Lonnie Jordan on the legendary War, and some very strange beginnings
Allison Stewart, Chicago Tribune
on
Aug 5, 2016
Published in
Entertainment News
Lonnie Jordan, a co-founder of War and the lone original member, said the band
backed
up a lot of groups in the Los Angeles area before connecting with Eric Burdon in
1969. (Scott Mitchell/Zuma Press/TNS)
The fabled group War began life as a Los Angeles-based backing band called
Nightshift.
It was supporting football star-turned-R&B artist Deacon Jones during a 1969
club
date when the group came to the attention of Eric Burdon, frontman of famed
British
invasion band the Animals.
Burdon and manager Jerry Goldstein gave them a name (Eric Burdon and War), and a
purpose: to make socially conscious, commercially palatable, Latin-tinged funk
which
addressed -- but did not belabor -- Vietnam-era social concerns.
War built up a stable of hits ("Summer," "Why Can't We Be Friends?"), recorded
before
and after Burdon's 1971 departure. They became famous, and infamous: Jimi
Hendrix
jammed with them at Ronnie Scott's Jazz Club in London on what would be his last
public performance. (They played "Mother Earth." It took an hour).
War has released one studio album in 22 years (2014's "Evolutionary"), though
new
material may be on the way. Lonnie Jordan, the band's 67-year-old co-founder,
singer,
and sole original member, got on the phone recently to reminisce about War's
good
(and bad) old days. The following are excerpts from that conversation:
On the days before Eric Burdon
(We backed up) Deacon Jones of the Rams, we also backed a lot of other people.
We
played a lot of different genres of music. That's basically why we didn't work
as
much as we would have loved to. We could play country, gospel, blues, Latin,
calypso.
We were versatile, you know?
On how Eric Burdon changed their lives
We didn't know anything, we had no purpose in this world before Eric Burdon. We
didn't
know we were going to leave Los Angeles and graduate to Hollywood. Eric taught
us
a lot about the communication between the stage and a large audience. A lot of
what
we learned from Eric was being able to improvise music theatrically, and
(creating)
music from scratch.
On Hendrix's last hours
For us, he was just a normal quiet guy. He was just a blues player. He came
Tuesday
without his guitar, and he promised to bring it (the next night). Wednesday he
jammed
with us, and unfortunately Thursday morning he passed away. (His girlfriend
Monika
Dannemann) called us seeking help, she was in a panic. It was unfortunate,
because
it could all have been avoided by her just turning him over so he couldn't
suffocate
on his vomit. She didn't know that at the time. She was young, high, and didn't
want
to get in trouble by the law. I probably would have done the same thing. Here
you
are with a celebrity, you're a girl, you're panicking your parents will find out
you've been doing drugs, and a person also dies in the same room? I mean, what
would
you have done? You can't get mad at her. She called us seeking help, and we just
told her to call an ambulance. Back then, there was no 911.
On the serendipitous success of their first chart hit, "Spill the Wine"
"Magic Mountain" was the A-side to "Spill the Wine." "Magic Mountain" was banned
back in the '70s, because of the world "ball," and "getting so high we're gonna
reach
the top." They realized, this is an acid trip song. It wasn't. The DJs flipped
it
over on the B-side, and that was "Spill the Wine." We were saying, "Spill the
wine/
Take that pearl." They thought we were saying, "Spill the wine/ Dig that girl."
("Take
that pearl"), that's an old saying back in the day. We're not gonna get into
that.
But it's dirtier than "Magic Mountain."
On the general unpleasantness of Jim Morrison
All the musicians would come to this Bel Air house right across the street from
(Conrad)
Hilton's. We would party every night. One night, Eric and I got on the piano,
and
we were just jamming. Everyone in the room was on acid. I didn't know, it was
all
new for me. I still had an Afro and was wearing bell bottoms. This guy in a
Superman
outfit kicks the lid down on our hands, and of course it was Jim. He lived down
the
hill. He used to sneak in the house, and Eric didn't know because the house was
so
big. This lady would come and get him, and she would pick him up -- he was
little
-- and take him home. When he kicked the lid over, he looked down at me and Eric
and said, "I bet you'd like to sock me, huh?" It's like he was moving in slow
motion.
I noticed that everyone else there stayed clear of him.
On whether the band panicked when Burdon left
We were self-contained before Eric, but he taught us a lot of improvising. We
had
to put our improvising caps on when Eric left. We understood why he had to
leave,
because of political problems with his record label.
On the irony of being a very polite band named War
We weren't trying to make a political statement, we were like troubadours. We
were
making people aware of their surroundings. We were just asking questions, like,
"Why
can't we be friends?"
On the present-day ubiquitousness of War's music
Our music is still so unique and ahead of its time. I've gotten used to it now,
from
movies to commercials, I'm almost tired of hearing it. The Super Bowl, an RCA
commercial.
When you hear something over and over. I'm still surprised, don't get me wrong.
(c)2016 Chicago Tribune
