What are you two up to?
“Nothing.”
“Nooooooothing.”
Uh-huh. That guy’s a bad influence.
“Don’t talk about Jerry that way.”
I was not speaking to you, Drug Dealer.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: john kahn (Page 1 of 3)
Not the interracial marriage part; I’m fine with that. I just don’t think that John Kahn had the legs for that kind of skirt.
On the campaign trail, John Kerry never brought up his brother, whose Christian name was Robert but everybody called Rooster.
OR
There’s two types of junkies: short-sleeve boys and long-sleeve men.
OR
Precarious?
“Yo.”
Where’d you get the parachute?
“Stole it from an elementary school.”
Sure.
Wake up and get to work. Break only for a light lunch or at the urging of your bowels. When it gets dark, drink and fuck.
Or lay in. Molest yourself a few times. Open up the Times to the crossword, yell towards the basement “GOOD ONE, WILLY!” (You should have Will Shortz gagged and bound down there, obviously.) Doodle a bit. Sand some scrap wood. Improvise weaponry. Cultivate grudges. Ruin the carpeting. Breed recklessly. Foster confusion. Nap like the wind.
Or meditate. Buddhism is always an option for the middle-class, college-educated White. Get a mantra, do some tantra.
You could go back to school. Or stay in school. Hell, shoot one up. You could do something involving school, that’s the point here.
It’s not too late to go pro. Trust me on this one; don’t listen to the haters. It’s not too late to go pro.
Do whatever you want, but it’s later than you think.
My God. It’s beautiful. Precarious?
“Yo.”
Did you do that?
“The inverted pyramid of gear?”
Yes.
“Yeah.”
It’s your masterpiece.
“Sometime, ya gotta challenge yourself.”
Magnificent.
Like so many other things, this was John Kahn’s fault. You will recall that in October of ’74, the Grateful Dead pulled the ol’ “fake retirement” trick–one of the hoariest gimmicks in show biz–and now Garcia had no touring money coming in. This is suboptimal for a man with three children and a mortgage, and so Garcia ramped up the Jerry Band. Whereas before, he stuck mostly to the Bay Area and played with locals, now he would take to the road and get some of that sweet, sweet East Coast cash. Those coffers ain’t gonna replenish themselves.
First, he put together the Legion of Mary–his best solo band, hands down–which was Kahn on bass (of course), Merl Saunders on organ and terrible vocals, Martin Fierro on out-of-tune saxophone, and the Greatest Drummer of All Time™ Ronnie Tutt. Sadly, this combo proved short-lived; Garcia fired Saunders and Fierro (not personally, of course; he let Parish make the calls) and added legendary British pianist Nicky Hopkins. Those big, brutish block chords in Sympathy for the Devil? That was Nicky.
But Nicky wasn’t a road dog like Garcia was: he was unhealthy since he was a kid, and he drank too damn much. He was a chatty drunk, too, and would introduce songs for ten minutes. Plus, according to Ronnie Tutt, he had bad time. (What Ronnie Tutt thought of Garcia’s time, he has kept to himself all these years.) A new keyboardist was needed. Someone reliable, professional, a real team player.
So Garcia hired an insane junkie.
James Booker’s tenure with the Jerry Band lasted a weekend, which makes him the Anthony Scaramucci of the JGB. Quite frankly, I can’t believe Garcia kept him on for the second night. Go listen to the show. Booker overpowers Garcia, and Kahn, with the deluge of music coming from his piano and, even more hilariously, refuses to listen to Garcia in the slightest. Booker cuts off his solos, goes into verses when Garcia starts singing the chorus, and at least once takes over the lead vocal halfway through the song. Also: the tunes end when James Booker says they end, and that’s it. (Every song. Every single song ends with Garcia trying to finish up the song but Booker keeps playing, or he’ll just ripcord out of the song while Garcia is soloing away merrily in the background.)
Was he amused? Pissed? I bet Garcia was pissed. I’ll bet his eyes got darker and darker throughout the evening, and that he made fun of Kahn for the suggestion for years afterwards.
Anyway, this is the 1/9/76 show. There was a second show the following night, and then James Booker was bundled back onto a plane bound for New Orleans. Garcia called up Keith and Mrs. Donna Jean and never hired any geniuses ever again.
The only Grateful Dead who wasn’t in Jerry Band at one point was Bobby.
OR
Ronnie Tutt is sitting there thinking, “He’s not gonna do any karate?”
OR
Is that a long-sleeved guayabera?
Scrupulously researched esoterica?
Aspersions on John Kahn’s character?
The return of Ronnie Tutt?
All that and more. This post has everything. Go read Lost LIve Dead; I’ll be here when you get back.
From Garcia’s pinky, down; between his hand and John Kahn’s headstock; his face, up: the rule of thirds.
John Kahn, Mrs. Donna Jean, and Garcia are certainly not as close as they seem to one another: foreshortening.
The brilliant white glow of the headstock and Garcia’s forehead against the ink-black background: chiaroscuro.
The arm, the bass neck, and Wolf: balance.
Your eye starts on the “Fender” and the tunings pegs, then travels upward–clockwise–to Garcia’s face, continuing down Mrs. Donna Jean’s arm to Wolf and then up Garcia’s forearm: the Fibonacci spiral.
This is Renaissance art.
Learn something new every day, Enthusiasts: this existed (and probably still does, and probably now belongs to everyone’s favorite waitress-banging laudanum fiend NFL owner). Check out the site it’s from: there’s great pics and really detailed info on all of Garcia’s gear; the Amp page is bordering on monomaniacal, and therefore wonderful.
Headless guitars were a fad in the 80’s, kicked off by the Steinberger. Garcia had the guitar version:
John Kahn had the bass:
It’s a shame Garcia never played his onstage, and had an all-Steinberger show. Damned shame.
I will not burnish my aesthetic credentials, Enthusiasts: I did not always realize how goofy these things were. When I was a sophomore in high school, a guitarist from one of the senior bands at the Battle of the Bands had this beauty:
I could not have been more impressed. (That guitarist–whose name I can’t recall–also had a hot sister in my grade. Great family.)
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