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The Tom Constanten Chronicles, Part 1: “All graceful instruments…”
Step back in time as Tom Constanten narrates a series of personal chronicles. Listen to firsthand accounts of life with Pigpen, musical breakthroughs, and unforgettable moments from the heart of the 60s music scene.
He wore his hat in a Laramie crush. A patch on his denim jacket said “smiling service.” He carried his personal accoutrements in a leather satchel, dubbed the “Pig Bag,” out of which might come anything from a hip flask to a pegboard chess set. He was a princely pirate, a generous genie, a holy hooligan, and more.
Pigpen and I were often roommates on the road. One time in St. Louis, we’d already called it a night when we found the party next door was still going full bore. We thought we recognized a few voices in the din, and from the room number, we figured it was one of ours. So Pig reaches over to the nightstand and picks up the phone to complain to them, anonymously of course. Jon McIntyre picks up the phone and is nonplussed, “I can’t respond in any way. Who is this?”
“None of your business,” growled Pigpen, and hung up.
The response was immediate. The roaring party was suddenly silent. Well, after a little while, Pig’s gentle nature takes over and he calls the room back. This time Ramrod answers. Seconds later the laughter roars through the wall, and the party was back on.
Pigpen was no enemy of good times. He had a story about leaving a party in East Palo Alto, blitzed and not very coherent of mind. As luck would have it, he was stopped by the police, who asked to see his identification. He checked all his pockets, but to no avail. “Don’t you have anything,” they asked, “that has your name on it?”
He reached into another pocket and said, “I’ve got a comb here that says ‘Ace.’”
In musical or verbal conversation, he’d hold up his end and some of yours. The couple of times I got dosed, there was no one better to be around, onstage or off. He was wise in the ways of what’s to say, and his eyes saw through all the way to where you were really coming from.
There’s a large reservoir of American lore he personally dipped my feet into. He’d play me old recordings of legendary artists like the Swan Silvertones, Albert Ammons, and Blind Willie McTell. He gave me a volume of Boogie Woogie sheet music for my 26th birthday. He held many keys to many kingdoms and shared them generously.
During one show at the Kinetic Playground in Chicago, when I played something that struck his fancy, he saluted me from across the stage, bestowing a glowing inner cosmic medal that felt so good I wear it to this day.
There’s a rare and precious moment on Anthem of the Sun in “New Potato Caboose” where we sat side by side at the organ. He had the low notes. It turned out to be the one spot on that (or any) album where we were both playing at the same time. Listen for it at the first “All graceful instruments…” It was as if we approached the keyboard from opposite sides, both literally and figuratively, and we found common ground in this Bach/Gospel Acropolitan plateau.
Here we are in the hotel corridor, observing teenyboppers on the prowl, stalking the elusive rock ‘n’ roll star. Here come Pigpen and Jerry the other way. Suddenly, around the corner, and there they are! Oh, the thrill. Oh, the surprise! Oh, the shock!
“Oooooh! They’re ugly!”
