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

Tag: john cipollina

And Here’s A Better Picture

Eagle-eyed Enthusiasts will note Matt Kelly is not being assaulted by any drummers whatsoever in this photo. Hawk-eyed Enthusiasts understand that the look on Jaco’s face might best be described as “currently deciding whether you’re a secret robot assassin.” Hippo-eyed Enthusiasts will take the photo as a threat, and charge and kill it. Aye-aye-eyed Enthusiasts won’t be taken seriously by anyone. Cock-eyed Enthusiasts won’t see dick.

Stop it.

Shan’t.

Shall.

Mustn’t.

MUST!

I haven’t the energy to fight. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it–

God, I hate you.

–but I’m riddled with disease.

You’ve brought it up once or twice.

I’m being inspiring. I’m an inspiration. I’m a hero.

Please just spit up a few more lines about the Dead and go back to sitting quietly and not bothering the nice people.

Fine, but once more: I’m only giving in because–

OHMIGOD I’M ROOTING FOR THE CANCER.

–I’ve lost my wind due to my many and various maladies.

No re–

Do whatever you want, man.

–sponse? Thank you for your support in this trying time. Keen-eyed Enthusiasts have spotted that Bobby’s fit during the Jaco gig includes a sling, and not the Hell In A Bucket video-type sling, either.

Bobby fell off his bike in September of ’86 and spent the next month or so plastered up and unable to play guitar, but still perfectly capable of wearing jean shorts. As usual, Corry over at Hooterollin’ has more info and some context to thereby heighten one’s understanding of the situation.

Also: John Cipollina. That’s it, that’s the whole tweet.

C’mon (Up), Everybody!

Everybody’s favorite fun game: Spot The Fret-Eeze.

OR

Cipollina was the only one from that whole Summer of Love batch that actually looked like a Rock Star.

OR

Lee Oskar’s harmonibelt is not worse than John Popper’s harmonoliers. It’s not better, either.

OR

Precarious?

“Yo.”

Is everyone allowed on stage? There’s all sorts of randos creeping in from the corners.

“Uh-huh.”

Why?

“Modified work stoppage.”

You’re on strike?

“Nope. Just forgetting to do certain parts of the job. Like keeping randos off the stage.”

Why?

“Band and crew aren’t getting along. I don’t even remember the exact reasons. Started at a softball game, and Kidd crashed Mickey’s car, and then Phil liked this chick but Ramrod threw up on her. It’ll be good for us. Relationship’s gotta be re-balanced every now and again.”

Sure. How long until the randos start wandering out and hugging Garcia?

“It’s already happened. Why you think he’s ducking back there by the drum kit?”

Sure.

Skull And Closes

Precarious?

“Yo.”

Is that Cipollina?

“Yup.”

Why is Keith in the middle?

“Pizzazz.”

Seriously.

“One of the casters locked up while we were moving the piano. Just left it where it was.”

But Keith should not be in the middle. Especially not in 1978.

“We had to wheel him to the stage, too.”

I’m not shocked. Is that a skull?

“Where?”

Under the Perlstein.

“I think so.”

Why is it there?

“Sounds like a Mickey thing.”

Yeah.

I’ll Meet You At The Diamond Jubilee

Hunter has the exact same face as Warren Zevon. Never noticed before.

OR

Rockin’ Ricky over there is John Cipollina, who was in Quicksilver Messenger Service and jammed with the Dead on many occasions, but even cooler is the fact that his mom gave Pigpen organ lessons.

This is ’68, right after the Least Effective Firing In History. (Second on the list is George Steinbrenner firing Billy Martin: yes, Billy always came back, but at least he left the stadium for a couple months or so. Bobby and Pig didn’t even miss a gig after they were fired, so the Dead–as always–win a contest that they didn’t know they were participating in.) Bobby buckled down and practiced, but Pig’s problem was more foundational: he had no clue how the band’s new Hammond B3 worked. The sucker’s got a dashboard like the space shuttle, and foot pedals and levers, and switches and sliders and two keyboards. Pig knew how to play the piano.

Luckily, John’s mom Evelyn was a concert pianist and an accomplished organist, and so she–semi-secretly, now: the Pig’s got his pride–taught him the intricacies of his new instrument. They probably sat there next to each other on the bench, and maybe Evelyn would whack Pig’s knuckles when he got something wrong, and give him a gold-star sticker when he did a good job.

I bet Pig called her “ma’am.”

OR

A rare photo in which Mrs. Donna Jean not only doesn’t have the best hair, but also does not feature Bobby.

OR

No, wait: Hunter looks like Elton John.

OR

Lucky Strikes are foul, but the packs–especially the soft packs–are art.

OR

Takes balls to start with an invocation to the gods. Homer did it, Virgil did it, Dante did it, and so did Hunter. All of them got away with it.