The Walls Came Down - November 25, 1970 Thanksgiving Day - Savoy Brown and Black Sabbath at Eastown Theater - Detroit

Our '67 Pontiac Catalina was filled with so much smoke we could barely see the road. Floating down the freeway, our ride seemed to levitate as we exited onto the boulevard. Nearing our destination, Mark made a U-turn and snagged a spot on the street near the front of the theater. Our good fortune was just beginning. With glazed eyes, Mark, Al and I tumbled out of the vehicle and made our way to the entrance of Eastown Theater.

Mark paid our admission, and we entered the lobby of the theater. While Al waited in line at the concession stand, Mark and I made our way up the carpeted stairs to the balcony, where we settled in for a smoke. We had arrived too late for the opening act, but in plenty of time to unwind and catch a good buzz before the next performance would begin.

“You two are here for which band?” We glanced over at the long-haired hippie sitting a couple of seats down, who was just about to take a hit from the bowl of his pipe.

“Savoy Brown, of course,” we both stated in unison. The hippie smiled in affirmation as the smoke generously bellowed around him.

“Cool! I saw Savoy at the Grande, and if their show is half as good, we're in for a real treat! And speaking of treats, would you two enjoy a little hash?” He offered us his pipe, and we happily indulged, our eyes abuzz.

We were all here for “The Boogie,” no question about it; this was a Detroit crowd and we were here to rock out to the sound we had heard countless times on Savoy’s album. We all knew the words and melody by heart. Yeah, this was the song that declared its appreciation of the Motor-City, and we were here to experience the band and enjoy their rocking sound.

Higher and higher our minds floated with every hit of the hash pipe. Novices to this particular hallucinogen, we stepped into a land of illuminated mental perceptions which our new abstract reality began to reflect. Our minds entwined with the streams of smoke that were flowing throughout the theater. We spoke with our new benefactor about current groups and who we believed had some great sounds—Sun Ra, Hound-Dog Taylor, Catfish Hodge, Temptations, and the Red, White and Blues Band were all highlighted.

As the next act was announced, Mark and I left the balcony and our new friend and journeyed our way down to the main floor. Negotiating our path through the colourful adventures of an Arabic fable, we met up again with Al, and the three of us made our way towards the stage. The main floor was all festival seating, and we found ourselves about five rows back from center stage. We all sat down to wait for the next band, who we had heard was also from England.

“What's their name again?” I nudged Mark.

“Black Sabbath. It's their first American tour!”

The lights had dimmed. I squinted in an attempt to see the band members taking the stage, but it was so dark I could barely make out their silhouettes. A strange and eerie quiet now filled the theater. Suddenly, a hypnotic force began vibrating outward….

The first notes of “Black Sabbath” filled the air. Again and again this theme oscillated, increasingly louder and louder, drowning out the sounds of the crowd. This vicious onslaught of mighty sound was the prelude for a solitary figure that appeared center stage and was hit with a small spot of deep-red light. His name was Ozzy, and when he sang out, it all inter-meshed as an almighty unit; the music became an exhilarating attack on both my physical and mental senses.

Such a glorious attack it was, from “War Pigs” and “Paranoid” to the screaming sounds of “Electric Funeral” and “Hand of Doom.” The guitars of “Wicked World” gave me such a buzz that its slow gyrations seemed to spin like a tornado above my hashed out head, as I was drowned in a neon whirlpool of a grand and terrifying sound.

The lights never seemed to increase in any greater intensity than to just outline the shadowy figures of this band. In contrast however, their crosses and ankhs were effortlessly shimmering with minor glimmers of light, casting their shine like beacons of heavenly flashes in a voluble sea of despair. It went forever on, our minds spun to higher and higher levels of our hash induce high. We were symbiotic with the sounds emanating from the band until their set ended. They returned for one encore and then departed like banshees in the night.

“Wow, it's their first US tour!” I heard, the murmurs of exclamation emanating like waves throughout the theater, approaching us from all directions. The house music came on, and almost magically another hippie with another pipe of red-hot hash passed it our way.

Towards the end of the intermission, the chanting began. Effortlessly the intonations grew stronger and stronger—“Savoy Brown” and “The Boogie, The Boogie!”—until finally the sound had become a roar. “THE BOOGIE!”

Yes, we all had heard “The Boogie,” but not just heard it, we knew it, for the album on which it appeared was a staple of any Motor-City music collection, owned by it seemed everyone in attendance. Savoy Brown had immortalized in vinyl their dedication of this song to Detroit, and this fact was akin to the band now hearing our call.

The curtains slowly parted in a hypnotic glaze, the colorful venue lights increasing in illumination to match our own enthusiasm. Deafening cheers bellowed out, and in magical unison we were all suddenly up on our feet, our screams surely loud enough to be heard throughout the entire city. The band opened with their first number…

Everyone rocked out during the entire set, from “A Ring on Her Finger and a Ring on Her Nose” and “I'm Tired” to other jams that moved my very psyche. After a generously long set, the band left the stage. We all expected an encore, it was understood, for this was Detroit—let’s bring them out for what was surely the crème de la crème,“The Boogie”! Minutes later the band reappeared on stage and began playing a song from their newest release, “I'm Crying.” As soon as it ended they departed again. We demanded another encore…“The Boogie! The Boogie!!!” The band emerged admist our cheers, and offered a stirring jam of “Needle and Spoon,” but still no Boogie. They exited the stage for the third time. However, we determined Detroit music-heads continued our chanting and clapping, we weren't going to stop, for we wanted to hear the strength and feel the fury of the Holy Grail of sound, until one band member then another finally returned to the stage. Another impressive jam ensued, rocking the house with the thunder of Thor, but the elusive grail was still missing from the repertoire. The band then retired, it seemed, for the night, after three mind-blowing encores….

Wow, what a show! The crowd had begun to diminish in size, but this only became apparent once I looked around. The most hardcore still remained, all of us standing in the center near front stage, numbering around 300 or so, and still we chanted and chanted. We cried out until it seemed like time had stopped, but our reward was near and the band returned to the stage after a near 15 minute lapse, heavens gates now opened, and the angelic battle sounds of the angels clashing with Satan’s hoards was now heard.

The beauty of the opening notes of the lord's blessing sounded out. The walls came down, and we roared! The Boogie!!! The Boogie!!! The guitar scale rang out loud and true, joined by a drumming thunder from Hades itself! We jumped, we screamed, we held each other, bouncing, bopping, and wildly dancing; the theater was an absolute Goliath of beautiful musical mayhem. The Boogie!!! Come on now, Boogie too! Come on now Boogie too!! The musical floodgates of a good-times Boogie celebration had been opened, and there was no stopping it, we moved and grooved in our hash-induced high, our night now on a stellar vibe intertwined with the band's, and we were all at cosmic height.

Twenty ecstatic minutes into this most glorious of anthems, the long-haired lead guitarist was still clamoring upon his axe, knees on the stage, when our euphoria was rudely interrupted. The fire marshals had arrived, and abruptly put an end to the performance. We chanted again, but this time the show was over.

Yet nothing would ever end the musical beauty of this thrill. Another performance had opened up in the synaptic of my mind's eye, and I immediately realized that this amazing concert would be enjoyed again and again in memory replay, even as we crossed the lobby of the Eastown theater towards the exit doors.

As we entered the cool nighttime city air, my mind and body felt in complete harmony with the universe. Now embodying a sorceress's insight into the mystical realms of music, I was one with the timelessness of the moment, my soul now venturing trans-dimensionally in rocking Detroit style, a step further….

"The Walls Came Down” is an excerpt from The Incredible Adventures of Mischa,