Marty Balin, the legendary founder and lead vocalist and hit song-writer of Jefferson Airplane and Jefferson Starship, passed away on September 27 at 76.
Balin suffered complications following open heart surgery in March, 2016. Reportedly, a tracheotomy resulted in tongue and vocal cords damage, and tissue on his left thumb died, requiring amputation.
A multi-faceted artist, Balin was a sincere and thoughtful individual in every sense. A Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductee, Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award recipient, and platinum and gold solo artist. Balin also enjoyed painting all his life. He painted vibrant, large-scale portraits of many of the most influential musicians and good friends. “I’ve been painting every day since I was a kid,” Balin told Elmore in one of our interviews. “One of the reasons I started Jefferson Airplane was to get money together to go to Italy to study marble, and sculpture.”
He wrote many of the Jefferson Airplane and Jefferson Starship’s major hits, including “Miracles,” “With Your Love,” “Count on Me,” “It’s No Secret,” “Plastic Fantastic Lover,” “Comin’ Back To Me” and “Runaway.” On writing, he told Elmore “I try to get out of my own way. I try to get into the trance of the music, and suddenly I’ll hear the lines in my head. If I just sit back and let it happen, somebody just writes it. Suddenly I hear the voices.”
“Back in those days Marty was quite the businessman” said Airplane/Starship member Paul Kantner. “He was the leader of the band on that level. He was the one who pushed us to do all the business stuff, orchestrating, thinking ahead, looking for managers and club opportunities. He was very good at it.”
Balin had a slightly different—and telling—take. He told us “I’m not a good businessman, but I’m a good leader. Somebody has to have a vision of what you’re doing, otherwise you’re all confused. It’s nice to have one person who can coalesce everybody else. I did that for the Airplane in the very beginning, until we got famous, and then everybody went off on their “Do My Own thing.” I personally don’t believe in “my own thing,” I believe in doing THE thing.”
Into music as a kid, Balin started off with close and first-rate mentors. Balin told us, “I was very much into R&B and soul all my life, and I would always go to see these people: Ray Charles, James Brown. I loved Otis Redding and hung around him like a puppy. I loved muddy Waters and hung around him like a kid. To me, these people were the greats. I got to work with them and thought it was meant to be. Still to this day, I’ll listen to them any time.”
Balin had been doing solo and small-group gigs for some time, and loving it. “I like to do these intimate shows. The fans call out songs to me, and I can always go to that song. I don’t have to wait for other musicians to get ready and I don’t have a lot of long instrumental breaks on every song. I want to sing!”
On our several meetings, Balin was kind, gracious and patient. When fan Doug Nelson, who had advanced Parkinson’s Disease, stopped by backstage at the Bearsville Theater in Woodstock, NY, Balin could not have been more tactful, taking time to communicate with a fellow human being who had trouble communicating.
Of his long and successful career, Balin told Elmore, “I’m doing everything I want to do, I’m writing songs I’m enjoying. I’m doing what most people wanted to do, which is to hear me sing. I’m really happy doing that. I don’t know where it’s going to go.”
He will be missed.
I think Elmore readers would like to read this from Jorma
Now We Are Three
Requiem For A Friend
Marty Balin
30 Jan. 1942/27 Sept. 2018
Life is a thin thread
It’s a thin little hand on a hospital bed
It’s all the things you’ve left unsaid
Life is a thin thread
It’s a fine line between loving and not
Between holding it back or giving all that you’ve got
Feeling you’re free, thinking you’re caught
It’s a fine line
(Thin Thread by Connie Kaldor)
I was more than saddened yesterday to hear of Marty Balin’s passing. Jack and I were in Northampton, Mass. at the Academy Of Music and we were just getting ready to do our sound check. I knew that Marty had been sick and I knew in a general way that he had grievous issues but I did not really know what they were. Marty always kept a lot of shade on himself. I stood there in the little room in the wings, stage left… struck dumb. What can you say? We always say and hear, ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ but what does that really mean? We say it. We have to say it and then in the confines of our hearts we try to process the sorrow and search for the words that really convey what we feel. It is an imperfect process.
Marty and I were young together in a time that defined our lives. Had it not been for him, my life would have taken an alternate path I cannot imagine. He and Paul Kantner came together and like plutonium halves in a reactor started a chain reaction that still affects many of us today. It was a moment of powerful synchronicity. I was part of it to be sure, but I was not a prime mover. Marty always reached for the stars and he took us along with him.
I always felt that he was somewhat guarded… the quiet one. Perhaps that’s because I was one of the noisy ones… I don’t know. It’s probably not for me to say. His commitment to his visions never flagged. He was always relentless in the pursuit of his goals. He wrapped those he loved in sheltering arms. He loved his family. Times come and go but his passion for his music and his art was never diminished. He was the most consummate of artists in a most renaissance way. I always felt that he perceived that each day was a blank canvas waiting to be filled.
It was fortuitous that we were able to stay connected in a loose way over the years. He and his friends graced our stage at the Fur Peace Station in Ohio and he was able to join us at the Beacon Theater in NYC the year we celebrated Jack’s 70th birthday.
Very good stuff!
Coming to grips with reality is a process that starts at birth. I am always stunned when one of my friends passes and yet, it would seem that at some point we will all take that journey. It’s almost like, ‘How can this be? There are things I need to say.’ There were indeed things I needed to say and the fault for that lack lies on me and me alone. I don’t think any of us really think that we will live forever yet often that thought lies dormant in the back of our minds. At my age my world is starting to be surrounded by passing. I will miss my friends who rest on the banks of the River Of Time and I am reminded to make the most of every moment as I am swept downstream! Marty’s passing reaffirms the power of love, the power of family, the power of possibilities.
So many of our brothers and sister from that time are gone. Skip Spence, Spencer Dryden, Joey Covington, Paul Kantner, Signe Anderson and now Marty have all joined the Heavenly Band as Rev. Davis would say.
We were young together. I would like to think we made a difference. As for Grace Slick, Jack Casady and myself…
Now we are three…