DEADLINES WITH PIGPEN AND BOB WEIR
Members of Grateful Dead describe themselves as "The Grateful Dead Ensemble," probably the most accurate way of explaining their vast entourage of people and equipment.
They have arrived, finally, in Britain with seven and a half tons of equipment, 42 people and 65 suitcases.
Previous hopes of their coming were disappointed as the Dead felt they couldn't travel without the accompanying friends to make their visit a spiritual as well as a commercial success.
This time, they've made it. Mind you, the trip wasn't free of its hassles. The planning has only come to fruition after a year, and then in the autumn, Ron McKernan - universally known as "Pigpen" - was seriously ill in the hospital and it was thought that he wouldn't make it.
"I was in the hospital for three weeks, and out of the band for two and a half months. I had ulcers caused by drinking too much booze. I'm better now though, and passed the milk-only stage. I just don't drink at all now, though I can eat what I like."
The Dead worked on without Pigpen, and when he returned they did a short tour in the States over December. They seem unaware of their popularity in Britain, as they don't consider themselves to be that big at home.
"It baffles me, the superhero reputation. We keep hearing reports of this, but we've only been here once before and I don't think we sold so many records. We ain't Superstars over in the States. We're just another medium-to-well-known band. We're no Three Dog Night or Creedence. We just consider ourselves general folks."
This is also the first time that the Dead have made a trip away from home without their brainchild group, the New Riders of the Purple Sage. It was formed by the Dead's Jerry Garcia, David Nelson and John Dawson late of the New Dehli River Band, and put together by the Dead's lyricist Bob Hunter.
Since then, their fates and fortunes have been inextricably bound - mainly because Garcia was working as their pedal steel guitarist, so the Dead and the New Riders had to go everywhere together.
However, they have now found a steel player of their own, Buddy Cage, who was playing with Ian and Sylvia. The Dead's Phil Lesh was also playing bass for a while, but is now totally back to the Dead.
The New Riders will be coming to join the Dead for the festival at Bickershaw, outside Manchester in May. To sort out what will probably be chaos and confusion, the personnel of the Dead is Jerry Garcia, lead guitar and vocals; Bob Hunter, songwriter; Keith Godchaux, new drummer who has been with the Dead since November; Bob Weir, rhythm guitar and vocals; Bill Kreutzmann, drums (the Dead work with two drummers); Phil Lesh, bass and vocals; and Pigpen, organ and vocals.
The New Riders comprise John Dawson, David Nelson, Dave Torbert (bass), Buddy Cage and Spencer Dryden (former Jefferson Airplane drummer).
"It feels funny not having the New Riders with us," said Dead/Riders' secretary Dale Franklin, "sorta like the kids growing up and going out on their own."
The Dead were one of the first big groups to rise on the wave of the San Francisco sound, and despite their modest claims to the contrary, they have remained one of the most influential.
They began in 1964 as Mother McCree's Uptown Jug Champions in Palo Alto, with Garcia, Weir and Pigpen.
"Jerry and I both grew up with rhythm and blues really. We've been brothers for about 10 years now. We were hoodlum lads, greaser types. We used to run around in gangs. We liked good-time music, country/rhythm and straight blues."
Pigpen is the son of an early white rhythm and blues DJ, so the music came easy to him. It was Pigpen who encouraged the Jug Champions to turn to electric music in the mid-sixties. The Dead found their name at the end of '65, and their first album under that name was released in '66.
Since then they have made more albums, a big reputation and probably a fair bit of bread. However insidious the thoughts might be of the Dead being bread-orientated, they all deny having mercenary interests.
"Coming to Britain is just an opportunity for us to see Europe," said Pigpen. "I don't personally care if I come home with no money, as long as we cover what we put out. We've been trying to have the ticket prices put down for the concerts here because we don't like to burn people. I don't mind having more dollars in my pocket but that's not primarily our reason for being here."
On the floor in front of us, a young lady was counting out fat bundles of fivers and travellers' cheques. Other cheques were left lying around the hotel room as people trotted in and out by the dozen.
Co-manager Rock Scully mingled through the multitude spreading goodwill and information as he went. Garcia held court in the star chamber next door, surrounded by young ladies. Astounding-but-true department, apart from Garcia, the rest of the Dead have little or no experience at being interviewed.
"Garcia generally speaks for all of us because he's the most articulate guy in the group, so what he says goes."
It would seem to the outsider that Garcia is spokesman/leader of the Dead, but although he generally speaks to the Press, it's not to say that he has any more control over the band than anyone else. He was, however, credited as "spiritual adviser" to the Jefferson Airplane on a recent album, and supplies much of the colour and enthusiasm for the Dead.
Bob Weir was distinctly uneasy, talking about a single and an album which he is bringing out "independently." That's in the sense that Sandy Denny works solo. For the album is aided and abetted by the Dead and the New Riders.
"I had written a bunch of songs that could be used on the Dead albums, then I figured I could do an album of my own. The single "One More Saturday Night" was made about a month ago."
The B side for this country is a Dead song "Bertha" from the double live album, but in the States, both sides are by Bob.
"I've used the Grateful Dead ensemble for the single, plus brass and strings which the Dead don't feature most. It is under my own direction though. I don't know if it is that different from the Dead, but I would say that I've matured now.
"I hope it sells well and exposes us to those who might not have heard the albums. It's a classic rock-n-roll song. The Dead are not altogether famous for rock-n-roll, although I originally wrote it for the Dead. The album won't be released in the States until we get back and I hope it is simultaneously released here - that should be around June. I wrote the music for all my songs and a friend called John Barlow wrote the words. The single should be out here this week."
The Dead will be recording while they are here. Despite the fact that most people think that the recording facilities are better in the States, the Dead's permanent engineer Bob Matthews has done recording here before and he rates it pretty highly. The concerts at the Wembley Pool are being recorded. Their equipment has been specially balanced, so they are sure that they will sound the way they are supposed to.
"We won't be using all of the equipment we've brought as some of the places will be too small," explained Weir. "We won't need to be that loud. We stand in front of the PA so we know how loud it sounds, but I have been tested for hearing, and it's almost perfect for someone of my age, so I've sustained little or no hearing loss.
"Anyway we are concerned with presenting our music in the best possible light, so that it won't suffer and will expose us best - we'll make sure our PA works properly. That's why we brought all our own with us."
(by Rosalind Russell, from Disc magazine, April 15, 1972)
Thanks to Uli Teute.
Sep 10, 2014
April 7, 1972: Wembley Empire Pool, London
GRATEFUL DEAD IN LONDON
"The trouble with a lot of kids who come to our concerts is that they can't see beyond the drugs. They get so ripped that the music doesn't really matter." – Pigpen
For six years, the legend of the acid-test band has lingered. The Dead, the band to take drugs to. And, true to form, the British Dead freaks all but filled the great cavern of Wembley Pool, with the joints a-going and the whisky passing round, and, with the billboard for the National Country Music Festival still on the front of the building and associations of recent T.Rextacy strong in mind, the concert they saw was probably a unique event.
"Just folks, that's all we can relate to. The songs we play are our history. The American West." – Pigpen
"Until some new divine inspiration, some flash, comes, that is all we can do, play our music and seek a oneness with the people who are listening." – Bob Weir
And that was exactly what they did: they played music for almost three hours, standing, nodding in time, without theatre or histrionics, almost waist-deep in monitor speakers. A group of men doing the job that they really enjoy, and ranging across a spectrum of music that anyone in the audience must have grown up with; with Pigpen standing quietly putting 'Big Boss Man' through a version both loyal to – and at the same time a long way from – either Jimmy Reed or the gold jacket boys who borrowed it from him.
"Three of us have given up drugs. It became worrying – we were burning out our brain cells and so were the people in the audience, strung out thirteen year olds outside the Fillmore East " – Bob Weir
Despite that, the pipe went round in the hotel room and the big cigarettes were produced on stage, and the triumphal first half ending with 'Casey Jones' was treated as an anthem rather than a warning, repeating the chorus over and over with Joe's Lights projecting the lyrics on to the back stage screen, and lacking only a bouncing spot to give it the full seaside-concert party, pier pavilion atmosphere.
"The main thing is getting off behind the music." – Pigpen
It is hard to talk about a band that one moment is being led by Garcia to sounds that are a part of pink padded tunnels that spiral down through the back byways of consciousness, and, moments later, follows Bob Weir, breaking into the John Wayne jukebox reality of Marty Robbins' 'El Paso' – "One day a wild young cowboy came in, wild as the wild Texas wind." You suddenly get a flash on shared history: as Bob Weir leads on 'Down the Line', you know that at fifteen he stood in front of a mirror and tried to look like Elvis, the same as the rest of you did, or listening to Garcia you see a kid who practiced copying the Mid-West nasal whine of the young Bob Dylan. The shared flash a oneness through their music that is instantly earthy and spiritually high.
"California is, at one time, paradise and a battleground." – Phil Lesh
The sadness of seeing the Dead for the first time is that the logistics of bringing them to England prevented the Wembley audience from sharing totally the seven-year evolution that produced the music they were hearing, as the band grinned happily as a pocket of freaks lit sparklers, or, between songs, asked anyone who couldn't hear well to shout "NO". The charisma is still there, so evident in the gang of freeloaders trying to get a piece of Grateful Dead energy at the after-show reception. It would have been nice to have grown up with the acid test band, particularly as there is the sneaking suspicion that if the first London acid had been dropped watching them rather than cerebrally isolating the Pink Floyd, we might be a stronger community.
(by Mick Farren, from International Times, April 20, 1972)
"The trouble with a lot of kids who come to our concerts is that they can't see beyond the drugs. They get so ripped that the music doesn't really matter." – Pigpen
For six years, the legend of the acid-test band has lingered. The Dead, the band to take drugs to. And, true to form, the British Dead freaks all but filled the great cavern of Wembley Pool, with the joints a-going and the whisky passing round, and, with the billboard for the National Country Music Festival still on the front of the building and associations of recent T.Rextacy strong in mind, the concert they saw was probably a unique event.
"Just folks, that's all we can relate to. The songs we play are our history. The American West." – Pigpen
"Until some new divine inspiration, some flash, comes, that is all we can do, play our music and seek a oneness with the people who are listening." – Bob Weir
And that was exactly what they did: they played music for almost three hours, standing, nodding in time, without theatre or histrionics, almost waist-deep in monitor speakers. A group of men doing the job that they really enjoy, and ranging across a spectrum of music that anyone in the audience must have grown up with; with Pigpen standing quietly putting 'Big Boss Man' through a version both loyal to – and at the same time a long way from – either Jimmy Reed or the gold jacket boys who borrowed it from him.
"Three of us have given up drugs. It became worrying – we were burning out our brain cells and so were the people in the audience, strung out thirteen year olds outside the Fillmore East " – Bob Weir
Despite that, the pipe went round in the hotel room and the big cigarettes were produced on stage, and the triumphal first half ending with 'Casey Jones' was treated as an anthem rather than a warning, repeating the chorus over and over with Joe's Lights projecting the lyrics on to the back stage screen, and lacking only a bouncing spot to give it the full seaside-concert party, pier pavilion atmosphere.
"The main thing is getting off behind the music." – Pigpen
It is hard to talk about a band that one moment is being led by Garcia to sounds that are a part of pink padded tunnels that spiral down through the back byways of consciousness, and, moments later, follows Bob Weir, breaking into the John Wayne jukebox reality of Marty Robbins' 'El Paso' – "One day a wild young cowboy came in, wild as the wild Texas wind." You suddenly get a flash on shared history: as Bob Weir leads on 'Down the Line', you know that at fifteen he stood in front of a mirror and tried to look like Elvis, the same as the rest of you did, or listening to Garcia you see a kid who practiced copying the Mid-West nasal whine of the young Bob Dylan. The shared flash a oneness through their music that is instantly earthy and spiritually high.
"California is, at one time, paradise and a battleground." – Phil Lesh
The sadness of seeing the Dead for the first time is that the logistics of bringing them to England prevented the Wembley audience from sharing totally the seven-year evolution that produced the music they were hearing, as the band grinned happily as a pocket of freaks lit sparklers, or, between songs, asked anyone who couldn't hear well to shout "NO". The charisma is still there, so evident in the gang of freeloaders trying to get a piece of Grateful Dead energy at the after-show reception. It would have been nice to have grown up with the acid test band, particularly as there is the sneaking suspicion that if the first London acid had been dropped watching them rather than cerebrally isolating the Pink Floyd, we might be a stronger community.
(by Mick Farren, from International Times, April 20, 1972)
Sep 7, 2014
April 1972: Bob Weir Interview
THE DEAD COME ALIVE
It's taken a long time for the Dead to get themselves back over here. They probably made it more by good luck than good judgment. Their camp is as diverse and unpredictable as any under the sun – but there must be some sort of magical karma guarding them for they always seem to pull through.
The Dead have brought a large family of 43 friends with them on this visit.
And so it was hard to find a private comer at their hotel to speak to guitarist Bob Weir, writes Danny Holloway. But after settling down, we talked of Keith Godchaux, the new member, as well as the music and life of the Grateful Dead.
Reports of their London Wembley concerts have been very favourable. It would be a good
idea, feels Holloway, if you could catch a performance while they're here.
HOLLOWAY: What was the reason for Keith coming in on keyboards?
WEIR: I think it happened like this. Pigpen got sick and we were about to do a tour, so we needed somebody. And just about that time, Garcia had met, and I think worked, with Keith in San Francisco.
We've always been looking for somebody, really. Pigpen's not really a virtuoso keyboard player – that's not exactly what he does with us. So Garcia suggested we give Keith a listen, and he sounded good to everybody, so we just worked him in.
It was a short notice, but he was incredibly adept. He picked up on everything fast. That was one indication of how it worked good, and another was how well he could pick up on feelings that we played.
I mean, he picked up on really minute subtle differences. Every one of us was mind blown by how well he fitted into the whole musical scene we've conglomerated over the years.
When you first started you seemed to have a hard time putting down on record what you were all about. Are you more satisfied now?
It's getting better. As we learn what we can do in a studio, we start working with the studios in mind – rather than simply playing our music. And we're finding that we play different kinds of music for different situations. At first, we didn't know that you can gear to a studio. We're learning to do that a lot more now.
Looking back, do you consider yourself involved with the San Francisco scene any more?
Well, I more or less consider myself involved with the world, musically. There's a lot of cross-fertilisation among musicians in Marin County where we live. And I guess you could call it the San Francisco scene, because the nearest big city is San Francisco and we do most of our recording there. But there's no specifically localised thing that I consider myself a part of. Just music in general, really.
How do you feel about your name being mentioned synonymously with the 1967 San Francisco scene? That's what I meant really.
Well, it's history, it's blown over. It's not a reality to me. It used to be fun. I used to feel like a part of it. It was a flash – a good scene – but it went away. We're all a lot more mature now. We're all the same people and we're still all great friends, but we were kids having a party back then. Now, we're older kids doing something that older kids do. It's different.
There's a feeling among some people that the Grateful Dead are a social phenomenon. Do you think this detracts from your music?
If they start overlooking the music and delve into the social phenomenon we seem to be, then they're off on the wrong trip. As far as our social situation is concerned, we live in a straightforward way.
We like to get a lot of people involved in what we're doing and it seems to work out. So we have a lot of people working with us who we're responsible for feeding. But at the same time, they're responsible for helping us to push forward.
As far as any philosophy is concerned, any one of us can rap for hours about the way we feel. (Garcia's particularly apt at it.). But apparently, the more you talk, the more people consider you philosophic. Then you start getting into being a social phenomenon more than a musical one. It's just that people listen to whatever they hear, and if Garcia doesn't have a guitar in his hands, he'll rap. Any one of us does that.
Do you think music's going to remain the prime factor in so many people's lives? There is so much intensity and competition.
It's getting competitive. That means you must be either original or really good to survive. It's sure Darwinism I guess. Throughout history, there has never been an excess of really top musicians at any one time. But people have got to have music. Most everybody has to have it, and here we are to give it to them.
Rather than asking: is there life after death? I think a real good question is: Is there music after death? I think a lot of people feel that way. Music represents a whole side of the human manifestation that we just can't live without. Nobody can live without it. Not even the Chinese.
Do you play many dates in a year?
Well, I'll tell you somethin'. When we got here, all the people in that big country show (the C and W festival at Wembley) were here at the hotel. And I was talking to a lot of those guys and we were talking about how many nights a year they work. I was telling them we work 50 nights a year, and they were amazed because they work 150 to 200 nights a year and more. I got the hint that they thought we were really lazy and just laying back and making money off a big name.
Then it occurred to me to ask them how long they play every night... 45 minutes. Well, we play about three hours a night, so it works out to about the same. You can't carry on to 150 or 200 nights a year while playing three or four hours a night and expect to survive.
(by Danny Holloway, from the New Musical Express, April 15, 1972)
It's taken a long time for the Dead to get themselves back over here. They probably made it more by good luck than good judgment. Their camp is as diverse and unpredictable as any under the sun – but there must be some sort of magical karma guarding them for they always seem to pull through.
The Dead have brought a large family of 43 friends with them on this visit.
And so it was hard to find a private comer at their hotel to speak to guitarist Bob Weir, writes Danny Holloway. But after settling down, we talked of Keith Godchaux, the new member, as well as the music and life of the Grateful Dead.
Reports of their London Wembley concerts have been very favourable. It would be a good
idea, feels Holloway, if you could catch a performance while they're here.
HOLLOWAY: What was the reason for Keith coming in on keyboards?
WEIR: I think it happened like this. Pigpen got sick and we were about to do a tour, so we needed somebody. And just about that time, Garcia had met, and I think worked, with Keith in San Francisco.
We've always been looking for somebody, really. Pigpen's not really a virtuoso keyboard player – that's not exactly what he does with us. So Garcia suggested we give Keith a listen, and he sounded good to everybody, so we just worked him in.
It was a short notice, but he was incredibly adept. He picked up on everything fast. That was one indication of how it worked good, and another was how well he could pick up on feelings that we played.
I mean, he picked up on really minute subtle differences. Every one of us was mind blown by how well he fitted into the whole musical scene we've conglomerated over the years.
When you first started you seemed to have a hard time putting down on record what you were all about. Are you more satisfied now?
It's getting better. As we learn what we can do in a studio, we start working with the studios in mind – rather than simply playing our music. And we're finding that we play different kinds of music for different situations. At first, we didn't know that you can gear to a studio. We're learning to do that a lot more now.
Looking back, do you consider yourself involved with the San Francisco scene any more?
Well, I more or less consider myself involved with the world, musically. There's a lot of cross-fertilisation among musicians in Marin County where we live. And I guess you could call it the San Francisco scene, because the nearest big city is San Francisco and we do most of our recording there. But there's no specifically localised thing that I consider myself a part of. Just music in general, really.
How do you feel about your name being mentioned synonymously with the 1967 San Francisco scene? That's what I meant really.
Well, it's history, it's blown over. It's not a reality to me. It used to be fun. I used to feel like a part of it. It was a flash – a good scene – but it went away. We're all a lot more mature now. We're all the same people and we're still all great friends, but we were kids having a party back then. Now, we're older kids doing something that older kids do. It's different.
There's a feeling among some people that the Grateful Dead are a social phenomenon. Do you think this detracts from your music?
If they start overlooking the music and delve into the social phenomenon we seem to be, then they're off on the wrong trip. As far as our social situation is concerned, we live in a straightforward way.
We like to get a lot of people involved in what we're doing and it seems to work out. So we have a lot of people working with us who we're responsible for feeding. But at the same time, they're responsible for helping us to push forward.
As far as any philosophy is concerned, any one of us can rap for hours about the way we feel. (Garcia's particularly apt at it.). But apparently, the more you talk, the more people consider you philosophic. Then you start getting into being a social phenomenon more than a musical one. It's just that people listen to whatever they hear, and if Garcia doesn't have a guitar in his hands, he'll rap. Any one of us does that.
Do you think music's going to remain the prime factor in so many people's lives? There is so much intensity and competition.
It's getting competitive. That means you must be either original or really good to survive. It's sure Darwinism I guess. Throughout history, there has never been an excess of really top musicians at any one time. But people have got to have music. Most everybody has to have it, and here we are to give it to them.
Rather than asking: is there life after death? I think a real good question is: Is there music after death? I think a lot of people feel that way. Music represents a whole side of the human manifestation that we just can't live without. Nobody can live without it. Not even the Chinese.
Do you play many dates in a year?
Well, I'll tell you somethin'. When we got here, all the people in that big country show (the C and W festival at Wembley) were here at the hotel. And I was talking to a lot of those guys and we were talking about how many nights a year they work. I was telling them we work 50 nights a year, and they were amazed because they work 150 to 200 nights a year and more. I got the hint that they thought we were really lazy and just laying back and making money off a big name.
Then it occurred to me to ask them how long they play every night... 45 minutes. Well, we play about three hours a night, so it works out to about the same. You can't carry on to 150 or 200 nights a year while playing three or four hours a night and expect to survive.
(by Danny Holloway, from the New Musical Express, April 15, 1972)
Sep 6, 2014
April 11, 1972: Jerry Garcia Interview
JERRY GARCIA INTERVIEW
On Tuesday 11 April, an American rock n' roll band, the Grateful Dead, played to a packed house at Newcastle City Hall. Two hours before the gig their lead guitarist Jerry Garcia talked to Muther Grumble about some of the things that have made the Dead and Garcia in particular such influential figureheads for the hippy music and social scene.
THE INTERVIEW IS UNEDITED.
(from Muther Grumble, issue 5, May 1972)
http://www.muthergrumble.co.uk/issue05/mg0523.htm
On Tuesday 11 April, an American rock n' roll band, the Grateful Dead, played to a packed house at Newcastle City Hall. Two hours before the gig their lead guitarist Jerry Garcia talked to Muther Grumble about some of the things that have made the Dead and Garcia in particular such influential figureheads for the hippy music and social scene.
THE INTERVIEW IS UNEDITED.
Muther Grumble: Jerry, in your interview with Rolling Stone magazine,
you compared music to the Void. Could we start out by talking about
that?
Jerry Garcia: Ah haa ... well, I can't really ... See I don't really
have my thoughts organised on any of this, and really any interview
I do is, is ... er ... I approach it the same way I approach music
basically, you know what I mean, it's improvisational. And I depend
on what kind of feed I get, so ... for example, if someone asks me
a question that has the potential for being very depthy then I have
that room to move around in, so to speak. If the question is lame
or shallow I'll try to make it a good question and then answer it.
It depends ... it depends on the situation but basically ... myself,
I mean in my own personal head I try not to think too much about
anything I'm doing because it's ... really, I'm geared towards doing
things rather than towards thinking about them or talking about them,
and that's kinda like the tradition that we work in ... it's basically
... get it on.
MG: And the same with the whole band?
Garcia: Right ... Exactly ... that's what sort of the Grateful Dead
energy is. It's not really intellectual particularly.
MG: How much do you feel you should be involved with the society
you're living in, that is, contributing to it?
Garcia: Well ... I don't ... there are certain kinds of social obligations
which we observe at home, for example, if there's somebody who needs
a benefit you know ... we've done benefits for the Black Panthers
at various times ... we try not to approach things on that level
if we can avoid it, because really the one thing we've really got
to offer - it's not money, it's definitely not money, it's not even
the capacity to earn money - it's the capacity to create good energy.
And that's what our real value is ... if any. Socially it'd be groovy
to tie that in on a level, well ... for example, let me give you
the example that to me was most perfect. That was about two years
ago we played in Cincinnati, Ohio and with us there helping out were
the Hog Farm. Do you know about the Hog Farm? ... right ... What
happened was we played the gig and it was incredibly high and everybody
had a real good time ... the following day the Hog Farm people with
the help of the local radio station, the FM station ... underground
radio ... organised a lot cleaning thing. What they did was they
went to a very poor part of town, found an empty lot that people
had been dumping garbage in for years and in the space of one day
they cleaned out all the garbage in there, still on the basis of that
initial energy from the concert, you know ... the good thing ...
they used the radio to describe to people what was going on, and
say we need all the help we can get, we need a couple of trucks,
you know and people came right through with it. At the end of the
day they left a playground for the kids in the neighbourhood ...
MG: The Hog Farm do that a lot.
Garcia: Right ... so that's the thing of following through with
that energy.
MG: There's a lot of spin off energy following the Dead?
Garcia: Right ... and that's the fix ... like our energy is not
topical. It doesn't make a political statement, it doesn't make a
statement concerning morals or anything like that, it's just good
energy ... and good clean energy. And if after that energy has been,
you know, flowing then it's a matter of somebody stepping in saying,
look we've got this good energy, let's move with it, let's go ahead
and do something.
MG: And you see that as your involvement in society?
Garcia: Exactly ... and that would be the best way we can relate,
but as it is we do benefits etc.
MG: You mentioned the Panthers ... I was wondering how much of young
people's involvement and affinity to black causes, how much of it
do you think relates to their music?
Garcia: I think that if they were to ... unfortunately the black
community isn't at all together in the United States, so there's
millions of diverse opinions as to what should happen, how it should
happen, so forth and so on. So there isn't anything there - for example
the middle class white kid who has a social conscience to be able
to really grab on to and help out ... really there isn't nothing
really that solid. Now, the black scene is going away from the whole
violent revolutionary trip and they're concentrating on basically
accomplishing one or two things in the community, thus gaining community
support. Which is really where it's all at anyway ... and away from
the ego trip type of ... you know what I mean, where the leaders get
to be the focus of the thing. That whole Eldridge Cleaver shakedown
and all the rest of that stuff was very unfortunate, because it took
away the focus from the causes and from the real difficulties and
put it into a personality cult situation which is really not good.
But since then the blacks, the people I know who have been Black
Panthers, black revolutionaries, Marxists and so forth, have changed
their viewpoint toward a more basic, humanistic accomplishment trip.
That's like basically ... it looks to me like it's much healthier,
because it has to do with really doing things you know, really feeding
people and so forth, rather than talking and proselytising and that
sort of thing.
MG: It's an obvious question, but how much do you think acid has
influenced this sort of thing?
Garcia: I think it's influenced a lot, just because
it's given people an opportunity to see greater ... to have a greater
conception of
the earth as a whole, for one ... and expanded consciousness is always
good. More consciousness is just what everything needs. And the more
consciousness there is, whether it's by reading or by talking or
by hearing music, or by taking dope, or whatever it is, it's good.
There can't be too much consciousness.
MG: Do you meditate or anything like that?
Garcia: I need to ... well, you know, for me, my basic, my Yoga
is music and basically I relate to my physical centre and so on through
music. What I do is basically a Yoga. It's a discipline. I think
everybody should have a discipline, it can be inward, it can be outward,
it doesn't matter. Whatever your constitution likes. It's just a
matter of having something which you can relate to and say 'this
is for me', 'this is me without anything else. This is as far as
I have gone along this particular line.' If it's doing pushups or
breathing or meditating. It's something you know. It's something
there's no bullshitting about. It's basically real and it's ... like,
having something to relate to that's basically real is always a good
thing. Every person should have something like that.
MG: Could you tell us something about the hype that often precedes
American bands coming over here. Beefheart says that ninety per cent
of what we hear about him over here is untrue ...
Garcia: Well ... nobody puts anything out about us but us. So in
terms of ... the only way I can relate to that is on the basis of
what kind of feedback we get back. In other words, when people are
talking to me as a member of the Grateful Dead, who do they think
they are talking to? That's it. So if somebody says something to
me I would say that we're about 85-90% pretty correct in terms of
what goes out about us ... it's really a lot like the way we are,
because what comes back to us from people relates to us very much
like the way we are. People who relate to us are very much the way
we are, so I think it's pretty straight, we've never had any kind
of hype. We've never had any kind of public relations people or any
of that bullshit. It's like what press we do get is on the basis
of somebody being genuinely interested. And that usually is pretty
clear.
MG: Do you use the I Ching?
Garcia: Oh sure.
MG: You use it a lot?
Garcia: Oh yeah, we depend upon the Ching.
MG: You depend upon it?
Garcia: Well, we don't depend upon it 100% but there are times when
it's nice to know an older and more reliable kind of wisdom to draw
from. And the I Ching is certainly that ... we use it pretty frequently.
MG: Do you do group things?
Garcia: Yeah. Just throw the I Ching - a different one of us will
throw the coins for each line. That sort of thing.
MG: Could we talk about the music a bit?
Garcia: Sure.
MG: How do you feel you fit in with NRPS and the Dead? How does
it compare? Does it give you greater freedom?
Garcia: Well, I'm not in the New Riders anymore. The New Riders now have
a new pedal steel player so they're completely independent.
MG: That's good.
Garcia: Right ... that's the way I feel about it. I feel that way
because I don't feel I'm that good a pedal steel player a), and b)
it's just impossible for me to divide my attention consistently and
expect to be really good at it.
MG: What about the solo album? How much did the sameness of your
rhythms etc come through? What did you do to counteract this?
Garcia: Well, the solo album is just me being a band really. I played
all the instruments and so forth and it's ... I can't really say
what it is ... You'd have to tell me what it was like because for
me it was fun. It was fun and really easy. I didn't go through a
lot of changes about it and I spent maybe three weeks at it. And
it was very easy and fun ... I wouldn't describe it as being serious,
for example.
MG: What do you think of the result?
Garcia: I think the result is pretty good for how much time and
work I put into it, which wasn't really a great deal. It flowed very
nicely. I thought that being able to approach it on that level of
me being the only performer made it really really easy in terms of
getting a good sound on each instrument and getting the kind of flow
I like to hear happening on various levels. And also it was interesting
because I wasn't relating to it on the basis of being a guitarist,
so I wasn't like ego involved with certain parts of the music since
the whole thing was me. It made it possible for me to sort of have
a central view and I learned a lot from making that record which
was part of my intention. I'm not going to follow it up with a career
or anything like that. Also one of the prime reasons for doing that
was that I borrowed a lot of money from the record company in order
to buy a house out in California, and I had no way of course to pay
it back except to make a record. That's why the record is wheel and
deal.
MG: What do you think of the house then?
Garcia: The house is beautiful you know. I've got an old lady and
kids and all that and where we're from, out Marin County there's
not many places to rent. I've been living out there for 4 years maybe,
been renting places, then somebody would buy it and kick us out.
That's been going on more or less continuously, so I thought if I
could come up with a down payment on a house, then I could just keep
on paying rent essentially, only eventually I'll own the house, or
nobody'll be able to kick me out at any rate.
MG: Mountain Girl, your wife ... how much of the Tom
Wolfe book (The Kool Aid Acid Test) was like real for you?
Garcia: Oh, very little of it. I think the Tom Wolfe book was way off centre.
I think it was way off centre and also just incorrect.
MG: It was bound to lose a lot with him not actually being there.
Garcia: Right. He wasn't actually there while it was happening for
one thing, and for another thing he's not a guy that gets high so
he couldn't really understand what it was like. He could only sort
of do his journalistic thing, and also the fact he was writing it
from the viewpoint of a writer meant he was writing it about a writer,
cause Kesey was a writer. That was his focus. But really in the scene
itself, the real focus if it was any one person was certainly Neal
Cassady. A most amazing person. And the most extroverted person was
Ken Babbs who was like really the sort of leader. And Kesey was just
the guy with the money.
I mean Kesey's a good guy ... he's very perceptive and has got a
lot of stuff happening. I'm not putting Kesey down by any means, but
in that scene I think really you had to be there you know. I don't
think it translates to a book.
MG: Like acid?
Garcia: Right, exactly, that's what it was.
MG: How close were you to Kesey at the time?
Garcia: Pretty close. We were all pretty close ... I mean we're
all still friends. Those of us who are still here. Neal of course
is dead but everybody else ... we all see each other pretty regularly
and we all do things together pretty regularly too. So that was the
other thing - the book came to an end ... you close the book and
that's the end but in reality that thing is still going on. Before
the book too, I was sorry that book wasn't written by somebody who
was there.
MG: Maybe somebody'll do it - like it's like reading a translation
of a translation.
Garcia: Exactly ... it's just a few stages further removed ... although
I think in some places it's a good book in its own.
MG: It had a very profound effect in terms of feedback.
Garcia: Right, it does because it had to, I think ... but really
I think the fact that there was LSD around and there's other things
around is the thing that makes it so the book does communicate some.
You can feel the inner spaces with your own mind.
MG: Do the band still use LSD?
Garcia: Now and again. I mean we have it pretty continually but
we don't use it in the same way that we did it in the old days ...
I mean at the Acid Tests everybody got really high on acid. Now when
we have LSD and we have it all the time ... I mean it's with us,
we don't take enough to get superstoned but enough to just to sort
of give you an edge. Really you don't play that well when you're
really high ... but you learn a lot. So it's like there are times
when it's groovy to get a real high and play because you learn a
lot, but it's not necessarily groovy to perform that way or to play
really well together.
MG: What about when all the audience is high?
Garcia: Right ... then it's like an equal thing happening, so now
when we get high for a gig we get a little high, enough to get an
edge. We smoke hash, of course, and pot.
MG: How do you get on with guys who aren't stoned when you play?
Can you sit down and jam with someone who isn't high?
Garcia: Well ... some of the guys in the band don't get high. Pigpen
doesn't get high and Bobby doesn't get high anymore either.
MG: And you still do it ...
Garcia: Sure, because the thing we do we've been doin' together for
6 or 7 years and it's definitely there ... it's there whether we're
into it or not really.
MG: I read somewhere you'd like to play with the Band. Tell me something
about that. The Band are really good in my estimation.
Garcia: Right ... really good. I love their music. I've hung out
a little with Robbie Robertson, but I don't know whether anything'll
come of all that except that we're friendly and we respect each other.
That's the thing.
MG: Is there anything you can pinpoint that you like about them?
Garcia: Yeah, I like everything about them. I love their songs.
Their songs are fantastic. Really well written and really together
and their playing is so incredibly complementary towards each other.
They're just a very good band, I think.
MG: What about England?
Garcia: I like England.
MG: English audiences?
Garcia: English audiences so far have been fantastic. It's just
like home, really. It's a Grateful Dead audience rather than an English
audience. And that's where we're most comfortable. It was surprising,
because we heard so much about English audiences being incredibly
reserved and not at all demonstrative and so forth ... all these
things, but you know as soon as we played, as soon as things started
warming up it was just like home.
MG: I guess you'll get that tonight. The whole place'll shake.
Garcia: Ah ... too much.
MG: How do you keep going for so long man, playing guitar, I mean.
I know it's good and everything?
Garcia: That's it ... I'm a music junkie.(from Muther Grumble, issue 5, May 1972)
http://www.muthergrumble.co.uk/issue05/mg0523.htm
Sep 3, 2014
March 1972: Jerry Garcia Interview
THE DEAD
Garcia stabs at the record business - 'we want to get out.'
After almost three years of broken promises, the Grateful Dead caravan is finally coming to Britain. They are due here this week for what will undoubtedly prove to be one of THE most talked-about events of this year.
Lounging backstage in a shabby dressing room three flights above the stage of a South-side New York rock hall - its dirty yellow painted walls in an advanced state of decay - Jerry Garcia, who for most people IS the Grateful Dead, rummaged about in his tangled beard and explained the reasons for the group's prolonged delay.
As he spoke, the glare of a naked light bulb - thick in dust - cut through the blue haze of aromatic Mexican incense, casting stark shadows on the wall.
"The reason why we rarely venture out of the States isn't due to what most people might think, a question of finance," Garcia began as the buzz of conversation in the crowded dressing room dropped to a minimum.
"Such is the structure of the Dead that it's difficult for us to make a decision. I mean, we don't have anyone who says, 'Next week we're all going to Europe.' It's not like that at all.
"All major decisions are bounced around from hand-to-hand like a beach ball. Eventually, it's an idea that everyone takes to or it just disappears."
At this particular junction in their career, the Dead, after a generation of just bumming around, are on the threshold of becoming an involuntary star attraction. A predicament that, in all honesty the band want to avoid.
For with good intent, the Grateful Dead are trying to de-escalate their exaltation so that they can continue to evolve at their own pace and by-pass outside pressures.
In a rather roundabout way, this has been reflected in the sparseness of their recorded output. "This is mainly because of marketing, which is the record company's trip," Garcia revealed, still exploring his facial undergrowth.
"Also, we don't want to give endless energy to companies and in doing so attract endless attention to ourselves. In reality, we could put out an album everytime we played, because we record all our gigs."
Then, by way of a rather amazing paradox, Garcia admitted that he didn't feel that any of the Dead's albums were a representative sound scrapbook of the band at the various stages in their growth.
"We've never been able to do that," said Garcia. "And the live ones are only approximations, because in reality, what we do is a very long show...much longer than an album. So I don't feel that in any spectacular way we've achieved this.
"Some of the songs are just ones we came up with for those particular albums, but which were never performed on stage. All of them were successful on some level. However, none of them were really representative of what we were actually doing at that time."
After pausing for a moment to evaluate his previous statement, he added: "I suppose you could say that the last album...you know, the live double set, was representative of what we were doing a year or so ago. But since then we're a whole different band."
Garcia then implied that perhaps one day the very best from this enormous collection of unreleased tapes might emerge in one form or another. But he refused to give any further details.
Widely acknowledged as being the epitome of a self-reliant unit, Garcia explained the ideals of one of the Dead's most ambiguous ambitions.
"We would like to be able to make music, put it out, and at the same time get out of the record business entirely - to avoid getting hung up by the business side of music. There's some other space that has yet to be created which would be sympathetic to what we want to do."
At this time, the final ideas hadn't been formulated so he wasn't able to elaborate upon this vision.
However, Garcia was only too pleased to explain why the Grateful Dead were revered as being the definitive exponents of the full spectrum of rock Americana. With a huge grin that managed to reveal itself from behind his hairy profile, he began:
"Why this has happened is because we're all from slightly different musical backgrounds, but we're all Americans and we're all Californians who come from the San Francisco bay area.
"Culturally, we can all communicate really well because we've all lived through the same events in the same area. Yet, we've all been involved in different kinds of music with which we can all interest each other.
"Just like Phil Lesh can always turn me on to something that I've never heard before, because of his musical background. It's entirely different from mine. Likewise I say, 'Hey, you've just gotta listen to this bit of country music that I've got here.'"
By the same token, the Dead don't identify with the labels attached to their name.
"We never thought of 'Workingman's Dead' or 'American Beauty' as being countrified rock albums," he confessed. "In fact, we never thought of them as being country, or rock or anything. They were just albums of original songs."
Group musicians usually involve themselves in the conception of a solo album either as a means to alleviate a gnawing frustration or to bolster an inflated ego. Jerry Garcia made his solo album for a more practical reason.
"What happened was I borrowed some money from our record company in order to buy a house, because renting a house in Marin County is one of the most difficult things to do in the whole world.
"When I borrowed the money, I told the company, 'If you want, I'll do an album for you,' and that's how I got into it.
"I just used Bill Kreutzmann on drums and played all the other instruments myself.
"Making the album was fun and very easy, to the point that I feel that I got away with something."
(by Roy Carr, from the New Musical Express, April 1, 1972)
Thanks to Uli Teute.
Garcia stabs at the record business - 'we want to get out.'
After almost three years of broken promises, the Grateful Dead caravan is finally coming to Britain. They are due here this week for what will undoubtedly prove to be one of THE most talked-about events of this year.
Lounging backstage in a shabby dressing room three flights above the stage of a South-side New York rock hall - its dirty yellow painted walls in an advanced state of decay - Jerry Garcia, who for most people IS the Grateful Dead, rummaged about in his tangled beard and explained the reasons for the group's prolonged delay.
As he spoke, the glare of a naked light bulb - thick in dust - cut through the blue haze of aromatic Mexican incense, casting stark shadows on the wall.
"The reason why we rarely venture out of the States isn't due to what most people might think, a question of finance," Garcia began as the buzz of conversation in the crowded dressing room dropped to a minimum.
"Such is the structure of the Dead that it's difficult for us to make a decision. I mean, we don't have anyone who says, 'Next week we're all going to Europe.' It's not like that at all.
"All major decisions are bounced around from hand-to-hand like a beach ball. Eventually, it's an idea that everyone takes to or it just disappears."
At this particular junction in their career, the Dead, after a generation of just bumming around, are on the threshold of becoming an involuntary star attraction. A predicament that, in all honesty the band want to avoid.
For with good intent, the Grateful Dead are trying to de-escalate their exaltation so that they can continue to evolve at their own pace and by-pass outside pressures.
In a rather roundabout way, this has been reflected in the sparseness of their recorded output. "This is mainly because of marketing, which is the record company's trip," Garcia revealed, still exploring his facial undergrowth.
"Also, we don't want to give endless energy to companies and in doing so attract endless attention to ourselves. In reality, we could put out an album everytime we played, because we record all our gigs."
Then, by way of a rather amazing paradox, Garcia admitted that he didn't feel that any of the Dead's albums were a representative sound scrapbook of the band at the various stages in their growth.
"We've never been able to do that," said Garcia. "And the live ones are only approximations, because in reality, what we do is a very long show...much longer than an album. So I don't feel that in any spectacular way we've achieved this.
"Some of the songs are just ones we came up with for those particular albums, but which were never performed on stage. All of them were successful on some level. However, none of them were really representative of what we were actually doing at that time."
After pausing for a moment to evaluate his previous statement, he added: "I suppose you could say that the last album...you know, the live double set, was representative of what we were doing a year or so ago. But since then we're a whole different band."
Garcia then implied that perhaps one day the very best from this enormous collection of unreleased tapes might emerge in one form or another. But he refused to give any further details.
Widely acknowledged as being the epitome of a self-reliant unit, Garcia explained the ideals of one of the Dead's most ambiguous ambitions.
"We would like to be able to make music, put it out, and at the same time get out of the record business entirely - to avoid getting hung up by the business side of music. There's some other space that has yet to be created which would be sympathetic to what we want to do."
At this time, the final ideas hadn't been formulated so he wasn't able to elaborate upon this vision.
However, Garcia was only too pleased to explain why the Grateful Dead were revered as being the definitive exponents of the full spectrum of rock Americana. With a huge grin that managed to reveal itself from behind his hairy profile, he began:
"Why this has happened is because we're all from slightly different musical backgrounds, but we're all Americans and we're all Californians who come from the San Francisco bay area.
"Culturally, we can all communicate really well because we've all lived through the same events in the same area. Yet, we've all been involved in different kinds of music with which we can all interest each other.
"Just like Phil Lesh can always turn me on to something that I've never heard before, because of his musical background. It's entirely different from mine. Likewise I say, 'Hey, you've just gotta listen to this bit of country music that I've got here.'"
By the same token, the Dead don't identify with the labels attached to their name.
"We never thought of 'Workingman's Dead' or 'American Beauty' as being countrified rock albums," he confessed. "In fact, we never thought of them as being country, or rock or anything. They were just albums of original songs."
Group musicians usually involve themselves in the conception of a solo album either as a means to alleviate a gnawing frustration or to bolster an inflated ego. Jerry Garcia made his solo album for a more practical reason.
"What happened was I borrowed some money from our record company in order to buy a house, because renting a house in Marin County is one of the most difficult things to do in the whole world.
"When I borrowed the money, I told the company, 'If you want, I'll do an album for you,' and that's how I got into it.
"I just used Bill Kreutzmann on drums and played all the other instruments myself.
"Making the album was fun and very easy, to the point that I feel that I got away with something."
(by Roy Carr, from the New Musical Express, April 1, 1972)
Thanks to Uli Teute.
January 1972: Jerry Garcia Interview
JERRY GARCIA: A RARE INTERVIEW
Roy Carr in New York: the problems of making the Dead NOT happen.
Jerry Garcia is on the brink of becoming a much lauded and yet reluctant celebrity, and when I confronted him backstage at the Academy of Music in New York some days ago he admitted to a distinct paranoia of being interviewed. He feels people will take more stock of his spoken word than his ability as a musician.
I therefore tried humour in a bid to break the initial ice. "I have come," I intoned, "on a big silver bird, across the mighty ocean from the electric island of fog and rain."
He smiled - lowered his protective defence - invited my goodself up to his rather bleak second floor dressing room, and there, in the company of tour manager Sam Cutler and Hooteroller Howard Wales, we enjoyed a lengthy informal chat.
Speaking for both himself and the Grateful Dead, Garcia endeavoured to explain his predicament: "As far as the Dead are concerned things are getting better and better. But at the same time they're getting worse and worse in the same direction."
"Unfortunately," he continued with a slight tinge of despair in his enthusiastic voice, "what's starting to happen in America is that the Dead are turning into a star band, and that's not what we want. That's essentially what we are desperately trying to avoid. But it's happening, so now we're faced with the problem of seeing if we can make it not happen.
"In the direction of more success there are more weird trips involved, which don't in any way help my paranoia about being interviewed. Really, it's all stuff like that I want to try and avoid. You see, people look towards me as the leader for the simple reason that I talk a lot."
Garcia then offered a strange paradox. "If it is at all possible, we want to try and avoid becoming successful in the sense of being famous. The thing that we're trying to do is de-escalate that escalation thing."
The only way to maintain any kind of equilibrium is to avoid the pitfalls that beset other bands in their exposed position, says Garcia.
"If we, as a band, can get it together enough to be able to pull that kinda thing down to a reasonable pace, and pull ourselves out of the record competition popularity contest, then we'll be satisfied," he concluded with a grin.
Garcia feels that as an individual he isn't being forced into the over-kill syndrome that plagues the like of Eric Clapton or Alvin Lee. "It's something quite different," the victim murmured.
"It's like the fact that you're interviewing me. Not because you've never heard of me, but because you have heard of me." He elaborated: "I've only agreed to do this interview because you're into what we play, and because I like you as a person as opposed to the media that you represent.
"I don't know what that means to you, but there's no other way that I can relate to it. But at the same time, when all this gets out into print somebody's going to look at it and then I'm going to have to deal with what that was.
"You see, man, it's just a complex little energy swirl that you and I are creating right now. I often wonder about it, because I have to end up relating to what I said a month ago."
Then, without pausing for breath, Garcia burst out laughing as he added, "Luckily nobody takes it quite as seriously as I think...do they?" After deliberating on that particular question, Garcia conceded that for the reader it's interesting to read about but in the end it's the music that gets them off. "They'll read an interview once or twice, but hopefully they'll play an album a lot of times."
To the observer, the Grateful Dead are the definitive American rock band, the epitome of what could loosely be termed a self-reliant unit.
Garcia agrees in principle but states, "Whatever people think about the Grateful Dead is a huge misconception and we seem to spend all our energies patching up this misconception.
"We're only self-contained to a point, because we survive on the basis that there are a lot of people willing to support our trip by coming to our concerts and buying our albums."
Garcia then went on to give a brief run-down of the internal workings on the Grateful Dead's commune. "Our scene is that the band is like a locomotive. It's not solely the financial thing because everyone connected with us works on that as well. Within our scene there are people involved in diverse and very worthwhile jobs that help contribute and make the whole thing work smoothly.
"The result, is that it allows us to do what we do and hopefully everybody gets off in some way or another. But," he emphasised, "we're not people that make a lot of money and give it all away to other people. What the Dead has got is its very own little survival unit."
Though this method of close co-existence is geared to their own specific requirements, Garcia admits that he can't offer an opinion as to whether their modus operandi could apply to other bands.
"It's just like saying, will your shoes fit somebody else? I just don't know," was his conclusion.
He offered an example. "We have these guys who do a lot of work for us like running our p.a. and it just so happens that the head of that company is Bob Matthews who is also our recording engineer. They make professional equipment and fine instruments.
"It's experimental in that it's the first of anything and as they seem to be the only people moving in that direction we're naturally trying to work in a completely compatible environment with them."
When asked how he would describe the Grateful Dead, Garcia grinned and uttered one word, "Bums."
Explaining himself, he revealed, "The Dead's whole scene was past struggling, because when we originally came together we'd already given up, we didn't really care, that was our tradition. We said, F*** it, why struggle...why do anything. F*** it all... F*** everything."
It is because of this philosophy that Garcia feels that the Dead have at their own motivation managed to plod along and still maintain their sense of purpose.
With a wink, he added, "And the great thing is that we're still getting away with it." And with that statement, the very reluctant and very involuntary celebrity picked up his guitar and ambled on stage.
(by Roy Carr, from the New Musical Express, February 5, 1972)
Thanks to Uli Teute.
Roy Carr in New York: the problems of making the Dead NOT happen.
Jerry Garcia is on the brink of becoming a much lauded and yet reluctant celebrity, and when I confronted him backstage at the Academy of Music in New York some days ago he admitted to a distinct paranoia of being interviewed. He feels people will take more stock of his spoken word than his ability as a musician.
I therefore tried humour in a bid to break the initial ice. "I have come," I intoned, "on a big silver bird, across the mighty ocean from the electric island of fog and rain."
He smiled - lowered his protective defence - invited my goodself up to his rather bleak second floor dressing room, and there, in the company of tour manager Sam Cutler and Hooteroller Howard Wales, we enjoyed a lengthy informal chat.
Speaking for both himself and the Grateful Dead, Garcia endeavoured to explain his predicament: "As far as the Dead are concerned things are getting better and better. But at the same time they're getting worse and worse in the same direction."
"Unfortunately," he continued with a slight tinge of despair in his enthusiastic voice, "what's starting to happen in America is that the Dead are turning into a star band, and that's not what we want. That's essentially what we are desperately trying to avoid. But it's happening, so now we're faced with the problem of seeing if we can make it not happen.
"In the direction of more success there are more weird trips involved, which don't in any way help my paranoia about being interviewed. Really, it's all stuff like that I want to try and avoid. You see, people look towards me as the leader for the simple reason that I talk a lot."
Garcia then offered a strange paradox. "If it is at all possible, we want to try and avoid becoming successful in the sense of being famous. The thing that we're trying to do is de-escalate that escalation thing."
The only way to maintain any kind of equilibrium is to avoid the pitfalls that beset other bands in their exposed position, says Garcia.
"If we, as a band, can get it together enough to be able to pull that kinda thing down to a reasonable pace, and pull ourselves out of the record competition popularity contest, then we'll be satisfied," he concluded with a grin.
Garcia feels that as an individual he isn't being forced into the over-kill syndrome that plagues the like of Eric Clapton or Alvin Lee. "It's something quite different," the victim murmured.
"It's like the fact that you're interviewing me. Not because you've never heard of me, but because you have heard of me." He elaborated: "I've only agreed to do this interview because you're into what we play, and because I like you as a person as opposed to the media that you represent.
"I don't know what that means to you, but there's no other way that I can relate to it. But at the same time, when all this gets out into print somebody's going to look at it and then I'm going to have to deal with what that was.
"You see, man, it's just a complex little energy swirl that you and I are creating right now. I often wonder about it, because I have to end up relating to what I said a month ago."
Then, without pausing for breath, Garcia burst out laughing as he added, "Luckily nobody takes it quite as seriously as I think...do they?" After deliberating on that particular question, Garcia conceded that for the reader it's interesting to read about but in the end it's the music that gets them off. "They'll read an interview once or twice, but hopefully they'll play an album a lot of times."
To the observer, the Grateful Dead are the definitive American rock band, the epitome of what could loosely be termed a self-reliant unit.
Garcia agrees in principle but states, "Whatever people think about the Grateful Dead is a huge misconception and we seem to spend all our energies patching up this misconception.
"We're only self-contained to a point, because we survive on the basis that there are a lot of people willing to support our trip by coming to our concerts and buying our albums."
Garcia then went on to give a brief run-down of the internal workings on the Grateful Dead's commune. "Our scene is that the band is like a locomotive. It's not solely the financial thing because everyone connected with us works on that as well. Within our scene there are people involved in diverse and very worthwhile jobs that help contribute and make the whole thing work smoothly.
"The result, is that it allows us to do what we do and hopefully everybody gets off in some way or another. But," he emphasised, "we're not people that make a lot of money and give it all away to other people. What the Dead has got is its very own little survival unit."
Though this method of close co-existence is geared to their own specific requirements, Garcia admits that he can't offer an opinion as to whether their modus operandi could apply to other bands.
"It's just like saying, will your shoes fit somebody else? I just don't know," was his conclusion.
He offered an example. "We have these guys who do a lot of work for us like running our p.a. and it just so happens that the head of that company is Bob Matthews who is also our recording engineer. They make professional equipment and fine instruments.
"It's experimental in that it's the first of anything and as they seem to be the only people moving in that direction we're naturally trying to work in a completely compatible environment with them."
When asked how he would describe the Grateful Dead, Garcia grinned and uttered one word, "Bums."
Explaining himself, he revealed, "The Dead's whole scene was past struggling, because when we originally came together we'd already given up, we didn't really care, that was our tradition. We said, F*** it, why struggle...why do anything. F*** it all... F*** everything."
It is because of this philosophy that Garcia feels that the Dead have at their own motivation managed to plod along and still maintain their sense of purpose.
With a wink, he added, "And the great thing is that we're still getting away with it." And with that statement, the very reluctant and very involuntary celebrity picked up his guitar and ambled on stage.
(by Roy Carr, from the New Musical Express, February 5, 1972)
Thanks to Uli Teute.
Sep 2, 2014
March 21-28, 1972: Academy of Music, NYC
ONE FULL WEEK RUNNING WITH: GRATEFUL DEAD
The Dead played seven nights with one night off; Saturday was their benefit for the New York Hell's Angels. Then they played as backup band for Bo Diddley, ranged in a grinning line behind Big Bo's black silk bulk, the best band he's ever likely to play with. It was party night, and their own set was loose, nothing too strenuous. The first night and the last were the musical high points, but Sandy Alexander, president of the New York chapter of the Hell's Angels, was ecstatic, and why not, indeed? He'd come with his brothers from 3rd Street and all over the USA, riding shotgun to the Angels stagecoach on their gas buffalos. They pulled up to the curb on 14th Street in a ragged but impressive line (what else can you expect in Saturday night traffic - 'The Wild One?') and after they'd all been filmed by Geraldo's Hipnews Concession, the Grateful Dead their old buddies went and threw a monster of a party for them. What a fuckin' night!!!
As the boogie progressed, tasty party mayo splashed all over the green leafy stuff - hard cash for bail money, spark plugs, chrome polish, and all the other expenses of high style Angel living. The Breed never showed up (luckily for them), and the party was cool. No Rolling Stones to slide that little extra manic hysteria in there; no Altamont, no stabbings, just party time, everyone awash in a frothing sea of vile foamy liquids, innocent but potent macrobiotic cookies, weed by the ton, coke by the ounce, speed by the pint, Boone's Farm strawberry wine...
"Let's get it on for the Hell's Angels of the USA!" yelled Bob Weir into the mike, and while some more impressionable brothers almost swooned away from sheer excitement, the band launched into their first number - "How sweet it is, to be loved by you..."
WATCH OUT FOR THE FUNNY-LOOKING JUG, they had told me by way of warning, but the intrepid drugger in me took over, and in the twinkle of an eye, while the Dead launched into their best-ever "Dark Star" (this being Tuesday night, the last show), a jabbering circle of groupies, writers, chemists, and Angels dissolved into misty dayglo abstracts to the festive tinkle of discarded nitrous oxide cylinders plinking onto the floorboards like so many spent shellcases. If only it had been like this at Verdun; it probably was like this at Da Nang. Is that really an unhorsed knight I see lumbering ducklike in fetid armor? A plastic toy cowboy horseman minus steed? A Viking lost in a time warp? A Roman slave-master? Why, no, nothing of the kind; it's just an out-of-town Angel reeling away from his turn at the hose, playing walking custard pie.
Why is Jerry always off on the sidelines, grinning that hairy grin?
Tuesday night again; two Bronx groupies bump and grind their way past the demure ladies of the Dead tribe, like cheap hookers in a free-school communal dining room. One of the velvet cutie-pies washes Bob Weir in a flood of garlic from a yellow maw, and confides that she used to be a topless dancer (and worked her way up?). Weir says "far out." Just another little vignette of the road, another mote in the old sunbeam. Why is that hairy man grinning?
Tuesday night the Dead played the best set I have ever heard, every note in place, every opportunity for improvisation taken. "Trucking" slid into one of Weir's new high-power country rockers, loaded with melody and texture and sweet sliding riffs; that boy has finally learned to sing, with a vengeance. The Pig rendered sweeping blues, blowing everything from his tiny emaciated frame down into his wailing harp. Jerry took the lead on "You Win Again" from way back, and then it was time for some sensuous pyrotechnics with "Mister Charlie." "Brokendown Palace" followed, back in the sweet groove, then "Cumberland Mine" with a rip-roaring extension, another new Weir number, "Big Railroad Blues" slamming down the track almost like Casey's train, "El Paso" like Marty Robbins 10 years on and out, a magnificent collage of pieces from "Anthem of the Sun," "I Know You Rider," and then, to top it all off with a true blast of sheer power, "Casey Jones," roaring the first set to a close. Thunder and lightning could do no more.
By the time they were done with "Wharf Rat," "Dark Star," "Sugaree," "Playing in the Band," "Not Fade Away," "Going Down the Road," and "Saturday Night," several thousand delirious people had entered orbit - and we're back where we started. As usual the second set was much, much heavier than the first, and Tuesday night the boys in the band were on the ball as never before in my five years of Dead experience.
Sitting hunched over on an empty speaker case while the Academy crew sweated to comply to the strenuous demands of the Dead crew seeking perfection (that's the name of the game, all the way from self-management to guitar strings), Jerry Garcia pulled on an only-the-tops-special, relaxing before the serious stuff started that first night. "It's really far out, just too fuckin' neat, man," he said with that same huge grin, "I mean, we've only just started gettin' into what we can do. There's no limit...and we're all feelin' good." Now, ain't that good news?
(by Patrick Carr, from Grapevine (Toronto), May 17, 1972)
Thanks to jgmf.blogspot.com
DICK'S PICKS 30.
This could be a reprint of Carr's article from the 4/6/72 Village Voice, "Why Is That Hairy Man Grinning?"
I haven't seen that, so can't be sure.
This was a review Carr wrote of the 12/7/71 Felt Forum show:
http://deadsources.blogspot.com/2013/06/december-7-1971-felt-forum-nyc.html
The Dead played seven nights with one night off; Saturday was their benefit for the New York Hell's Angels. Then they played as backup band for Bo Diddley, ranged in a grinning line behind Big Bo's black silk bulk, the best band he's ever likely to play with. It was party night, and their own set was loose, nothing too strenuous. The first night and the last were the musical high points, but Sandy Alexander, president of the New York chapter of the Hell's Angels, was ecstatic, and why not, indeed? He'd come with his brothers from 3rd Street and all over the USA, riding shotgun to the Angels stagecoach on their gas buffalos. They pulled up to the curb on 14th Street in a ragged but impressive line (what else can you expect in Saturday night traffic - 'The Wild One?') and after they'd all been filmed by Geraldo's Hipnews Concession, the Grateful Dead their old buddies went and threw a monster of a party for them. What a fuckin' night!!!
As the boogie progressed, tasty party mayo splashed all over the green leafy stuff - hard cash for bail money, spark plugs, chrome polish, and all the other expenses of high style Angel living. The Breed never showed up (luckily for them), and the party was cool. No Rolling Stones to slide that little extra manic hysteria in there; no Altamont, no stabbings, just party time, everyone awash in a frothing sea of vile foamy liquids, innocent but potent macrobiotic cookies, weed by the ton, coke by the ounce, speed by the pint, Boone's Farm strawberry wine...
"Let's get it on for the Hell's Angels of the USA!" yelled Bob Weir into the mike, and while some more impressionable brothers almost swooned away from sheer excitement, the band launched into their first number - "How sweet it is, to be loved by you..."
WATCH OUT FOR THE FUNNY-LOOKING JUG, they had told me by way of warning, but the intrepid drugger in me took over, and in the twinkle of an eye, while the Dead launched into their best-ever "Dark Star" (this being Tuesday night, the last show), a jabbering circle of groupies, writers, chemists, and Angels dissolved into misty dayglo abstracts to the festive tinkle of discarded nitrous oxide cylinders plinking onto the floorboards like so many spent shellcases. If only it had been like this at Verdun; it probably was like this at Da Nang. Is that really an unhorsed knight I see lumbering ducklike in fetid armor? A plastic toy cowboy horseman minus steed? A Viking lost in a time warp? A Roman slave-master? Why, no, nothing of the kind; it's just an out-of-town Angel reeling away from his turn at the hose, playing walking custard pie.
Why is Jerry always off on the sidelines, grinning that hairy grin?
Tuesday night again; two Bronx groupies bump and grind their way past the demure ladies of the Dead tribe, like cheap hookers in a free-school communal dining room. One of the velvet cutie-pies washes Bob Weir in a flood of garlic from a yellow maw, and confides that she used to be a topless dancer (and worked her way up?). Weir says "far out." Just another little vignette of the road, another mote in the old sunbeam. Why is that hairy man grinning?
Tuesday night the Dead played the best set I have ever heard, every note in place, every opportunity for improvisation taken. "Trucking" slid into one of Weir's new high-power country rockers, loaded with melody and texture and sweet sliding riffs; that boy has finally learned to sing, with a vengeance. The Pig rendered sweeping blues, blowing everything from his tiny emaciated frame down into his wailing harp. Jerry took the lead on "You Win Again" from way back, and then it was time for some sensuous pyrotechnics with "Mister Charlie." "Brokendown Palace" followed, back in the sweet groove, then "Cumberland Mine" with a rip-roaring extension, another new Weir number, "Big Railroad Blues" slamming down the track almost like Casey's train, "El Paso" like Marty Robbins 10 years on and out, a magnificent collage of pieces from "Anthem of the Sun," "I Know You Rider," and then, to top it all off with a true blast of sheer power, "Casey Jones," roaring the first set to a close. Thunder and lightning could do no more.
By the time they were done with "Wharf Rat," "Dark Star," "Sugaree," "Playing in the Band," "Not Fade Away," "Going Down the Road," and "Saturday Night," several thousand delirious people had entered orbit - and we're back where we started. As usual the second set was much, much heavier than the first, and Tuesday night the boys in the band were on the ball as never before in my five years of Dead experience.
Sitting hunched over on an empty speaker case while the Academy crew sweated to comply to the strenuous demands of the Dead crew seeking perfection (that's the name of the game, all the way from self-management to guitar strings), Jerry Garcia pulled on an only-the-tops-special, relaxing before the serious stuff started that first night. "It's really far out, just too fuckin' neat, man," he said with that same huge grin, "I mean, we've only just started gettin' into what we can do. There's no limit...and we're all feelin' good." Now, ain't that good news?
(by Patrick Carr, from Grapevine (Toronto), May 17, 1972)
Thanks to jgmf.blogspot.com
DICK'S PICKS 30.
This could be a reprint of Carr's article from the 4/6/72 Village Voice, "Why Is That Hairy Man Grinning?"
I haven't seen that, so can't be sure.
This was a review Carr wrote of the 12/7/71 Felt Forum show:
http://deadsources.blogspot.com/2013/06/december-7-1971-felt-forum-nyc.html
September 19, 1972: Dylan Stalks the Dead
BY THE CHICKEN WIRE, DYLAN STALKS THE DEAD
“He’s crazy. He’s out of his mind, just like everyone that’s
stinkin’ rich,” observed one individual of sound mind and limb. “How’re ya doin’?”
a shaggy “bum freelance artist” called Doreen asks him. He replies “not too
bad,” then disappears into a maze of scaffolding above which the Grateful Dead
are braving the savage elements of a sudden fall night in New Jersey and
playing “Playing in the Band” for the upteenth time this year (apparently with
no great enthusiasm; maybe it’s the rain, but it sounds turgid anyway).
I permit myself the question: what is Bob Dylan doing,
picking his way around under there in the dark, wearing a pair of shades? His
movements lend no clue; he isn’t taking a piss, he’s not checking for explosive
devices, he can’t be holding a private conversation because he’s completely
alone, and he certainly isn’t shooting up. Jesus, maybe that’s the kind of
thing he has to do just to be alone – and even then it’s futile because I’ve
seen him in there and have chosen to acquaint several other mythology-suckers
with his movements because coming within clutching distance of Bob Dylan for
the first time compares favorably with the experience of chomping the Eucharist
to pulp and finding that it doesn’t in fact bleed all over your molars and send
you falling right into the horny old lap of the Prince of Darkness. It is
simply the ultimate thrill of its kind. Why, you could keep a whole commune
happy for months with a story like that and get out of doing chores to boot –
but you could play footsie with John and Yoko for a month, only to find that
you’d send everybody to sleep with the telling of it and run up against some
jerk who’d seen it all six times on the Dick Cavett show anyway.
Very counter-revolutionary stuff, this, very uncool – but
then everyone’s in Show Business including me and Bobby McZ, and I can only
hope that nobody is terminally offended by my lack of taste regarding the
publicity paranoia associated with personal appearances of Dylan.
So what is Dylan doing here with Dave Bromberg at Roosevelt
Stadium, Jersey City,
on this foul night? The Dead have announced “surprise guests”; all week rumors
have been mounting up to the point where even the promoters (especially the
promoters) have hinted in no uncertain terms that the Jam to end All Jams is
about to take place right here and now, or maybe (perhaps) in a couple of hours
(or more).
We wait. Nothing happens. The Dead play three or four sets
at low energy level and naturally everybody bounces as they always do as soon
as God’s gifts to the counterculture haul their denim onstage. The general
scene is verging toward the big A on our handy Altamoodstock Vibrometer ($3.96
from Kimney Leisure), but of course once you get past the pig-versus-rat
manglings at the front gate, the Dead’s influence is felt; those who aren’t
actually ecstatic are at least torpid, therefore no threat to anyone.
New Jersey
offers a colloquial variant on the classic rock ‘n’ roll conversation: “Hey
man, you got anything for the head?” No man, but I got a great Dylan story and
some far-out Grateful Dead quotes.
“Why don’t we play anyplace in New York?” says Phil Lesh the bass-player
who’s always grinning. “Because New
York sucks, that’s why. There’s no place decent to
play there.” Roosevelt Stadium is Valhalla by
Path? Why is it that the image of a rancid hot dog keeps recurring in my rock
‘n’ roll venue recollections? OK, Phil, what about this rumor about you and the
band doing an album with Dylan?
“The marshal? I never met the guy, wouldn’t know him if he
was right here in front of me.” By one of those quirks of circumstance that
curl a writer’s toes, Dylan the singer/songwriter is, in fact, running the
gauntlet of bloody-minded Deadmen who wait by what passes as a stage door not
10 feet from where Lesh is holding forth. “Hold it. Where do you think you’re
goin’?” challenges the spokesman at the pair with a practiced snarl. Dylan just
looks at him and laughs. Unaware, Lesh continues, “What can I say if Bob Dylan
doesn’t want to make an album with me? Guess I’ll just have to bow out!” No
sign from Dylan; he moves to an unobtrusive spot at the side of the stage,
secures his black Stetson against the howling wind, and stands there looking
like any young hobo in shades.
Nobody bothers him. This is Backstage, behind the reinforced
chicken wire where only groupies and holders of the magic pass roam free – and
little Bob Dylan is somehow completely unapproachable. Can you imagine getting
snubbed by Dylan?
Nothing happens. The biggest East Coast rock concert of the
year (23,000 gate) draws to a conclusion with Grateful Dead pyrotechnics (the
burning kind), easy music, and the greatest concentration of cowboy shirts ever
seen in Jersey City.
Many leave early, and this plus the wind and rain is offered as the reason why
the expected performance never materializes. On the way out to the freeway, my
beloved Earth Shoe inadvertently inserts itself into a broken Boone’s Farm
bottle. It smashes on the concrete; my shoe is cut up.
“A reviewer falls off the press bus and all of a sudden the
whole trip stinks, right?” said Shep Gordon – Alice Cooper’s gentlemanly
manager – on the occasion of a discussion between him and me following some of
my published remarks about a certain rock press/Alice Cooper event. Damn right,
Shep – but what was the bottle doing there in the first place? (Gotta have
lackeys to take care of these things….can’t just lay on the hot dogs.)
Alice Cooper – everyone’s getting in on the action. The New
York Times wonders why Alice
appeals to the teens, rhetorically of course (it’s because they’re jaded). So
how come 23,000 teens turn up for a Grateful Dead concert in the rain? What
does that do to your thirst-for-decadence theory? From close recent observation,
it seems that the Dead don’t go in for their old socko mind-fuckers anymore,
but they draw more than they ever did. Hmmm. But then the word is out (in those
very same Times pages) that the Big Thing is melody and sophisticated lyrical
treatments. Hmmm. Gee, those kids sure are puzzling. We’re all headed for
Broadway; let’s do this thing right. That’s it, Broadway’s the place to be…
In Jersey City,
we reach the freeway. A real hip guy in a tooled-up Chevy just like the one
James Taylor fondled all the way through “Two-Lane Blacktop” leans out his
window. “Anythin’ fer the head, man?”
No, man, but I got some great Buddy Miles stories and a
whole lotta love…
(by Patrick Carr, from the “Cheap Thrills” column, Village
Voice, September 28, 1972)
Sep 1, 2014
December 1972: The Dead & Dylan
RANDOM NOTES
We had a chance to yak with Jerry Garcia for a few minutes the other morning at City Hall, where he was waiting for the trial on a three-year-old lawsuit to begin. (The Dead were being sued by Pacific Recorders for about $125,000; Pacific had given them a discount in exchange for credit on the Aoxomoxoa album; the Dead had not given credit, claiming inadequate mixing facilities drove them elsewhere to finish the album.) The suit was later settled for $14,000.
Anyway, we asked Jerry about all those New York rumors about the band meeting with Dylan, maybe playing and recording with him later. "No," Jerry said. "I think he wants to get out of the music world. He says he doesn't think it's right to go pick on a stage and get paid for it.
"You gotta remember, too, he's in a house now with five kids in it, has no time to write, no solitude." When Dylan showed up at Dead shows in New York, Jerry said, "We just sat around and talked and picked. And with Sir Doug he didn't have to do a Bob Dylan trip. But with us - well, we're on two different coasts, so there's that problem of adjusting to each other's schedules. Anyway, he's into movies."
Couple days later, Garcia was on the witness stand patiently explaining to His Honor the advantages of 16-track recording over eight-track, and how Aoxomoxoa was made and mixed. The judge later complimented all the witnesses, Dead manager John McIntire said. "Especially Jerry."
(from Rolling Stone, December 7, 1972)
We had a chance to yak with Jerry Garcia for a few minutes the other morning at City Hall, where he was waiting for the trial on a three-year-old lawsuit to begin. (The Dead were being sued by Pacific Recorders for about $125,000; Pacific had given them a discount in exchange for credit on the Aoxomoxoa album; the Dead had not given credit, claiming inadequate mixing facilities drove them elsewhere to finish the album.) The suit was later settled for $14,000.
Anyway, we asked Jerry about all those New York rumors about the band meeting with Dylan, maybe playing and recording with him later. "No," Jerry said. "I think he wants to get out of the music world. He says he doesn't think it's right to go pick on a stage and get paid for it.
"You gotta remember, too, he's in a house now with five kids in it, has no time to write, no solitude." When Dylan showed up at Dead shows in New York, Jerry said, "We just sat around and talked and picked. And with Sir Doug he didn't have to do a Bob Dylan trip. But with us - well, we're on two different coasts, so there's that problem of adjusting to each other's schedules. Anyway, he's into movies."
Couple days later, Garcia was on the witness stand patiently explaining to His Honor the advantages of 16-track recording over eight-track, and how Aoxomoxoa was made and mixed. The judge later complimented all the witnesses, Dead manager John McIntire said. "Especially Jerry."
(from Rolling Stone, December 7, 1972)
July 1969: Grateful Dead Sued By Studio
GRATEFUL DEAD UNGRATEFUL; SUED
For want of a few words on the back of their latest album cover, the Grateful Dead have been slapped with a suit for $120,750. A suit was filed last week by Pacific Recording, the San Mateo studios where the Dead made and mixed Aoxomoxoa. According to Paul Curcio, owner of Pacific, an "oral agreement" had been made with the Dead that he would give the band a 20 percent discount off studio fees if Pacific Recording got a credit on the LP jacket.
The band then racked up some 500 hours of studio time, including use of remote equipment and 8- and 16-track machines, over a six-month period. When the album finally came out: no Pacific mention. Curcio is suing the band for $20,750 - the amount of the discount - plus $100,000 damages.
He claims that the Dead left the credit off deliberately. Rock Scully, manager of the Dead, couldn't agree more. "Things got so bad with Curcio that we decided not to give him credit, and just gave credit to our engineer (Ron Wickersham of Pacific) and our musicians. Like all the wind for the album came from the Grateful Dead, and all the technical stuff came from Ron, who built and wired the studio and is like the mind of the place."
After Warner Brothers gave the Dead an ultimatum to finish up studio work, Scully said, the Dead returned to Pacific one Monday and "Boom! Over the weekend Curcio'd had the board ripped out from under us."
The Dead finished up at San Francisco's Pacific High Recording studios. They've now furnished Warner Brothers with tapes for two live albums in addition to Aoxomoxoa, along with more than $100,000 of bills.
Scully claims that "no real promise" was ever made for crediting Curcio's studios in the album. Curcio, however, says the oral understanding was made "between the band, their management and their attorney and myself and my attorney."
(from Rolling Stone, July 26, 1969)
For want of a few words on the back of their latest album cover, the Grateful Dead have been slapped with a suit for $120,750. A suit was filed last week by Pacific Recording, the San Mateo studios where the Dead made and mixed Aoxomoxoa. According to Paul Curcio, owner of Pacific, an "oral agreement" had been made with the Dead that he would give the band a 20 percent discount off studio fees if Pacific Recording got a credit on the LP jacket.
The band then racked up some 500 hours of studio time, including use of remote equipment and 8- and 16-track machines, over a six-month period. When the album finally came out: no Pacific mention. Curcio is suing the band for $20,750 - the amount of the discount - plus $100,000 damages.
He claims that the Dead left the credit off deliberately. Rock Scully, manager of the Dead, couldn't agree more. "Things got so bad with Curcio that we decided not to give him credit, and just gave credit to our engineer (Ron Wickersham of Pacific) and our musicians. Like all the wind for the album came from the Grateful Dead, and all the technical stuff came from Ron, who built and wired the studio and is like the mind of the place."
After Warner Brothers gave the Dead an ultimatum to finish up studio work, Scully said, the Dead returned to Pacific one Monday and "Boom! Over the weekend Curcio'd had the board ripped out from under us."
The Dead finished up at San Francisco's Pacific High Recording studios. They've now furnished Warner Brothers with tapes for two live albums in addition to Aoxomoxoa, along with more than $100,000 of bills.
Scully claims that "no real promise" was ever made for crediting Curcio's studios in the album. Curcio, however, says the oral understanding was made "between the band, their management and their attorney and myself and my attorney."
(from Rolling Stone, July 26, 1969)
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