For all the mythos of change, the Sixties were identical to every other time period in that attractive young women were allowed to get away with bullshit that would get mos others a swift thrashing from Parish.
(The picture’s from ’69, in honor of all the hard work and looking stuff up I did on the last post, but not at the Fillmore. This is from one of the April shows at The Ark in Boston, and the picture reminds me of one of my greatest Dead-related fears: one day they’re gonna make a movie about our boys and, just like every other movie made about the Sixties, everyone’s going to look like they’re wearing a costume.)
ps And check out the shortest-lived of all Garcia’s guitars, the Les Paul Junior. Certain guitars only look right in one color, just like certain cars. All Subaru should be that great blue, Jaguars should only be available in Hunter Green, and anyone who buys a Ferrari painted any shade other than red should be shot in the face with a bazooka. Same thing for the great guitars: Telecasters should only come in that wood-grain like Bruce Springsteen’s guitar, Gibson SGs were never meant–by anything approaching a just god–to be any shade other than that beautiful blood-red, and a Les Paul Junior looks like shit in any color other than the warm mustard yellow you see in Garcia’s hands above.