"Sad news today: Elliot Ingber just passed away. I first met Elliot a few days after Ry Cooder quit the band in June of 1967 after the Mt. Tamalpais Fantasy Fair incident. Don Van Vliet and I went to the famous “Log Cabin” on Laurel Canyon Blvd. There was a party going on, but we went into a room there that I think was Miss Christine’s room. It was filled with amps and drums, and a guy who looked a great deal like King Neptune was playing lead. Don and Elliot were already acquainted, apparently. The band was “Fraternity of Man.” Elliot asked Don to sing and invited me to sit in on drums. Don chose Howlin’ Wolf’s song “44 Blues.” Elliot was a lover of the blues, as I later found out. I had never played the song before, but I had heard it, so was able to fake my way through it. Don sang with his usual gusto. I only wish he would have had that same commitment when we had played the Fantasy Fair, as the audience would have been knocked off their feet. Instead, he freaked out and left the stage in the middle of “Electricity,” the first planned piece of the show. As a result, Ry quit the band a week before the Monterey Pop Festival, at which we were scheduled to perform.
After jamming, we and Elliot left the rehearsal room for a few minutes to discuss Elliot replacing Ry as the guitarist. I didn’t see how this could work even then, as Elliot was not at all a slide guitarist, as far as I could tell. He was more of a standard flat-picker whose repertoire contained a catalog of blues far beyond my knowledge. He had a very powerful sound that was all his own, but it didn’t seem to fit in at all with the “Safe as Milk” band.
My next encounter with Elliot was when his band opened for us in a small club in Studio City. We had, by this time, replaced Ry with guitarist Jerry McGee, and it was, as I recall, our first time performing with him. It was July 17th, as I recall, as Victor Hayden (The Mascara Snake) walked up to Don at the entrance to the club and told us that John Coltrane had passed away. My first thought was that perhaps he should have waited until after the performance to announce this sad NEWS, as Don was already going through horrible anxiety attacks and psycho-somatic symptoms that he thought were heart attacks.
I remember listening to part of “Fraternity of Man’s” set and hearing a song called “Pot’s Legal,” that seemed to be a prophecy that came true several decades later. There wasn’t anything that thrilling about what I heard, but they certainly seemed committed to their performance. Later, when we performed, I swear that I saw Pamela Miller ( “Miss Pamela” of the GTOs) dancing under a strobe light that captured still-motion views of her various moves. Not sure, however, if it was her, but memory is sometimes tricky.
For a long time, I didn’t have any contact with Elliot. I did go see a movie with a friend of Miss Pamela’s whose name was Beverly. The movie was entitled, “I love You, Alice B. Toklas.” It contained a scene in which a straight lawyer got turned on to marijuana when he unknowingly ate pot-laced brownies. Later, his hippy girlfriend invites several freaks to his apartment and he comes in to find them all sitting around. One of the freaks was Elliot Ingber, who was sitting on a counter in the bathroom, meditating. I later asked him about this, and he said, “Oh yeah, I was a “Rent-A-Freak” in that….
It wasn’t until after “Lick My Decals Off, Baby,” was recorded that I was suddenly part of Elliot’s world again. He had a bit of success with the country parody “Don’t Bogart that Joint, My Friend,” when it was used as part of the soundtrack in the movie “Easy Rider.” He had rented a little place on Santa Monica Blvd., across the street from all the X-Rated bookstores and theatres. It was a two-story duplex and the entrance was behind a small mom and pop grocery store. At first, he lived on the top, as I recall, and then later underneath. He had a sports car that was no longer running that was stashed in a corner under a tarp. The door led through a small service porch and into the kitchen. The living room was, well, different, as he had covered the entire floor which what seemed to be 4” foam rubber and covered that with carpet. He explained to me that this was to pad him from the concussion of walking – or something to that extent. He had a little record player and a ton of albums, mostly blues records and seemed to me to be a bit of a recluse. There was a bulletin board covering a window that had various posters etc., and one was a poster from the fifties that said, in large bold letter, “DON’T BUY NEGRO RECORDS,” with finer print that explained the sexual implications of the lyrics were degrading our youth.
At this time, Elliot became the sixth member of the band. I never really understood Don’s motivation for this, as most of the music on “Lick My Decals” was NOT simple blues, but very complex polyrhythmic pieces that constantly changed direction, which Elliot did not seem to be able to grasp at all. Since Elliot didn’t have a car, I was elected as the one to serve as his driver to and from rehearsal which at the time, was in the Trout House in Woodland Hills.
Later, rehearsals were moved to the Warner Brothers sound stages in Burbank. Usually, Don would show up late and he and Elliot would sit around singing and playing old blues songs, so there was hardly any actual rehearsal getting done.
One night, Elliot had an epiphany of sorts, and suggested combining the intro to Mirror Man, and combining that with the intro to “Clouds are Full of Wine” to create a backdrop for a piece of poetry Don had written called “Those Little Golden Birdies.” Don objected, “I don’t know if I really want that music broken up like this.” Elliot insisted, “No, no, just TRY it, man!” Elliot became very assertive, but it was obviously from a place of inspiration, not intimidation. He directed the group and marked the spots where Don should pause and cued the band in with total abandon and motivation. History would see this become one of the pieces on “Clear Spot.”
One night, when fires were raging in the San Fernando and Simi Valley’s we were up at Don’s house ( he had moved out of the Trout House and across the canyon road) and I listened as Elliot, with the same enthusiasm, described a short commercial for “Lick My Decals Off, Baby.” He started by saying, “Gotta get the Ginsu Knife guy to do the voice.” Then, he described, in detail, the film. “Start with a shot of a plain doormat and the words ‘in Tustin, it’s Rockette Morton,” … etc. He described the whole film to Don, who then got the funding to actually produce it.
Later, we toured as a six-piece band, and I shared a room with Elliot, but we had a dispute because I was really worried about getting busted for pot, which he seemed to always have with him. Back then, in 1971, it was considered a much more serious crime, a Felony in many states. Sadly, he left the tour in the middle, and I always thought that maybe our clash had something to do with that. Elliot flew home after Wilkesbarre, Pennsylvania as I recall. Later, he rejoined us at the Spotlight Kid sessions, playing a blistering and extended solo on “Alice in Blunderland.” My friend, Henry Kaiser, a big fan of Elliot, said that they actually edited the MASTER tape, so most of Elliot’s solo wound up on the cutting room floor. A foolish move, as it could have been later released in it’s entirely. It was one of the free-est moments in Beefheart’s archives. We also created a song in the studio, “I’m Gonna Booglarise Ya, Baby,” which was initiated by Elliot just playing a riff in the studio.
Elliot was in and out of the band. My next encounter with him was the 1975 tour – where Don, after experiencing a lot of criticism for his commercial attempts ( Unconditionally Guaranteed and Bluejeans and Moonbeams) decided to return to his roots. Elliot and Denny Walley were the guitarists, Bruce “Fossil” Fowler played “air-bass.” After nearly a seven-week tour of Europe ( the last half in the U.K.), Elliot left, not wanting to learn the new material, which was really not his forte anyway.
Over the years, I’ve had a few phone calls from him. One time, I told him I was writing music on my computer. He responded, “Hey man, you know about the boxes?” Another time, he wanted me to look up some stuff on the internet concerning past due royalties he may be due. The last time I spoke with him was about three years ago. I wanted to send him a copy of my unfinished album. “No, man!” he replied, “Not enough room on the hard drive.” I took it to mean that he had too much going on in his life to insert anything else. I was disappointed, as I really wanted him to hear it.
Through all his quirks and inconsistencies, I really appreciated Elliot’s soul a great deal. He had artistic inspirations that I thought were brilliant, which were attributed to Don Van Vliet. It never bothered him when I brought it up. “I got it for free, so I gave it for free.” seemed to be his mantra concerning these things. Elliot, now you’re free. No one knows where the door leads through which you exited this life, though we all have our beliefs. I choose to believe you’re in a good place Elliot. R.I.P."
