It seems like the rich dudes live in the sun
And if Eton be a democracy – well I’m gonna get me some
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
It seems like the rich dudes live in the sun
And if Eton be a democracy – well I’m gonna get me some
Idiots.
The Hollywood Festival is mostly forgotten now. There was no great movie made–mostly because the Dead dosed the entire camera crew–and no one got stabbed by the Hells Angels; the poor concert plum forgot to affix itself to a great narrative, and it just floats in the Rock Nerd aether along with Bickershaw and various Texas/California Jams.
Which is what it deserves, really: the festival was an exceedingly minor one that today is primarily remembered for launching the career of Mungo Jerry. Also, this shit:

Yes, that is a giant inflatable penis, which has never not been embarrassing. Shameful when Mick Jagger rode one around stage, debasing when the Beastie Boys blew one up on their first tour, and blushworthy here. There are also giant inflatable boobies; they are behind the scaffolding on the right side of the photograph.
Also on the right side of the pic: guy with access to a Time Sheath who has snuck an iPhone X back to 1970. At least be subtle about it, bro.
Here’s the poster:

First: “Leycett near Newcastle under Lyme-Staffordshire” is clearly a satirical town name made up by Monty Python or someone. Nothing could be that British.
Second: Shockingly enough, the poster made by stoned dimwits who declared bankruptcy immediately after the show, leaving all the contractors and technicians unpaid, features some inaccuracies. Neither the Flying Burrito Brothers nor the James Gang actually performed (or were in the country that weekend), but Screaming Lord Sutch and San Fran favorites the Flaming Groovies did. Whether or not Alice Cooper did is a matter of debate, as it was the past and no one wrote anything down.
Third: Dead played at 4:30 on Sunday afternoon. Didn’t headline. Makes sense, though: the band had never been to England before, and the fuddie-duddies at the BBC certainly weren’t wearing out their copies of Aoxomoxoa. The hip kids had heard of the Dead, but not heard the Dead. Maybe NME had written about them. When they returned in 1972, they’d sell out their shows without any support acts, but–in 1970–they were the support act.
(To Mungo Jerry. Honest. The Grateful fucking Dead opened for Mungo fucking Jerry. The neo-skiffle act went over so well on Saturday that the organizers gave them another set on Sunday right after the Dead. Crowd ate ’em up.)
Fourth: While I can’t find any first-hand accounts of Ginger Baker punching anyone, rest assured that Ginger Baker punched at least one person that weekend. This was right before everyone in London got so sick of him that he fled to Nigeria to be the second-best drummer in Fela Kuti’s band for a while, before everyone in Lagos got so sick of him that he had to flee back to London.
Fifth: Holy shit, the Hells Angels were there after all!

But, you know, not really. These were the British version of the Hells Angels that Mick Jagger had taken a liking to at the Stones’ Hyde Park show, leading to the disaster at Altamont, and they weren’t up to snuff. Look at that drawn-on swastika. That guy in the bear hat from Gimme Shelter could take these sissipated poseurs all by himself.
Here’s a better shot of the Dead’s set, featuring more giant inflatable boobies:

Titties and ding-dongs, Enthusiasts. When they ask you about the 70’s, just tell ’em it was nothing but titties and ding-dongs.
If you’d like to know more about the 1970 Hollywood Festival, then consult your local library. Then, after they tell you they have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about, go to this site.
Enthusiasts, I have been challenged. Gauntlets and whatnot! In a previous post, I dashed off a caption under a video; I so often do. Sometimes, I just wanna share a neat-o bit of teevee with you, but the post would look weird with no words: I needed to write something. In this case, the video was another example of my fatal weakness for BBC shows about the history of England presented by British comedic actors. If one of the Young Ones had bicycled around Northern Ireland for eight episodes in 2008, then I would watch that, too.
Or a documentary about the Royal Family. Oh, Jiminee horsefucking Christ, have I watched documentaries about the Royal Family. I like the ones that go into the kitchens during a state dinner, or with the troops into their barracks between shifts standing there in famous hats, but I also like the ones that are just about being fancy. English people walk up to the Royals and say, “Helloooooo,’ and the Royals say “Helloooooo,” and everything’s lovely.
This soothes my soul, as I am a loathsome beast: an Anglophile. HOWEVER, I asserted, there were worse nations to obsess over. Everyone (and, of course, I’m only talking about Americans when I say “everyone”) has a favorite country, and though England is indeed a shameful one to invest a fascination, it’s nowhere near the worst one. A valued commentator named cekman76 calls me out and demands I name these countries; I shrink not in the face of challenge.
(Again: I do not claim that it is not highly embarrassing to have England as one’s favorite nation. First of all, it’s just such a cliché. The second reason would be England’s behavior since the very instance of its inception. I speak of the worldwide dickery. For most of the previous millennium, England spent its time doing two things: discovering how far they could go; then, fucking with the natives once they got there. England also fucked with the natives closer to themselves. Ireland is right next door, and holy shit did England fuck with the natives in Ireland. Just historically a monstrosity of a society, but their novels and record albums and situation comedies are top-notch.)
Here we go. More Embarrassing Favorite Countries:
JAPAN All that manga shit is creepy. I tried to think of a way to say it all pretty and writerly, but I failed: all that manga shit is creepy. All of it–the anime and the hentai and the whatnotasaki–straight-up gives me the shkeeves. Everyone who loves Japan too much is orgasmically dysfunctional: either they can’t cum, or they can’t stop cumming, or they can only cum in an elevator that smells like dog food. There’s research about that all over the innertubes, but you can Google it yourself. I won’t do your work for you.
GERMANY I will never stop watching your ass, Germanophile. You are on my list and I will never stop watching you and all it will take is the tiniest of slips before I transfer you from one list to a different list. Y’know what, Germanophile? I’m just gonna assume. I’m going to a guilty-until-proven-innocent strategy on you.
COSTA RICA Zip-lines are for simpletons.
FRANCE 90% of Francophiles are just wine drunks who speak a second language. The other ten percent are secretly French themselves.
NORWAY If you’re obsessed with Norway, you’re clearly a Black Metal fan, and I do not get you, broham. That music is unpleasant. You should listen to mellower jams, and enough with the fjords.
PORTUGAL Who’s really into Portugal? Honestly, if I met someone and they were like, “I’m really into Portugal,” and I said, “What, the soccer team or something?” and they said, “No, everything. The whole culture. Their artistic sensibilities. Being seaworthy,” and I said, “Are you of Portuguese descent?” and you were like, “I have no connection. None whatsoever. It’s just a primal urge within me,” then I would be impressed with you for being original.
CHAD You’re just trying too hard now. If you’re, say, a white guy from Plattsburgh? Settle down with the Chad-worship.
RUSSIA Duh.
KOREA Dammit, we still make Boy Bands in this country. That’s all domestic production. That’s American jobs, man. How many Joey Fatones will starve to death because the kids were too busy listening to BTS?
PERU You just want to eat guinea pigs, you bastard.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qMrvE2CwRsQ
Terry Jones, AKA the Python no one remembers, presents eight episodes on England’s Middle Ages. Go watch it.
Your Anglophilia is sickening.
There are far more embarrassing countries to be obsessed with.
True.
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