Secret Agent Man

While I was traveling, I often felt a bit like a double agent. Inside I could be feeling like a groupie or hanger-on, but outside I was being viewed as a Rock and Roll star. The line became a little blurred sometimes, like the time I met Janis Joplin, where it was all I could do to not come off like a gushing little teeny-bopper. Many times, though, I would waltz onto the back of the stage and nod, as coolly as possible, to someone like the drummer of a group such as Santana, and make connections by being more of a peer than a fan.

More than once we got a chance to jam with big stars, like Steve Miller, Boz Scaggs, Buddy Miles, Duane Allman and other traveling musicians of the time, when we were on the road. If we were staying in our home-base of L.A., waiting for the next tour to begin, we would sometimes end up getting together with other musicians at their homes or rehearsal studios, clubs in town or at Columbia studios, where we did most of our recording. There was never a shortage of players or road people to hang around with, jam with, drink or smoke with or engage in other diversions.

Speaking of diversions, I once had an L.A. studio musician ask me if we were freaks. Though he was a little sinister looking, with dark eyes, long black hair and a goatee, I just guessed that he was asking if we partied or something. When I answered that we were, he said, "We're gonna whip this chick down in Studio B at Columbia tonight and get it on film and tape, if you want to come by." I think he saw the shock on our faces, much as we tried to hide it, when he added, "It's cool; she's into it." I don't remember for sure about the other guys, but I took a pass.

Meeting Janice

While I was on the road, I was still the star-struck kid. Even though we had a hit record and were hearing ourselves on the radio on a daily basis and signing autographs regularly, I wasn’t so impressed with myself that I couldn’t get excited with seeing a rock star in person; especially someone with the renown of Janis Joplin. As an aside, I should mention that many of my experiences from those days have been hidden in the recesses of my memory and rarely spoken of, since I always fear that someone will take me for a pathological liar. But, on to the tale.

At Sicks Stadium, in Seattle, we were to play a festival that included name acts like Janis, The Youngbloods, The Allman Brothers and more. I had heard through the grapevine that Janis was resting in her trailer, which was no surprise since we were all pretty worn out from the road in those days. After watching one of the guitarists from the Youngbloods (of the hit song “Get Together”) cut the old strings off his guitar in a way that made me wince, and start to restring it, I took a little walk around the park. That was when I saw that flaming star. It was almost a magical moment for me.

Janis was dressed head to foot in an expandable knit purple outfit, with matching hat and feather boa; pretty much just how you’d expect her to look. I was nearly breathless. Trying to hide my excitement (and act cool, I suppose), I approached her until I got close enough not to totally invade her space and waited for her to look my way. She turned, smiling, and I immediately blurted out something like, “Janis, you don’t know me but I’m Kenny from PG&E and I have been a fan of yours long before I got on the road with them.”

She was so gracious. She started chatting with me like an old friend. She asked if I had heard the ‘Full Tilt Boogie Band’, which had recently replaced Big Brother as her backup band. I admitted I hadn’t. At that point she began praising them and told me to be sure to stay and hear them play that evening at the concert.

I noticed that she was very animated, and not high or drunk as I had expected. She almost sparkled. Nevertheless, she was periodically swigging off of what appeared to be a pint bottle of something from a brown paper sack. Trying to keep the conversation going, I asked her what was in the sack. Without speaking, she handed me the bag-wrapped bottle and indicated that I should take a taste. In those days, I never refused anything drinkable or smokeable, so I took a good-sized slug. The rush I got from the potent liquor reminded me of a cough medicine from my childhood known as Terpin Hydrate, which had a high alcohol content and a bizarre form of cherry flavor. When I told her this, she chuckled with the exact same laugh as the one at the end of her recording of “Mercedes Benz”, and told me in that raspy Janis voice, “It’s Southern Comfort, baby."

So, on that sunny day in Seattle, Washington, Janice Joplin gave me my first taste of Southern Comfort.

Ron Moller; PG&E's head roadie (R.I.P.)

Moller was a true cocksman. He would cruise the entire college audience, at our gigs, until one chick would respond to his "wanna fuck?" technique. Then he'd take her by the hand and keep cruising. If the first catch left when the second consented, he only had to do it one more time with the second one, to end up with two who were game. Genius.

One morning, I freaked him out big time. I had a groupie in New York that was okay with my having another one sleep with us. The first had a dose, and couldn't safely 'do it', so it wasn't a true Ménage à trois. I was about 24 years old at the time; we were just kids...friends, really.

Anyway, three gals, who one of them knew, were hitch-hiking thru the state and needed a place to crash for the night. At the Chelsea, even though the rooms were not spotless or new, they were often pretty big. I had a double bed, a couch, a settee and a lounge-type chair and another chair, I think. The two friends of mine slept either side of me, while the others each had one of the other fairly comfy pieces of furniture.

The next morning, when Moller came to wake me, I let him in and he was struck with the vision of 5 young girls, laying in a state of undress all around my room. I was King For A Day.

I don't think I ever told him the true story.