My hands, seemingly possessed, knew where to go. One hand examined the treasures under her sweater while the other found its way up her skirt. My trembling fingers touched the forbidden slips, garters, hooks, belts, whistles, straps, wires and frills that until now had only been available to me in my dirty little mind. Jennifer liked it when I fondled her breasts and she got very hot when I stroked her panties. At the height of passion she started moaning and she rammed her tongue down my throat. I figured that must be good. No clothes were removed and there was never even the hint of sex. That secret had not yet been revealed to me. Miraculously, I didn’t go off in my pants.
Afterwards, I floated her home. Our feet never touched the ground. We were enchanted by love. We stood holding each other on her front porch for a long time. She kissed me one last kiss and then she was gone. On my way back to my house late that night I danced in the streets and shouted The Young Rascals’ Good Lovin’ at the top of my lungs.
Churchill announced a February dance which, for some reason, they made a Sadie Hawkin’s Dance (even though the real Sadie Hawkin‘s Day is in November sometime). I was distressed about this because I was the only boy left without a license to drive and knew I would feel like a loser if I had to walk my date to the dance.
Jennifer rushed up to my locker after school. Her wide eyes sparkled like jewels and her radiant smile lit up the hallway. “I just heard about the big dance,” she gushed, “where the girls get to ask the boys!”
She was shaking with excitement. I turned towards my locker and fumbled with my lock. “That's a stupid idea.”
“No! It's a wonderful idea,” she continued undeterred, “has anyone asked you yet?”
The warmth of her luscious body in my arms was so fresh a memory and I could still smell her sweet perfume. “Ah, no; nobody's asked me. You know, I don't think ...”
She tugged on my sleeve and said the words I feared most, “will you go with me?”
I stood there like an idiot with her waiting nervously beside me. The turmoil raging inside me was unbearable. I wanted to be with her, I loved her, but I couldn't even drive her to the dance. My shame was too great to bear.
I muttered, “I ... can’t,” slammed my locker door and hurried away.
Jennifer was the first romance of my life and I fucked it up. She never spoke to me again.
The Statics continued to practice with Mark and Steve. Somehow we had united the two most popular guys in school - both of the coolest international spies of our time, Bond and Flint, together in one band. Neither could play that well but then, neither could I. Mark was proficient but did not have rock & roll in his blood. Steve possessed a little talent but was short on skill. Steve was also hampered by poor equipment; he was playing an Ibanez bass and using a Belltone guitar amp from Sears - pretty low-tech even for 1966.
I was too caught up in the excitement to appreciate just how lousy I really was. I played those drum rolls that had gotten me into the band in the first place very stiffly. They sounded like “I-think-I-can, I-think-I-can, I-think-I-can, I-think-I-can”.
Frank and Bob, however, were very good on guitars and vocals and they were both way ahead of everyone in musical style. We dug into a lot of The Pretty Things’ material like, Buzz The Jerk and we did a reasonably fair cover of most of the pop songs on the charts at that time. The Beatles scored a double Number One with both the “A” and “B” sides of their latest, Rain and Paperback Writer. The Stones were in the Top Five with Paint It Black and some of the other hits of the day included; Red Rubber Ball by The Cyrkle, A Groovy Kind of Love by The Mindbenders and Kicks by Paul Revere & the Raiders.
Our last gig as The Statics could have been forgettable but it offered me a lesson in performance that would resonate for years to come. We had been asked to participate in a Battle-of-the-Bands at the school basketball game Friday night. Our rivals, and Steve's old band, the G.T.s and another school band called The Hang Five were the competition. Churchill's team, The Bulldogs, was very popular and the place was jammed to the rafters.
Hang Five went on first and performed two Beach Boys numbers followed by The G.T.s who played Turn! Turn! Turn! byThe Byrds and You Didn‘t Have To Be So Nice by The Lovin‘ Spoonful. The players in both bands were better musicians than us but their attempts at the complex vocal harmonies made them sound like mush in the cavernous gym. They were largely ignored by the audience.
We came on and played The Witch by The Sonics and You Really Got Me by The Kinks. Both of these songs are basically simple two chord riffs that the band more or less played in unison. This created a distinct sound that cut through the mush and filled the hall with a sharp grungy beat. We didn’t know it yet but we had discovered the essence of 'arena rock'. The crowd went nuts. The contest was determined by audience Applause-O-Meter. We won by a landslide. The school annual reported conservatively, “Although no official winner was announced, student opinion seemed to favour The Statics.”
Shortly after our triumph at the Battle-of-the-Bands, Bob came to practice with a book of short science-fiction stories written by John Wyndham. It was titled, The Seeds of Time. We were all disgusted with our name, The Statics. We required a name fitting for a dirty rock band. And so it was in June of 1966, on Bob Kripps' suggestion, we became The Seeds of Time.
Steve’s dad was an engineer and he got us our first gig as The Seeds of Time playing at the annual Engineers’ Club Dance. Once again we were scrambling to perform songs that the folks could dance to. We took a shot at B.J. Thomas’ recent hit, I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry written by the immortal Hank Williams, and the ladies suffered their husbands around the dance floor. I’m sure they hated us but, because of Steve’s dad, they all pretended that we were “really okay”. It must have gone reasonably well because Steve’s parents upgraded him to a Vox 'teardrop' bass and a Fender Bassman amp.
Mark was able to get us in at Zeta Beta Tau, a fraternity house at the University of British Columbia. For a bunch of guys that were soon to be the leaders of our community; doctors, lawyers and financiers, they put on an exhibition of drunken buffoonery that would shame a sailor on shore leave. Our first gig there was an unadulterated, out-of-control toga party complete with semi-naked women, an overflowing gin-laced punchbowl and a repertoire of frat-house standards such as Long Tall Texan, Watermelon Man, Can’t Sit Down and, of course, 'the anthem' (Louie Louie). We were even badgered into playing The Batman Theme by The Marketts from the campy television show that was so popular at that time. When my dad came to pick us up and help haul the gear home in the family auto, it looked like a bomb had gone off.
Harry was always doing stuff like that. One time he drove us way up Seymour Mountain somewhere to play at a party for a riding club. He leaned against the bar and nursed one rye & Ginger Ale for four hours and then drove us home.
Mark Wosk began to question his commitment to show business. He decided to hang ‘em up and retired to have a real life. He would become a successful doctor, travel the world and raise a beautiful family.
The four of us carried on. We were hired to participate in a promotion for a downtown clothier called Murray Goldman Menswear. We played one Saturday afternoon crammed into the display window of his store on Hastings Street and followed up with a series of radio spots that aired on C-FUN Radio. I would say, “I’m Rock of The Seeds of Time and I buy all my Mod gear at Murray Goldman Menswear.” We got paid one shirt each. I picked out a bright yellow shirt with