Forty years ago today (I think) I saw a concert at New York's Fillmore East with these guys: Moby Grape.
And a few days later he was murdered.
The opening act was the Gary Burton Quartet, whose guitarist that night may or may not have been the great Larry Coryell; I'm not sure.
It was a superb concert, but the reason I remember it so vividly four decades later is the middle act: the Fugs. They were iconoclasts of the first rank -- ardent, uncompromising, and funny. They were the toast of the counterculture, and we all loved them. That night they made jolly good sport taking shots at daft pop stars like Nancy Sinatra. But they also took some strong jabs at Bobby Kennedy.