Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

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Rising First Nations And Shining Best

February 14, 2019 / / 0 Comments

Hey, Dave.

“David.”

One of you is not adhering to the dress code.

“This is Roy Henry Vickers, the First Nations artist who did all the great work for the Pacific Northwest box set.”

Ah. Dave?

“David.”

C’mere.

“What?”

C’meeeeeere.

CANADIAN COMING HERE NOISE

Listen, I’m gonna ask you a question and I don’t want you to take it the wrong way and I don’t want you to tell Mr. Vickers I asked.

“This can’t be good.”

Are you positive he’s a real Indian? Because the Grateful Dead has a habit of attracting white men in feather bonnets who babble abut the Great Bear.

“I’m sure.”

I don’t have to remind you about Rolling Thunder.

“You don’t.”

Cuz that guy’s name was John Pope and whether he was Cherokee or Shoshone changed depending on when you asked him.

“This situation is not that situation.”

Just checking. Hey, do me one favor.

“Maybe.”

Try not to let John Mayer see Mr. Vickers’ outfit.

“Oh, yeah. Good idea.”

There’s A Price For Being Free

February 13, 2019 / / 0 Comments

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“Honestly? Feeling a little insecure about the size of my hat.”

Your hat is huge, man.

“Yeah, but look at that sucker. The girth alone…”

Bobby, your hat is perfect. Besides, you got the boncho.

“I guess, yeah. I have discovered that there are multiple hidden pockets within.”

For what?

“Cash, stash, whatnot.”

Sure.

“You know: pocket stuff.”

Right.

 

Random Thoughts Upon My Fourth (Maybe Fifth) Spin Of Dave’s Pick 29

February 12, 2019 / / 8 Comments

They should play this music for at-risk youths. Get caught shoplifting? Truant? Hijack a school bus and ram it into a ghost mall? What if, instead of disciplining these children, we sat with them and smoked thicc doobies with them and cranked the shit out of 2/26/77 at them? What a world that would be.

No other species invented Prog Rock. David Attenborough won’t shut the fuck up about cuttlefish, but they’re just smart squid and none of their songs take up the whole side of the album.

The Sugaree is not titanic. Naked I stand, bald and po-faced and dulled before THE LORD, for He is Good, and I may neither prevaricate nor equivocate:

This Sugaree, LORD? It is just pretty good!

Do not blame the Sugaree. At barely over 11 minutes, it is among the shorter of 1977’s renditions, and I think we can all agree that 11 minutes are not enough minutes due a Sugaree of proper pedigree. That’s like ripping the baby from the womb mixed with post-birth abortion. That’s what Democrats want: short Sugarees and no more Christian babies.

The Eyes>Dancing transition is surely amongst the Best EVAR rankings. Phil does some downright mathematical shit to get from here to there.

Disco Dancing is the superior Dancing arrangement. They played it all herky-jerky real early, and then the number dropped from the repertoire, only to come sniffling back in ’76 all tooted up in glam and glitter. The Dead never played funk music, but they did on occasion get within pissing distance of funky.

AND it had that risey-descendy riff on either side of the jam, and the jam would be so pure and right and disco-dancey. Garcia, often, would engage his Mu-Tron pedal and so his guitar would be all MWAH MWAH MWEE MWOO and that is such a tasty sound, verily.

AND they fucked up the intro every time, which makes me happy. You can start Dancing in the Streets two ways: Dancin’, dancin’, dancin’ in the street or jumping right into the verse with Callin’ out around the world. Neither way is superior to the other. You just need to choose one. The Grateful Dead, or at least the singing Grateful Deads, did not choose. Instead, they fucked it up every time. Garcia and Mrs. Donna Jean would sing Callin’, and Bobby would sing Dancin’, or variations thereof.

When Keith was replaced by Brent and Mrs. Donna Jean was also replaced by Brent, the slick arrangement of the Motown classic remained. As did the confusion centering around the intro: now, sometimes Brent and Bobby would sing Callin’ and Garcia would sing Dancin‘. Same shit, different keyboardist.

AND when they brought the song back in 1984, it was a pointless slog played like a half-drunk bar mitzvah band.

If you think about it, the Dead’s disco tunes are the real punk rock.

If 2/26/77 has any faults, it is that it may be too good. Also, the blackface worn to several Halloween parties. So, 2/26/77’s faults are: 1, being too good; 2, culturally-sanctioned racism.

It’s true: the Grateful Dead’s most creative years were the 1980’s, and the reason that more shows from that era haven’t been released is that David Lemieux has a personal grudge against you for a comment you made in a Usenet forum in 2007. You were right, and you should stop taking your medicine.

David Lemieux and Jeffrey Norman deserve blowjobs. No particular person owes them one, but a beej is karmically destined for both. Go listen to DaP 29 again. Witness the meatiness. Now go listen to live releases from other bands while smashing your own hand with a hammer. Which one’s the more pleasurable experience? And that’s from a work tape! We should really get Betty in on this blowjob thing. Someone slobber Betty’s johnson.

To compare the Playing>Wheel>Playing to Saladin the Great would not be unfruitful.

The Keys To Success

February 12, 2019 / / 0 Comments

Why did you agree to do this?

“Alicia Keys is a friend and–”

Stop talking right there. Just stop it.

“What’s your problem with Alicia Keys?”

There’s something off about that woman. She may be an Information Droid controlled from within the chest cavity by a super-intelligent possum.

“I’ve seen her in really low-cut stuff, so I don’t think so.”

The chest cavity is obviously well-concealed, man.

“Alicia Keys is a human woman. And a very talented one, too.”

She is the female John Legend.

“Exactly!”

…

Oh, you thought that was a compliment.

“I don’t know why I would care about your musical taste. She’s a brilliant musician and you’re just a dick for the sake of being a dick.”

She’s a pirate.

“Stop it.”

Make a joke about it. Call her a pirate. Poke her in the eye and lay your dick on her shoulder and call it a parrot.

“What the fuck, dude?”

Okay, yeah, that was sexual assault I just described.

“And just regular assault.”

The eye thing? No, that was sexual assault, too: I wanted you to use your dick to poke her.

“Wow.”

What the fuck are you doing, anyway?

“We’re doing a bit. See, Alicia had been nominated for a Grammy in 2009 for–”

Holy shit, I already don’t care. Don’t tell stories about how you know other famous people, John. I speak for the rabble: we hate that.

“May I continue?”

And you split one of your Grammys in half and gave it to her, some shit like that? And now you’re doing a bit?

“Essentially.”

Dude, you’re doing bits?

“I’m a triple-threat.”

Why didn’t you perform? You could have joined the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Post Malone.

“Me and Post fell out.”

Oh, no. How about a tribute to XXXtentacion?

” I pitched it, but the producers kept bitching about time.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“You’re just jealous.”

I am objectively judgmental and jealous.

…

“You’re on with John.”

“Rando War keeps rolling…who did you say this was?”

“America’s sweathog, John Mayer.”

“Ah, shit, now I’m crank-calling myself.”

“Where are you?”

“The NAMM show. Where are you?”

“Grammmys.”

“I was trying to call Bobby.”

“Lines got crossed, I guess.”

“We shouldn’t be talking.”

“Not according to all the books and movies.”

“Hanging up now.”

“Take care of our dick, bro.”

“You, too.”

…

“Hey!”

Yessir?

“Don’t do that again.”

Didn’t really go anywhere, did it?

“Creeped me out, dude.”

Thoughts On The Snydology, Part I

February 11, 2019 / / 0 Comments
  • Sam Raimi’s three Spider-Man movies had heart.
  • Christopher Nolan’s Batman films had brains.
  • And Zack Snyder’s DC trilogy had a stinky asshole rubbing on your face.
  • Aggressively.
  • Imagine: you are on the floor, supine.
  • Zack Snyder, henceforth known as Z-Dog, is standing above you.
  • Your head is between his feet.
  • And now he squats so low, so deep and low–
  • Excuse me.
  • –and you quiver in ecstasy to receive the Salve of D’murm.
  • Dude.
  • What?
  • Stop making up occult bullshit and talk about the movies.
  • The Snydology–The One Where A Million Fucking People Die, Handsome Man Punches Armor-Face, and The One With Wonder Woman And Aquaman–is almost, but not quite, perfectly dreadful; it is also disappointing and confusing at several identifiable levels, precipitating near-constant cries of “Why is he doing that?”
  • Sometimes one asks about creative choices.
  • Sometimes one asks about character choices.
  • Never is a satisfying answer provided.
  • For example, there is the look.
  • (Film is a visual medium.)
  • In 1983, a gypsy cursed a hooker in Newark, New Jersey, but the gypsy was drunk and ended up embuing the hooker’s L’egg’s pantyhose with immortality.
  • The hooker wears those ‘hose to this day, and still hooks.
  • Those pantyhose are the colors of 2.5 films out of the Snydology (we’ll get to it): gray and brown and explosions.
  • There is a small bit of green in the first one, and the third one has a dash of red in it, but mostly it’s gray and brown then boom.
  • Blade Runner without the neon.
  • Every movie Z-Dog has ever directed looks like it takes place two years after a nuke went off.
  • Not immediately after, but shit is still fucked up.
  • Appropriate for a zombie picture, but this is the superhero game, baby; did it translate?
  • It did not!
  • Hey, I’m sorry for that question-and-answer thing back there; weird and out-of-place; I regret its inclusion.
  • Another choice the casual viewer might question is making Superman such a fucking mope.
  • More powerful than a locomotive pulling a car full of girl’s blouses and sad diary entries, ya pissy widdle fuck.
  • Z-Dog’s Superman listens to The Smiths.
  • And still, in 2019, defends Morrisey.
  • This is because–and here is the core defect of these films–Z-Dog does not understand Superman on any level including visually.
  • He shouldn’t loom.
  • That’s Batman’s thing.
  • Truth, Justice, and the American Way; golly and shucks and ma’am; posture to emulate in front of the mirror: that’s Superman, and he’s not grim and gritty.
  • Superman is not Gritty, either.
  • (18 months ago, that sentence wouldn’t have made sense to you. Welcome to the future.)
  • Z-Dog’s Superman spends a great deal of time:
    • Gnashing his teeth at people.
    • Regarding humans with contempt.
    • Threatening to melt someone’s face off with his heat vision.
    • Hanging with his two dead dads.
    • Superman usually only has one dead dad, but this is a Z-Dog production, man.
    • These dead dads go to eleven.
  • And killing randos.
  • Far before the grand and terrible ending where he snaps Zod’s throat, Superman ended the lives of oodles of bystanders in Manly Steel.
  • He kept throwing Kryptonian warriors into occupied buildings.
  • I don’t know what that’s called legally–murder or manslaughter or whatever–but it’s definitely Superman’s fault those people are dead.
  • This is before Zod levels up and goes Super-Saiyan all over Kal-El and Metropolis.
  • Before the ending fight scene between Handsome Man and Michael Shannon with George Clooney’s haircut from 1995 even ramps up, hundreds of innocents are dead or seriously injured.
  • Smallville’s infrastructure is in ruins.
  • This is a farm town, you’ll note.
  • At any moment, Superman might have dragged the fracas to one of the fields surrounding the small outpost of civilization in the vast Kansas plain.
  • Instead, he chose to scrap in the IHOP.
  • The Man of Steel does not fight in a House of Pancakes.
  • Daredevil could have a great fight scene in an IHOP, but not Superman because Superman fights are so fast and energetic that there is a radius of lethality to them.
  • Like a shuttle launch.
  • The true magnitude of Superman’s abilities and might had always been well displayed in the comics, but never on screen; the technology didn’t exist.
  • The first two Christopher Reeve films aren’t beloved for their blistering action sequences, which–in the DeLaurentis family’s defense–were the best they could do in 1979.
  • In 2013, the best they could do was photorealisitically recreate what a Kryptonian fight would look like in a major city: it is genocide.
  • Perhaps you remember the jokes, or articles declaiming the violence, or perhaps you saw the film when it came out and it has slipped from your mind, so allow me to attest: the ending of Man of Steel is fucked up and Z-Dog should go to jail for it.
  • Allow us, for not the last time, to compare the Snydology to a Marvel movie: The Avengers.
  • The climax of each story has our hero/s battling a semi-inifinitely powerful enemy in the middle of a city.
  • An honest reading of Avengers must reveal many dead New Yorkers.
  • Those giant armored sperm-dragons were knocking buildings over.
  • Monster-faces were shooting at pedestrians.
  • People fucking died.
  • Yet the film only presents “innocents” in terms of the heros; there are two shots of normal people during the entire sequence: in one, Captain America saves a group of them, and the Hulk comes to the rescue in the other.
  • Civilians are not in danger so much as moderate distress (on screen).
  • Z-Dog goes a different way.
  • Full 9/11.
  • Shots straight-up cribbed from documentaries I forced myself to stop watching several years ago.
  • Still recognize the angles, though.
  • Running along with the crowd, only to look back and see the dust cloud approaching.
  • Skyscrapers crumbling.
  • Confused survivors dusty like ghosts.
  • Trust me on this one: the man consciously aped the semiotic language of September 11th.
  • For a movie about Superduperman, who punches crime, and has a cape.
  • You should go to jail for that.
  • Honestly, what happens is beyond 9/11.
  • It’s 9/11 squared.
  • It’s 81/121.
  • Swathes of business and residential areas are razed as these two numbskulls kick each other in the super-nuts.
  • Multiple buildings of 50, 60, and 70 stories are toppled.
  • Chris Meloni is also in this movie, and that’s always welcome news.
  • He is General Military, and Toby from West Wing is Dr. Scientist.
  • Amy McAdams plays plucky reporter Girlfriend Girl.
  • In the spirit of comic book movie leading women since the inception of the genre, she requires rescuing.
  • She falls off shit a lot.
  • The leading ladies in both the Raimi and Nolan trilogies fell off of shit a lot, too.
  • More correctly, the bad guys threw them from heights.
  • (The Green Goblin chucked Kirsten Dunst off the Queensboro Bridge; the Joker dropped Maggie Gyllenhall off the balcony of Wayne Tower: it’s a recyclable trope.)
  • Amy McAdams has a face.
  • I’ll leave it at that.
  • If you asked her about it–
  • “Hey, is that your face?”
  • –I feel as though she’d answer,
  • “Yes, it is.”
  • And offer no further response, nor a countering query, just sit there quietly being Amy McAdams and having that face.
  • There’s also a My Two Dads thing going on with Waterworld and Gladiator, instead of Greg Evigan and Paul Reiser.
  • I would’ve killed for Evigan, man.
  • It’s time to bring that guy back.
  • The Eviganaissance.
  • We did not get BJ.
  • We get RC, all 900 pounds of him.
  • He’s in one of those dopey “I’m an alien” tactical suits, and there’s thousands of dollars in illegal whalebone holding Russel in there.
  • Nothing but real whalebone for the Gladiator.
  • At one point, Z-Dog forced Russel to karate with some stunt men; one can only imagine the limpid flailing that went on because the final product contains a cut every fifth-of-a-second with no regard as to your eye placement or the background light source.
  • In the cinematic language of today’s blockbusters, this means “excitement!”
  • But it is not exciting.
  • Gladiator is fat.
  • Waterworld, on the other hand, is old as shit.
  • His mother brewed the family fresh sarsaparilla, and they lived in a Hooverville.
  • And he’s like,
  • “No, Clark, no. Don’t ever use your powers. Be a giant pussy.”
  • And Gladiator’s all,
  • “Fuck that shit. Put on the cape and be awesome.”
  • Then they both die, but Gladiator dies twice because he comes back from the first death as a hologram and then Michael Shannon unplugs him.
  • Too bad, so sad, dead dad.
  • You know the ending, with the snapped neck and all the yelling and sadness: it is unearned, and was not set up in the story, and Zod’s death is necessary in the extreme.
  • What are you gonna do, throw him in the hoosegow?
  • There’s no way to toss him back into the Phantom Zone, so he’s simply gotta go.
  • Can’t have a pissed-off Kryptonian wandering around the planet.
  • Not good for business.
  • Jesus, this is 1500 words and I haven’t gotten past the first turd.
  • To be continued!

Grammy, Pappy

February 11, 2019 / / 4 Comments

“Do you know Belinda Carlisle?”

I do, but that’s not her.

“She was a Bangle.”

Also wrong.

“And a hell of a gymnastics coach.”

That’s Bela Karolyi, buddy. The woman you’re talking to is the very talented singer/songwriter Brandi Carlile.

“Ah. She’s the daughter of a Bangle. Bangelldottir, the Icelandic would say.”

No. She’s not related to any popular girl groups of the 80’s.

“I nearly joined Vixen in ’84.”

No, you didn’t.

“Oh, yeah. This was around when I was doing Bobby & the Midnites and the other solo stuff. I was spending a lot of time in Los Angeles and I was seeing Vixen’s drummer.”

Hard-Hittin’ Roxy Petrucci?

“Sounds about right. She was 5’2″ and all muscle. Like a giant iguana. Lot of fun.”

This didn’t happen.

“And, uh, the band went through one of their lineup shifts and needed a guitarist. So I put my toe in the water, metaphorically speaking. Went down to jam with them.”

How did that go?

“Poorly. As poorly as you’d expect. They didn’t know any cowboy songs. Didn’t, uh, wanna learn any cowboy songs. Entirely unpracticed in improvisational jazz-inflected space-rock. And no catering. When the Dead rehearsed, there would always be food there. It’s one of the only reasons people would show up for rehearsal. But, uh, Vixen did not provide any refreshments at all besides a 12-pack of Lowenbrau that rapidly assumed room temperature.”

The vicissitudes of rock n’ roll.

“Deprivation, man. After a couple of hours, we found common musical ground, though.”

Chuck Berry covers?

“Oh, yeah.”

You go back to the source.

“There you go, right. So, uh, we ran through a bunch of Chuck’s tunes and sort of felt out each other’s musical bliss. It started to sound pretty good, and plus I was checking out the bass player.”

Uh-huh. Vixen was famously an all-female band. How were you going to join?

“We were contemplating a Bosom Buddies scenario.”

Nope. All of this is nonsense.

“In the end, they went a different direction, but I still think about that sometimes. The road not taken.”

Bobby, you did not almost join Vixen. Stop it.

“You like my tie?”

Is that a tie? I thought you worshiped Guitar Jesus.

“No, it’s a tie. Bolo tie.”

Oh, it’s nice.

My Final Form

February 10, 2019 / / 7 Comments

You’re going Full Pappy, man.

“I’m embracing my gravitas.”

In a poncho?

“Boncho.”

What?

“This is a boncho. Poncho is a solid piece of fabric with a hole for your head. A boncho is definitely not a poncho, but it is similarly not a robe.”

Bobby, stop letting Josh talk you into buying secret rich person clothes.

“I gotta admit, the kid’s taught me a lot about hyper-exclusive Japanese snotwear. Fascinating stuff. I was interested in Visine.”

Visvim.

“They’re doing powerful work in the trouser department. Important pants.”

The Grateful Dead didn’t turn John Mayer into a pothead; he turned them into hypebeasts. This is intolerable.

“Do me one favor, though.”

Uh-huh?

“Don’t tell the other poor people about the boncho. They’re not supposed to know it exists.”

Gotcha.

Down In Carlisle He Loved A Lady Many Beers Ago

February 8, 2019 / / 2 Comments

What’s going on here, David Lemieuxnriver?

“This is Dogfish brewery, where they make American Beauty beer. They were nice enough to give me a tour around the place.”

It looks a bit empty.

“There was a major robbery last night.”

Wow. Bad timing.

“I keep telling Sam that we can put off the tour, but he insists on showing me where things used to be. Sam’s the owner. Nice guy.”

I’m sure.

“And he keeps discovering new things that were stolen, and I think he’s gonna snap.”

Dave–

“David.”

–get out of there! 68% of all murders in the United States last year were committed by aggrieved brewers.

“I don’t think that’s right.”

It’s not.

“I’ll be okay.”

Is that pot of mash all that’s left?

“Apparently. It could have grown up so strong and full of bocks. But instead it gets dumped in a gutter in Delaware.”

There’s a metaphor in there somewhere.

“Delaware is made out of metaphors.”

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