Dave Sheckleton and I have done much conversing lately about the audio gear we have encountered in the major bands, and he informed me of something I had never encountered: a Gibson portable keyboard. Having played in rock-'n-roll bands a good deal during the 60s, I was in many groups, paid close attention to what the big guys did, and am amazed that I never saw one or heard one or even heard of one.
Those portable keyboards: I suppose the Fender Rhodes was the most popular, the Wurlitzer was around too and it was my favorite by far since it came closest to sounding like an actual piano, plus there was the Lowery, the Farfisa, the Vox, and some "off-breeds" too. None of these matched the big Hammond B-3, but that one wasn't very portable, and it was in a league of its own.
My discussion with Dave got me to thinking, not so much about portable organs, but the unusual experiences I had with those early rock groups, and especially experiences I had with "professional gear." And since learning about the Gibson portable keyboard is a kind of epiphany for me now, I thought I would write about an experience of long ago which, if not an epiphany, certainly was unusual.
This experience involved the big Vox amp called the "Super Beatle." At that time I was playing in a rather good rock group called called "The Sirens" and we were always looking for better equipment and trying for a better image. So we had paid attention to the Super Beatle amplifier, had heard it in music stores, in a few groups, and were as impressed by how loud it was as we were unimpressed by its tone.
About this time, the rock group "Question Mark and the Mysterians" was going to be playing in Iowa, and all of us were going to go up and hear them. As it turned out, the other members of the group went to the wrong town, about 50 miles away, so I was the only member of The Sirens who heard them. They were in a large ballroom, maybe 500 people were in there dancing, and to put it bluntly: they were unimpressive. I stayed maybe 1&1/2 hours, and during this time they played their "one-hit wonder" song, "96 Tears," probably half a dozen times, along with other fluff that wasn't worth hearing. This was my first exposure to the Farfisa organ, which I realized had a nice sound--for that one song, but certainly didn't have a sound that would work in most songs.
But there was one thing that really got my attention. They had many amps, they all were shaped like various models of Fender amps, but they all had the covering and logo of "Vox" on them. So when they took a break, I went up to one of the players (easily done, since they were set up on the main floor because there wasn't a stage) and asked him where in the world they came up with those Vox amps, and why did they sound so good? He was honest about it. He said those were all Fender amps, but since Vox was so popular, they had managed to get some amp covering and some logo "badges" and they had had their Fender amps done to appear like Vox amps. So ... there was the explanation.
In that area, at the time, there was an amazingly good rock group called "The Rumbles" who specialized in doing songs in a way that sounded exactly like the original versions, and they did an impressive job of succeeding. Hearing them the first time was when I had my biggest encounter with the Vox Super Beatle amp because they were using no fewer than ten! Four for their P.A., so that was two on each side. The bass player used three, the lead guitar and the rhythm guitar used the other three. One used two, the other used one, but I don't remember which used one and which used two. But ten Super Beatles! They sure had no trouble cranking out the volume.
But as for the unusual experience with the Vox Super Beatle I alluded to: I was living in Maryville, Missouri at the time--summer 1967, up in the northwest corner of the state, and this is where The Sirens were located. A fellow in a different band who played guitar had just bought for himself not one, but two, Super Beatle's and was going to take the back off them and do a careful inspection of the innards. I have been told that some of the Super Beatle amps had a partly open back, and even that some had a horn; I'm not sure about this, but I know these didn't have a horn and they were closed back. Taking those backs off was laborious; this was in the days before power screwdrivers and battery-powered electric drills you could put a screwdriver bit in were available. But finally we got them off, and here was the revelation: Each Super Beatle had four 12-inch drivers, so that was a total of eight drivers. And every one of them was a different brand! Not even two were the same brand. Eight drivers, eight brands. We inspected the wiring, tightened many screws in the cabinets, and all in all everything was decent except for those mismatched drivers. I have been told by other people who owned a Super Beatle that their drivers were all Vox brand and they matched. So why were these different? A fellow there who was sort of the local guru when it came to the technical part of gear believed that since the Super Beatle had become so popular so recently, Vox had probably had to buy up every 12-inch driver they could get their hands on. We put the cabinets back together, they seemed to work as well as other Super Beatle amps we had heard, so I suppose there wasn't a problem caused by the mismatched drivers. The fellow would, in a few months, come to his senses and get what I had: a Fender Dual Showman with a pair of 15-inch JBL "D" series speakers. The two Super Beatle amps were sold to someone in Saint Joe, Missouri, and the buyer wasn't told about the mismatched drivers.
Well; this is my anecdote for the day. Maybe I'll share more, but since Dave has my mind pawing back through those many experiences with professional gear back then, I wanted to share this rather odd story. I suspect other members have such stories and I would certainly like to hear about them. Hoping, however, that nothing in those stories makes me start itching to go back on the road. I'm too old for that, and I'm not crazy enough to do it again.
Wallowing in nostalgia,
Francis Baumli
