Make up your own minds, Enthusiasts: Was Steve Miller, indeed, a non-playing motherfucker? This is from one of the legendary/infamous evenings at the Fillmore East wherein Mr. Davis refused to open for Stevie and his band on general principle. Was Miles right? And even if he wasn’t, would you argue with him?
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: fillmore east (Page 1 of 2)
Precarious?
“Yo.”
Why?
“Which part?”
All of it.
“Drummers wanted to be up front.”
Why did you let them?
“Why would I care? They wanna set up in the bathroom, I’ll set ’em up in the bathroom.”
What about Phil?
“What about him?”
Why is he all the way in the back?
“He was feeling anti-social today.”
Sure. Precarious?
“Yeah?”
Is there any security at all?
“Now there is. Shitloads of it.”
What about in 1970 when the picture was taken?
“Yeah, no. No security at all. Concept didn’t exist. You hoped that the kids were too fucked up to riot, and the road crew punched stagehoppers. That was it.”
The good old days.
“The old days.”
I’m sure there’s an explanation for the cage behind Garcia beyond “the past was weird as shit,” but I can’t figure it out.
Also: this pic’s from 2/11/70 at the Fillmore East; you can listen to it here, because everything happens simultaneously nowadays.
This is the New Riders in 1970 at the Fillmore, and my favorite part of the shot is Garcia’s rickety wooden folding chair. You know Bill Graham charged him rent on it, too.
You didn’t go for subtlety in your automobiles, did you?
“A black man can’t drive a Ferrari?”
A black man can drive whatever the hell he wants! I was referring specifically to you.
“You saying I ain’t a black man?”
You have the worst interpersonal skills I’ve ever seen.
“Suck my dick, honky.”
Simmer down, Mr. Davis. Which Ferrari is this?
“1967 275 GTB/4. 3.3 liter V-12 with six carburetors. How many carburetors your car have?”
None.
“So, I win.”
I don’t think that’s how technology works.
“Shut the fuck up. This car was designed by Pininfarina and built by Scaglietti. Who designed your car?”
A guy named Richard, according to the internet.
“White motherfucker.”
Why would you assume that?
“What’s his last name?”
Andrews-Perry.
“Hyphenated white motherfucker.”
Sure, probably. Didn’t you end up crashing all of your cars?
“I bought ’em: I can do whatever I want with ’em.”
True.
There might be no show biz trick more primal, more bankable, or more affordable than coming out in matching outfits.
There may, however, be no act more Grateful Dead than Phil fucking the whole thing up with a vest he stole from a lesbian bookstore owner. (That phrase was ambiguous, so allow me to explain: both the human and the bookstore are lesbian in nature. Lesbian in a vest sitting behind the counter of a bookstore that caters to lesbians. There are absolutely no dicks in this equation.)
Another pic from 1970–in fact, from the show I recommended from January–at the old Fillmore East. Of note, Mickey’s goofy grin and Bobby in the back fixing his guitar.
January in New York City is a dark time. Days are 20 minutes long at most and there is not even Christmas to look forward to: just another ten weeks of gloom, snow, and bitter windy cold.
But the Dead have work to do and, fresh from their New Year’s run at Boston’s The Ark, they played the Fillmore East on 1/2/70. For unknown reasons, the tracks are repeated on all the streamable versions of this show so you’ll have to figure something out or just give up and turn the car at a tree and hit the gas: choice is up to you.
But I would advise sticking around for a little longer; give this one a try. Mason’s Children opener, nice Easy Wind, and a great Live/Dead sequence (with a tragic cut removing the very end of Dark Star and beginning of St. Stephen.)
His stomach had been hurting for weeks now, no one was participating in T-Shirt Tuesday, and the tambourine’s the instrument they give to the kid who’s not allowed to use metal cutlery in the cafeteria: Pig was having a shitty night.
…what more you want?
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