In 1970, I was in Hollywood, playing flute in a band with David and Keith Carradine. Some of us were dropping acid in our teepee, perched on a ledge above Gould Ave., when Dave showed up, popped his head inside, and said, "Guess where I just was?" We go, "Where?" He says, "A&M records," and we're like, "Yeah?" Most of us were not Hollywood nobility, like Dave and Keith, and we really wanted a contract. And he goes, "Do you know who A&M records is?" We look uncertain. "Herb Alpert and the fucking Tijuana Brass!" as if that ended it. We were crestfallen. Dave blew off Herb Alpert.