It was probably 1969 or early 1970.

Jimi Hendrix played the old, and at that time, still elegant Shrine Auditorium in L.A.

Like most of the sold out audience I was stoned and ecstatic, loving the sonic bombardment, while at the same time casting nervous glances up at the gigantic chandelier swaying ominously over us. At the conclusion of this sit-down concert the audience rose up in wild enthusiasm and everyone stood up on their seats. I did the same, but my foot slipped and fell in the crack between the back-rest and the seat. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't get my foot out, and as the concert finished 6,000 stoned freaks passed me, pointing and laughing their asses off as I remained trapped. One demented girl insisted on helping, pulling at my leg and tearing half the skin off my ankle as she babbled, "I'll help you, dude." After beating her off, twenty minutes later I managed to free myself, only to discover that my car was now locked in the parking lot behind chains.

Another concert I won't forget was in the Palladium in L.A. The Who was premiering Tommy that night and I found a great seat on a long upholstered sofa bench up on the balcony. Ten minutes into the concert my end of the bench flew six feet up in the air, nearing throwing me off like a bucking bronco. I knew that Pete Townsend played loud, but that he could cause earthquakes was a surprise.. Until I looked over at the other end of the bench to discover that Mama Cass had sat herself down, nearly launching me to the stars. Cass was with Lou Adler and some other record company shills and Cass and this group whispered to each other for 2 hours, cracking jokes and not listening to the band. And every time Cass laughed, my end of the bench shimmied and rocked

By Michael West