An old jazz piano playing buddy of mine was telling me yesterday how back in 1967 this hippie chick he was dating (ahem) took him to see Jefferson Airplane at the monthly love-in in Griffith Park. He really liked the Airplane–a lot of jazz cats did–but the hippie chick insisted on standing right in front of the stage. The PA was so huge and so ridiculously loud that he was deaf for two weeks. He was mad as hell at that hippie chick, but continued dating her. Ahem. But it turns out the real reason he did not leave the front of the stage was he could not take his eyes off of Grace Slick. She was so beautiful. He even remembered how short her mini-skirt was. Jazz piano players seem to remember those things, even fifty years later. One minute they’re talking about Ray Bryant, the next Grace Slick’s underwear.