Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: 1979 (Page 1 of 4)

Tiger Beat

March 15, 2020 / / 2 Comments

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“Airing ’em out.”

I see that.

“Dunno if you can tell, but I made these shorts myself.”

Nooooo.

“Oh, yeah. I was, uh, inspired by Karl Lagerfeld. Sure, he’s big time, but he gets behind the sewing machine and does his own stitching.”

You were wearing those when you made them, weren’t you?

“Affirmative.”

Karl Lagerfeld doesn’t do that.

“What about Hedi Slimane?”

You shouldn’t know who these people are. What’s wrong with Brent?

“Sometimes, he’s a demon.”

Okay. Man, your legs are furry.

“Girls dig ’em. I’ve, uh, always said: Next to a guitar, a pair of hairy thighs are the best things for getting dates.”

I don’t think you’ve always said that.

“Something in the vicinity.”

Sure.

CELL PHONE NOISE

I have told all of you to stop using the Time Sheath to bring your cell phones back to the 70’s.

“You have definitely told us that. Gonna take this.”

Okay.

…

“Weir here.”

“Where Hairy Garcia? Kim Jong-Un call Hairy Garcia.”

“This is he. I think.”

“Where is degenerate drug beard?”

“What year is it when you are?”

“Juche 109.”

“Ah. I’m in Juche 68.”

“Good year. Disco so hot that year. What wrong with New Brent?”

“That’s not New Brent, it’s Old Brent. No, wait. That’s Brent Brent. Sometimes, he’s a demon.”

“Classic Brent Brent. So like him.”

“The man is easily anticipated.”

“You get kids I send you? How many survive trip?”

“I have received no children.”

“No. This terrible. Kim Jong-Un is embarrassed. Promise best friend Hairy Garcia wonderful gift, but is no gift. I lose face. Must make it up to you.”

“How about one of those giant hats?”

“I send sick people.”

“I don’t want any of them.”

“No contagious! Just dying! You can do whatever to them! They gonna die, anyway!”

“Hard, hard, hard pass.”

“Maybe you make movie. Use as stuntmen. Can actually set on fire.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Put in catapult.”

“Y’know, I really hate to be rude, but I’m hanging up.”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

…

“Excuse me.”

Yes, Bobby?

“I don’t put my foot down a lot around here, but I’m gonna have to on this one.”

You don’t wanna talk to Kim Jong-Un anymore?

“The guy’s a bad egg.”

You’re right.

 

 

(With thanks to every Enthusiasts favorite (non-Lambert) host of the Grateful Dead Radio Hour, David Gans, for providing the photo from his personal collection. Not the one of Kim Jong-Un; the shot of Bobby and Brent.)

Furthur Tales Of That Time Phil Was Fatter Than Garcia

January 27, 2020 / / 3 Comments

Why 11/23/79 from Golden Hall in San Diego?

Because I am listening to it.

Is it a highlight of the tour?

Not at all.

Is it representative of the tour?

Fuck yeah.

How so?

1979 is secretly the wobbliest of all Grateful Dead years.

I’ve heard ’84.

Of course. That’s what they want you to believe.

Who?

They.

Bastards.

Aye.

OR

Just fucking look at Mickey. It’s like cocaine did a line of him.

OR

Does the guy behind the stage that’s facing away from the camera and bending over have a monkey hanging off his back printed on his tee-shirt, or is that an actual monkey clinging to him? If it’s the latter, I am not okay with it. Everyone needs to stop bringing monkeys to Grateful Dead concerts.

OR

Amazing how much Golden Hall in San Diego looks like Red Rocks, isn’t it?

That Time Phil Was Fatter Than Garcia: A Half-Assed Investigation

January 25, 2020 / / 8 Comments

As is by now cliche, the Grateful Dead’s career can be sorted into chapters: Baby Dead, Single Drummer, Double Drummer, Brent, Vince, John Mayer; even the noobiest of noobs knows this. These chapters can be  further broken down: Baby Dead can, like the years that followed–be sliced into Single/Double Drummer, and then Vince be split into Bruce/No Bruce, but the Brent Years can be shaved the finest. There’s Pre and Post Coma, obviously, but there was also a magical and mostly forgotten period towards the beginning of Brent’s tenure: That Time Phil Was Fatter Than Garcia.

We can eyeball it to Fall of ’80, but exact dates for TTPWFTG are unknown as of now.

It couldn’t have lasted more than one tour. This shot’s from 9/6/80 in Lewiston, Maine, which for some reason I thought was the Dead’s only trip up to Massachusetts’ vestigial tail, but they went there a lot. As you can see, Phil had been indulging in Maine’s signature dish, which is a deep-fried plaid hat slathered in mayonnaise. (Phil also broke into Stephen King’s house after the show, as he did at least once during each of the Dead’s visits to the state.)

Speaking of plaid:

We see that in October of the same year, Phil is still a huffalump.

By March of ’81, however, the Lord has reasserted His hand on the wheel, and normalcy reigns once more over the lot, as Phil and Garcia retake their appropriate positions on the Axis of Dead Chubbiness.

Lo, do you hear the winds a-winding? Feel the earth ‘neath your feet, or knees, or whatever you’ve got pressed up against the earth? Are you reeling in the years? Will you one day dandle your tyke ‘pon your knee and teach the old stories, the cruel stories, the lost jewels of birthright? Will you tell your child about That Time Phil Was Fatter Than Garcia? Will you do that for me?

Stop typing.

Okay.

Do something useful with your life.

Don’t wanna.

Pinky Swear

January 7, 2020 / / 3 Comments

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“Thinking about the how life combines cyclicality with a linear momentum.”

Uh-huh.

“And learning how to play the slide.”

I see. Let’s talk about the first thing.

“Well, I’m in 1979. Problems with Iran. And, uh, you’re in 2020 and the same nonsense is going on.”

Yup.

“You could even extend your mind’s eye way back. Persia and the West, man. Hoo boy.”

That might be the only fact we know to be true right now.

“Sure, yeah. The frog of war.”

Fog, Bobby. The fog of war.

“Y’don’t say.”

I do.

“That saying never did make any sense to me. I always pictured a giant armored war-toad hopping through a city. Although, that would confuse the hell out of you. The frog of war would produce the same effect as the fog of war.”

Have you always looked like Chevy Chase, or is it just the angle?

“Just the angle.”

Okay.

On Your Left

September 7, 2019 / / 1 Comment

Takes a couple seconds to realize what’s wrong with the picture, right?

OR

Opposite Day, as always, was a complete disaster.

OR

“Hey, uh, guys? We wearing our enormous glasses today?”

“Obviously, Weir.”

“Yeah, man. Biggest you can find.”

OR

If you don’t like 9/1/79, then you don’t like the Dead. And if you don’t like the Dead, why are you reading this bullshit? Who am I even addressing here? Ah, screw it: life is pointless.

OR

Which band had the most lefties in it? I can’t think of any with more than one southpaw player. (Not counting natural lefties who learned to play right-handed because left-handed guitars were tough to find and/or more expensive.)

Not Playing Around

June 18, 2019 / / 6 Comments

11/24/79 was the penultimate (David Lemieux’s second-favorite word) appearance in San Diego, as their 1980 show would be accompanied by Bobby, Mickey, and Rifkin getting hauled off to jail by the cops; the Dead would never return to the coast city.

BUT this time around, the Playing in the Band is so fat. May I describe the 11/24/79 Playing in one word? GLORIOUS.

What about in five words? NO PEPPER IN THIS AREA!

Four words and a number? THIS SHIT’S NUMBER 1, YO.

How about a sound? HHMMMNNNNNgh.

There is also a Terrapin that–for literally every second of its existence–threatens to crumble into pieces. This is some serious Grateful Dead fun, Enthusiasts.

Amazing What Twelve Bucks Will Get You

May 19, 2019 / / 3 Comments

Apparently, there was more than one roll of film shot at the hooker motel that day, and thank the Jesus for it: the black-and-white shots don’t reveal the depths of the Bush League that marquee sinks to.

“Boss, we’re out of red W’s.”

“Just use the blue one and stop bothering me.”

OR

Phil, is that a falconer’s glove?

“Yeah.”

Where’s the bird?

“Otis got to it.”

Sounds right.

OR

College shirts: 1

College degrees: 0

(There aren’t even six high school graduates in this shot. Phil, Brent, and Garcia got their diplomas from various Bay Area highs, but I think Bobby and the drummers are without credentials.)

OR

“Ma’am, can you identify the man who stuck his finger up your butt in Radio Shack?”

“Number one.”

“You sure?”

“You don’t forget something like that.”

OR

The marquee. Christ, the shoddiness.

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