[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gzeKo9DmbQ4&w=420&h=315]
I’ll only say this: at 4:14, you will see Phil do something utterly inexplicable. Do not attempt to explicate it. Then, at 7:20, something occurs that will blow your ass off.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: 1978 (Page 13 of 13)
In Bobby’s defense, he has for years been warning others that stealing women from their men is not just a pursuit to while away the long hours, but his vocation and livelihood. Bobby doesn’t want to steal all these women, but it’s his job, man, and in this economy, a man’s gotta put bacon on the table.
“Garcia! Garcia! GARCIA!”
Garcia walks over.
“What, man?”
“They look like boobies.”
“Billy!”
A friend of mine enjoys camping, him and his boys they go romping about New England forests and such, miles away from a fresh and reasonably-priced cup of coffee. At night, after what is, I’m sure, an improper and rushed toilet, they all kip out on the filthy ground like marmosets and then in the morning, they make their doodies squatting in a bush. Then a moose eats everybody; it’s no way to spend a weekend.
At base level, at the concrete bedrock of what “civilization” means to me, lies a non-temporary shelter connected to the water and electric mains. After that, we’re negotiable but I really must insist upon not having to build my home right before sleeping in it. Or having to make my doodies squatting in a bush. Deal-breaker, that.
I’ve been camping once in my life, and halfway through, I faked being sick so I could walk back to the infirmary. I went to sleepaway camp and once a year they would herd us a couple hundred yards into the woods with our sleeping bags, just far enough to be a real pain in the ass. Build a fire, all that goyim bullshit. I made it until around dinner when I realized how dirty my hands were and that I was expected to just eat my franks and burgers like that and fuck that shit, man, I’m a HUMAN BEING, BABY! MAN ON THE MOON, MOTHERFUCKER! I get to tidy up before I eat my franks, so fuck this shit, my stomach hurts, and I find the counselor whom I know wants to be there even less than I do and before I can get the lie out of my mouth, he has his stuff packed and slung around his shoulder and we’re humping the quarter-mile back to the real camp, with bunks and sinks and cookies.
But these guys love this camping nonsense.
What I’m trying to say is, before you mock someones misguided love for the dire pace of ’76, remember your irrational love for the arena rock of ’78. (Especially Spring ’78. Check out the boys at Duke on 4/12/78. Garcia’s vocals come in after a bit; what is with 1978 and his vocals?)
As with the last video I posted, embedding is impossible so I will just link to 11/24/78 at the Capitol Theater in beautiful, downtown Passaic, NJ. If you don’t have time to watch, just listen: the sound is spectacular.
“Hey, Bobby? I was hoping you’d play slide tonight,” is a sentence only uttered by one man in history. It is our bad luck that the man was Bobby. He used to talk to himself a lot, on the road somewhere between Iowa and Summer. Immediately after viewing the classic made-for-TV movie ‘Sybil,’ Bobby demanded the rest of the group recognize his other selves, except Bobby had named them all Bobby and they all had his personality and, quite honestly, Bobby hadn’t even decided real concrete-like on precisely how many of them there were, so the whole situation just played itself out, quietly and quickly
Dear whoever put together the soundboard tape for 4/21/78 at Rupp Arena: thank you for doing what you did, allowing me to–at virtually no expense–possess this show, this wonderful artifact. But there is no such thing as 4 minute and 40 seconds of stage banter in 1978. Maybe in ’70, they would have sat there bullshitting with the rowdy kids in the front row on the Fillmore East, but no longer. Not here, now.
From the end of the Hiatus (June of ’76) to Keith leaving the band (2/17/79) can be seen as a gradual speedening up. Not a typo, a choice: speedening.
But here’s the thing about 4/21/78 at Rupp arena: apparently no one showed up and the security was dicks. That’s the story. Which is the problem with knowing anything, really, about the actual gig part of it–it removes the textuality of the text (well, not just the text, but also the text) and places the praxis of the ur-Dead and the…ah, fuck it. i can’t even make fun of that kind of crap anymore. The best thing one can say of any music is nothing, there’s music on, shit the fuck up. But the second best thing you can say is, “Listen to this. Now, Now, you must.” When he got excited about an upcoming song or passage or transition, my friend Glenn would grab your forearm and he was strong. There was no getting away from the Sugaree he was offering you.
What I’m getting at is that I like to look up the shows that I listen to and read the reviews, but sometimes you see things like this:
This was a really good show for the Dead. I am from Lexington so I know they were probably playing to just a few thousand fans inside a huge 24,000 capacity seating arena. I guess that’s what they mean when they say their were plenty of seats down in the front. This was the first time the Dead ever played Lexington and it would also be their last time. That’s too bad, I wish I knew why.
HOW CAN YOU WISH FOR THAT INFORMATION? IT WAS CONTAINED WITHIN YOUR PREVIOUS SENTENCE. THEY DIDN’T PLAY THERE AGAIN BECAUSE NO ONE SHOWED UP
PS: Seriously, go listen to the Rupp show. They’re killing it.
© 2026 Thoughts On The Dead
Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑
Recent Comments