At the start of 1969, Jimi Hendrix was not a regular fixture on British television. In fact, his last appearance had come more than a year earlier, on August 24, 1967, when the electric guitar trailblazer made his fourth and final turn on Top of the Pops.
So when it was announced that Hendrix and the Experience would perform live on the January 4 edition of Happening for Lulu, anticipation ran high. The program, hosted by Scottish pop star Lulu — then best known in the U.S. for her 1966 hit “To Sir, With Love” — was hardly an obvious platform for one of rock’s most unpredictable acts. That mismatch would prove decisive.
The booking would result in Hendrix’s final appearance on British TV — and one of the most notorious. By the end of the broadcast, he had effectively ensured he wouldn’t be invited back.
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The flashpoint came in the form of an unscripted tribute to Cream, the then-recently dissolved power trio featuring Eric Clapton, Jack Bruce and Ginger Baker.
Hendrix opened with a blistering, wah-drenched take on “Voodoo Chile,” then moved into “Hey Joe,” the song that had introduced him on record in late 1966. According to bass guitarist Noel Redding, producers had proposed bringing Lulu back onstage to share the final verse — an idea the band rejected outright.
Instead, just as the performance seemed to be concluding, Hendrix abruptly derailed the format.
“Well, let’s stop playing this rubbish and dedicate a song to Cream,” he told the audience. “Regardless of what group they might be, I’d like to dedicate this to Eric Clapton, Ginger Baker and Jack Bruce.”
With that, the Experience launched into an impromptu version of “Sunshine of Your Love.” It was loose, loud and — crucially — far longer than the show’s tightly controlled running time allowed. Producers made the decision to cut the show off in the middle of the performance, rather than run past their allotted time.
For the BBC, it was a breach of protocol they didn’t take lightly. Hendrix was subsequently barred from further appearances on BBC television and effectively shut out of its radio platforms.
He would die less than two years later, in September 1970, making the Lulu broadcast both his last British TV performance and a fitting encapsulation of his refusal to be contained by format, expectation or authority.
Looking back, Lulu has suggested the incident did more to enhance Hendrix’s legend than diminish it. Speaking years later, she recalled that the ban only amplified his appeal: the sense that anything might happen when he picked up a guitar — even, or especially, on live television.
“They wouldn’ta play him on the radio, then they wouldn’t put him on any television shows,” she recounted incorrectly, “but I think it made him more popular than ever.”
Others have framed Hendrix’s impact in similarly seismic terms. Jeff Beck would later say his arrival fundamentally reshaped the instrument’s possibilities, while Joe Walsh has ranked him alongside Beck and Clapton when naming the greatest guitar soloists — a measure of how enduring that brief, chaotic TV moment has proven to be.
