Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: bob weir (Page 24 of 198)

Seven In 77

December 19, 2018 / / 8 Comments

Going generally counter-clockwise, but retaining the option to call an audible and double-back or skip around:

  • Is Keith staring Death in the eyes?
  • That’s the only explanation for that expression.
  • And he is about to spill his Fanta.
  • Keith Godchaux loved Fanta.
  • Mrs. Donna Jean, as always, has the best hair; if she were a collie, you would think her owner had been mixing raw eggs in with her kibble.
  • I bet Mrs. Donna Jean had all sorts of rules and schedules and protocols regarding her hair and its upkeep.
  • Shampoo once every this many days, and condition once every that many, and various calibers of comb and brush.
  • Plus assorted scarfs and babushkas for bad hair days.
  • Deadheads over the years have spread vile rumors about Mrs. Donna Jean regarding supposed assignations that were extramarital but intrabandial, and I find this low gossip intolerable and cruel.
  • But she definitely wasn’t banging Phil.
  • That is some rough body language there.
  • The longer you look, the more they hate each other.
  • The hips are the giveaway, but Mrs. Donna Jean’s lean–as if she’s italicizing herself–is the clincher; one will also note Phil’s posture, which can be described only as “surly.”
  • Everyone in the top row is happy not to be in the bottom row, because the bottom row is weird and unfun and Keith might have just pooped himself.
  • OF IMPORTANCE: Each of the non-Billy men in the top row has taken caution in re: getting their dicks punched, and punched hard.
  • Bobby’s elected to go all-in with the knee, while Mickey and Garcia have not only positioned their shoulders in front of Billy’s, relieving him of any leverage, but also have their free hands in dick-adjacent readiness.
  • The non-Billy men have done this unconsciously, by sheer muscle memory, as they have been in a band with Billy for 12 years now.
  • You live, you learn.
  • Speaking of Billy, this–long hair and mustache–was his best look.
  • Coming back from the Hiatus to ’77, I think.
  • He looked like a dog-track habitue.
  • Owned a dozen laundromats on the black side of town, racist as fuck, good tipper, got divorced more than he got married.
  • Had an Airedale terrier named Chico.
  • And finally: Being a Rock Star is a hoot most of the time, but you’re still gonna spend a lot of afternoons in rooms with folding chairs and bare lightbulbs.

The Big Show Biz Finish

December 17, 2018 / / 1 Comment

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“Rockin’. Pretty darn hard, actually.”

Is that fur on the drums?

“Uh, yeah. Not Billy went all-out on the whole ‘Wolf Bros’ thing.”

Not Billy?

“Well, he’s definitely not Billy. Hasn’t gotten all lit up on Miller and punched a cop in the dick once the whole tour. So, you know: Not Billy.”

Sure. I don’t know how I feel about the fur.

“Draws in the ticks and fleas. Not optimal. But presentation is everything.”

Got that right.

Skull And Closes

December 17, 2018 / / 4 Comments

Precarious?

“Yo.”

Is that Cipollina?

“Yup.”

Why is Keith in the middle?

“Pizzazz.”

Seriously.

“One of the casters locked up while we were moving the piano. Just left it where it was.”

But Keith should not be in the middle. Especially not in 1978.

“We had to wheel him to the stage, too.”

I’m not shocked. Is that a skull?

“Where?”

Under the Perlstein.

“I think so.”

Why is it there?

“Sounds like a Mickey thing.”

Yeah.

As We Were Chooglevating Over The Hill…

December 15, 2018 / / 5 Comments

“Hey, Jer.”

“You thought of something new since we got out of the car?”

“Thoughts flood my mind.”

“What, Weir?”

“You should have your beard fight that guy’s beard.”

“How would that even work, man?”

“According to Queensbury rules, I guess. But, uh, I got a foxy black chick.”

“Huh?”

“You got the bearded gent, and I got Pig’s girlfriend. So, you know, I kinda win getting out of the car.”

“Weir, get back in the car.”

“Did you forget something?”

“No, I just want you to get back in the car, man.”

“You’re a sore loser.”

Those Handsome Men With Their Choogling Machines

December 12, 2018 / / 4 Comments

“Hey, Jer?”

“What’s up, Weir?”

“Now, I’m not accusing or anything–”

“Good to hear, man.”

“–but, uh, did you eat my McNuggets?”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, where’d they go?”

“Could have something to do with it being 1971. Product wont exist for a decade or so.”

“That might explain it. Y’know, I’m not a one-saucer.”

“Huh?”

“Some people go all in on bar-b-q, or honey mustard. I get ’em all and switch it up throughout the meal.”

“Good to know.”

“Can’t let your taste buds get complacent. Gotta keep ’em guessing.”

“Both what enters and what exits your mouth is a complete mystery to all, Weir.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Set Your Choogle For The Heart Of The Sun

December 11, 2018 / / 3 Comments

“Jer?”

“What’s up, Weir?’

“I don’t know if I’ve asked before, but would you care for some Fret-Eeze?”

“My frets are as easy as they can be, man. I’m all set over here.”

“Okee-doke. Jer?”

“Yeah, man?”

“Some of my coffee?”

“Same answer as before. Just play your guitar, Weir.”

“Sure, sure. Jer?”

“What, man?”

“You think I need a haircut?”

“Weir, don’t take this personally, but I’m gonna walk a couple paces away and solo for a while. No, wait. Take it personally.”

“Aw.”

Bobby Answers Questions From Youths

December 6, 2018 / / 4 Comments

“…but, uh, once we had cut the shark open, we realized it wasn’t the one that ate the Kintner boy. Next question?”

“Hi, Bobby, my question is about Thoughts on the Dead.”

“The person, the website, the concept thereof?”

“Whatever.”

“Go ahead with your question.”

“Sure. Is this shit even about the Grateful Dead any more?”

“Well, you know, I’m here. So that’s pretty Dead-ish. And, uh, you’ve all been dosed. That’s very on-brand, as the kids would say.”

“But the band’s name is right in the title and there’s weeks that go by where you guys aren’t even mentioned. It’s just goofy political bullshit, scraps of sub-Borowitzian bullshit, and that magical realism bullshit.”

“I’m anxious to see how Big-Dicked Sheila and Tiresias get out of their latest jam.”

“Be that as it may, Bobby. I feel that visitors to the site are being lied to. Shouldn’t there be show recommendations?”

“Probably, maybe, yeah, okay. Go to it.”

“What now?”

“Recommend a show.”

“Me? I don’t even have a name.”

“Big deal. Throw one in the hamper, see if it gets washed.”

“Okay, uhhhh, how about 12/5/71? One of the Felt Forum shows from New York on Keith’s first tour, and two unique occurrences: only full-band rendition of Wash My Hands In The Muddy Water, and the only Dark Star Jam from ’71.”

“All right. Sounds good. Any other questions?”

“Not really.”

“Great. Who’s next? In the back.”

“Hi, Bobby. I don’t have a question so much as an apology.”

“Okee-doke.”

“I am soooo sorry that I said black people didn’t have dark palms because they had their hands up against a wall while God was painting them. That was the old Lena.”

“When did you say it?”

“Half-hour ago. But, since then, I’ve met so many incredible women who have truly educated me about race and feminism and intersomethingality. I am so much more awake than I used to be.”

“Sure, okay.”

“And if I can take one more second? I also want to apologize for murdering Jamal Khashoggi.”

“What now?”

“That was my bad. I didn’t take the time to do my research and really talk to the strong women that are invested in the situation, and one thing led to another and I, Lena Dunham, murdered Jamal Khashoggi. But these things happen, and I can’t promise I won’t say something wrong, or kill a journalist, ever again. It’ll probably happen! I’m a work in progress!”

“I’m going back to my bus.”

“Do you wanna do a nude scene?”

“Maybe when I get back from the bus. Wait here, okay?”

We’ll See Summer Come Again

November 28, 2018 / / 4 Comments

Lo, ‘fore the Tour were the horsemen,
Of which there were four:
Plague
Pestilence
Famine
The guys from Online Ceramics.

(They were dressed as turtles and those fucking bears
But I know
Pestilence
And those guys from Online Ceramics
When I see them.)

They are heralds.
So they herald.
You don’t want an imaginative herald; they must stick to the script.

“Hark!”
(That’s what the heralds cried.)
“Death is coming!”

“Did you mean the Dead?”
(This was the response of social media.)

“Same thing.”

“Very much not at all. Different concepts entirely.”

“The Dead is coming! Are you happy?”

“What about Company?”

“Well, of course Company is going to be there. Company’s pretty much been dragging Dead around amphitheaters the past few summers.”

“You are not a great herald.”

“Hey, kiss my asshole, fuckface.”

Excuse me. Jackass?

Mm?

This started as some of your terrible poetry.

Particularly putrid this time, yes.

And then simply devolved into another lazy dialogue.

Didn’t even really establish the premise. Very stream-of-consciousness. I’m really the only person around continuing the Dead’s spirit of improvisation and joyful confusion.

It just doesn’t make any sense.

Wait until I go into a list thing right now.

What? Aw.

Ladies and Geraniums, TotD has eyes everywhere. High-ups in organizations both directly and tangentially related to Grateful Dead business compete with one another to leak me information; TotD is like Julian Assange with melanin. Thus, I have obtained the Dead & Company 2019 Summer Tour schedule early, and I can share it with you.

[ATTENTION: News outlets quoting this information MUST credit TotD. For these purposes, Jambase and Live4LiveMusic will be considered “news sources.”]

DEAD & COMPANY 2019 SUMMER TOUR DATES

5/30 – Adelaide, Australia (Date newly added, as Billy demanded to be taken to see “that big fuckin’ cow” so he could “jerk off on it.” Follow-up questions were deflected, and the show was booked.)

6/5 – New York City, The View taping. (Bobby is gonna get in an argument with the chubby blonde; everyone else just wants to hang out with Whoopi.)

6/6 – CitiField, Queens. (Double-header with the Mets/Giants game that afternoon.)

6/8 – Some Soul-Deadening Shed in some Shithole Town, Ohio.

6/9 – Some Soul-Deadening Shed in some Shithole Town, Indiana.

6/11 – Bobby’s Bus Eaten by Quicksand, Oklahoma. (Bobby is rescued, but all of his sandals are lost.)

6/12 – Replacement Bus also Devoured by Quicksand, Still Oklahoma. (They weren’t even in the thing an hour and SHLORP the sucker was gone. Bobby again escaped, this time with his sandals.)

6/12 (Night) – Holiday Inn Bobby is Staying in Gets–You Guessed It–Eaten by Quicksand, They Have Not Left Oklahoma. (At this point, it seems like there’s a vendetta involved. Bobby tries to get his lawyer on the phone, but the quicksand snatches the phone from his hand and runs off, giggling.)

“Hey. Excuse me.”

I know that voice.

Oh, hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“I gotta go with the drunk guy: none of this makes any sense.”

The drunk guy?

“Italics are regular letters that have been drinking.”

I guess. Bobby, I’m providing a useful service to the Deadheaded community.

“You’re getting all goofy and typing.”

That, too.

“There’s, uh, something that Bill Graham used to say to me. ‘Don’t be a putz all the time.’ I think that applies here.

A little.

Southern-Fried Potato Salad

November 25, 2018 / / 1 Comment

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“Same ol’.”

You have the arms of a 12-year-old girl.

“Yeah, I guess. Funnily enough, they didn’t seem to put much of a damper on my social life.”

No. This is Duke, right? 1971?

“I’d, uh,  have to check with the bursar.”

It’s Duke.

“Okee-doke.”

Was this your first time in North Carolina?

“It is.”

Impressions?

“I can do Ed Sullivan. We got a great big shoe for you tonight.”

Not that kind of impression. I meant: What did you think of North Carolina?

“Ah. Well, you know that song about ‘Nothing could be finer than to be in Carolina in the morning’ or however it goes?”

I do.

“Not completely accurate. So many things are better than being in Carolina. Whether it’s morning or afternoon or whenever. I like New York better than here, and I get mugged three or four times a day when I’m in New York.”

The city was rough in the 70’s. At least the scenery is nice.

“Oh, yeah. Blue Ridge mountains. Glad I came 3,500 miles into the heart of Dixie to see ’em. Because I, who live on Mount Tamalpais, so rarely get to see mountains.”

You have a point.

“Oh, yeah.”

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