I'm headed back to Denver this evening after a a week in the Bay Area that was part business, part pleasure. The highlight of the trip was a free concert in Golden Gate Park on Sunday commemorating the Summer of Love 40 years ago. I lived in San Francisco for more than 20 years until 1999, and both of my sons were born there, but I was 3,000 miles from Haight Street, working as a lifeguard in the Atlantic City area, during the summer that hippiedom was in full flower. The concert brought together some of the local rock superstars of that era, including my favorite, Lydia Pense, the lead singer for Cold Blood. Her blues/funk/gospel-rock style has lost nothing since I last heard her years ago, and the musicians behind her on Sunday sounded even better than they did in the 1970s, when Cold Blood got its start. Some of her side men looked too young to have been around then, but the new guys could have held their own in any stadium, especially the organist, who showed his chops on a Hammond B-3 that was so amped-up that even the seismologists must have known he was in town. They put up an amazing wall of sound while Lydia shuckled around the stage, all 60 inches of her, loosening her bones. Even for those who have seen her perform, and who know how powerful her voice is, there was a question of whether she could project it past such a high-energy ensemble. But she did, closing the show with the best set of a day that had included Jefferson Starship, Taj Mahal, and quite a few other worthies. Her amazing voice was beautifully preserved, and my guess is that she only takes it out of its jewel box for
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