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Thread: "Until We Meet Again : The Last Weeks Of Jimi Hendrix"

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    Re: "Until We Meet Again : The Last Weeks Of Jimi Hendrix"

    Quote Originally Posted by RobbieRadio View Post
    Eric Burdon Book - "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood"

    Burdon has come to see her as an unstable sex-but-not love interest of Hendrix's who couldn't bear the news that Hendrix was leaving.
    So she spiked his tuna fish sandwich with her sedatives, not to kill him, but in the hope that she could delay his departure.
    Hardly realistic. She took half a tablet, Jimi took nine.

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    Re: "Until We Meet Again : The Last Weeks Of Jimi Hendrix"

    And how would Eric Burdon know that? Was he there when she was making the sandwich?

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    Re: "Until We Meet Again : The Last Weeks Of Jimi Hendrix"

    i think the tuna fish sandwich story is bullshit anyway.....Even chas discussed finding jimi laying on the bed fully clothed from the night before with his guitar laying across him, so I doubt it was an odd thing for him to do. i also doubt he had plans to stay with her the weekend, so i think the "coming back to pick up his stuff "was more likely.

    she probably convinced him to stay and maybe due to the black bomber he'd taken at the party, he asked if she had any sleepers? those vesperax caused him to get drowsy, then vomit.....she woke, panicked and the rest is history. fuckin waste of a good man.....
    " Coz i'm a million miles away, and at the same time, i'm right here, in your picture frame "

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    Re: "Until We Meet Again : The Last Weeks Of Jimi Hendrix"

    "Even chas discussed finding jimi laying on the bed fully clothed from the night before with his guitar laying across him"

    Never heard this before!

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    Re: "Until We Meet Again : The Last Weeks Of Jimi Hendrix"

    Quote Originally Posted by RobbieRadio View Post
    "Even chas discussed finding jimi laying on the bed fully clothed from the night before with his guitar laying across him"

    Never heard this before!
    I think the poster means that Chas has commented on Jimi falling asleep fully clothed with his guitar on top of him on occasion while they shared a flat, not that Chas has commented on what happened at the Sammarkand, because he wasn't there.

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    Re: "Until We Meet Again : The Last Weeks Of Jimi Hendrix"

    BOOK EXCERPT

    Inside The Experience - By Mitch Mitchell 1990

    After Fehmarn, I spent the next week taking care of bits and pieces down at my house and giving thoughts to possible musicians to replace Billy. I guess I was half expecting Jimi to ring and say, 'What about so and so?', but he never did. The following Thursday night, the 17th, I had to drive up to London. About quarter to seven I went to see Gerry Stickells, who said that Hendrix had called about fifteen minutes previously, would I give him a call? I called him up and he asked me what I was doing. I told him I was just off to visit Ginger Baker and then we were going out to Heathrow to meet Sly Stone, who was flying in. Jimi was really excited about Sly and said, 'Is there any chance of a play'?' So l said, 'Funny you should say that, yeah, the idea is we're all going down to the Speakeasy for a jam.' Jimi was really up for it and agreed to meet us there about midnight. His agreeing was no surprise: anywhere in the world, Jimi was always up for a play; it took precedence over anything.

    Anyway, we met Sly, who was knocked out that Jimi wanted to play and after checking him in at the hotel, we went down to the club. We got there and we waited and we waited. By one o'clock people were starting to sort of look at each other and by two they were starting to say it was odd. In the end we all sat there till closing time which was about four. I remember having this odd feeling when I left that was hard to define. If nothing else it was just so out of character for Hendrix not to have shown, especially as he'd appeared full of beans earlier and really wanted to do it.

    I drove back to my house, about an hour and a half's drive. I didn't go to bed and sat up for what seemed like a few hours, but may well have been longer. I'm not sure of the time, but I got a call from Eric Barrett, telling me that Jimi had died. l just couldn't believe it. I couldn't release any emotion at all. I finally got some sleep about six the next night, but waking up later, it was a hit like when Jimi had crashed his car in Benedict Canyon and had come in and told me about it, you know, 'Did I dream that?' Again l woke up thinking 'Was that the truth?' and, of course, sadly it was. I couldn't handle it at all.

    The worst thing was the funeral, it was like a circus. l flew out to Seattle with Noel, who I'd seen a few times in the past months. He hadn't seen much of Jimi, but he had been to the opening of the Electric Lady studio and there was still a lot of affection between all of us.

    In Seattle most of us were staying in the same hotel and in all honesty it felt like a gig. There was a knock at the door in the morning and Gerry Stickells stood there and said, 'It's time to go now,' and I'm sure I said, 'What time's the gig'?' l know it sounds sick, but maybe that was the only way I could deal with it. lt was OK until we got to the church and you realized what kind of event the powers that be had made this. I think it started to hit me during the service, especially when we had to walk up the aisle and file past the open coffin. Neither Noel nor I had been through anything like that before. God, it was the most awful thing, Noel and I held hands - that was when it really hit home.

    One small side event of the day of the funeral happened before we left to go to the church. I'd heard that Buddy Miles, maybe incorrectly, but I don't think so, was slagging me off as some kind of racist pig who had a thing against blacks. I lost my rag completely. I went to his room and put him up on the wall, there's like eight and half stone of me. So I held him up there and said, 'Don't you fucking dare!' I'd been nothing else but kind to him, as had Jimi, which is more than I can say about some of his attitudes over the years. He started apologizing and said, 'Maybe you heard it wrongly.' He didn't say that it wasn't true.

    They'd booked the Seattle Coliseum or somewhere, for the wake, a place we'd played, certainly. It was really gauche, but probably not a bad idea in retrospect. People got up and played, Noel and I did play later in the day, but I kept a pretty low profile and got an early flight home. It was one of the worst days of my life. Even after I got home it was hard to accept that he was dead; it still felt as though he was right there.

    ULTIMATELY, OF COURSE, NOTHING CAN alter the fact that on September 18 1970, at 11.45 a.m. Jimi Hendrix was admitted to St Mary Abbot's Hospital in London and that at 12.15 p. m. he was officially pronounced dead. The verdict was inhalation of vomit. The only drug content found at the autopsy was quinal barbitone, more commonly known as seconal, approximately nine tablets. What led up to Jimi's death remains a matter of speculation and is unlikely ever to be fully explained. Suicide is generally ruled out, although he wasn't going through a wonderfully happy period, and foul play seems more the stuff of conspiracy theories, which leaves 'accidental death' as the most likely cause.

    The whole thing with the night Jimi died is odd. There are definitely a couple of hours in there that no one can account for. We know that he went to see Alan Douglas, who was in town, likewise Devon Wilson. Devon was staying in Mayfair, not far from the Speakeasy, so I can see him going there to pick her up en route to the club. Earlier on in the evening Jimi is supposed to have got stuck in traffic at Marble Arch and talked to people in an adjacent car, who invited him to a party, which he ultimately went to. I find that very odd as well. At some point, later on, he definitely phoned someone - Gerry, I think - in the course of which he said something like, 'I'll never do that again,' but what that referred to I don't know.

    Jimi was spending most of those last days with Monika Danneman, who- no offence to her - was not the great love of Jimi's life. There had only really been two of these, Cathy Etchingham in the early days in England and Devon Wilson. I do know, though, that Devon was becoming a bit of a handful by then and he wasn't overjoyed to discover she was over here as well. Sadly Devon died under mysterious circumstances herself a few years later.

    What did happen we'll probably never know. I certainly don't think it was suicide. Undoubtedly he'd been tired and depressed, especially after those last European gigs, but definitely not suicidal. I think it was a tragic accident, but some of the circumstances surrounding it are certainly odd.

    In the end all you can say is, 'What a fucking waste.' He was irreplaceable, both as a friend and musician. I miss him as much today as twenty years ago. There was so much more that he was capable of and his music would have changed as would the musicians he worked with, including drummers. I like to think, though, not that I was the perfect drummer for Jimi, but that maybe once a year we'd always get together to do some gigs, each of us having played with other people in the mean time. There is no doubt, though, that he was not simply a hard act to follow - more an impossible act to follow.
    Last edited by RobbieRadio; 2 Weeks Ago at 01:58 PM.

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    Re: "Until We Meet Again : The Last Weeks Of Jimi Hendrix"

    PAT O'DAY - Seattle Radio DJ

    Jimi Hendrix was dead at 27 of an accidental barbiturate overdose.

    “Jimi’s dad, Al Hendrix, asked me to fly to London and find out what was happening,” O’Day remembers.

    “Tom Hulet, a Garfield High guy, was one of my partners at the time. We discovered the body was still at the morgue and nobody was doing anything. I had a letter from Jimi’s dad, so they allowed us to claim the body. We bought a coffin and brought him home. It was one of the saddest duties of my life. What a tragedy. In my view, he’s the greatest rock guitarist ever—a transcendent genius.”

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    Re: "Until We Meet Again : The Last Weeks Of Jimi Hendrix"

    NOEL REDDING - Vintage Guitar Magazine - November 1992

    Here's a story I don't think I've ever told a publication before: In late summer 1970, I was in New York making demos, and Hendrix was on tour in Europe; the name "Experience" had been dropped by then. I got a call from the tour manager, Gerry Stickles; he said that Billy Cox was sick and could I fly over and finish out the tour with the band. I said no problem, but two days before I was supposed to go over to England, Jimi died.

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