HONOLULU ADVERTISER - ‘Hum Cuts Short Hendrix Show’ by Wayne Harada:
“It was all together a bad experience for the 8,000 plus fans who went to hear the Jimi Hendrix Experience groove Friday night at the Waikiki Shell. Hendrix performed six numbers, decided that an insistent hum in three of his 16 amplifiers wasn’t to his liking, called an intermission that lasted 50 minutes and that was the last the audience saw of him. Assuming an artist has the right to demand suitable and proper acoustical structures, Hendrix decided not to return to the spotlight. The drone of his guitar was noticeably bad, and not only disturbing, but embarrassing. The announcement as to why he wouldn’t come back on stage was reasonable enough: he wants to perform in the best way possible and that means no hums. But ho-hum. Hendrix knew from the moment he was on that something was amiss. He did perform for at least 30 minutes. He would have been wise to do two or so additional tunes, and then call it an evening. Instead he violated the trust of his patrons, who faithfully turned out, and went home disappointed. The deal, if it is one, is simply this: those with ticket stubs to Friday’s concert will be re-admitted at a re-scheduled performance at 7 p.m. today at the Shell. Apparently no refunds will be made, since Hendrix in fact gave about half of what he would normally give: a display of guitarmanship coupled with gravel-like vocalry [sic, singing?], a form that has brought global fame to the trio. I don’t think I’d care to return to tonight’s show. Humming aside, I found Hendrix’s second Honolulu date - he was here last October, electrifying the Honolulu International Center Arena - uninspiring, uninventive and quite frankly unusually disjointed.
To be sure, Hendrix continues to be a better guitarist than he is a vocalist, but his stage form has become quite predictable, with visible annoyance. He spices most tunes - including his big ‘Foxy Lady’ - with a musical technique exclusively his: grinding his teeth on the amplified guitar strings, shoving the instrument into his groin in a suggestive dance, rubbing the guitar in a fondling sort of way on the microphone stand, and bursting into occasional dance. If audience reaction is a measure, Hendrix lacked fire. When he can be heard, he is exceptionally good, noticeably on ‘Red House’ a blues tune which is emphatic proof that the Experience ought to adhere to this form. His wailing manner is not only overbearing but overwhelming on ‘I Don’t Live Today, Maybe Today [sic] I Can’t Say’ I guess you really have to let it all hang out and indulge to get to the core of the Hendrix experience, which certainly must take place mostly in the mind blowing process. Hendrix’s two sidekicks, drummer Mitch Mitchell and bassist Noel Redding, were rather wooden, but then again they didn’t have much time to display their total talents. Redding’s tuff bass was a spirited match for southpaw Hendrix’s musical high jinx, and Mitchell certainly had the beat going, man. But a bad hum turned into a bum trip. Rock music and noise are often linked in the same category, and from this corner, they shared the same bed Friday night."
HONOLULU ADVERTISER - ‘Jimi Is On, Gold Pants and 17 Amps’ by L.A.L.:
“Was it the poetry, the velvet-gold bellbottoms or the chewed guitar strings that turned on some 23,000 people last week? Or was it just that freaky Negro-Cherokee-Mexican fellow from Seattle? Jimi Hendrix, his 17 amplifiers, guitar, bassplayer (Noel Redding) and drummer (Mitch Mitchell) blew the Diamond Head end of Waikiki out in style last Sunday. And Friday night and Saturday night - all at the Waikiki Shell. Romantic couples on Queen’s Surf Beach gazed at a full moon as his sounds nearly flattened in-rolling surf. And I swear that the music was bouncing off Diamond Head and back into my head. And, oh wow, just listen - to the crowd. ‘Jimi’s playing leads that take your mind away behind teeth and into his head,’ one critic told me, ‘Man, listen to Jimi weave his spell,’ said another person. And weave it he did...visually and aurally. Out he walked in Navajo jewellery (he wears two turquoise rings and a squaw necklace), a puffy lavender shirt and those beautiful gold bell-bottoms. And all over the place - on his right leg, and around his forehead - were sashes of every color. Skinny Jimi strolled up to the mike in kaleidoscopic grandeur, smiled a funny, squiggly smile, and said:’It’s so much fun playing guitar.’ And his black and white Fender did the rest. So what do you call it? Jazz-acid, funk-rock or electronic flow. About a year ago Jimi called it progressive rock, but he’s changed since then. ‘Get it on. I am on,’ he assured his audience. And on and on he was. Through a li’l ‘Purple Haze,’ some ‘Voodoo Child’ and a bit of ‘Foxy Lady.’ When it was over, though, Jimi forgot about involvement and all that jazz. Very businesslike, he left 8,000 people clapping and asking for more, laid his guitar down on an amp and was gone in a black limousine even before the clapping was over. I felt sorry for the people out in the Shell - who were waiting for more. But that was okay. Think of the thousands at Madison Square Garden or the Hollywood Bowl, who stood and waited while he whisked away. Who cares. It wasn’t a usual Hawaiian experience.”