Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
And sometimes you find a picture you’ve never seen before. (I feel like I should have seen this photo already–I’ve seen the rest of the photo shoot–but it’s new to me. Am I just clueless?)
PLUS over at Terrapin Crossroads, Phil and his Phriends are taking the stage and you can listen in thank to Radio Busterdog.
EXT: MONTEREY POP FESTIVAL – DAY
The Summer of Love! (We cannot refer to it as the Summer of Love for legal and financial reasons.)
We FOLLOW a large man through the crowd. His name is MACHO SCUNGILLI and he works for PASTICHE RECORDS. There are many people around him: HIPPIES and BEATNIKS and WHATEVER ELSE THE COSTUME DEPARTMENT CAN FIND.
Macho is wearing BELL BOTTOMS and FLOWERS IN HIS HAIR and a LEATHER BLAZER.
He stops a SKINNY BLACK GUY with a STRATOCASTER as he passes.
MACHO
Hey, lemme borrow that for a second.
Macho grabs the guitar and FLIPS IT OVER, pouring THE MOST COCAINE YOU’VE EVER SEEN onto it, even though it’s 1967.
He SCHNARFS the YAYO.
MACHO
HOOOooooo! That’s good yayo!
(…)
What’s your name, kid?
JIMI HENDRIX
My name’s Jimi Hendrix, mister.
MACHO
Have you met Bob Weir?
JIMI HENDRIX
No, but I have a feeling that when I do meet him,
we’ll be the best of friends.
AUDIO CUE: FOXEY LADY AS COVERED BY THE MILK CARTON KIDS
A TALL MAN with a STUPID HAT walks up.
MACHO
Hey, Papa John Phillips of The Mamas and
the Papas!
JOHN PHILLIPS
Hey, brother. Peace and love.
MACHO
Peace and love.
JIMI HENDRIX
Peace and love.
MACHO
This is what the past was like. Anyway, nice
catching up, but I have to go discover The Who.
EXT: ONSTAGE – NIGHT
Four ACTORS IN BAD WIGS are onstage wearing Who costumes. The GUY PLAYING KEITH MOON clearly does NOT KNOW HOW TO PLAY THE DRUMS. Also, The Who would not permit their songs to be used, it is a COVER of Substitute by NEUTRAL MILK HOTEL that sounds ALMOST, BUT NOT QUITE, EXACTLY UNLIKE THE WHO.
The Who DESTROYS THEIR INSTRUMENTS because THAT’S WHAT THE VIEWERS EXPECT and then leave the stage.
MACHO
Holy shit, guys! That was some authenticity!
PETE TOWNSHEND, who is played by MICK JAGGER’S NEPHEW answers him in a TERRIBLE BRITISH ACCENT.
PETE TOWNSHEND
Thanks, Macho. But I’ve been feeling so constrained by
pop songs. I want to write something bigger. Something grand.
MACHO
You mean like a rock…opera?
PETE TOWNSHEND
A rock opera! That’s it! Once again, the guy from the record
company is the real hero of the story.
Behind him, Keith Moon DRIVES HIS CAR INTO A POOL.
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STAGE
JERRY GARCIA and BOB WEIR stand there, HOLDING THE WRONG GUITARS.
BOBBY
Jer?
GARCIA
Yeah, Bob?
BOBBY
I thought this show was about us.
GARCIA
Eh. Hollywood.
BOBBY
Ah.
GARCIA
Hey, who was that black guy you were playing with? That
guy could play, man.
BOBBY
Oh, that was Jimi Hendrix.
GARCIA
Cool.
BOBBY
He’s my new best friend.
GARCIA
Okay, Bob.
Behind them, KEITH MOON DRIVES ANOTHER CAR INTO ANOTHER POOL.
A reminder: there has always been commentary.
Picture the Dawn of Man. Maybe a Tuesday. No one had ever done anything before, and then someone did. Immediately after that, people began reviewing it, compiling candid behind-the-scene reports about it, parodying it, and wondering what it all meant, cavemaaaaaaan.
Your tweets are today’s Talmudic commentaries, just with fewer violent hand gestures. Probably the same amount of beards.
Let’s celebrate the site’s return to her former glory with some Baby Dead: 10/22/67 from Winterland. It’s a startlingly good tape, and not just for 1967: it’s genuinely clear and present and punchy and all those words that fail to describe proper sound properly. (It is a ’67, though: tons missing and some regrettable cuts, plus all the vocals are panned hard to the left because Bear was an insane person.)
Check it out and pay special attention to The Other One with a rare, early verse that is provably terrible.
“Change it back or I pull the plug.”
To the internet?
“If that’s what this plug is, then: yeah.”
The plug is not the internet.
“It’s 1967. I have no idea what we’re talking about.”
Sure. Nice pants.
“Weird story: me and Weir got a little too high the other day and started wandering. Must have walked for two or three hours, just rapping and solving the world’s problems, y’know? We looked up and we were in a neighborhood neither of us had ever been to before.”
You don’t say.
“Hell, we hadn’t even heard of the place.”
Little Aleppo?
“You’ve been there?”
I’ve read about it.
“And one of the little shops was the best pants place I’ve ever been. Got these, a couple more pair. Real nice owner, fair prices. Said he was gonna come to the show today, actually. Maybe I’ll run into him.”
Creepy Ernie?
“Ernie? No: Ernie’s the stockboy. The owner is About To Be Murdered For His Shop Dwayne.”
Ah. Right. If you do see him, maybe you should warn him that Ernie’s about to murder him.
“I’m not a snitch, man.”
Okay.
…
Phil?
“Yeah?”
What’s with the baby?
“Not a Dead show without a naked baby wobbling around in front of the amplifiers.”
True.
“WHAT’D YOU DO?”
Oh, c’mon. Not you, too.
“CHANGE IT BACK!”
You never yell.
“Startled me, man. Should warn people.”
It’s not that big a deal.
“Yeah, sure, man. That’s what they said about polio.”
No one ever said polio wasn’t a big deal.
“Somebody must have.”
Sure.
Hey, Pig. Whatcha doing?
“Being backlit from the front!”
Sure.
Once upon a time, we were young and all on drugs.
Hey, Pig. Whatcha doing?
“Being scandalous, hat-wise!”
Oh, yeah.
“Scopin’ out the crowd fer dusky darlings!”
I gotcha.
“Holdin’ down an A for ten minutes while these baboons tune their axes!”
No doubt.
Keyboardist sitting on a stolen kitchen chair? Check.
Phil rocking the Prince Valiant? Yes.
Barefoot, unsupervised child with no hearing protection feet away from the largest amplifiers the Dead could afford? Also, yes.
We can confirm that this picture of is of the old days.
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