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Even now, some four decades after his death, the name Jimi Hendrix still carries mystique.

He was the psychedelic generation’s wizard of the amped-up guitar, capable of transforming its sound into a rain of flowers or shrapnel, and his records were drenched in enough acid to make Sgt. Pepper seem like a shell-shocked recruit. He was the electric gypsy, espousing a cosmic philosophy that aligned him perfectly with the “turn on, tune in” freak-power hippies. And, lest we forget, he was a black American who reclaimed the blues from a cadre of young white British guitarists.

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