hirsute heroics

A Monday morning moment of zen, courtesy of an old NYT article (on a free Airplane/Butterfield/Dead show in NYC's Central Park on 5/5/68) that I dug up at lightintoashes' behest.

The other chuckle is that many of the hippies in attendance were apparently throwing "lollipops" onstage to show their appreciation.  Crazy kids.

Kifner, John.  "6,000 in Park Rock to West Coast Sound."  The New York Times, 6 May 1968.  Web.

In hirsute pursuit of virtuosity: at Columbia two days earlier; courtesy Rosie McGee

it's my bee collection!

You know you're a deadhead when an off-beat article about a strange joke reminds you first of Bob Weir:
http://www.nytimes.com/2016/02/14/magazine/letter-of-recommendation-the-beekeeper-joke.html

As cringe-worthy as they are, I always appreciated when Weir was willing to fill some space onstage with a joke.  He would sometimes affect an ironic tone -- "ok, I guess someone's gotta be Mr. Show Biz right now" -- but just as often as not, it comes across more like a weird dude telling an awkward joke to fill some uncomfortable space.  Of course, intended or not, his jokes probably elicited as many blank stares as they did chuckles or groans.  Weir may have been joking more for the benefit of his bandmates than for his audience, but that doesn't matter -- in my mind, it makes them even better, given the context of a rock star resorting to tell a joke to cover for time in front of a large, expectant audience.

Even in print, the guy in the article tells the bee collection joke better than Bob did (I think, in Bob's version, the bees are in a box), but the effect is still the same.  Might one make the leap to say that much like this joke, the Dead's music sometimes undercuts, subverts expectations, leads us along expected paths into something unfamiliar, expresses the inconsistencies of the heart so succinctly that laughter fades into reflection?  Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke?  Fuck 'em, it's just a hobby.

the gospel of unlimited possibilities

Worth a read:

"Ornette Coleman's Time," Rolling Stone 547, Mar 9, 1989.

http://www.rollingstone.com/music/features/ornette-colemans-time-19890309

"[It's music for] people who can dig that there is more than one possibility. That's what Ornette always represented to me. No matter what direction you go in, there's always going to be other possibilities."  -Jerry Garcia

"I started going to church and taking the horn.  Have you ever gone to church and heard somebody who don't know how to sing at all?  Yet it sounds so beautiful.  The church was singing, and sometimes they would be singing in the key of Z!  Meanwhile, I'm playing with them.  And I thought, 'If I'm able to do this now, why can't I play like this outside?'"  -Ornette Coleman

mistakes as style

While listening to both Miles Davis (Miles Smiles) and the JGB (10/11/75) yesterday, I was thinking about this great quote.  

"The higher up you go, the more mistakes you are allowed. Right at the top, if you make enough of them, it's considered to be your style."

-Fred Astaire (not sure of the source; I found it at the NPR Writers Almanac)

In spite of the astonishing facility of the musicians, Miles Smiles has its share of fluffs and mistakes.  Davis accepted them in the name of capturing freshness and spontaneity and that willingness to fuck up became one of the stylistic hallmarks of that band, who are arguably one of the great improvising ensembles of all time.  Garcia, well, he might have made the occasional mistake himself, and often for the same reasons.  When we hear those mistakes and respond positively to them, though, how much of that response is conditioned by our blind devotion and how much is more of a response to his style?  (to be fair, that 75 show wasn't remotely as inspiring as Miles Smiles, but, well, anyway).  

I like the ambiguity of what Fred Astaire is saying, too.  Are the mistakes overlooked and accepted because of the artist's greatness or because of the artist's persistence and longevity?

amazingly uncute

Hi there!  It's been, oh, a year and a half, but what's a few months between friends, right?  I had some thoughts percolating and figured I'd give this blog another shot.

Really, though, I just came across this little jewel and figured it was the ideal excuse to get this mother rolling again: an interview (via jerrygarciasbrokendownpalaces) about the Dead's involvement with the Rainforest Action Network in 1988 that resulted in, among other things, the extremely short lived but still mind-boggling pairing of the Dead with Hall & Oates.  Then, just when you thought things couldn't get worse, Jerry's got to go and start hating on tree sloths.  Tree sloths!

"The rainforest's animals aren't that cute, like a three-toed sloth -- an amazingly uncute animal. They're real slow. They have homely faces and they don't look like much. Orangutans are pretty cute and there are some rainforests that have orangs in them. That's part of it. Part of it is that we have to get off this thing of cute. We have to develop other biases."

Ouch.  I mean, of course he's got the right idea and all, but still, ouch.

Play St. Stephen!

 Right.  So.  Good to be back!