Since the sixties, musicians have been outspoken and powerful proponents for social change, making them a threat to those eager to maintain the status quo. Typically fond of drugs, they also make easy targets for investigation and exploitation.

In this comprehensive look at more than a dozen suspect rock star deaths, conspiracy researcher Alex Constantine delves into the secrets that the record industry, organized crime, and even the FBI and CIA don't want uncovered. Unearthing recent - and successful - assassination plots against Tupac Shakur and The Notorious B.I.G. as well as new information on the tragic deaths of Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, and John Lennon, this long-overdue report offers disturbing evidence that there may be more behind these deaths than accident, psychosis, and indulgence.

Excerpt:
Chapter Seven: "I Don't Live Today"
The Jimi Hendrix Political Harassment, Kidnap & Murder Experience

"I don't believe for one minute that he killed himself. That was out of the question." - Chas Chandler, Hendrix Producer

"I believe the circumstances surrounding his death are suspicious and I think he was murdered." - Ed Chalpin, Proprietor of Studio 76

"I feel he was murdered, frankly. Somebody gave him something. Somebody gave him something they shouldn't have." - John McLaughlin, Guitarist, Mahavishnu Orchestra

He didn't die from a drug overdose. He was not an out-of-control dope fiend. Jimi Hendrix was not a junkie. And anyone who would use his death as a warning to stay away from drugs should warn people against the other things that killed Jimi - the stresses of dealing with the music industry, the craziness of being on the road, and especially, the dangers of involving oneself in a radical, or even unpopular, political movements.

COINTELPRO was out to do more than prevent a Communist menace from overtaking the United States, or keep the Black Power movement from burning down cities. COINTELPRO was out to obliterate its opposition and ruin the reputations of the people involved in the antiwar movement, the civil rights movement, and the rock revolution. Whenever Jimi Hendrix's death is blamed on drugs, it accomplishes the goals of the FBI's program. It not only slanders Jimi's personal and professional reputation, but the entire rock revolution in the 60's. - John Holmstrom


"Who Killed Jimi?"

As the music of youth and resistance fell under the cross-hairs of the CIA's CHAOS war, it was probable that Jimi Hendrix - the tripping, peacenik "Black Elvis" of the '60s - should find himself a target.

Agents of the pathologically nationalistic FBI opened a file on Hendrix in 1969 after his appearance at several benefits for "subversive" causes. His most cutting insult to the state was participation in a concert for Jerry Rubin, Abbie Hoffman, Tom Hayden, Bobby Seale and the other defendants of the Chicago Seven conspiracy trial,2 "Get [the] Black Panthers," he told a reporter for a teen magazine, "not to kill anybody, but to scare [federal officials].... I know it sounds like war, but that's what's gonna have to happen. It has to be a war.... You come back to reality and there are some evil folks around and they want you to be passive and weak and peaceful so that they can just overtake you like jelly on bread.... You have to fight fire with fire."3

On tour in Liesburg, Sweden, Hendrix was interviewed by Tommy Rander, a reporter for the Gotesborgs-Tidningen." In the USA, you have to decide which side you're on," Hendrix explained. "You are either a rebel or like Frank Sinatra."4

In 1979, college students at the campus newspaper of Santa Barbara University (USB) filed for release of FBI files on Hendrix. Six heavily inked-out pages were released to the student reporters. (The deletions nixed information "currently and properly classified pursuant to Executive Order 11652, in the interest of national defense of foreign policy.") On appeal, seven more pages were reluctantly turned over to the UCSB students. The file revealed that Hendrix had been placed on the federal "Security Index," a list of "subversives" to be rounded up and placed in detainment camps in the event of a national emergency.

If the intelligence agencies had their reasons to keep tabs on Hendrix, they couldn't have picked a better man for the job than Hendrix's manager, Mike Jeffrey. Jeffrey, by his own admission an intelligence agent,5 was born in South London in 1933, the sole child of postal workers. He completed his education in 1949, took a job as a clerk for Mobil Oil, was drafted to the National Service two years later. Jeffrey's scores in science took him to the Educational Corps. He signed on as a professional soldier, joined the Intelligence Corps and at this point his career enters an obscure phase.

Hendix biographers Shapiro & Glebeek report that Jeffrey often boasted of "undercover work against the Russians, of murder, mayhem and torture in foreign cities.... His father says Mike rarely spoke about what he did - itself perhaps indicative of the sensitive nature of his work - but confirms that much of Mike's military career was spent in 'civvies,' that he was stationed in Egypt and that he could speak Russian."6

There was, however, another, equally intriguing side of Mike Jeffrey: He frequently hinted that he had powerful underworld connections. It was common knowledge that he had had an abiding professional relationship with Steve Weiss, the attorney for both the Hendrix Experience and the Mafia-managed Vanilla Fudge, hailing from the law firm of Seingarten, Wedeen & Weiss. On one occasion, when drummer Mitch Mitchell found himself in a fix with police over a boat he'd rented and wrecked, mobsters from the Fudge management office intervened and pried him loose.7

Organized crime has had fingers in the recording industry since the jukebox wars. Mafioso Michael Franzene testified in open court in the late 1980s that "Sonny" Franzene, his stepfather, was a silent investor in Buddah Records. At this industry oddity, the inane, nasal, apolitical '60s "Bubblegum" song was blown from the goo of adolescent mating fantasies. The most popular of Buddah's acts were the 1910 Fruitgum Company and Ohio Express. These bands shared a lead singer, Joey Levine. Some cultural contributions from the Buddha label: "Yummy, Yummy, Yummy," "Simon Says," and "1-2-3 Red Light."

In 1971, Buddha Records' Bobby Bloom was killed in a shooting sometimes described as "accidental," sometimes "suicide," at the age of 28. Bloom made a number of solo records, including "Love Don't Let Me Down," and "Count On Me." He formed a partnership with composer Jeff Barry and they wrote songs for the Monkees in their late period. Bloom made the Top 10 with the effervescent "Montego Bay" in 1970. Other Mafia-managed acts of the late 1960s were equally apolitical: Vanilla Fudge ("You Keep Me Hangin' On," "Bang, Bang"),9 Motown's Gladys Knight and the Pips, and Curtis Mayfield.10 In the '60s and beyond, organized crime wrenched unto itself control of industry workers via the Teamsters Union.

Trucking was Mob controlled. So were stadium concessions. No rock bands toured unless money exchanged hands to see that a band's instruments weren't delivered to the wrong airport.11

Intelligence agent or representative of the mob? Whether Jeffrey was either or both - and the evidence is clear that a CIA/Mafia combination has exercised considerable influence in the music industry for decades - at a certain point, Hendrix must have seen something that made him desperately want out of his management contract with Jeffrey.

In 1968, Jimi Hendrix received an invitation to play at the Salvation Club in New York's East Village. The manager of the Salvation was John Riccobono, a relation of Joe "Staten Island" Riccobono, a made ruffian from the Gambino crime family. Mafioso handled the payroll. When the club's proprietor stepped in to toss them all out, he was summarily executed by associates of Riccobono.

Hendrix had been a club regular at the time of the Riccobono coup. Shortly after he declined an invitation from the Mob to play there, he was approached by a stranger on the street. The man placed a target near a tree roughly 25 feet away, all the while conversing with Hendrix, yanked out a .38 and plugged the bullseye, still chatting with the rocker. The guitarist watched, listened and appeared for an engagement at the club after all.

The martyr & The Madman

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