And if you need something to listen to, try this: 11/23/73 from El Paso County Coliseum, where–shockingly–they actually played El Paso. Other songs are performed, as well. (I have no memory of this particular show, tho I’m sure I must have listened to it a few times. But it’s a ’73, and you know what they say about ’73.)
New Hooterollin’! Is my body breaking down in new and exciting ways? Yes! But there’s new Hooterollin’. Are some of the emergent nightmares far too disgusting to even mention in mixed company? Yes! But there’s new Hooterollin’. Am I living through the second act of a David Cronenberg film? Yes! But there’s new Hooterollin’.
Did you know that Bobby–in addition to being a guitarist, singer, and cowboy–was a record producer? I did not, and I know a lot of stuff about Bobby. Luckily, Corry has abandoned the tenets of Without Research to, you know, look shit up and thus enlighten all with this ribald* tale of a Grateful Dead and one of the guys who wrote Mississippi Queen. Why are you still here? Go read something that makes sense.
1969 was the Lost Quintet, so-called because the five musicians–Mr. Davis, Chick Corea, Jack DeJohnette, Dave Holland, and Wayne Shorter–never made a studio recording. Chick joined up in September of ’68, and was dragooned into playing the electric Fender Rhodes piano against his will.
“Dragooned” implies that it’s against one’s will.
I said “fuck off.” I yelled it, as a matter of fact.