Grace Slick, A Painter Now, Feisty As Ever

The face that launched a thousand trips. Avatar of the sixties psychedelic revolution. Self-conscious sex symbol. Daughter, sister, model, lover, drinker, painter, wife and mother. Powerhouse vocalist on two generational anthems - one written by her brother-in-law, the other her own composition.

Grace Slick originally recorded, "Somebody to Love," and, "White Rabbit," in late 1965/early 1966, with first husband Jerry Slick and his brother, Darby, in the band, The Great Society. Slick took both songs with her to the Jefferson Airplane, whose versions would be top-10 hits in 1967.

Slick had a second run of chart success with Jefferson Starship during the 1980s, but, by then, the dream had faded. Following a brief Airplane reunion in 1989, Slick retired from the music business and pursued a passion for visual arts. She lost most of her physical possessions to a house fire sparked by a Marin County road crew and moved south to Malibu, California, where she’s living as a painter. In 1996, as part of Jefferson Airplane, Slick, now 83, was inducted into the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame.

Parts of this interview have been published before over the years, but here, for the first time, is the chat, with slight edits, in full.

Jim Clash: What are your main memories of the Woodstock Music And Arts Festival in 1969?

Grace Slick: Woodstock was basically a mess. We really didn't get to see anybody. We were in a hotel and the roads were all clogged, so they sent a helicopter to pick us up and drop us backstage a half-an-hour before we were to go on. Things kept getting screwed up: "You're not on now, you're on in a half-hour." Then they'd say: "You're on now. Oh no, now you're not."

We originally went to the stage at 9 p.m. and didn't play until the next morning. We hung out all night backstage and around the sides, so all I saw were people's butts. The speakers weren't aimed back at us, so we heard this massive barrage of sound. But, hey, we were in our 20s. You talk to people, take drugs, eat grapes, smoke dope.

It wasn't all as bad as it sounds, but it was off- putting because you get your mindset to go on, then they say no. Finally, at 6 a.m., I walked up to the microphone and said, "Now you're going to hear some morning-maniac music," because I had no idea how we were going to sound at that point.

Clash: You must have been exhausted, too.

Slick: Not really. We had cocaine. But cocaine is not good for singers because it dries you out. Same with alcohol. Now with the guitar players, it didn't matter. They can take speed, do whatever they want. But if you're singing, it's a little rough on your voice.

Clash: Later that year, you also played at Altamont Speedway Free Festival, where a fan was killed by a member of the Hell's Angels biker gang.

Slick: Altamont was the negative part of the triad that included Woodstock and Monterey [Pop Festival]. People say Altamont was the end of the sixties. It was unfortunate, yes [the Hell's Angels killed an audience member]. But, at the time, we didn't think of [the concert] as signaling anything. We had used Hell's Angels [for security] in the parks for free concerts before.

Paul [Kantner] and I flew over to talk to [Mick] Jagger beforehand. "Hey, they [Hell's Angels] are really good," we said. Well, in retrospect, not with a lot of alcohol and speed going on all day. The fact that nobody got killed at Woodstock is amazing, because that was half-a-million people. We only had like, 300,000 at Altamont.

Clash: What about Monterey in 1967, which really paved the way for Woodstock?

Slick: That was my favorite of the three, much smaller and more manageable. The things sold in the stalls weren’t corporate. It was handmade beads and hippie stuff. In 1967, we hadn’t seen a lot of the other performers yet. I’d heard Jimi Hendrix records, but had never seen him live. I had never seen the Mamas And The Papas, Ravi Shankar, The Who. We were all standing on the edges of the stage behind little black curtains. We were just as fascinated as the audience.

Clash: YouTube features most every rock performance in history. At Monterey, you changed the words in, "Somebody To Love," from, "Your eyes may look like his/But in your head baby, I'm afraid you don't know where it is," to, "Your eyes may look like his/But in bed my baby, I'm afraid you don't know where it is."

Slick: It's quite possible, but I don't remember [laughs]. I liked to stir up things and mix it up a bit live. The more amazing thing is another song they filmed ["Today"] there for the documentary. The audio guy didn't know it was Marty's [Balin] voice. I was playing on piano and my microphone was off, but I was singing along because I know the song so well. My words [on film] sync right up with Marty. They had the camera on me while Marty was actually singing, and they've kept it in there to this day [laughs].

Clash: Your father was an investment banker. How would he have reacted to all of Wall Street’s big bonuses and bailouts?

Slick: He was an above-board dude, and would just be appalled. There is an attitude now that we should be able to have everything. No, you shouldn't be able to have everything. I'd like a helicopter, but I can't afford a helicopter, so I don't buy one. People are buying stuff they can't afford on credit. I bought my old Ford hybrid with cash.

Clash: Did your dad's views affect your own economic philosophy?

Slick: He was conservative financially, so I didn't throw money around. He said, "With whatever comes in, pay your bills with a third, save a third, and then screw around with the last third." He also told me to buy bonds, not stocks, and California real estate. That's what I did. I'm not rolling in money, but I'm okay with the paintings I sell and the money I've saved.

Clash: What was your experience at Finch College like?

Slick: Finch College was this dumb finishing school in New York that was easy to get into. You learn how to be a lady, how to put certain forks correctly around a table setting, how to get a Princeton man. I didn't really want to go, but you can't say to your parents, "Can I have $15,000 or $20,000 to go screw around in New York?”

Clash: Before you were a singer, you modeled.

Slick: I modeled at a place called I. Magnin Department Stores in San Francisco. I don't think it's there anymore. I was on the third floor, the couture department, wearing $10,000 dresses. You wear one, wander around. All the rich people come up and feel the material, ask how much it is, then you go change. It wasn't like runway modeling. There's New York, Los Angeles, London, Rome, but San Francisco's not a big modeling town.

Clash: When did you make the switch to music?

Slick: I went to see Jefferson Airplane play and I thought, ‘Gee, that's way better. I could do that.’ My mom was a singer. They only have to work a couple of hours a night, can drink and hang out and hustle people. So I stopped modeling and formed a group with my husband [Jerry Slick] and his brother [Darby] called The Great Society. We would open for the Airplane. It was way more interesting to sing rock 'n' roll than to wander around changing clothes every 10 minutes.

Clash: How did you come up with the hit, "White Rabbit?”

Slick: I wrote it on a piano that cost me $50 at a place in San Francisco where they sold used furniture. It was a tiny, 88-key upright, and 10 keys weren't working. It was really a piece of junk. I'm not a great musician, but I had something in mind. All I need is a keyboard or guitar, and I pluck around until I can hear what I hear in my head. Then I put it on tape or play it for the band.

It was always fascinating to hear what they would come up with. "White Rabbit" is very short, so radio liked it because they could get a lot of commercials in. Why it got so popular is amazing, because it's not rock 'n' roll. It is a Spanish march. The music is weird. The lyrics paraphrase - if you don't paraphrase, you'll get sued - “Alice In Wonderland.” And I sort of ripped off, “Bolero,” too.

Clash: Do you remember when you recorded, "Somebody To Love?’’

Slick: I don't know whether it was a Tuesday or Thursday, but I remember being in front of the microphone, then listening to the playback on four big Altec speakers in Studio A of the control room at RCA in Los Angeles. I remember thinking, ‘My God, that is amazing. They make it sound like I can really sing.’ I can imitate my mom’s singing, but it’s not my style. She was a lot quieter. They didn’t have rock ‘n’ roll in the thirties.

Clash: Any idea how big those two songs eventually would become?

Slick: Not really. But you understand from playing, even just around San Francisco, what people respond to. When I went from The Great Society to Airplane, I brought those songs with me because people responded to them. Recording with the Airplane was a pleasure because Jack [Casady] and Jorma [Kaukonen] are amazing musicians.

Clash: The Airplane was an iconic American sixties band. How about the British Invasion? Do you remember, say, when you first heard Cream?

Slick: Yes, they were great! Jack was always bringing in new stuff - Cream, The Band, whatever. We'd stop a recording session at RCA and go up to the fourth floor where they had a record player. Ha ha, a record player, right? There, we would spend time listening to bands' new records. RCA was paying for the studio time at that point, so we didn't care. I don't know what Jack was reading, or what record stores he was going to, but he always knew the new stuff, the good stuff.

Clash: Your first impressions of The Beatles and The Rolling Stones?

Slick: Somebody called and said, "Hey, you've got to come over and see Ed Sullivan [show]. These guys called The Beatles are on.” So I went over and they sang, "I Wanna Hold Your Hand." Now these are 20-year-old people singing, "I want to hold your hand." Until they came out with Rubber Soul, I thought they were silly.

A short time later, I saw the Stones and thought, ‘Okay, that's the stuff right there.’ When you get on stage, you better own it. Some people are not comfortable with that, so they should be doing something else - dinner theater, maybe. I didn't imitate Mick Jagger's style, but I knew from the way he was on stage that that was rock 'n' roll.

Clash: As far as American rockers, what did you think of Elvis Presley?

Slick: I never did like Elvis, but everybody else thought he was fabulous. I was listening to Edvard Grieg [Norwegian composer], so I didn’t have a clue about pop music [laughs]. You wouldn't want me in the A&R department [at a record company]. I'm a music nerd, obviously. "White Rabbit" is a Spanish march. Who's doing Spanish marches besides Ravel, and that was, what, 50 to 100 years before?

Clash: You played at some music festivals with Jimi Hendrix. Your thoughts on him, so many years later?

Slick: He probably represents, as an individual, the sixties more than anybody else, if you're talking about rock 'n roll. The Beatles and the Stones may represent it as bands. Obviously, Martin Luther King and JFK [President John F. Kennedy] represent the sixties overall. But, if you're talking about rock, probably Jimi is the guy. The color, the clothes, the fact that he flipped from being for the war in Vietnam to against it within a year, his music, his stunning guitar playing, his showmanship.

Clash: We lost him, of course, to substance abuse, when he was just 27.

Slick: Janis [Joplin], Jimi and Jim Morrison. They've written books about the drama, about how suicidal, miserable and haunted by demons they were.

Okay, we all have little problems, but, trust me, when you're in your 20s, you took as many drugs as possible. That was the deal. You could screw anybody you wanted because we didn't have AIDS then, and you were getting paid to travel around the world to make music. Trust me, you're not suicidal. We were taking drugs for fun, mainly. We wanted to test: How do you feel when you do this? Ooh, that's interesting. LSD, oh, that's nice. I want to relax.

Clash: How about harder drugs, like heroin?

Slick: Taking fun drugs is hardball entertainment. You've got to know that going in. Taking harder drugs, and I'm talking about the stuff that doctors give you, as well, is a crapshoot. Heroin is especially tough because the amounts are so small you think you'll just have a little more. Well, just a little more might kill you.

I never took heroin, really because I'm too lazy. God kind of saved me there. It's too much trouble. You need a dealer, and he may not be home. You have to tie off your arm. You have to hit a vein. The doctors can't even hit a vein on me. My veins are way too deep. I snorted heroin once, but didn't get any feeling from it. I thought, ‘Okay, I don't need that.’

Clash: What about drinking? There was a lot of that in music back then, too.

Slick: Alcohol’s a lot easier because it’s legal, and, in the state of California, liquor stores open at 6 a.m. and close at 2 a.m. Between two and six is a little rough, but if you stock up, you’re okay [laughs].

Alcohol is a slow process. First, your wife gets mad, maybe you lose your job, and then it takes years, unless it’s an automobile accident. One of the main reasons I don’t do it anymore is hangovers. They are just too painful! The older you get, your body is not as able to handle that kind of stuff. I’d probably kill myself now if I were still drinking.

Clash: There is a famous anecdote about you trying to spike President Richard Nixon's tea at The White House. True?

Slick: I was invited to a party at The White House because Tricia Nixon had been a classmate at Finch. They had me on the invitation list as Grace Wing, my maiden name. I had LSD powder in my pocket, and I had a very long pinky finger for cocaine. When talking to Nixon, I was going to put my hand in my pocket, scoop up some of the LSD powders in my fingernail, then wave my hand over his tea cup.

While in line being checked by guards, one said we couldn't go in because I was on a security list - FBI or something because I was Grace Slick now - apparently because of my lyrics. That turned out to be good for Nixon, bad for us [laughs].

Clash: The Starship was an evolution of the Airplane. Your thoughts now, looking back on that later band?

Slick: I have trouble singing songs I don't believe. In the early seventies, Jack and Jorma went to Europe for a year [Hot Tuna], and Paul and I started doing Starship. We had an agreement we wouldn't call it Airplane unless all of the original members were playing. Paul liked outer space stuff, so I thought if you want to call it Starship, fine.

We did a good first album, Blows Against the Empire, 1970. The eighties Starship is what I didn't like. There's a lot of stuff about the eighties that was just dorky, and our music fit right into that dorkiness.

Clash: The tune, "Nothing's Going To Stop Us Now," for example?

Slick: Now 52% of people who get married get divorced. A truck will stop you now. A big semi will really stop you. What do you mean, “Nothing’s going to stop us?” To say that is hubris.

Clash: How about, "We Built This City?” Some say it's the worst rock song ever recorded.

Slick: Bernie Taupin wrote it about clubs closing in Los Angeles in the seventies. I thought, ‘Okay, but L.A. isn't built on rock 'n' roll, but on oranges, oil and the movie industry.’ People really thought we were singing about San Francisco, except San Francisco was built on trade and gold. London was built by the Romans. There is no city built on rock because [the genre’s] too new. I felt like a dope singing it. But it went to No. 1. That's pretty pathetic as regards to people's tastes.

Clash: You and Marty Balin had a love/hate thing, didn't you?

Slick: Well, yeah. With singers Mickey Thomas [Starship] and Marty, I came in second. Marty was already with the Airplane when I joined, and Mickey with Starship before I came back. Some songs Marty would take the lead on and I’d sing background, some I’d take the lead on. Still others were supposed to be duets. I think the two guys were pushed out of shape because they wanted to be solo singers.

It's not Linda Ronstadt. It’s called Jefferson Airplane. It was a band thing, and that's why I wanted to do the duets, solos, whatever was supposed to be happening. If you're any good, people will notice you. There's also the thing when you have five sheep and one pig, you're going to notice the pig [laughs]. I'm one girl and the rest are men.

Clash: How would you compare your painting to writing music?

Slick: The way I paint is similar to rock in that you don't stand around the work and say, "Gee, what are they talking about?” Rock is simple, blunt, colorful. Same with my paintings. You don't stand back and wonder what it is. That's Jim Morrison, that's a panda, that's a scene on the west coast. It's not abstract. I don't want to be precious, hang out in SoHo, talk crap about other people's stuff. I'm a commercial artist, both in music and art.

Clash: You were considered a sex symbol in your day.

Slick: Most women are aware of their faults. I am not a beautiful woman. I had kinky black hair, which looks odd on a white person, and blonde eyelashes and eyebrows. I had to put on makeup so my eyes matched my hair. I had no tits and, from the knee down, my legs are very, very short. How do you work that? Proportion. You wear boots that come up over your knees so it looks like the lower part is longer.

Clash: Do you still date?

Slick: If you're taking your clothes off after 70, and some guy has to poke that, you'd better do it in the dark. Unfortunately, you can't put a bag over your whole body. I wouldn't want to offend anybody.