ERIC BURDON & JIMMY WITHERSPOON

GUILTY!

 

Original 1971 album liner notes

 

‘I will not let this revolution fail,

Nor let it slide or let it trail,

I hate instant coffee,

And blood is thicker than oil,

Spill the wine.’

 

OH YEAH!

__________________________________________________

 

Side I

 

DRIFTIN’ / ONCE UPON A TIME  3:49

(J. Witherspoon-E. Burdon)

Far Out Music – ASCAP

 

STEAM ROLLER  4:22

(James Taylor)

Blackwood Music & Country Roads Music – BMI

 

THE LAWS MUST CHANGE  4:55

(John Mayall)

Casserole Music – BMI

 

HAVE MERCY JUDGE  3:55

(Chuck Berry)

Isalee Music – BMI

 

GOIN’ DOWN SLOW*  6:30

(James Oden)

Arc Music – BMI

__________________________________________________

 

Side II

 

SOLEDAD  5:06

(E. Burdon-J. Sterling)

Far Out Music – ASCAP

 

HOME DREAM  7:15

(E. Burdon)

Far Out Music – ASCAP

 

HEADIN’ FOR HOME  3:52

(E. Burdon-K. Kesterson-J. Sterling)

Far Out Music – ASCAP

 

THE TIME HAS COME  5:13

(J. Witherspoon-Ted Edwards)

Far Out Music – ASCAP

__________________________________________________

 

Musicians included on the production of this album, recorded at Wally Heider’s and MGM studios in Hollywood, California through July 1971 are…

 

Bob Mercereau, Lee Oskar…Harmonicas

Papa Dee Allen…Conga

Harold Brown, George Suranovich…Drums

Charles Miller…Tenor Sax

Howard Scott, John Sterling…Guitars

Lonnie Jordan, Terry Ryan…Piano – Organ

B.B. Dickerson, Kim Kesterson…Bass

 

… and on location with the FAR OUT Remote Unit – THE SAN QUENTIN PRISON BAND (featuring IKE WHITE on guitar)*

__________________________________________________

 

Produced by Jerry Goldstein, Eric Burdon for Far Out Productions, Inc.

 

Engineers – Chris Huston, Richie Moore, Stan Agol, George Koch*

 

Rookie of the Year – John Sterling

 

 

Management and Album Concept – Steve Gold

 

 

Album Design – Eric Burdon

 

Art Director – Howard Miller

 

Cover Photo – Michael Strauss

 

Liner Photo – Bob Gordon

__________________________________________________

 

Now that I’ve had my baptism of loneliness,

I know the solitude of dry tears.

I believe I see you in my mind,

But your image is a blur.

Knowing that I love you,

Yet unable to see you thru the burnt image which Hate has distorted into something that can truly be a figment of my imagination!

 

Being surrounded by every type of psychological perversion, has indeed made my anger a blind and nameless thing.

Yet, somehow inside this core of madness,

I can still feel the little spark that is me.

Longing to kiss your sweet coffee flavored lips across the breakfast table,

That is now a bench, and a blue shouldered back for a morning smile.

 

Awake in my steel and concrete coffin,

Closing my eyes in my sleep-less-ness,

to the cock-roaches that slither across the ceiling.

Unable to even make love to my hand!

As my cell partner is awake below me on his shelf of this sardine State owned coffin for the living.

 

A smile now makes the laugh muscles of my face feel strange.

For to smile in this man made hell,

Shows femininity and weakness.

And death is as common as the sun rise.

 

Hate is vogue, and the most cowardly of men, the sneak killer, who sticks you in the back with home-made steel,

is the hero of the day!

 

Food must be carefully eaten,

or gobbled down like a pig sucking slop or the insects of the wall will float to the top.

 

Miles and walls do not separate me from those that I love.

 

This complete envelopment of the disease of San Quentin penetrates even the most enduring of wills.

Man is as close to his animal ancestors as he could possibly be at this period of his evolvement.

 

The skinny dude from the fifth tier is standing out in front of the cell,

Flashing his penis and anus for all to see.

This is commonplace.

To give up human values and personal dignity,

is the prerequisite of being a “solid convict.”

 

If you can’t kill a stranger because he’s not part of “The Family”, you’re weak,

and therefore a brother to the stranger.

Either join the weak, or perish when the weak ones “rat pack” you.

 

So much like the stories of James Dean,

and Blackboard Jungle.

The street gang lives here,

but with a very deadly reality.

Forty year old juvenile delinquents,

twenty-five year old killers,

little whispered conversations,

Like five year old kids!

 

Written in cell 4-E-56 East Cell Block, San Quentin Prison,

By John Pence Wagner, B-22334

October 1970

 

TOVARISH!

– John Pence Wagner, Editor

The San Quentin News

___________________________________________________

 

STEREO

 

FAR OUT PRODUCTION

 

MGM RECORDS

 

Member RIAA

 

Cover manufactured by Far Out Productions, Inc., 7417 Sunset Blvd., Los Angeles, Calif. 90046

Record manufactured by MGM Record Corp., 7165 Sunset Blvd., Los Angeles, Calif. 90046

© Copyright 1971 Far Out Productions

® Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, Inc. Printed in U.S.A.

 

 

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