpected such
joinings.

Among the musicians were the David Amram Trio, and the Mighty Manatees,
along with “Ted the Fiddler”, another mysterious performer known only to
me still by his first name.

I was free to move about and my head was clear after being first at bat:
so intimidated was I at the onset, that I didn’t even want to ‘jinx’ my
reading with a sound check, so I read my first poem two feet away from a
microphone that was taller than my head. The audience got my attention
before I launched into an autobiographical piece titled ‘Shrinkwrapped’
– and some one jumped on stage and adjusted the mike for me. After that,
I had little problem finishing my set, ending with a poem dedicated to
Bebop Jackson, Charlie and Pam Plymell’s Labrador, with whom I had spent
a joyous morning prior to leaving with Charlie for the city.

Some of the easy supportive atmosphere was certainly laid down prior to
the 21st, when more than several of whom the Village Voice described as
the ‘arsenal of writers, poets and musicians’ gathered at John
Cassady’s Chelsea Hotel room the night of the 20th for a rowdy
rock&roll rehearsal party, with several of the Manatees present with
their guitars, and amplifier. Thank god for the Chelsea, whose
management and residents seemed to have no problem with our good natured
ruckus.

We actually picked up what John Cassady quickly named our ‘intern,’ (“My
dad said there was always a new guy, dubbed The Intern wherever the
Pranksters were happening”), who was staying in the room directly above
Cassady’s, and who came into the room from the fire escape window, drawn
by our party noise. He then appeared at the Bitter End for the show, the
after show chowdown at the diner across the street – and finally back to
John Cassady’s room once more, where he sat up with Brian, John, and me
until 7 am talking talking talking.. He told us we had changed his life, and got out 2 composition books full of his writing from 3 years ago. I do believe he has started writing
again, and with fervor.

I can’t begin to go into all the combinations and permutations of bands
and musicians, other than to rave about their ability to jam: rock
musicians with jazz, jazz with rock, with poets, with short story
writers, and for me the 2 highlights: David Amram pulling our daisy,
incorporating the lyrics Jack Kerouac wrote for the famous beat film as
well as improvising lyrics which celebrated the present gathering (and
following that with a tribute to international music), AND John Cassady
on guitar, playing ‘Nadine’ (to which Charlie Plymell and I danced with
abandon), and later, to my ever Grateful Dead loving heart, played Jerry
Garcia sweet licks and soaring melodies within melodies to ‘Bertha’ and
‘Going Down the Road’ – which finally caused me to lose ALL inhibitions
and jump on the stage to sing off key harmony and dance my soul free.

Haiku was another form that had many readers: Walter Raubicheck began
reading some of Kerouac’s haiku, then several of his own, including
wonderful baseball haiku, and Cor van den Heuvel followed, reading among
other pieces,more baseball haiku. John Grady later read haiku, and a piece
called ‘New York Bagel’, and then segued with the band into a rollicking
version of ‘Bertha’ which brought the house down.

Briggs Nisbet slowed the tempo and lowered the volume with a series of
beautiful California nature poems she had written recently. The audience
sat hushed by her lovely voice and images.

John Cassady took the stage after her, and with only a letter his
father Neal had written, previously unknown and not yet published,
showed us that he has his father’s talent for story telling, beginning
with a reminiscence of riding with Neal in the back of his ’39 Pontiac,
and then suddenly WE were the ‘kiddies’ in the back seat as John morphed
into Neal, telling story after story with great good humor, enthusiasm,
and shining smile. John, you’ve got the right stuff, all right!
Robert Burke Warren came on after John’s rendition of Chuck Berry’s
‘Nadine’ and in keeping with Cassady’s musical memories, sang two Buddy
Holly songs and then ‘Fever’ as the place went wild.

Aaron Howard proved that you don’t need to be anyone but yourself to be
truly beat – if you closed your eyes and listened to his moody and
rhythmic reading of ‘Language’ you could transport yourself back in time
to the glory days of beat poetry readings, his voice and words
transporting one from the abstract to the concrete and back again
several times, very very beat.

And speaking of beat, bebop and improv, Bob Holman brought down the
house with laughter and energetic good spirits as he used the band for
backing and bopped with vigor for his piece ‘Storyline’ – assigning
different instruments and their musicians riffs for different words.
Truly spontaneous and very wonderful.

Lee Ranaldo and Richard Hell seemed to drift into the club from the
dark of night, taking the stage, giving hypnotic readings (specially
Hell’s reading of his chap book ‘Weather’) and then drifting back out,
both very NYC and somewhat mysterious.

Christian Crumlish read a sweet piece titled ‘Rosalita Jump a Little
higher’ – and I must give great praise to Breath Cox and Gregory
Severance, our closing poets, who despite the thinning of the crowd by
the late hour, put their all into readings of their most excellent
pieces: Greg’s own brand of surrealist poetry and Breath’s paean to the
wonders of country life in Cherry Valley, which she read with a decided
city beat intonation.

All in all, I must say that I have never been so legally high in all my
life.

Many thanks to Levi Asher and Brian Hassett for all the time and effort
they put into making this event a magnificent 7 hour marathon triumph,
as well as Laki Vazakas and Danya Reich for their marathon 7 hour
filming of the event.

(Levi has declared he is going to edit all of the rehearsal and
performance footage to an 80 minute DVD/CDrom. What a daunting task!)

marie countryman
8/2/99

It went really great. Sold out and all that.

John Cassady said afterwards, “I swear to God, it’s one of those nights
you’ll never forget. Like Hendrix in ’68.”

People were sitting cross-legged on the floor in the standing room area by
the bar, and one of the owners told me that was the first time he’d ever seen
that. It was sweet, impromptu, and very Beat.

In fact, the club actually called the next day to make sure everything went
alright, and after how many gigs do you think they do that?! They said we
could come back anytime and we probably will.

And speaking of Will, Hodgson was really one of the highlights.

My favorite mental picture of the night was the full band line-up — one side
being David Amram on grand piano, Daniel Srebnick on tenor sax, with Will’s
Mighty Manatees and the featured poet in the middle, then John Cassady on
electric guitar with Ted The Fiddler on the other side.

Bob Holman used that line-up to rattle the rafters and rock the room with a
“Peter and The Wolf” send-up, and all sorts of other musical variations
assumed themselves during the night.

The New Yorker wrote about it, we were the pick of the day in Time-Out New
York, one of the picks of the week in New York magazine, a highlighted show
in NY Press, and had a nice long listing in the Village Voice describing our
“arsenal of writers, poets and musicians.”

The show started about 7 PM and didn’t end till 2 AM, after which the 20-
person-late-night-core went across the street and had a big chow with Dave
Amram in a 24-hour diner just like that famous John Cohen diner photo that’s
now on the cover of The Rolling Stone Book of the Beats, which we also
tied-in with that night. Then a bunch of us went back to Cassady’s room at
the Chelsea for a final roundup till 7 AM.

For the whole first set we had the audience in the palm of our hands with
about 200 people absolutely packed in and around every table.

John Cassady’s reading/talking/playing was an obvious highlight for everyone.
He’d read about a sentence of this letter from Neal which would then remind
him of some other story and off he’d go with some reminiscence of zooming
around with his dad, until finally he and the band broke into a rockin’
lead-filled version of Chuck Berry’s “Nadine.”

Herschel Silverman read his new poem called, “The Literary Kicks Summer
Poetry Happening” that played with the styles and works of many of the other
performers. Rolling Stone editor Holly George-Warren read in her sweet
southern accent from her just-released Book of the Beats, and her husband
Robert Burke Warren closed the first set as he and The Manatees had people
dancing to Rave On, Peggy Sue, and Fever.

Levi was doing most of the hosting, although we traded off all night. We
seem to make a pretty naturally symbiotic duo on and off the stage and you’ll
probably see us tootling the multitudes again.

The Amram Trio opened the second set with a special Lit Kicks / Bitter End
“Pull My Daisy,” and Lee Ranaldo did a couple of pieces to a taped background
with the lights dimmed. Richard Hell, looking every inch the rock star with
his black shades and loud red shirt, was funny and hypnotic reading an entire
poetry chapbook with each chorus
beginning, “The whole city seemed to optically snap,” then going off into
that verse’s development.

Ron Whitehead and his fiance Birgitta Jonsdottir gave a tender, heart-felt
dual performance — their first together in NYC — including a piece co-
written by the Dali Lama called “Never Give Up.” Breath Cox was in from
Cherry Valley reading, torquing the vibes, and looking regal in a long
evening dress, and Marie Countryman was down from Vermont being the best
audience shusher and performer pep coach you could hope for. Charlie Plymell
read his new and touching fable about JFK & and the Kennedy’s, then did
“Rapid Ronnie” with The Manatees’ rock ‘n’ roll back- up that so inspired him
he began free-form dancing on stage in between the multiple guitar players at
several points in the night.

I didn’t read anything — told a story instead — part of the screenplay. My
Mom was down from Toronto so I worked her into the tale, telling it in
first-person as a true-story so convincingly that afterwards people were
telling me they came from divorced parents, too.

The next day the woman from the new Beat documentary “The Source” said the
room was electric, and that’s about the simplest, most accurate word for it.
There’s been a flood of calls and emails since, so it really did seem to warm
and inspire some people — like a good book brought alive with music and
voices in a seven-hour spontaneous epic.

Keep ya toasted on the next one.

Brian
7/23/99