Jacksonville Coliseum : 22 novembre 1968
JACKSONVILLE UNION & JOURNAL - ‘Curtain Up - A Jacksonville Union Review’ - ‘Jimi’s Impact, A Jolt, a Jar’ - review by Judy Hamilton:
“Hearing Jimi Hendrix is only half the Experience... He came on stage, a sight untold in pictures - a bushel of frizzy, inky black hair on top, a wisp of a moustache, and a costume of skin-tight white slacks, purple silk shirt embossed in gold, a purple sash dangling from the left leg, purple vest, turquoise bracelet matching necklace and an electric guitar already exploding in sound....
‘This’ll be mostly a jamming thing’ Hendrix announced, barely audible above the guitar twangs of tuning. And the sounds began. The loud, penetrating rhythmic discord that sent a vibration into the floor, through the seats and up through the bodies until the beat was swallowed by the audience,
‘We really care for your ears, that’s why we don’t play so loud,’ mumbled Jimi, and the full strength of the amplifiers burst out again, jolting and jarring, sending an electric current through the blood - what teenagers call ‘blowing the mind’ - and the ears.
They’d felt something like it first half from a five piece group known as Cat Mother and the All Night Newsboys... But Jimi’s three-piece held even more. Jimi was feeling it too, his eyes closed, his head swaying with the rhythm, his tongue waggling over his teeth, his lips puckering and grinding, his knees bending to the beat, his whole body gyrating at times as uncontrollably as a puppet.
His guitar sounds as varied as imagination - shrill, wailing, scratching, screeching, piercing, loud and long like a train whistle. The drums beat on unmercifully, Mitchell’s head nodding at a frantic pace, eyes rolling, hands fisted around the sticks, cracking down on drums cymbals to echo out through the mikes and the Coliseum.
Then ‘Foxy Lady, and Jimi began to wind up, his singing voice a shout through the mike merging with instrumental sound. He bounced more than a foot off the ground, his legs swung wildly, he went down on his knees, guitar strings scraped against the mike, his hands slapped strings like they would be a bongo, guitar went to his chin, then his teeth, gnawing out the tune. The response was all around in the expressions of the teenagers: ‘You get high just seeing him,’ ‘it’s indescribable,’ ‘it’s unreal.”