August 4, 2022 • 30 mins
Against doctor’s orders, Ron “Pigpen” McKernan hit the road one more time with the Grateful Dead. The band’s 1972 tour of Europe is legendary. But at the time, Pigpen was just trying to stay above ground. You could hear it in his voice when he took the mic onstage. Close your eyes and his voice was a window into the past. But listen closer, and you’d hear something else. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. A distance. Some pain. Truth was, Pigpen was on borrowed time.
Sources:
A Long Strange Trip: The Inside Story of the Grateful Dead, by Dennis McNally
Searching for the Sound, by Phil Lesh
Grateful Dead live at Chateau D’Herouville, France, 6/6/1971 (YouTube)
Château d'Hérouville: The Castle Studio Where Bowie, Elton, and Pink Floyd Recorded (Reverb)
June 21, 1971: Herouville, France (Dead Sources)
Grateful Dead at the The Honky Chateau (06-21-71) (Holiday at the Sea)
Grateful Dead live at the Fillmore East, 4/28/1971
April 1972: Weir & Pigpen Interview (Dead Sources)
Donna Jean Godchaux interview (YouTube)
The Lasting Impact, and Sudden Death, of the Grateful Dead's Keith Godchaux (Ultimate Classic Rock)
Enter Keith Godchaux (Dead.net)
Donna Jean MacKay 3/28/98 (Levity)
Grateful Dead live at the Boston Music Hall, 12/2/1971
April 1972: Weir & Pigpen Interview (Dead Sources)
Grateful Dead live at the Hollywood Bowl, 6/17/1972
Mother McCree’s Uptown Jug Champions - Top of the Tangent (1964) (The Savage Saints)
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Okay. Double Elvis The Club is a production of I
(00:09):
Heart Radio and Double Elvis. Ron Pigpen McKernan died at
the age of seven, and he lived a life that
was never intended to last for long. I can give
you twenty seven reasons why that statement is true. Seven
would be the number of minutes he would masterfully grawl
(00:30):
out Otis Redding's Hard to Handle on his first trip
to Europe, all while feeling a nagging, profound pain. Another
three would be the number of weeks he would spend
in a hospital bed upon returning from that trip. Seven
more for the number of weeks after that hospitalization that
he'd once again hit the road against doctor's orders. Another
(00:51):
two would be the number of months he would travel
the European countryside while his body began to make it
clear to him that it wasn't built to last. And
eight would be the number of months he had left
to live after pig Pen played his final show at
the Hollywood Bowl in June of ninety two. All totally
on this our ninth episode of season five, Profound Paint,
(01:15):
ignoring doctor's orders, traveling the European countryside, and Ron Pigpen
mccernin 'm Jake Brennan and this is the seven Club Ron.
(02:12):
Pigpen mccernin hung on to the microphone stand. His hat
was pulled low over his eyes, long go tee, scruffier
than normal. His leather jacket was his worn and road
tested as its owner. His legs were weak. It looked
like the microphone stand was necessary to combat gravity. Gravity
was winning. Pig had spent most of this particular trip
(02:34):
in his bedroom. An overwhelming feeling of fatigue and plagued
him since the Grateful Dead landed in France and the
confines of Chateau de Ville, the palatial estate where the
band had taken up presidence, suited him better than any
excursion into town. Not that he wouldn't have liked to
hit the local pub or taken the forty minute drive
down Old Paris, but he felt like ship could barely
(02:55):
drink anymore anyways, the eighteen century chateau, had they been
converted into a recording studio, it would soon be the
site where Elton John made hockey Chateau, David Bowie recorded
Low and the Bgs conceived Saturday Night Fever. But even now,
in June of Ninete It already felt like the decadent
(03:15):
playground that catered to the whims of rock star seeking luxury.
But as the rest of the dead were enjoying games
of tennis, swims in the pool, and good French wine
on the grounds of the two thirty year old property,
pig Pen opted for the comfort of patio furniture and
French cigarettes. His weight loss started to become noticeable, and
while pig would never be accused of having a healthier,
(03:37):
well maintained complexion, his skin was now a wider shade
of pean. But here he was back at the microphone,
a literal support system, the only thing that made any
sense to him anymore. The grateful dead had made the
trek across the Atlantic for a three day festival in France,
but the weather conspired against them and poured The festival
(03:59):
was rained. The dead didn't come all this way for nothing, though,
and so they decided to host a party at the
Shots Out. Pig Pen noticed that the crowd had assembled
inside was different than most crowds. It wasn't like the
place was filled with French speaking deadheads. The population of
the small village had gathered around the large pool and
foreigners to both the band and the music they were playing.
(04:22):
But the vibes were right. The all it took was
a little booze, a little music, and a few buckets
of electric kool aid circulating through the crowd. Things were
starting to heat up as the band kicked into a
cover of Otis Redding's Hard to Handle and Pigs stood
still as a statue at the mic stand. The opening
guitar lick hit him right in the stomach, and Billy
(04:43):
snare and kick rattled the rest of them. Just like that. Sickness,
the weakness, it all started to dissipate. The tension was
partially released as Pigs started to float above the music.
He belt it out the first verse, his voice noticeably weakened.
Something was building on the stage and inside Pig. It's
(05:03):
hard to feel weak and weary with the immac of
the Engine of the Dead running so powerfully behind him.
It bent through up his hand as the chorus started
and he started to feel something he hadn't felt in
a while. He felt good. The Pig closed his eyes
and everything fell away, if only for a few minutes.
He began to shake his head and roll his shoulders around,
(05:25):
and there'd be no outrageous dance moves, and they're being
no voluptuous summons made to the audience. But Pig was
there as he had always been behind the mic, growling
out some down in dirty tunes with an authenticity that
was unmatched by anyone else in the group. He went
inward as the music took him somewhere else, and the
scene felt like some sort of fever dream. It was
(05:46):
midsummer in northern France, on a historical state where it
was rumored the composer Frederick Chopin and once conducted a
scandalous love affair, playing to a crowd with no other
intention to feel and dig. The music and the energy
was fresh. It almost felt like the early days in
San Francisco, six years in the past and six miles away.
(06:07):
Whether it was the acid of the wine, the warm
summer breeze, there was something special happening, something magical, But
it was not San Francisco. The band had been battle
tested by hard years on the road, shady business dealings
that had ultimately caused the recent departure of Mickey Heart,
a shroud of death both family and close friends, and
though all original members were still standing, they were not
(06:29):
the same group, and this was not the same pig Pen.
As the last chords of Hard to Handle'll rang out,
pig faded to the rear of the deads and promptu
stage and picked up the tambourine. His energy was spent,
and that's where we stood for the rest of the set,
serving little real purpose, just keeping time. It was pig
(06:50):
keeping time or timing out. The Dead wrapped up the
show and jetted back to the States. Were The success
of the previous year's reviouses American Beauty and Working Man's Dead,
as well as their reputation as a live action made
the Mahawk commodity on the constant circuit. On top of that,
they finally began to make some real money. So the
engine and touring kept on turning, and pig Pen was
(07:12):
leaning back into one of his original roles, the Dead. Suddenly,
a skeleton crew of just five members relied on him
to play keys throughout the show every night, and the
Dead weren't just easing back into a full slate. They
were diving back into the typical four or five gigs
a week. But after just a few weeks, pig Pen
began to run out of gas At a show in
(07:33):
New York, Pigpen felt an intense pain shoot through his stomach,
a pain that was exponentially worse than anything he had
ever felt before. Sure, touring and travel were intense, but
Pigpen had been careful earlier that year, thanks to the
concern of Jerry Garcia and the rest of the Grateful Dead,
Pigpen hit a clinic and found a way, against all odds,
(07:54):
to kick his drinking habit almost completely. The booze, which
have been a part of Pigpen's whole vibes since the
very beginning, was suddenly no longer central to his life.
He started eating healthier, started taking care of himself, and
started to understand that limitations existed, and the pain started
to become manageable until it wasn't. It built up and
(08:15):
built up over the following weeks, and something felt terribly wrong,
and by mid September, pig was in a hospital bed
in Nevado, California, just north of San Francisco, and he
checked himself in and after a few rounds of tests,
it was determined he had a bleeding ulcer, a direct
result of his congenital cirrosis, and those issues weren't a
(08:37):
result of his drinking. Drinking wasn't helping his days knocking
back bottles of Thunderbird were over. That he was lucky,
as life wasn't as well. One by one, the members
of the Grateful Dead visited, and those who could donate
blood to their brother in arms did. They didn't know
how bad it was. They didn't know how close they
were to losing their band made and their friend, and
(08:57):
they didn't know that this wasn't just another bottle sickness.
The doctor made it clear to Pigpen that he was
in brutal shape and that his chances of walking out
of the hospital alive weren't good. Twenty One excruciating days
passed within the sterile white hospital walls. Pigpens slowly transitioned
from an all liquid diet. The solid foods the doctor's
(09:20):
nurses and odories delivering curtains of milk were a sad
substitute for the life pig had gotten used to on
the road. The medicine they gave him could only help
so much. Need have to make another serious change to
his lifestyle, and it wasn't the only one making changes.
The Grateful Dead were once again riding the carousel. When
it came to their lineup, pig Pen's recent health scare
(09:41):
didn't just convince them that they may need to add
another member to fill in, but that they may need
to add another member and definitely what if next time
was the last time for pig Jerry, Bog Phil Bill.
They were all bound by eternal love to their brother.
The pig Pen's health was one Gamble was suddenly flush
for dead, could not take Bill Krutzman was hammering away
(10:34):
at his drums. He watched Jerry Garcia carefully over his kid.
Jerry's brow was furrowed. He was deep in thought, but
he wasn't looking at Billy. He was watching the man
sitting at the keys in the dead studio space, and
the man sitting at the keys was watching his own hands.
He'd heard these tunes before, but he never sat down
and tried to work them up. She just knew they
(10:56):
felt right. Jerry pulled the classic Jerry moved and hid
and unexpected change, shifting songs on a dime. Billy, who
was used to just about anything at this point, fell
in right behind him, and to the amazement, so did
the man of the keys. Jerry and Billy continued their
musical onslaught, unloading their entire arsenal of improvisations and styles,
(11:18):
recreating the organic energy of a jam with the Dead,
and how the musical communication worked on the back and
the fourth to give and the take, the setting of
the Dead spaceship on a course for some distant constellation,
and then taking a scenic toll of every planet on
the way back to Earth. The man of the Keys
didn't miss a beat or change. He wasn't flashing, simply fit.
(11:39):
The man was Keith god Show. Just months before, he
and his wife Donna had met Jerry after a Dead show.
Donna walked right up to Jerry and pointed a key.
She looked Jerry square in the eye and told him
who was next piano player was going to be. Jerry
wasn't unfamiliar with this scenario since Tom constantins departure of
the Dead event any day it was piano players looking
(11:59):
to join grew. Typically, the propositions went nowhere, but now
with Pig got a commission for the foreseeable future, Jerry
was starting to take the bay. Keith had some real
technical skills and training on the keyboard, but he wasn't
as experimental as time, and though he had soul and
proclivity for rock and roll, he wasn't as loose or
raw as Pig Pam. He didn't try to do too much,
(12:21):
and he wasn't limited in any capacity just fit. Jerry
and Billy knew it. As they wrapped up their little
jam session, they told Keith to come back the next day.
After a few hours rehearsing with the full lineup minus Pig,
the decision was made. Keith was in. He signed his
contract that evening, and by the time the band had
rehearsed with Keith for a month's time, it felt like
(12:43):
he had been there all along. One October rolled around
the dead and Pig faced a hard reality. The group
was heading back out on tour, only this time it
would be without him, their original source of inspiration, and
they visited Pig at home where he was resting. They
assured him that he wasn't out of the band, he
wasn't being replaced. When he was given the green light
(13:06):
by the doctors and felt up to it, he would
be gladly welcomed back into the fold, and Pig took
it to heart. For two months, he sat at home
while the Dead's tour dates through October and November went
off without a hitch, and although they would put plans
for a new album on hold due to the shuffling
of their personnel, the band was once again cooking, with
new material beginning to take shape. Keith's wife, Donna, joined
(13:28):
the band as a vocalist, further injecting a new energy
into the live sets and giving the band an even larger,
more well rounded sound. Donna's credentials for stellar the female
vocals on Percy Sledges nineteen sixty six Classic When a
Man Loves a Woman That was Donna, and the backing
vocals on Elvis Is nineteen sixty nine, Comeback, Smash, Suspicious Minds,
(13:49):
and that was Donna doing it. Back at home, Pig
was getting itchy feet. He started taking care of himself
in a way he'd never done before, and the boot
was completely out of the picture, and he was following
the doctor's orders in regards to diet, specifically a mix
of health food and juice classes. But though he was
starting to feel back to normal, he was alone. His
(14:12):
relationship with v was beyond the strain. His band or
out gigging around the continental United States, without him, and
here he was laid up at home in San Francisco
with just a cart and the smokes to keep him company. Bullshit.
There was only one thing Pigpen ever wanted to do,
only one thing he had ever done. Just weeks prior,
(14:32):
he thought his life might come to an end. Every day,
our minute second was precious time to him now, So
what the hell was he doing wasting it at home?
Pick consulted his doctors. He wanted to rejoin the dead
on the road, and the docks were leary. It's a
dangerous proposition. Just wasn't a conventional choice for someone recovering
(14:53):
from a medical ordeal such as the one he had
just experienced. The word conventional and funk all the Pigpen.
He hopped on a flight and jetted across the country,
touching down in Boston on December one. But for all
his bravado in the face of his physical state, the
fact remained that he was not the same Pigpen. The
new diet at the time in the hospital, the treatments
(15:14):
he'd undergone, but all left him looking like an entirely
new person. Pig wasn't tall, but who was rovust, looked healthy,
was never someone you'd call thin. Sickness that had ravaged
in the past year and also ravaged his weight, slowly
taking pieces of him away, And now he was thinner
than ever, with a gaunt look about his face. He
(15:36):
looked as though he could be blown over by a
strong breeze. When the dead song, they were both delighted
and dismayed. It was Pig, the man who would guzzle
down more bottles than they could count, who shot guns,
who whipped crowds into frenzies with his sensuous dance moves,
who embodied the very essence, soul, and attitude of what
the grateful dead were trying to do. The guy who
(15:56):
dressed like a biker sang the blues like he lived
them a hundred times, formed like a man possessed the exuberant, effervescent,
energetic enigma ship Man. There was nothing enigmatic about the
way he looked now, like a shell of his former self.
Like he walked right up to the doorstep of death,
knocked on the door, and then turned around and walked
back again. The band hugged their friend, felt how delicate
(16:20):
he was, bones protruding through his pale skin. They didn't
have time to be rattled by the situation. The show,
as they say, he must go on, and though the
Dead were subdued backstage, their live performance showed no signs
of grief or worry. For two nights at the Music
Hall in Boston, the Dead sounded tight, like they hadn't
(16:40):
missed a beat. Keith had dropped into the group, and
the machine was as well oiled and efficient as ever.
They just kept chugging along, and Pigpen sat behind his organ,
playing sparingly, and he was, after all rusty and out
of practice. He gazed out at the audience. Were they
really there? Was he really here? Felt like some surreal
(17:01):
dream times seemed to fly by. Before pig Pen knew it,
it was his turn to step to the microphone center stage.
He hadn't played in months, years since pig experienced that
type of gap in performance. And not only that, but
he didn't have his usual liquid to grease his wheels,
and there was no vail between him and the audience.
(17:21):
No fermanted aid to promote his confidence, no deterrence from
the stage fright that always seemed to linger. That was
until Billy stopped out the opening snare lick to a
tune Pig had written with Robert Hunter earlier that year,
his Blues. He had a fund to it, and it
grew and it felt right. Pig grip the microphonal confidence,
belt it out the first verse to Mr Charley, just
(17:44):
like in France, The Grateful Dead seemed to hold the
antidote for Pig For three and a half minutes, it
felt like Pig was back in the fold. I closed
your eyes and his voice provided a window into the past.
But this seemed closer, and there was something else there,
something you couldn't quite put your finger on, distance, some pain.
His return was undoubtedly triumphant, but was also starting to
(18:06):
be kind abundantly clear. Ron Pigpen McCarney was on borrowed time.
We'll be right back. After this word word word, pig
(18:26):
pens body slammed to the floor. The fall jarred him
from his deep sleep, and the bumpy movements of the
bus he was in kept him awake. His stomach, his kidneys,
his liver, everything hurt, and the fall from his bench
seat made it feel like his body had been shattered
to pieces. Going down the road feeling bad, indeed, Pigpen
(18:47):
pulled himself off the floor with a grunt and sank
into the previous position. He had almost gotten used to
the process by this point. It was an unusual for
him to be thrown from his seat. During the course
of the last four weeks on this bus, every time
that I ever hit a large pothole or took a
wide turn, when the bus tipped just a little to
one side, Pig would just slide off his seat down
to the floor with a pitiful thud. It had the
(19:10):
potential to get real old, real fast, but it's hard
to be ornerary with the view he had. He gazed
out the window at the French countryside, England, Denmark and
Germany had all passed by like some sort of magical dream.
And now this, even after a month of touring in Europe,
pigs still had to pinch himself from time to time
and then a dull ache shot through his stomach. And
(19:32):
the tour may have felt like a dream, but pig
Pen was facing some very serious realities. He pulled his
pack of smokes from his jacket pocket and lit one up.
The dead were traveling through Europe on two buses. The
other bus, the fun one, roared past the one Pig
was riding in, someone in a clown mass looked out
the window pick grinned. The Bozo Bus aka the Party
(19:54):
Bus was setting the tone for the entire tour. Riders
had taken a wearing clown mass had picked up in
amster to him, and had rearranged the interior, pushing couches together,
turning bench seats around to make boots, keeping a fully
stocked refrigerator, staying up through the night, all hours of
the day, and consuming whatever happened to find its way
on board. It was the spiritual spinoff of the Festival
(20:16):
Express train, and it was somewhere pig wish he could
have been, but he wasn't, and that was by his
own choice. It would have suited a different Pigpen, a
pig Pen from what felt like a lifetime ago. He
took a long drag on his cigarette, and he surveyed
his own bus. This bus, known as the Bolo Bus,
was far more subdued, mostly a place to get some rest,
(20:39):
and getting rest was something pig Pen was doing plenty
of these days. He had spent most of the tourist
travel time perched on his bench at the back, watching
the wheels and chain smoking. The tour had been a
rollicking john through the European countryside for the rest of
the band, but not for Pig. It was some sort
of meditation on life. He adult to rejoin the band
(21:01):
the December before. Was working hard to maintain his health,
but it was equally hard not to get swept up
the casual, business like approach to it all. Whether or
not Pig would admit it, the popularity the Grateful Dead
had inflated them to certified superstars. They were just as
revered as the bands they had once looked up to,
the bands holding down the top places in the charts.
(21:22):
Unlike those bands, however, Grateful Dead weren't releasing massive singles.
It was their commitment to playing live and their recent
run of impeccable albums that made them a cultural touchstone
in a household name. Thousands of kids began showing up
the Dead shows, some of them hoping to score tickets
but unable to get in. So the Dead started playing
bigger venues to keep costs down, and once they went big,
(21:43):
they never looked back. Something was changing in the relation
to the audience. This wasn't the acid tests of old,
and it wasn't just five guys getting up on a
stage at the club and hammering out some blues covers.
The Dead were playing basketball and hockey arenas massive venues,
and if they wanted to keep their ands, wallets and mind,
there was nothing they could do about it. The only
way to make their show affordable was to make their
(22:05):
show bigger. That had to become a machine that just
kept turning. And now they had returned to Europe, not
just for a long weekend and an impromptu show at
a chateau, but for an eight week long conquest. The
entourage in Europe was well over fifty wives, girlfriends, road
these children, managers, all stuffed on the two buses, and
there are also hundreds of pieces of sound equipment. This
(22:27):
is more like a military operation than hauling year around
in Bill critsmon station wagon. Regardless of the newfound popularity,
regardless of the new host of hangers on and shady
visitors backstage pushing harder drugs, and regardless of whether Pig
had felt up to it or not, there was no
way he was missing this. With the logistics of the
Dead's touring and finances weren't the only thing that had changed.
(22:51):
Try as he might, Pig was forever changed on this tour.
He combed his hair back, button his shirts neatly, and
seemed to be more interested in babysitting the kids that
were present, then playing cars with the crew in the band,
and no calling for his whiskey as much as calling
for his tea. Pig Pen wasn't just separating from the
lifestyle as a group, he was separating from who he
(23:11):
used to be. As if you could feel the fuel
gauge getting well. Night after night, show off the show,
Pigpen would sit behind the congos, shake a tambourine replaced
sporadic fills on his organ while the Dead grooved, and
they did fucking groove. It was the actualization of everything
Jerry and Phil had dreamed about to that point. The
(23:32):
lineup was just the right balance. Sure they lost, making
mc keith and Donna filled in the sound like some
sort of gift from the heavens, complimenting the rest of
the group perfectly, further transcending the already transcended music. For
anyone else who wasn't a member of the band, it
was hard to even tell the pig Pen wasn't feeling
percent because when pig Pen was called upon he could
still deliver a convincing vocal performance, lovely, hard to handle,
(23:55):
easy win. Mr Charlie Pigpens still brought them all the
life with his unmistakable fervor and passion, and true he
didn't throw out the same shoulder shakes or gyrating hit movements,
but his vocals set fired every ancient, reverent European concert hall.
The dead played in that intimacy they begun to lose
playing giant venues in the States, remained intact in Europe,
(24:17):
even if it was by a threat. These hallowed halls
were designed for classical music, so the crowds were up close,
and the acoustics were just right, and the vibrations were
warm and happy. But still there was something in his voice.
You could hear it, an urgency to sing every set
like it was his last. In due course, pig Pen
would finish his tune and return to his congus, tambourine
(24:39):
or organ until he was called upon again. He can
watch the rest of the band work and lose himself
in the music. And the next day pick would return
to his bus, the bolo bus, the quiet bus. He
crawled at the backseat and light himself a cigarette preparing
for the next hard turn, the next slip, the next
eventual will fall, and that next hard turn, that next
(25:01):
hard fall, and had nothing to do at the bus ride.
(25:31):
The pizza joint known as the Top of the Tangent
was packed full, as it was most nights in four
when there was live music, The beer was flowing, and
the mood was mellow. The Tangent was one of the
places to go for music. Paol alto up and coming acts.
Well known groups and singer songwriters gave performances that were
ordinarily worth the price of admission. But there was nothing
(25:54):
ordinary about tonight's performance. At least he knew that even
if no one else did. He was with his group
on stage, Mother mccree's Uptown Jug Champions. They were attracting
attention around town, and not just for their lively, eccentric performances.
They played old timey folk, bluegrass roots music, stuff that
had long become niche but was beginning to come back
(26:15):
into fashion. He saw their influence everywhere. Jug bands were
popping up all over the Bay Area, but Mother mccree's
was the best around. He was by as sure. Look
around the room, the place was jumping. The buzz around
his band was so strong that to Stanford University students
had made it a point to record them for a
local folk music radio show. He wailed on his harmonica
(26:35):
from the stage, and he thought it worked perfectly with
the washingtub bass and acoustic guitar. And no one was
calling him Ron anymore. They all called him Pigpen on
account of his disheveled appearance, not that it bothered him.
Who was a nickname, his blues name. He'd wear it proudly.
He ripped a few more notes from his heart, and
they sounded like down at home, familiar, like the old
(26:56):
warning jacket he was wearing, like he'd known this feeling
his whole life. It was the only thing he wanted
to feel it as long as he would live. The
Grateful Dead's seventy two tour of Europe was highly successful,
improved positive that they weren't just a national sensation, they
were a global phenomenon. After a few weeks break, it
(27:17):
was time for the Dead to get back to it.
Pigpen did his best to drag himself along. The June seventeen,
seventy two show at the Hollywood Bowl was for all
intensive purposes, a Welcome Home Gig for the Grateful Dead,
the conquering heroes returning to their beloved states, bigger and
better than ever before. But a dark cloud hung over
the group. Pig was frailer, thinner, more gaunt than he
(27:40):
had ever been before. He no longer looked like a
stray breeze woul blow him over. It looked like it
was shatter him to pieces. The crowd, however, did seem
to notice. As the Dead reached the midpoint of their
first set, the audience called out for Pig. They wanted
a dose of his electric blues. They wanted him center stage.
There would be no love light that night, no hard
to handle, no easy wind, no Mr Charlie. Pig Pen
(28:04):
spent that evening laboring to keep himself upright. He couldn't
even manage to get himself to the microphone. Each time
he'd slump over begin to nod awe, someone would slide
over and give his chair a gentle bump to keep
him conscious, And each time Pig would shake himself out
of his haze and get back to the show, perhaps
make it through a tune. One of those tunes Pig
(28:25):
did make it through was a brand new one, the
band's live debut of Stella Blue. Pig played organ elegantly
behind Jerry's soft, subtle lyrics and somber He had beautiful
words and music by a musician reaching the end of
the line, finally succumbing to the physical and emotional trials
of life on the road. Behind Jerry's volcan and Pig's organ.
(28:46):
The Dead gave him inspired, heart wrenching performance of the
new song, and it was fitting because Pigpen was also
succumbing to the demands of the road and the lifestyle.
And for the man who was the original impetus and
engine behind Mother mccree's uptown joke champions the Warlocks and
the Grateful Dead, the show at the Hollywood Bowl would
(29:07):
be his last. Um Jake Brennan and This is the
twenty seven Club Club is hosted and produced by me
(29:30):
Jake Brennan for Double Elvis in partnership with I Heart Radio.
Seth Lundie is the lead writer and co producer. This
episode was mixed by Joel Edinburgh. Additional music and score
elements by Ryan Spraaker and Henry Lunetta. This episode was
written by ted Oma, story and copy ending by Pata Healy.
Sources for this episode are available at double elvis dot
(29:53):
com on the Seven Club series page, talk to me
on social Act, Disgrace LAM pod, and hang out with
me live on a Twitch chat, and I'll disgrace Land Talks.
For more news on your favorite podcast, follow at Double
Elvis on Instagram. Rock rolla, what's up for your is
Okay. Double Elvis The Club is a production of I
(00:09):
Heart Radio and Double Elvis. Ron Pigpen McKernan died at
the age of seven, and he lived a life that
was never intended to last for long. I can give
you twenty seven reasons why that statement is true. Seven
would be the number of minutes he would masterfully grawl
(00:30):
out Otis Redding's Hard to Handle on his first trip
to Europe, all while feeling a nagging, profound pain. Another
three would be the number of weeks he would spend
in a hospital bed upon returning from that trip. Seven
more for the number of weeks after that hospitalization that
he'd once again hit the road against doctor's orders. Another
(00:51):
two would be the number of months he would travel
the European countryside while his body began to make it
clear to him that it wasn't built to last. And
eight would be the number of months he had left
to live after pig Pen played his final show at
the Hollywood Bowl in June of ninety two. All totally
on this our ninth episode of season five, Profound Paint,
(01:15):
ignoring doctor's orders, traveling the European countryside, and Ron Pigpen
mccernin 'm Jake Brennan and this is the seven Club Ron.
(02:12):
Pigpen mccernin hung on to the microphone stand. His hat
was pulled low over his eyes, long go tee, scruffier
than normal. His leather jacket was his worn and road
tested as its owner. His legs were weak. It looked
like the microphone stand was necessary to combat gravity. Gravity
was winning. Pig had spent most of this particular trip
(02:34):
in his bedroom. An overwhelming feeling of fatigue and plagued
him since the Grateful Dead landed in France and the
confines of Chateau de Ville, the palatial estate where the
band had taken up presidence, suited him better than any
excursion into town. Not that he wouldn't have liked to
hit the local pub or taken the forty minute drive
down Old Paris, but he felt like ship could barely
(02:55):
drink anymore anyways, the eighteen century chateau, had they been
converted into a recording studio, it would soon be the
site where Elton John made hockey Chateau, David Bowie recorded
Low and the Bgs conceived Saturday Night Fever. But even now,
in June of Ninete It already felt like the decadent
(03:15):
playground that catered to the whims of rock star seeking luxury.
But as the rest of the dead were enjoying games
of tennis, swims in the pool, and good French wine
on the grounds of the two thirty year old property,
pig Pen opted for the comfort of patio furniture and
French cigarettes. His weight loss started to become noticeable, and
while pig would never be accused of having a healthier,
(03:37):
well maintained complexion, his skin was now a wider shade
of pean. But here he was back at the microphone,
a literal support system, the only thing that made any
sense to him anymore. The grateful dead had made the
trek across the Atlantic for a three day festival in France,
but the weather conspired against them and poured The festival
(03:59):
was rained. The dead didn't come all this way for nothing, though,
and so they decided to host a party at the
Shots Out. Pig Pen noticed that the crowd had assembled
inside was different than most crowds. It wasn't like the
place was filled with French speaking deadheads. The population of
the small village had gathered around the large pool and
foreigners to both the band and the music they were playing.
(04:22):
But the vibes were right. The all it took was
a little booze, a little music, and a few buckets
of electric kool aid circulating through the crowd. Things were
starting to heat up as the band kicked into a
cover of Otis Redding's Hard to Handle and Pigs stood
still as a statue at the mic stand. The opening
guitar lick hit him right in the stomach, and Billy
(04:43):
snare and kick rattled the rest of them. Just like that. Sickness,
the weakness, it all started to dissipate. The tension was
partially released as Pigs started to float above the music.
He belt it out the first verse, his voice noticeably weakened.
Something was building on the stage and inside Pig. It's
(05:03):
hard to feel weak and weary with the immac of
the Engine of the Dead running so powerfully behind him.
It bent through up his hand as the chorus started
and he started to feel something he hadn't felt in
a while. He felt good. The Pig closed his eyes
and everything fell away, if only for a few minutes.
He began to shake his head and roll his shoulders around,
(05:25):
and there'd be no outrageous dance moves, and they're being
no voluptuous summons made to the audience. But Pig was
there as he had always been behind the mic, growling
out some down in dirty tunes with an authenticity that
was unmatched by anyone else in the group. He went
inward as the music took him somewhere else, and the
scene felt like some sort of fever dream. It was
(05:46):
midsummer in northern France, on a historical state where it
was rumored the composer Frederick Chopin and once conducted a
scandalous love affair, playing to a crowd with no other
intention to feel and dig. The music and the energy
was fresh. It almost felt like the early days in
San Francisco, six years in the past and six miles away.
(06:07):
Whether it was the acid of the wine, the warm
summer breeze, there was something special happening, something magical, But
it was not San Francisco. The band had been battle
tested by hard years on the road, shady business dealings
that had ultimately caused the recent departure of Mickey Heart,
a shroud of death both family and close friends, and
though all original members were still standing, they were not
(06:29):
the same group, and this was not the same pig Pen.
As the last chords of Hard to Handle'll rang out,
pig faded to the rear of the deads and promptu
stage and picked up the tambourine. His energy was spent,
and that's where we stood for the rest of the set,
serving little real purpose, just keeping time. It was pig
(06:50):
keeping time or timing out. The Dead wrapped up the
show and jetted back to the States. Were The success
of the previous year's reviouses American Beauty and Working Man's Dead,
as well as their reputation as a live action made
the Mahawk commodity on the constant circuit. On top of that,
they finally began to make some real money. So the
engine and touring kept on turning, and pig Pen was
(07:12):
leaning back into one of his original roles, the Dead. Suddenly,
a skeleton crew of just five members relied on him
to play keys throughout the show every night, and the
Dead weren't just easing back into a full slate. They
were diving back into the typical four or five gigs
a week. But after just a few weeks, pig Pen
began to run out of gas At a show in
(07:33):
New York, Pigpen felt an intense pain shoot through his stomach,
a pain that was exponentially worse than anything he had
ever felt before. Sure, touring and travel were intense, but
Pigpen had been careful earlier that year, thanks to the
concern of Jerry Garcia and the rest of the Grateful Dead,
Pigpen hit a clinic and found a way, against all odds,
(07:54):
to kick his drinking habit almost completely. The booze, which
have been a part of Pigpen's whole vibes since the
very beginning, was suddenly no longer central to his life.
He started eating healthier, started taking care of himself, and
started to understand that limitations existed, and the pain started
to become manageable until it wasn't. It built up and
(08:15):
built up over the following weeks, and something felt terribly wrong,
and by mid September, pig was in a hospital bed
in Nevado, California, just north of San Francisco, and he
checked himself in and after a few rounds of tests,
it was determined he had a bleeding ulcer, a direct
result of his congenital cirrosis, and those issues weren't a
(08:37):
result of his drinking. Drinking wasn't helping his days knocking
back bottles of Thunderbird were over. That he was lucky,
as life wasn't as well. One by one, the members
of the Grateful Dead visited, and those who could donate
blood to their brother in arms did. They didn't know
how bad it was. They didn't know how close they
were to losing their band made and their friend, and
(08:57):
they didn't know that this wasn't just another bottle sickness.
The doctor made it clear to Pigpen that he was
in brutal shape and that his chances of walking out
of the hospital alive weren't good. Twenty One excruciating days
passed within the sterile white hospital walls. Pigpens slowly transitioned
from an all liquid diet. The solid foods the doctor's
(09:20):
nurses and odories delivering curtains of milk were a sad
substitute for the life pig had gotten used to on
the road. The medicine they gave him could only help
so much. Need have to make another serious change to
his lifestyle, and it wasn't the only one making changes.
The Grateful Dead were once again riding the carousel. When
it came to their lineup, pig Pen's recent health scare
(09:41):
didn't just convince them that they may need to add
another member to fill in, but that they may need
to add another member and definitely what if next time
was the last time for pig Jerry, Bog Phil Bill.
They were all bound by eternal love to their brother.
The pig Pen's health was one Gamble was suddenly flush
for dead, could not take Bill Krutzman was hammering away
(10:34):
at his drums. He watched Jerry Garcia carefully over his kid.
Jerry's brow was furrowed. He was deep in thought, but
he wasn't looking at Billy. He was watching the man
sitting at the keys in the dead studio space, and
the man sitting at the keys was watching his own hands.
He'd heard these tunes before, but he never sat down
and tried to work them up. She just knew they
(10:56):
felt right. Jerry pulled the classic Jerry moved and hid
and unexpected change, shifting songs on a dime. Billy, who
was used to just about anything at this point, fell
in right behind him, and to the amazement, so did
the man of the keys. Jerry and Billy continued their
musical onslaught, unloading their entire arsenal of improvisations and styles,
(11:18):
recreating the organic energy of a jam with the Dead,
and how the musical communication worked on the back and
the fourth to give and the take, the setting of
the Dead spaceship on a course for some distant constellation,
and then taking a scenic toll of every planet on
the way back to Earth. The man of the Keys
didn't miss a beat or change. He wasn't flashing, simply fit.
(11:39):
The man was Keith god Show. Just months before, he
and his wife Donna had met Jerry after a Dead show.
Donna walked right up to Jerry and pointed a key.
She looked Jerry square in the eye and told him
who was next piano player was going to be. Jerry
wasn't unfamiliar with this scenario since Tom constantins departure of
the Dead event any day it was piano players looking
(11:59):
to join grew. Typically, the propositions went nowhere, but now
with Pig got a commission for the foreseeable future, Jerry
was starting to take the bay. Keith had some real
technical skills and training on the keyboard, but he wasn't
as experimental as time, and though he had soul and
proclivity for rock and roll, he wasn't as loose or
raw as Pig Pam. He didn't try to do too much,
(12:21):
and he wasn't limited in any capacity just fit. Jerry
and Billy knew it. As they wrapped up their little
jam session, they told Keith to come back the next day.
After a few hours rehearsing with the full lineup minus Pig,
the decision was made. Keith was in. He signed his
contract that evening, and by the time the band had
rehearsed with Keith for a month's time, it felt like
(12:43):
he had been there all along. One October rolled around
the dead and Pig faced a hard reality. The group
was heading back out on tour, only this time it
would be without him, their original source of inspiration, and
they visited Pig at home where he was resting. They
assured him that he wasn't out of the band, he
wasn't being replaced. When he was given the green light
(13:06):
by the doctors and felt up to it, he would
be gladly welcomed back into the fold, and Pig took
it to heart. For two months, he sat at home
while the Dead's tour dates through October and November went
off without a hitch, and although they would put plans
for a new album on hold due to the shuffling
of their personnel, the band was once again cooking, with
new material beginning to take shape. Keith's wife, Donna, joined
(13:28):
the band as a vocalist, further injecting a new energy
into the live sets and giving the band an even larger,
more well rounded sound. Donna's credentials for stellar the female
vocals on Percy Sledges nineteen sixty six Classic When a
Man Loves a Woman That was Donna, and the backing
vocals on Elvis Is nineteen sixty nine, Comeback, Smash, Suspicious Minds,
(13:49):
and that was Donna doing it. Back at home, Pig
was getting itchy feet. He started taking care of himself
in a way he'd never done before, and the boot
was completely out of the picture, and he was following
the doctor's orders in regards to diet, specifically a mix
of health food and juice classes. But though he was
starting to feel back to normal, he was alone. His
(14:12):
relationship with v was beyond the strain. His band or
out gigging around the continental United States, without him, and
here he was laid up at home in San Francisco
with just a cart and the smokes to keep him company. Bullshit.
There was only one thing Pigpen ever wanted to do,
only one thing he had ever done. Just weeks prior,
(14:32):
he thought his life might come to an end. Every day,
our minute second was precious time to him now, So
what the hell was he doing wasting it at home?
Pick consulted his doctors. He wanted to rejoin the dead
on the road, and the docks were leary. It's a
dangerous proposition. Just wasn't a conventional choice for someone recovering
(14:53):
from a medical ordeal such as the one he had
just experienced. The word conventional and funk all the Pigpen.
He hopped on a flight and jetted across the country,
touching down in Boston on December one. But for all
his bravado in the face of his physical state, the
fact remained that he was not the same Pigpen. The
new diet at the time in the hospital, the treatments
(15:14):
he'd undergone, but all left him looking like an entirely
new person. Pig wasn't tall, but who was rovust, looked healthy,
was never someone you'd call thin. Sickness that had ravaged
in the past year and also ravaged his weight, slowly
taking pieces of him away, And now he was thinner
than ever, with a gaunt look about his face. He
(15:36):
looked as though he could be blown over by a
strong breeze. When the dead song, they were both delighted
and dismayed. It was Pig, the man who would guzzle
down more bottles than they could count, who shot guns,
who whipped crowds into frenzies with his sensuous dance moves,
who embodied the very essence, soul, and attitude of what
the grateful dead were trying to do. The guy who
(15:56):
dressed like a biker sang the blues like he lived
them a hundred times, formed like a man possessed the exuberant, effervescent,
energetic enigma ship Man. There was nothing enigmatic about the
way he looked now, like a shell of his former self.
Like he walked right up to the doorstep of death,
knocked on the door, and then turned around and walked
back again. The band hugged their friend, felt how delicate
(16:20):
he was, bones protruding through his pale skin. They didn't
have time to be rattled by the situation. The show,
as they say, he must go on, and though the
Dead were subdued backstage, their live performance showed no signs
of grief or worry. For two nights at the Music
Hall in Boston, the Dead sounded tight, like they hadn't
(16:40):
missed a beat. Keith had dropped into the group, and
the machine was as well oiled and efficient as ever.
They just kept chugging along, and Pigpen sat behind his organ,
playing sparingly, and he was, after all rusty and out
of practice. He gazed out at the audience. Were they
really there? Was he really here? Felt like some surreal
(17:01):
dream times seemed to fly by. Before pig Pen knew it,
it was his turn to step to the microphone center stage.
He hadn't played in months, years since pig experienced that
type of gap in performance. And not only that, but
he didn't have his usual liquid to grease his wheels,
and there was no vail between him and the audience.
(17:21):
No fermanted aid to promote his confidence, no deterrence from
the stage fright that always seemed to linger. That was
until Billy stopped out the opening snare lick to a
tune Pig had written with Robert Hunter earlier that year,
his Blues. He had a fund to it, and it
grew and it felt right. Pig grip the microphonal confidence,
belt it out the first verse to Mr Charley, just
(17:44):
like in France, The Grateful Dead seemed to hold the
antidote for Pig For three and a half minutes, it
felt like Pig was back in the fold. I closed
your eyes and his voice provided a window into the past.
But this seemed closer, and there was something else there,
something you couldn't quite put your finger on, distance, some pain.
His return was undoubtedly triumphant, but was also starting to
(18:06):
be kind abundantly clear. Ron Pigpen McCarney was on borrowed time.
We'll be right back. After this word word word, pig
(18:26):
pens body slammed to the floor. The fall jarred him
from his deep sleep, and the bumpy movements of the
bus he was in kept him awake. His stomach, his kidneys,
his liver, everything hurt, and the fall from his bench
seat made it feel like his body had been shattered
to pieces. Going down the road feeling bad, indeed, Pigpen
(18:47):
pulled himself off the floor with a grunt and sank
into the previous position. He had almost gotten used to
the process by this point. It was an unusual for
him to be thrown from his seat. During the course
of the last four weeks on this bus, every time
that I ever hit a large pothole or took a
wide turn, when the bus tipped just a little to
one side, Pig would just slide off his seat down
to the floor with a pitiful thud. It had the
(19:10):
potential to get real old, real fast, but it's hard
to be ornerary with the view he had. He gazed
out the window at the French countryside, England, Denmark and
Germany had all passed by like some sort of magical dream.
And now this, even after a month of touring in Europe,
pigs still had to pinch himself from time to time
and then a dull ache shot through his stomach. And
(19:32):
the tour may have felt like a dream, but pig
Pen was facing some very serious realities. He pulled his
pack of smokes from his jacket pocket and lit one up.
The dead were traveling through Europe on two buses. The
other bus, the fun one, roared past the one Pig
was riding in, someone in a clown mass looked out
the window pick grinned. The Bozo Bus aka the Party
(19:54):
Bus was setting the tone for the entire tour. Riders
had taken a wearing clown mass had picked up in
amster to him, and had rearranged the interior, pushing couches together,
turning bench seats around to make boots, keeping a fully
stocked refrigerator, staying up through the night, all hours of
the day, and consuming whatever happened to find its way
on board. It was the spiritual spinoff of the Festival
(20:16):
Express train, and it was somewhere pig wish he could
have been, but he wasn't, and that was by his
own choice. It would have suited a different Pigpen, a
pig Pen from what felt like a lifetime ago. He
took a long drag on his cigarette, and he surveyed
his own bus. This bus, known as the Bolo Bus,
was far more subdued, mostly a place to get some rest,
(20:39):
and getting rest was something pig Pen was doing plenty
of these days. He had spent most of the tourist
travel time perched on his bench at the back, watching
the wheels and chain smoking. The tour had been a
rollicking john through the European countryside for the rest of
the band, but not for Pig. It was some sort
of meditation on life. He adult to rejoin the band
(21:01):
the December before. Was working hard to maintain his health,
but it was equally hard not to get swept up
the casual, business like approach to it all. Whether or
not Pig would admit it, the popularity the Grateful Dead
had inflated them to certified superstars. They were just as
revered as the bands they had once looked up to,
the bands holding down the top places in the charts.
(21:22):
Unlike those bands, however, Grateful Dead weren't releasing massive singles.
It was their commitment to playing live and their recent
run of impeccable albums that made them a cultural touchstone
in a household name. Thousands of kids began showing up
the Dead shows, some of them hoping to score tickets
but unable to get in. So the Dead started playing
bigger venues to keep costs down, and once they went big,
(21:43):
they never looked back. Something was changing in the relation
to the audience. This wasn't the acid tests of old,
and it wasn't just five guys getting up on a
stage at the club and hammering out some blues covers.
The Dead were playing basketball and hockey arenas massive venues,
and if they wanted to keep their ands, wallets and mind,
there was nothing they could do about it. The only
way to make their show affordable was to make their
(22:05):
show bigger. That had to become a machine that just
kept turning. And now they had returned to Europe, not
just for a long weekend and an impromptu show at
a chateau, but for an eight week long conquest. The
entourage in Europe was well over fifty wives, girlfriends, road
these children, managers, all stuffed on the two buses, and
there are also hundreds of pieces of sound equipment. This
(22:27):
is more like a military operation than hauling year around
in Bill critsmon station wagon. Regardless of the newfound popularity,
regardless of the new host of hangers on and shady
visitors backstage pushing harder drugs, and regardless of whether Pig
had felt up to it or not, there was no
way he was missing this. With the logistics of the
Dead's touring and finances weren't the only thing that had changed.
(22:51):
Try as he might, Pig was forever changed on this tour.
He combed his hair back, button his shirts neatly, and
seemed to be more interested in babysitting the kids that
were present, then playing cars with the crew in the band,
and no calling for his whiskey as much as calling
for his tea. Pig Pen wasn't just separating from the
lifestyle as a group, he was separating from who he
(23:11):
used to be. As if you could feel the fuel
gauge getting well. Night after night, show off the show,
Pigpen would sit behind the congos, shake a tambourine replaced
sporadic fills on his organ while the Dead grooved, and
they did fucking groove. It was the actualization of everything
Jerry and Phil had dreamed about to that point. The
(23:32):
lineup was just the right balance. Sure they lost, making
mc keith and Donna filled in the sound like some
sort of gift from the heavens, complimenting the rest of
the group perfectly, further transcending the already transcended music. For
anyone else who wasn't a member of the band, it
was hard to even tell the pig Pen wasn't feeling
percent because when pig Pen was called upon he could
still deliver a convincing vocal performance, lovely, hard to handle,
(23:55):
easy win. Mr Charlie Pigpens still brought them all the
life with his unmistakable fervor and passion, and true he
didn't throw out the same shoulder shakes or gyrating hit movements,
but his vocals set fired every ancient, reverent European concert hall.
The dead played in that intimacy they begun to lose
playing giant venues in the States, remained intact in Europe,
(24:17):
even if it was by a threat. These hallowed halls
were designed for classical music, so the crowds were up close,
and the acoustics were just right, and the vibrations were
warm and happy. But still there was something in his voice.
You could hear it, an urgency to sing every set
like it was his last. In due course, pig Pen
would finish his tune and return to his congus, tambourine
(24:39):
or organ until he was called upon again. He can
watch the rest of the band work and lose himself
in the music. And the next day pick would return
to his bus, the bolo bus, the quiet bus. He
crawled at the backseat and light himself a cigarette preparing
for the next hard turn, the next slip, the next
eventual will fall, and that next hard turn, that next
(25:01):
hard fall, and had nothing to do at the bus ride.
(25:31):
The pizza joint known as the Top of the Tangent
was packed full, as it was most nights in four
when there was live music, The beer was flowing, and
the mood was mellow. The Tangent was one of the
places to go for music. Paol alto up and coming acts.
Well known groups and singer songwriters gave performances that were
ordinarily worth the price of admission. But there was nothing
(25:54):
ordinary about tonight's performance. At least he knew that even
if no one else did. He was with his group
on stage, Mother mccree's Uptown Jug Champions. They were attracting
attention around town, and not just for their lively, eccentric performances.
They played old timey folk, bluegrass roots music, stuff that
had long become niche but was beginning to come back
(26:15):
into fashion. He saw their influence everywhere. Jug bands were
popping up all over the Bay Area, but Mother mccree's
was the best around. He was by as sure. Look
around the room, the place was jumping. The buzz around
his band was so strong that to Stanford University students
had made it a point to record them for a
local folk music radio show. He wailed on his harmonica
(26:35):
from the stage, and he thought it worked perfectly with
the washingtub bass and acoustic guitar. And no one was
calling him Ron anymore. They all called him Pigpen on
account of his disheveled appearance, not that it bothered him.
Who was a nickname, his blues name. He'd wear it proudly.
He ripped a few more notes from his heart, and
they sounded like down at home, familiar, like the old
(26:56):
warning jacket he was wearing, like he'd known this feeling
his whole life. It was the only thing he wanted
to feel it as long as he would live. The
Grateful Dead's seventy two tour of Europe was highly successful,
improved positive that they weren't just a national sensation, they
were a global phenomenon. After a few weeks break, it
(27:17):
was time for the Dead to get back to it.
Pigpen did his best to drag himself along. The June seventeen,
seventy two show at the Hollywood Bowl was for all
intensive purposes, a Welcome Home Gig for the Grateful Dead,
the conquering heroes returning to their beloved states, bigger and
better than ever before. But a dark cloud hung over
the group. Pig was frailer, thinner, more gaunt than he
(27:40):
had ever been before. He no longer looked like a
stray breeze woul blow him over. It looked like it
was shatter him to pieces. The crowd, however, did seem
to notice. As the Dead reached the midpoint of their
first set, the audience called out for Pig. They wanted
a dose of his electric blues. They wanted him center stage.
There would be no love light that night, no hard
to handle, no easy wind, no Mr Charlie. Pig Pen
(28:04):
spent that evening laboring to keep himself upright. He couldn't
even manage to get himself to the microphone. Each time
he'd slump over begin to nod awe, someone would slide
over and give his chair a gentle bump to keep
him conscious, And each time Pig would shake himself out
of his haze and get back to the show, perhaps
make it through a tune. One of those tunes Pig
(28:25):
did make it through was a brand new one, the
band's live debut of Stella Blue. Pig played organ elegantly
behind Jerry's soft, subtle lyrics and somber He had beautiful
words and music by a musician reaching the end of
the line, finally succumbing to the physical and emotional trials
of life on the road. Behind Jerry's volcan and Pig's organ.
(28:46):
The Dead gave him inspired, heart wrenching performance of the
new song, and it was fitting because Pigpen was also
succumbing to the demands of the road and the lifestyle.
And for the man who was the original impetus and
engine behind Mother mccree's uptown joke champions the Warlocks and
the Grateful Dead, the show at the Hollywood Bowl would
(29:07):
be his last. Um Jake Brennan and This is the
twenty seven Club Club is hosted and produced by me
(29:30):
Jake Brennan for Double Elvis in partnership with I Heart Radio.
Seth Lundie is the lead writer and co producer. This
episode was mixed by Joel Edinburgh. Additional music and score
elements by Ryan Spraaker and Henry Lunetta. This episode was
written by ted Oma, story and copy ending by Pata Healy.
Sources for this episode are available at double elvis dot
(29:53):
com on the Seven Club series page, talk to me
on social Act, Disgrace LAM pod, and hang out with
me live on a Twitch chat, and I'll disgrace Land Talks.
For more news on your favorite podcast, follow at Double
Elvis on Instagram. Rock rolla, what's up for your is
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