Buffo began in 1967 as a perfect idea only two (or twenty) years ahead of its time — find some good musicians, isolate them from the outside world, provide them with a large stash of cannabis and psychedelics and a very small ration of food (and no kitchen to cook it in), flatter them with stacks of state-of-the-art equipment, and hire a retired Hell’s Angel to provide security.
This brainstorm came courtesy of Alan Feldman and One Way Productions. Feldman, a scion of the Chicago publishing dynasty, had fallen under the hoodoo of red-headed David Reifsnyder, ersatz band manager, who was intent on producing a super-group. Well, there were no super-groups yet; let’s instead say “money machine.”
Reifsnyder had zeroed in on organist Jeffery Pearl, a soft-spoken Jew who possessed a wicked sense of play on the Hammond B-3 and a genetic predisposition for bipolar disorder, and managed to convince Feldman that Pearl was the nucleus around which could be built a new Jefferson Airplane, or a new Grateful Dead, or a new Blues Project, or, at worst, a new Standells. Arrangements were made, contracts were signed, money changed hands, and a nationwide search, the precursor of both Rock Star INXXS and American Idol, began.
Their first stop was New York City, a place where Pearl was comfortable. Advertisements seeking musicians were planted in The Village Voice, and hundreds of applicants appeared on the stairwell leading to a rented third-floor walk-up loft. But Pearl soon became disillusioned with the audition process, and finally settled on a stratagem that eliminated any requirement that he should actually play with anyone. His mantra: “Using only two notes, produce as many rhythms as you can without repeating yourself.” The ever-present Reifsnyder was charged with the task of counting. I was chosen from the impeccably-dressed multitude after passing twenty. But as there is no definitive record of the number 20 being reached, I have assumed, quite independently, that the count was far higher.
Having found one member for the group, which had been christened with the Italian name Buffo (a comic character who appears in most operas), Pearl and company left New York and, after a short stop in Chicago, continued on to California. I, however, remained in Chicago, remanded to Feldman’s aerie on North Cleveland Street. The production company, perhaps in wisdom, perhaps out of perversity, left me without a key, and I survived for ten days on delivered food and a superb record collection (as well as the aforementioned large stash).
When the company returned, they had in tow Steve Hayton, a hyper-talented finger-picking guitarist who was making his living playing ragas for tips outside Indian restaurants, and Clif Carrison, a drummer who also owned and could play a set of tablas. Hayton had already been a star in Burlington, Vermont, and had been living on his own houseboat in Vermont from the proceeds of appearances at the local folk venue, run by (Future Reverend) Jimmy T, before moving to San Francisco for the “Summer of Love.” There he met Moe Armstrong, who had a small part in Buffo but a defining one in Daddy Longlegs.
Their first stop was New York City, a place where Pearl was comfortable. Advertisements seeking musicians were planted in The Village Voice, and hundreds of applicants appeared on the stairwell leading to a rented third-floor walk-up loft. But Pearl soon became disillusioned with the audition process, and finally settled on a stratagem that eliminated any requirement that he should actually play with anyone. His mantra: “Using only two notes, produce as many rhythms as you can without repeating yourself.” The ever-present Reifsnyder was charged with the task of counting. I was chosen from the impeccably-dressed multitude after passing twenty. But as there is no definitive record of the number 20 being reached, I have assumed, quite independently, that the count was far higher. 
When the company returned, they had in tow Steve Hayton, a hyper-talented finger-picking guitarist who was making his living playing ragas for tips outside Indian restaurants, and Clif Carrison, a drummer who also owned and could play a set of tablas. Hayton had already been a star in Burlington, Vermont, and had been living on his own houseboat in Vermont from the proceeds of appearances at the local folk venue, run by (Future Reverend) Jimmy T, before moving to San Francisco for the “Summer of Love.” There he met Moe Armstrong, who had a small part in Buffo but a defining one in Daddy Longlegs.
