George Kinney – singer, guitarist, and lyricist for the Austin-based psychedelic rock act the Golden Dawn, whose 1968 LP Power Plant became a late-realized genre gem – died today at age 75. The news came out via his band’s Facebook page:
“It is with heavy heart that we announce the passing of George Kinney, on July 18, 2022. George was the driving force behind The Golden Dawn and a pioneer/founder of the 60’s Psychedelic Music movement. George was surrounded by family in love as he transitioned from this world to the next. He will be missed greatly.
“As a singer, songwriter and guitarist, his musical legacy will live on through his albums, as well as in the mind, hearts and souls of countless young musicians and fans he has influenced over the years. His talent will never be forgotten.”
The psychedelic philosopher, born in Austin in 1946, also released a well-received solo album, 2000’s After the Fall, and then two follow-ups to Power Plant: Texas Medicine (credited as George Kinney & the New Riders of the Golden Dawn) in 2006 and Rebel Heart (billed as George Kinney & the Golden Dawn) in 2017, arriving exactly 50 years after the band recorded their magnum opus. Kinney, a graduate of the University of Texas with degrees in Journalism and Traditional Chinese Medicine, also authored two novels, The Bandit King and Brave New Texas, and published his childhood friend Roky Erickson’s poetry collection, titled Openers, which the 13th Floor Elevators singer had written during his infamous stay in Rusk State Hospital. The writings had to be smuggled out in a boot.
In the years after its release, Power Plant snowballed as a point of inspiration fans of psychedelic music. The recorded music marketplace and database Discogs lists vinyl repressings occurring in each of the five decades following its original release on the International Artists label. In 2002, the Golden Dawn was recruited to play the Texas Psych Fest and, later, made multiple appearances at the bigger, unrelated Austin Psych Fest (which later became Levitation).
Not just stylistically summoning of a style that would endure post–millennium, Kinney’s lyrics on Power Plant sometimes resounded as an instruction manual on psychedelic thought:
You’ve got to reorganize
The channels of your thought
And leave behind that what you sought
You’ve got to redefine yourself
If you wish to find
The crystal visions of an open mind
And it’s easy
Below is an excerpt from a 2005 Austin Chronicle feature, by Michael Chamy, titled George Kinney & the Golden Dawn: Fanning the flames of legend.
“What I’m doing is kinda what I’ve always done,” says Kinney, Austin’s own Rip Van Winkle. “It’s different because the times have changed. We’re not doing acid every night anymore. But if you listen, you’ll still hear threads of an esoteric theme that’s always there. Nothing’s really changed on that level.”
The legend of the 13th Floor Elevators and Texas psych in the Sixties has not diminished over the years. It’s just that somewhere along the way, George Kinney’s part of the legend was forgotten.
But Eric Arn didn’t forget. The frontman for then-Austin-based psych warriors Primordial Undermind knew and cherished the Golden Dawn and their Power Plant album from 1968 on International Artists, long considered a lost treasure of classic Texas psychedelia among record-geek cognoscenti. Upon discovering that Kinney was still in Austin, Arn invited the Golden Dawn to be part of the 2002 Texas Psych Fest he was organizing.
To Arn’s shock, Kinney accepted, and the Golden Dawn suddenly floated back into the consciousness of cult psychedelia fans across the world, thanks to one starry night at the 710. Power Plant was reissued on a French label, a hearty Internet group was formed, and the band even went on a short American tour last year, documented on the live CD The Legend of the Dawn.
But what now?
“What’s the market for a bunch of 55-year-old Sixties rock stars that never were really that big anyway?” asks Kinney.
That’s a good question. The general interest level in old Texas psych seems to be rising, and the return to activity by Kinney’s old comrade Roky Erickson can only fan the flames.
“Roky always surprises you,” says Kinney. “Just when you think you’ve got Roky figured out, he’ll do something that makes you realize you don’t.”
Kinney ought to know, as his friendship with Erickson goes back to junior high. As a duo, the two strummed songs on the UT campus in high school, and later anchored a garage rock act called the Fugitives. Together they developed parallel strands of soulful rock & roll with transcendent, mystical lyrics and tripped-out flurries. Roky helped the Golden Dawn – named after the 100-year-old magical order – get signed to Houston’s International Artists, the signature label for the then-burgeoning local psych scene (Lost & Found, Bubble Puppy, Red Krayola). Unfortunately, it didn’t turn out as the Dawn (Kinney, guitarists Jimmy Bird and Tom Ramsey, bassist Bill Hallmark, and drummer Bobby Rector) envisioned.
Recorded in 1967, Power Plant, a sizzling potpourri of heady, mystical rock, gathered dust as International Artists elected to release the later-recorded Elevators classic Easter Everywhere first. When Power Plant came out months afterward, it was immediately decried as an Elevators knockoff.
“It killed us,” laments Kinney. “It’s like getting accused of a sex scandal – the damage is done by the accusation. If Power Plant had come out when it was supposed to, we would have been recognized as a very innovative and meaningful band of the era. It had nothing to do with the Elevators. Roky and Tommy [Hall] were very supportive, and they were the prime band. But we were next.”
The ensuing lack of success was devastating to the youngsters, and they slowly faded from the public eye. Kinney, briefly in a band called Headstone, resurfaced in Austin in 1970. He helped his old buddy Erickson, incarcerated in the nefarious Rusk State Hospital, by smuggling out the manuscript that would become Roky’s poetry collection, Openers, which Kinney actually published as well.
Kinney’s odyssey included a stay in Nashville and a brush with Johnny Cash, then a return to the University of Texas in the Eighties. It all culminated in the release of Kinney’s fine solo album After the Fall in 2000, along with the publication of his offbeat novel The Bandit King, described on the back jacket as “South Austin hick meets Mayan surrealism.”
This article appears in July 15 • 2022.