Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Tag: 1969 (Page 2 of 5)

Acrostic The Rio Grand-ee-oh

W is for water, as in rain, which was dripdripdroppifying all over the scalawags and reprobates and chickies at Woodstock, which is where this photo was taken.

O is for omelettes, which you couldn’t get because there was no food because it was just a fucking field with no amenities.

O is for opera, which is the plural of opus, which just means “work.” When you call something an opera, you’re literally saying “this thing someone made.” Lot less fancy when you know that.

D is for Dirty Dingus Magee. Sinatra was in it. He played a cowboy.

Because when you think “cowboy,” you think “Sinatra.” Blue-eyed Enthusiasts will note the luxurious toupee under the hat; Frank named all his hairpieces, and called that one Husky Boy.

S is for Sly Stone, or perhaps Sha Na Na, (PREDICTION: When the absurd “every single note of every single band” 38-disc Woodstock box set is released, Rock Nerds will all rediscover the Na’s brilliance. Pitchfork is already readying a thinkpiece on Bowser, I guarantee it.)

T is a drink with jam and bread, or crystal meth, or testosterone, or the mohawked muscle of the A-Team, or a square, or one of two events that stop play in a basketball game.

O is pissing me off, honestly. Three appearances in one word is too much, O. Let the other vowels get a chance to play.

C is for Country Joe and his Fish, and I’m gonna pass. Hard pass.

K is allowed to ask me about my business just this once, and also potassium.

Someone Steal That Man’s Razor

A reminder: Never wear your boots like that unless OSHA demands that you do so.

A further reminder: “Body Positivity” is a scam invented to sell products–some cheese-covered, some not–to fat people.

A farther reminder: Nick Paumgarten fucking loves mountains. Climbing ’em, sliding down ’em, getting drunk with rich fuckers at the base of ’em: the man’s a catholic slopist.

A father’s reminder: Get your hair cut and tell your mother you love her.

A farmer’s reminder: The Grange meeting is Tuesday night.


Can’t Tell The Players Without A Scorecard

This is the 1969 version of Funkadelic. We have:

  • Tawl Ross on the left in the diaper and Sgt. Pepper jacket.
  • You know that’s George Clinton next to him.
  • Tiki Fulwood throwing up the peace sign. (He played the drums.)
  • Bernie Worrell up top.
  • Eddie Hazel with the hair.
  • Billy “Bass” Nelson with the babyface and cape down front.
  • The white guy in the middle was the president of Janus Records; he may have been named Marvin Shlachter.
  • The fucker who looks like a crook is Armen Boladian, and he was a crook.

Honey, There’s Something Wrong With The Teevee

It will come as no shock to you to find out that P-Funk made virtually no teevee appearances during their 1970’s heyday. None of their act was suitable for Johnny and Ed, and even Dick Cavett wasn’t liberal enough for this kind of bullshit. Maybe they could have done Merv, but not if he saw this clip first. Starting in the mid-80’s, George and whoever he was calling the P-Funk All-Stars that day were allowed on the national broadcasts, but this is the sole teevee booking from the early years.

(The show–WGBH’s Basic Black–is still airing, but at the time it was called Say Brother, and I’m not making that up.)

We Can All Agree That…

…Mustache Garcia is the worst Garcia. Sweatpants Garcia was the saddest Garcia, and Clean-Shaven Garcia was the most unsettling Garcia, but Mustache Garcia was awful in every way.

…Billy’s beginner’s paunch is adorable.

…No favors are done by Ramrod’s hair. Grow that shit out, Ramrod. You look like one of those naked holy babies in the Sistine Chapel

Going To California

This was January of ’69, the same month that Led Zeppelin I came out, and it was the group’s first visit to San Francisco. It was Percy and Bonzo’s first time in America. The lads were playing Fillmore West on the 9th through the 12th and one of those afternoons they made their way to Herb Greene’s warehouse/studio and posed for some glamour shots that Rolling Stone could run. Robert Plant attempted to smolder, but was stymied by his curls. John Bonham mostly just stood there and looked like a secondary character from Get Carter.

And, of course, there is always a Dead connection.

All of the major acts that came to San Francisco bounced off the Dead in one way or another: they opened for Miles, bailed on their own show to see Cream, got stoned and jammed with Fleetwood Mac, snubbed Hendrix (Garcia, supposedly), and lent the Stones equipment on several occasions (one of them Altamont). The Dead did not interact musically with Led Zeppelin, and we have no record of any band members attending the Zeppelin performance. They did not party together. No mud sharks were harmed in the making of this Rock and Roll anecdote.

No, the Dead and Zeppelin came into contact at this very photo shoot, possibly right after this picture was taken. Herb Greene was double-booked that day, you see. First the Hammer of the Gods, and then the Eyes of the World. Led Zeppelin, being new to the Rock Star game but picking it up with great speed, showed up late and so Herb was still with them when the Dead ambled in to sit for the session that would produce some of their most iconic photos.

Like this one:

See how they’re all bundled up? January in San Francisco. Same day and location as the Zeppelin pictures.

Anyway, the Dead is waiting for Herbie (everyone called him Herbie) to finish up with these damnable foreigners coming over here and stealing all our women, and they got to entertaining themselves. Joints were smoked and the mood became grabasstic and loose; a dice game may or may not have broken out; Mickey stole TC’s cane and starting whacking people in the hamstrings. This was all accompanied by ample conversating–the Dead always was a chatty bunch–and Pig finds himself yakking about this or perhaps that, and then finds his points being discounted by his partner in discourse. Probably Bobby. He’s hardheaded. So, to add emphasis to his opinions, the ol’ Pig pulls out the little .22 he carries and fires a few rounds into the concrete floor. The band was, at worst, mildly startled; Pig did that shit a lot.

The other band, however, lost their British shit. In 1969, the only person in England legally allowed to carry a gun was the Queen. That was what her purse was for. The cops didn’t have guns, and the criminals didn’t have guns, and even the gun shops didn’t have guns. You could have hunting rifles, but they had to be a thousand years old and named Throckwacket or something. The UK had such tight gun control laws that KISS were not allowed to perform their hit song Love Gun until 1987, and by then no one cared.

Poor Percy. He’s only 19 years old in the picture, and it’s his first time in America and HOLY SHIT THEY’RE SHOOTING. Bonham is only a little older, and it’s also his first time in the country, but fuck him.

Led Zeppelin fled the session, and the two bands never met.

If you’re thinking about doing Thoughts on the Led Zeppelin, I’ll set the house on fire. 

Get the matches.


« Older posts Newer posts »