Though no-one had admitted as much, it hardly took the reasoning power of Sam Spade to deduce, with a certain amount of confidence, that I was about to witness a rehearsal of the re-formed Kaleidoscope, when Darrow came over to collect me from Perrin’s about 2 in the afternoon of the following day, and, indeed, during the drive to a converted barn in Opici, he confided that Kaleidoscope had already recorded an album – more of which later – and were in the process of working up a set for their debut performance in San Diego some twelve days hence.

As I walked in the door, it struck me that my initial confrontation must’ve been something akin to Darrow’s own introduction to them nine years ago – that was until I heard the Turk muttering; in a screened alcove, huddled up around a table drinking coffee, was a cluster of people looking at me with studied indifference. Unaware of whether Darrow wished to discuss any preliminary matters with them before introducing me, I had lingered to examine an interesting mural depicting a “nude across Hudson Terraplane”, when I clearly heard the swarthy gentleman, whom I took to be Solomon Feldthouse, ask rather tartly “who’s the cunt in the sailor’s hat?” As I appeared to be the only person sporting nautical headgear, I assumed this to be a reference to my good self.

In reality, however, Sol turned out to be just as pleasant and good-humoured as the rest of them – though he did lose his patience, if not his temper, when I later asked him about “the rumours”.

Ever since Zigzag was invented, I had heard the most preposterous stories about Kaleidoscope circulating in oral tradition among the multitude of rather bizarre rock freaks we’ve come into contact with over the years. As for myself, caring little for the mysteries and music of Kaleidoscope (as I said earlier), I must confess the existence of a great cleft in my rock knowledge. I know next to nothing about the group – but I felt I ought to counter him with some of the rumours (as jotted down by Frame for just this purpose).

“Is it true”, I asked, “that once, in a fit of drug-induced fury, you drew a scimitar from the scabbard you wore during performances and had to be physically restrained from hacking at your amplifier?”

“No”, he replied evenly.

“Is it true that the band posted a ten thousand dollar reward for any KSAN listener who brought in the carcass, dead or alive, of Templeton Parceley?”

“Certainly not” Feldthouse spluttered, “……look, I don’t know where you got all this stupid shit, but…..”

His tone bore enough finality and animosity to prevent my making further enquiries along this line, so I never did find out about the animals he used to bring along to rehearsals to alarm the others.

Now if you saw the cassettes and notes that I came back with after my six days in Kaleidoscope country, you’d know what a fuck of a job I had shuffling everything into a coherent order. (Is it coherent? I certainly hope so…… Christ, it took me long enough). Missing out all the hours of trivia that I considered least interesting to you good readers, I attempted to weave the remainder into an article where chronological sequence is retained as much as possible – but if things get jumbled – well, I’m sorry…. You’ll just have to try reading it twice or something.

So, after four pages of introductory pre-ambles, we have actually reached the point when I can begin the story of Kaleidoscope. (Ed: thank God for that).

KALEIDOSCOPE were:

DAVID LINDLEY – lead guitar, fiddle, harp guitar and vocals

SOLOMON FELDTHOUSE – guitar, caz, oud, bass and vocals

FENRUS EPP – fiddle, harmonium, organ, harp, bass and vocals

CHRIS DARROW – bass, guitar, fiddle, mandolin, vocals

JOHN VIDICAN – drums, percussion

David Lindley, just prior to his forming Kaleidoscope, had played briefly with a short lived San Bernardino group called the Rodents (1) – “a blatant but pale imitation” of the Beatles, whose records and motion pictures seemed to be the only context within which their minds could operate. And of course, playing a restricted rhythm guitar in a dead end band was patently not a suitable role for a fellow whose spheres of musical knowledge out-rank those of Robin Ray. [ed – when asked about this 10/02, Lindley replied “Never heard of the Rodents”.]

The time is September 1966 “when” says Lindley, “I decided to get together with Sol and Fenrus and experiment with a music which could combine various other areas with rock…. To see if we could come up with something new and interesting – but our working knowledge of exactly what constituted an electric band was negligible. I mean, we didn’t want a conventional group, but we did need tot work similar gigs at a similar power…. So rather than waste a lot of time learning everything from scratch, we decided to call in an expert. After all, an ounce of practiced is worth a ton of theory. So I called Chris, who not only knew about electric music, but was also ideal for the group in terms of instrumental and vocal prowess”.

Darrow: “I was still involved in academics at the time, and among other things, I was in charge of hanging all the art shows in the college gallery. I was bang in the middle of hanging an exhibition – it was a selection of works illustrating the Howard Pyle school of painting, I remember – when I got David’s phone message….. and like I said, I jumped at the invitation – though I kept up my studies for the first few months”.

“Chris had not idea just how unstable the band was at the time” said Fenrus, who had joined Lindley after a spell with the Indestructible Old Timey String Band (the remains of which later evolved into a rock group called Shrimp Boat, which Epp – and Paul Lagos – subsequently rejoined in 1973). “The group, which we called Kaleidoscope, had actually been signed by Epic Records – sight unseen!” They have us a contract without seeing us play – on the strength of one demo track we’d sent in…. can you imagine that?”

I couldn’t – and told Fenrus. “That is absolutely fucking true” he assured me, “……and there wasn’t even a real band in existence. None of the guys involved had played enough electric music to be able to pull it off, and put it across – so we got Chris in”.

Darrow: “My function, it was explained to me, was to sing and play bass, but more importantly to pull it all together. We rehearsed for 2 or 3 months straight. It was the first time I’d met John or Fenrus or Sol – but David told me they were guys he’d hand-picked to play with. Two came from the same area as David; Fenrus was from Pasadena and John was living there at the time – but Sol was from much further afield. He liked to be thought of as a Turkish mystic, but we later found out that he’d been born in a place called Costaguana. Mind you, I’d prefer you didn’t make that public knowledge without his consent”.

In fact, pursuing Darrow’s mention of Costaguana, I discovered the reason for the trail of red herrings Sol has littered across his past. Apparently (and he doesn’t object to my writing this), his grandfather, one Gian Battista, had been the hero of the wars preceding the birth of a republic somewhere on the Tierra Firma seaboard of the gulf of Mexico. Battista’s son (Sol’s father) had been born some weeks after Battista had accidentally been shot dead by his father-in-law. Sol’s grandmother had thereafter adopted a nomadic lifestyle, though the family periodically returned home. For political reasons (the nature of which he wouldn’t disclose), Sol would offer no information as to the real name and exact geographical location of “home”, though he mentioned a coastal town called Sulaco, and said “It’s all in the book”. I haven’t a clue what he was talking about, and have been unable to find either “Sulaco” or “Costaguana” in any gazeteer.

John Vidican (“a young cat with potential who didn’t mind going alon with the flow”, according to Darrow), was, Fenrus insists, brought into the group by him rather than Lindley: “Vidican had recently quit the Children of God and was attempting to lead a new life. He was engaged in menial duties at a private sanatorium in Los Angeles, which is where I met him. I was recuperating from a liver and was enchanted to find that my ward orderly was actually a student of good music; we used to have long discussions about the relative merits of John Coltrane and Yusef Lateef”.

Some of the things this Fenrus Epp/Chester Crill character told me were, my instincts told me, rather suspect in terms of veracity. I put it to Darrow: “Is the fellow to be believed?” I asked. “Well, there are things he stretches, but mainly he tells the truth” Darrow replied – and we attributed my suspicions to the fact that Epp is just a very weird bugger.

In point of fact, they were all very weird buggers.

(1) The Rodents recorded an alledgedly dire single on the Pequod label – “And your bird can sing/’Come and live with me’. I’d be glad of any information on this, and will pay thtrough the nose for a copy in any condition. MG

I will pay more. PF

[ed – “Never heard of the Rodents” – David Lindley via e-mail, 9/02]

Next: “All that Persian bullshit”