This is one of the shots that got rediscovered from the very, very, very first gig (actually the afternoon of, probably) in May of ’65, whereas we are celebrating the first gig under the name The Grateful Dead today, but it’s big enough to make your wallpaper, so I thought I’d pass it along.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: Pigpen (Page 10 of 20)
One Halloween when I was young, my father walked to the door at around 8:30 and shouted to the neighborhood, “That’s it! Halloween’s over! All children home now!” Now, my father may or may not have been a dick (may) but his lesson was a good one: sometimes, someone needs to step in and declare something done; TotD does so now.
The 50th Anniversary is over. No more Grateful Dead 50th Anniversary, please. I don’t care if next week is the 50th anniversary of Garcia playing an entire set out of tune or whatever: leave me out of it. Today was another in a seemingly unending string of these days; over the past year, we’ve celebrated the 50th anniversaries of:
- First practice.
- First practice everyone showed up at.
- First practice everyone blew off.
- First practice that didn’t end in a fistfight.
- First time everyone saw Phil naked (this was within an hour).
- First time everyone saw Billy naked (right after Phil).
- First through eleventh time someone tried to explain the scoring system of tennis to Bobby. (“Well, why don’t they just say ‘zero?'”)
- First time Bobby was the only one to get laid after the gig.
- First time the harmonies were “good enough, man.”
- First T-shirt Tuesday.
- First time the nitties were box-back.
We’ve had a lot of fun this year and, you know: you don’t need an excuse to celebrate the Dead and the wonderful music they left us, or the silly stories we tell about them.
This now concludes the scolding. See you for the 60th.
“American Express?! My backup band done got inta bidness with the American Express?”
Seems like it, Pig. Some of them, at least.
“Y’take your eye off somebody for 45 years and look what happens.”
You said it.
“They turned me down flat, those moneylenders did!”
Amex?
“Sent me a letter sayin’ they didn’t want my custom! The ol’ Pig pays his damn bills! It was th’ rest o’them layabouts couldn’t write a check and they got me profiled, they did!”
Did they give you a reason?
“Said ‘Pigpen’ wasn’t no real name.”
That’s because it isn’t. What’s your real name again?
“Pig Pennington!”
Oh, knock it off.
“Aw, I’m jus’ funnin’ ya.”
You think things were better back then?
“Dunno about that. Seem to remember gettin’ busted a lot.”
Sure.
“Hey! Narrator man!”
Excuse me?
“Got a question fer ya!”
You guys are not allowed to beckon me.
“Fooey t’that! You’ll be answerable to your subjects or I’ll horsewhip ya!”
Fine. What is it?
“Who was that fine-looking colored chick in the picture?”
…
We had a talk about language, Pig.
“What?”
You can’t call people that any more.
“Oh! Sorry! Who was that fine-looking colored lady in the picture?”
Walked into that one, I suppose.
“She’s a fox and she cranks my motor! I gotta get me my guitar and serenade that vixen!”
Attempting to serenade that woman would end in a sniping. You would be sniped.
“She does look awful fancy. What she do for work?”
Goes on talk shows, tells people how to eat, makes women feel bad about their arms.
“You’re talkin’ in circles, ya damn reprobate!”
Pig, that’s the First Lady. How do you not know that?
“I been dead since 1973, ya damn waterhead! Don’t watch the news no more! Ain’t no paperboy!”
Okay. Well, yeah: the First Lady.
“That’s the First Lady?”
Yeah.
“Her?”
Yup.
“Which makes that fella…”
…
…
…
“Things done changed.”
In a lot of ways, yeah.
“But that relationship? It’s solid?”
Night, Pig.
Hey, Pig. Whatcha doing?
“Aw, hell: them ragamuffins is playing that damn voodoo music again and the ol’ Pig is jus’ tryin’ to find something to do! Rattled my tambourine, drank me some beer, and now I’m whackin’ and crackin’ on these here bongos.”
Congas.
“Don’ matter: I can’t play either of ’em.”
So play the organ.
“I can’t play this nonsense! The Pig’s a bluesman, and these boys makin’ a racket sounds like the soundtrack to a porn flick starring the Devil himself!”
You’re helping, at least.
“These damn things ain’t even miked! I jus’ play it cuz it wouldn’t look right to sit here readin’ a magazine!”
True.
Hey, Bobby. Rickenbacker?
“Beatles played ’em.”
I guess.
“Look at all the knobs! And a switch!”
Cool. Any drawbacks?
“The sound.”
Yeah. Hey, Pig. Whatcha doing?
“Being authentic!”
Sure.
Hey, Tony Iommi.
“Hullo.”
You’re scary.
“This is me most frightful satin kimono. Dinna mean tae scare ya.”
Just a little.
“Well, ‘old yer ‘ead up, me son.”
You accent seems to be all over those rainy islands you people call home.
“I am being written by someone who has no idea what a Northern accent sounds like.”
That’ll do it. Anyway, Tony Iommi: you’ve most likely got an open schedule Why didn’t you get an audition for Dead & Company.”
“We’ve got such different styles of music. Also, and I don’t like to speak badly about anyone except Dio and Ozzy and Bill Ward and Geezer Butler and Ozzy’s wife and Meatloaf, but the Grateful Dead are…”
Yes?
“Well…”
Out with it?
“They are intimidated by my mustache.”
“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY, IOMMI?”
“That scurvy dog start flapping his gums ’bout mustaches? We gots to show the man some American muscle!”
“Bring that limey fuck to me. He kicked the puppy and now he gets the Weirwolf.
Hey, Pig. Whatcha thinking about?
“Drinking whiskey with black ladies.”
You’re all right, man.
“I’m a damn sight better than ‘all right,’ you dimestore magician: I’m the damn Pig.”
Yeah.
Sometimes the bullshit and legend and ego and revisionist historiographying get in the way and it’s easy to forget that they started out as friends who put stickers on each other.
Hey, Pig.
“Howdy there, fella.”
You down?
“Yup. Turns out the folks what find and tame the territory ain’t the right ones to be livin’ there, y’know?”
You comparing yourself to Moses?
“Mo could sing the blues.”
Guess he could.
“How ’bout your long face? Look like a horse in a funhouse mirror.”
Country’s fucked up, Pig. People shooting up churches.
“They still doing that, huh?”
Yeah.
“Looks like the ol’ Pig didn’t miss much.”
Nope.
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