In Her Own Words… Part One
Hi Everybody. My name is Jan Garrett, and you can find out all about me on my website: www.Garrett-Martin.com
I am delighted that Larry has asked me to tell the story of how I almost became a Big Star in the music business while I was singing with our band Liberty. But to do that we need to go back in time and start at the beginning.....
STAR POWER IN COLORADO
Jan Garrett, circa 1976
It is summer 1968, and my folk band "The Hustlers" is playing at the Leather Jug in the newly opened Snowmass ski resort. We have just finished our second set when we see this guy coming through the door with straw-colored hair and somewhat goofy round glasses, carrying a guitar case and wearing an enthusiastic grin. He asks if we would mind if he played and sang a few tunes while we are on break. Sure, why not?
He and his music are pleasant enough, and as he packs up to go, he tells us he has just quit the Mitchell Trio. His name is John Denver. OK. John Denver. Nice. Whatever.
1972
"It's Saturday night in the old mining town!" We Aspen locals love shouting this time-worn phrase, eyes gleaming, grinning wildly. It's proof that we all belong here....hippies and cowboys, mechanics and college drop-outs, cute waitresses from Boston or Dallas, teachers, dentists, and a few stray PHDs who have escaped the rat race to join the other joyful ski bums who came here for a weekend a few years ago and never left.
It is summer, 1972. There's only one stoplight in town, on the corner of Mill and Main. The local dogs wear bandanas attached to their collars, and occasionally a couple of half-drunk ranchers will ride into town and tie their horses to the hitching posts outside in front of the Hotel Jerome. I am not kidding. Right next to a funky VW bug or some kind of open-air Jeep.
Victor and I check our watches. It's almost 7 o'clock. We have about an hour before our gig starts at the Jerome, and we decide to grab a quick bite at Pinocchio's before heading over to meet John Sommers, who will be schlepping a guitar case, a fiddle case, his banjo, and probably a leather vest to throw on at the last minute before we start playing and singing our eclectic mish-mash of acoustic music in the crowded J-Bar. We are all making just enough dough to cover our rent and buy groceries and guitar strings. It is a glorious way to make a living.
Our good friend Larry Gottlieb will be sitting in with us again tonight on bass. It is so satisfying to have him come in and add that solid bottom-end to our sound. Larry is also a sweetheart to be around. Incredibly smart (a physicist?), he plays great guitar, and is a deep and soulful thinker. What's not to love? Of course, we ask him to join the band.
Liberty, circa 1973
Now we just have to come up with a name. "Vic and Jan and John and Larry" is clearly not going to fly. John Sommers suggests the name of an old fiddle tune: "Liberty!" We try it out. It fits. We all love the simplicity and the multi-layered implications of the name, and we ride on that energy.
Liberty starts playing other clubs in town....the Red Onion, Jake's Abbey, the Blue Moose. We are packing in the crowds. We perform all through the winter of 1973, and soon we become one of the most popular bands in town.
One night John Denver strolls in to hear us play. He loves who we are and what we do. He invites us to be his opening act in Des Moines. Then, Lafayette, Indiana. We are jubilant. Stardom has got to be just around the corner, we are certain.
PERFECT. BUT....
In the midst of all this good fortune, I start sensing that something is missing. The gigs are good. I love my new friends. The music is fun, and the money is OK, but on a deeper level I am feeling a bit hollow and dis-connected. I notice that the static in my over-active mind has gotten way too loud and invasive. I become weirdly emotional. I cannot find my own center.
I start obsessively singing Joni Mitchell's refrain from her song "Woodstock": "We are Stardust, we are Golden....and we've got to get ourselves back to the garden."
A DIVINE LOVE AFFAIR
I remember how in college I loved reading Alan Watts and Hermann Hesse. Siddhartha's mystical spiritual journey felt so personal and ancient and familiar to me. And now, in the winter of 1973, I find myself longing for the direct access that Paramahansa Yogananda talks about in the "Autobiography of a Yogi." In short, I want God....in the biggest, deepest, most personal, and ecstatic sense. I can feel the devotion building in me. I long to be in the middle of a Divine love affair.
At that exact moment (and surely this is more than mere coincidence), some dear friends, musicians traveling through town, take me aside and tell me about their spiritual teacher from India. They say that there's a way to taste, touch, see, and hear the primordial vibration inside, the divine love intelligence that moves the breath and is the alive awareness in everything. Seriously? These guys have been doing this meditation, and they say that I can learn how to do it too. I throw myself into preparations, even as I continue singing and playing with the band.
In September of 1973 I receive knowledge from Guru Maharaji, and begin doing satsang, service, and meditation in the midst of all the music. I feel like I've come home. I immerse myself wholeheartedly in this huge new/ancient dimension. Larry has been on his own parallel spiritual journey from the get-go, and is a wonderful friend and ally for me through it all.
Early that autumn Liberty lands an extended gig playing in Silverton, Colorado. This place is a real extension of the Old West! We end up hanging out there with our dear friend Danny Wheetman and his California band "Lost in the Shuffle." We all play music together for hours, days on end. We love the natural chemistry of that free-and-easy camaraderie and creativity.
To be continued…
