This is from the Scarlet>Fire; the angle makes Keith look heavy.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: john kahn (Page 2 of 3)
When this year gets you down–and it should have by now–remember that people are still delightful on occasion, and that though there is evil and strife, there is also a guy in Japan who makes Lego dioramas of of a semi-defunct choogly-type band from two continents over.
Also: as stated, that is the 1978 band with Keith and Mrs. Donna Jean, and Maria Muldaur with the curly plastic hair; the inevitable John Kahn on bass, and the wonderfully-named Buzz Buchanan on drums.
It would be wrong to say that the Maria Muldaur Lego looks like Whora the Explora.
Also also: Garcia’s long-lost twin from the Sub-Continent, Curry Garcia.
John Kahn, you’re doing everything wrong.
“I’m feeling it.”
Feelings are on the inside. You’re bass playering.
…
“Trying to impress Bonnie.”
Bonnie Raitt is not impressed by bass players.
“Aw.”
- Swinger.
- Electrician with a strong pro-union position.
- Worker at methadone clinic.
- Client at methadone clinic.
- Person casually sitting in car outside methadone clinic.
- Short-order cook.
- Tall-order cook.
- A tall-order cook only cooks really challenging food.
- “A tiger burger with cheese made from lion’s milk? Man, that’s a tall order.”
- …
- “Well, that’s why I called you.”
- “Oh. Well, lemme get to milking those big cats.”
- Phil Lynott.
- Mob paralegal. (Never passed the mob bar to become a mob lawyer.)
- Guy who broke the coffee machine at the AA meeting.
- John Kerry impersonator.
- French Foreign Legionnaire with a mysterious and tragic past.
- Guy at the American Legion hall who gets shitty on Budweiser and tries to run down Filipinos with his car.
- Agoraphobic park ranger.
- Owner, John’s Tall & Lanky Men’s Wear.
“What’s wrong with those white boys, Melvin?”
“They’re always like this: don’t worry about it. Just stay over here.”
The year after Garcia sang the national anthem, the Giants invited him back, this time to play it on his guitar. Garcia’s version lasted 34 minutes, included a Tiger Jam, a drum solo, John Kahn passing out in the bullpen, and Rock Scully getting trapped in the batter’s box.
Wondering where drummer David Kemper was in the previously-posted shot? No? Not even a little?
…
Well, you can kiss it. That’s right: kiss it.
Are you done?
Yes.
…
What’s “it?”
WOULDN’T YOU LIKE TO KNOW, MISTER MAN.
Knock it off or you’re going to kiss mine. Both of you.
Anyway: just where was David Kemper, ten-year veteran drummer of the Jerry Band, during the photo shoot? TotD investigates…
- Kemper is half-Norweigian and the Winter Olympics were airing.
- Daylight Savings Time misunderstanding.
- He was with friends! Stop interrogating David Kemper: you’re not his real dad!
- Billy kidnapped him out of jealousy.
- Billy kidnapped him for money.
- Billy kidnapped him accidentally. (Billy would revert to muscle memory sometimes and kidnap people in a fugue state, like a man driving to his previous house after work, except with more duct tape and ski masks.)
- Afro shame.
- Brief side note: what do you think the street value of Garcia’s flannel is? Couple hundred, right? Gotta be a couple grams of whatever in the frocket alone.
- He had built a log flume in the backyard of his Iowa home and, from out of the cornfields, great log flumists of the past came to ride with him.
- He was assigned to a lonely outpost in Indian country, whereupon he befriends them and has sex with a woman who is conveniently white.
- Lupus. (It wasn’t lupus.)
- Car hit a pelican and when he went to investigate, the pelican–merely stunned–pulled a knife and chased him down Market Street.
- Kemper figured that Garcia wouldn’t notice whether he was there or not, so he slept in.
“Okay, could Garcia and John Kahn look as high as humanly possible? Higher than that.
“How about a closed eye/crazy eye thing? Oh, and you’re gonna give me the double-thumbs? Thanks: that’s a help.
“And can we have the band segregate itself racially, please? Thanks.
“Say cheese!”
If John Kahn asked for my phone number, I would straight-up give him a 555. Unless I wanted heroin, in which case I would give him every possible point of communication that I had.
I’d tell Garcia to run like I usually do when John Kahn shows up, but I don’t think he’d get six or seven steps before laying down and quietly vomiting on himself.
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