Oh well now, two or three minutes, two or three hours
What does it matter now, in this life of ours
Let’s work together, come on, come on
Let’s work together, now now people
Because together we will stand, every boy, every woman and a man
Once upon a time, I was living in Venice, California, and “auditing” filmmaking at the University of Southern California. Somewhere nearby — down by the beach and the Hippodrome where the Carousel turned in the day — Canned Heat had an old and large garage where they’d rehearse at night. Sometimes I’d wander by. The scene was like this when it came to young women even if they were not nearly so wholesome or, ur, healthy. The advantage to hapless hippie filmmakers was that during these rehearsals Canned Heat would attract nearly endless moths to their hard rocking garage-band flame. Many more moths than would flutter home with them at the end of rehearsal sometime near 4 AM. By then, of course, it was too late for a number of these nubile young women to go home. They depended then upon the kindness of strangers. And they were not disappointed. Ah, youth.