This page combines two articles from the 30/9/72 issue of the NME. The first piece was originally titled "Hawkwind: some facts from the freedom freaks" with a quoted byline mentioning the "Windsor Sex Olympics" which one assumes was some sort of Establishment-threatening happening. The second piece is a review of the 1972 Windsor Free Festival
The photo below is from the Windsor Free Festivals Archive and is by an unknown photographer, having first appeared in Maya
Hawkwind blend the appeal of science fantasy with some very straightforward and down-to earth attitudes about individual freedom in a business which is always only too anxious to commercialise. They first made news at an early Isle of Wight Festival, when they played some distance away from the festival site in an open field, for free, to those who had no tickets or no money.
Apart from Nik Turner, who is pleasantly benign off stage and goes occasionally berserk on stage, burbling like a crazy man into his sax, the members are not immediately identifiable as individuals. This collective image has had its advantages, for at times there has been a tendency for various members to lose their minds and miss gigs, so drummers would transfer with glee to guitar or whatever at the last minute and few would realise the line-up changes or musical discrepancies. To say that Hawkwind's attitude is casual is an understatement, but even so, through all the haphazard and undisciplined approach there has emerged a sort of continuity built around their on-stage space trip.
This has produced a unique and original act. They are very much musicians of their time and they give their audiences what they receive. I've seen two or three Hawkwind gigs now, and each time the experience was different. At times they can be incredibly tedious. Then they break into a flurry of musical activity which leaves you mentally gaping. The whole thing has a hypnotic, almost dream-like quality.
The first time I saw the band was shortly after their album, "In Search Of Space", last October. It was at Ewell Tech. There was the amazing naked painted lady Stacia and the light show to end all light shows, or so it seemed. Swirling psychedelic designs on floor and ceiling, interspersed with flickering strobe and heavy pulsating bass rhythms which in turn were broken with screeching synthesizer and babbling sax. Most obviously it was a trip. It was also a space trip. Sci-fi writer Michael Moorcock had got in there somehow, and Bob Calvert -who wrote "Silver Machine"- had some considerable influence. On another occasion he added his poetic reading to the proceedings.
Audience reaction was one of total absorption - total involvement - they were inside listening out. The only other time I have seen such total commitment was in San Francisco when Airplane were doing "White Rabbit" and their light show was projected on gigantic screens on all sides. Somehow Hawkwind get that kind of 360 degree aura and it had to be seen, to be felt, to be believed. In an atmosphere like that it's almost impossible to believe that Donny Osmond exists, but then for Hawkwind's audience he probably does not.
Apart from the actual concept and fantasy, it is left to Turner to provide most of the action, and he can appear an awesome sight in full cry with his red mane flowing, lurching around blowing his blunt instrument. Like most of the more menacing figures on stage today he is a 'turnaround' off stage - quietly-spoken and idealistic. A dreamer of a better world. Hopefully he can make the changes before it changes him. An honest individual.
"Of course we've taken acid in the past, and our first album was really a collection of good trips and bad trips," said Nik. "There was nothing ambiguous about it. It was just about our experience. We're [not] trying to advocate LSD or put it down. It's simply something which we think everyone should have the right to decide about. It gave us something and it might help others - but it should be taken with care and respect for your body. We don't advocate drugs by word or action. All we advocate is the right to choose. We're constantly being put into some kind of category, but we're not the people's band, or a working man's band, or a science fiction band - we're just a band. The only politics we are into are the politics of freedom."
"I still like to play for free and I like the idea of free music. I wanted to play the Windsor Sex Olympics thing recently for nothing but only half the band got there. It's a subject of disagreement in the band at the moment. Dave wants to get some rehearsals done and I want us to do things like that festival. What's left of the Underground is worth preserving: I'd like to do more free gigs. But one problem is that we have debts of our own to pay off, yet - we were quite heavily in debt before the recent success. We really have made it the hard way. The only reason certain papers have acknowledged us at all is because we have made such an impression that they can't ignore us - our following is so big."
"I suppose our naivety makes us easy marks in some ways but I'm not really worried about people ripping us off. If they want to do that, let them. You don't gain by it in the end. We had about £8,000 worth of equipment stolen from a van which was parked outside our roadie's house in Ilford a few months ago, and we weren't insured. If someone needs the equipment more than us then they can have it; and if we're daft enough not to insure it then it's our fault. If people want to rip us off they can, they won't win in the end."
The danger with success for any band with Hawkwind's free-wheeling attitude is that they almost inevitably get sucked into the Machine and begin compromising their intentions. "We like to turn people on but we like to do it our own way," said Nik. "We want to use the Media and not end up being used by it. The only reason we did 'Top Of The Pops' was because we could do it our way and it was filmed live. If we had been asked to go into the studio with the plastic grins and mime we couldn't have done it. As long as it serves a function it's cool, but we don't want a reputation built upon hype. We must try to retain our ideals and principles and not start believing in our own publicity. We want people to come and see us and decide for themselves. Some will come and say 'that's a lot of shit' or 'I don't like that', but a lot are coming and enjoying themselves, so that's cool. I just want people to come to our gigs and have a good time. Some people might come to see Stacia because she's got big tits, but that's a bit sad because she's got a lot more going for her. If they're turned on by big tits that's fine but I don't think anyone is going to pay 15 bob just to see a pair of tits."
"Anyway it's a whole lot sadder to me that someone should come and see us just because we've been on 'Top Of The Pops' - but there again if they get into what we are doing because of that maybe it's O.K."
What does Nik think the audience get out of Hawkwind's music?
"If people are mentally free then they can get into the meditation side of it and if people are hung up they might get more hung up - but they might realise that they're hung up and try to get themselves out of it. That's what it's all about, I think."
-Keith Altham
So what did that leave us with? Well, there was the pride of Ladbroke Grove, the Pink Fairies, Arthur Brown's Kingdom Come for anyone who favoured a particularly inane set of theatrics, the Pretty Things and Jesus's very own sunbeams, Hawkwind (Jesus's other sunbeams had naturally rolled up in their bus, brimming with joy and eagerness to spread the word of God to yet another god-forsaken bunch of benign degenerates posing as rock fanatics).
I had just been informed that there was no beer tent, and that the nearest phone-box was half a mile away, when my whole being experienced a sudden sinking feeling of nausea as I turned to witness the group on stage. Their name is Mahatma Kane Jeeves and that should serve as a public warning. After them came the Pink Fairies, who have seen better days but can still rock out better than most. Paul Randolph, the original guitarist, had left some months ago, and Russell and Sandy have since enlisted the aid of Mick Wayne, a more than adequate guitarist but scarcely a front-man. Never mind: bassist Sandy still struts the stage in his cool, if confused stance, Russell beats his skins with openly demented glee and the band still play "Do It!" and "Johnny B. Goode". So what more do you want, punk!
The Pretty Things, who must have been around for ever, drew the first standing ovation of the day. Yours passionately was seen to yawn during selected parts of their set though I admitted to jigging with a certain abandon to an encore of "Route 66". A final thought: Could Pretty's vocalist Phil May (who's been with them from the beginning) become the English Mark Farmer?
And then there was a flash in the sky and a hand reached out and switched on the luminous sign amid the heavens which read "Hawkwind". And it was good. There's nothing like a blast of the good old psychedelic experience when you're getting cramp in the limbs and you've just got the remains of a discarded hot-dog all over your latest pair of snakeskin boots. Hawkwind enjoyed it. I enjoyed it, the kids could relate to it, and it must be the first time that Nik Turner's woodwind tootling could be heard above the awesome cacophony. Sounded mighty good, Nikky.
All of which left poor Arthur Brown with 10 minutes to perform in, as the power was turned off just after 10. I've never been that enamoured by Brown's antics but there were surely those around who wished to view the spectacle of Arthur making an artless fool of himself, and so to them my condolences. In retrospect Windsor could have shaped up to be a one-day Phun City (remember that great "cheap thrills" festival?) but this is 1972 and the dream has long been over (at least that's what everyone's been telling me.)
-Nick Kent
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