Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Oh, Bobby, please tell me this isn’t–
“Tour family.”
–a tour family. Dammit. Why do you have a tour family?
“Remind me why I do it all. At the end of the day, it’s all for Baby Randa.”
Sweet. Different one each tour?
“Sure, yeah. Otherwise, they’re just your regular family.”
You dying your hair, buddy?
“It’s not a dye. It was sold to me as a tinted leave-in treatment.”
Ah.
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“Defeating It.”
That’s not the clown from It. That’s Wavy Gravy. You’ve known him your entire adult life.
“Listen, just between you and me? All clowns look alike.”
Wow.
“That’s why I asked for the confidence.”
Kinda racist.
“Can’t help it.”
This is a character defect, Bobby.
“I’ll consult my higher power about it.”
God?
“Irving Azoff.”
Sure. How’s Wavy doing?
“Better than he looks.”
Good.
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“Being young and handsome.”
Multi-tasking.
“It was tough at first, sure. But, you know, your brain works it out.”
If you say so.
“This Kushner kid has a lot on his plate.”
GodDAMN it, why do you know that?
“Billy’s been using the Time Sheath to join the Alt-Right.”
Shit.
“He keeps calling Phil a cuck.”
And what does Phil do?
“Stands there wondering what a ‘cuck’ is.”
Why can’t you guys stop routing the internet from the future into your present?
“Well, you know: we’re a traveling band.”
You’re not a time-traveling band.
“Some nights we are.”
…
Yeah, okay, but only metaphorically.
“And isn’t the Time Sheath really a metaphor?”
No. It’s a working time machine.
“And isn’t time a metaphor?”
Also no.
“What about ‘no?’ Isn’t ‘no’ a metaphor?”
…
You’ve also been using the Time Sheath to score future doobie, haven’t you?
“It’s a lot better.”
Not the point, Bobby.
“And, you know: vaping. We don’t have that now. It’s an entire mode of phase transition unavailable to our time period. Does that seem fair?”
Yes, it is perfectly fair that people don’t get to have things that haven’t been invented yet.
“But what if those people have Time Sheaths?”
Ah, fuck it. Just try not to be recognized.
“Who would recognize me in 2017? I don’t have a beard.”
True.
When the shutter opens it lets light into the camera. Just for a split second, maybe less. The lens focuses the incoming light onto a small square of plastic that has been treated with chemicals, which is called film. The light interacts with the chemicals and leaves an image. If another drop of light hits the film before it is processed, it will be ruined forever.
In a darkroom, you essentially reverse the process: now you blast light through the film, and onto a piece of paper which has also been treated with chemicals. You then take this paper and dunk it in several tubs of poison. You need to get the order of poisons right, and the timing, too. Otherwise, the picture will be ruined forever.
And after all that, you have a photograph.
But sometimes, just sometimes, a hair will fall into the works and be caught in the negative and live forever as a spectral addition to the picture, a thin and unerasable reminder that human beings make art with their hands.
OR
How many tambourines does one man need?
You look like a hairy Judge Holden.
“Sure.”
New guitar?
“You bet. She’s a beaut, huh?”
Gorgeous guitar, man. Good work.
“She’s no Modulus Blackknife.”
Thank God for that. And $1100 isn’t that bad for a handmade guitar.
“$1100? Ah. You’re looking at the Premiere model. That’s the entry-level.”
What should I be looking at?
“Deluxe.”
…
Seven fucking grand? It’s the same guitar.
“Gotta correct you there. Bigsby tremolo. And it’s signed.”
I could buy the cheap one, install a Bigsby for $500, fly to Marin, have you sign it, fly home, and I’d still be $4,000 ahead.
“And a hard case.”
Oh. Well, you should have mentioned that first.
“Next time I will.”
Are those sweatpants?
“Yup.”
Awesome.
“Hi, there.”
You look like…I don’t know what you look like. You’ve stymied me.
“I look like I know what an annuity is.”
Yes.
“Funny thing: I know what that is, actually. Very good with finance.”
Yeah?
“Oh, sure. 2017 me sends me stock tips.”
Isn’t that insider trading?
“When the IRS gets a Time Sheath, then I’ll worry about it.”
What do you remember about France?
“Phil refused to play it live.”
Not the song. The place. Where you played the party in ’71.
“The Chateau day Hamburger.”
Close enough.
“Fun stuff. We were gonna do this big show outside a castle, right? Le Woodstock, something like that. Little French hippies take off their berets. Good time. But, uh, it rained. Who’da thunk?”
No one could predict rain in the South of France in the spring.
“So, you know, we go back to the old place and we’ve picked up some stragglers. Film crew. Mayor.”
Randos.
“Randos.”
Dealers.
“Dealers.”
Tapers.
“Yeah, that was confusing. We were in France, and all of a sudden–bam–there’s this little forest of microphones sticking up from behind the board. Phil had a theory about spontaneous generation.”
I would agree with that.
“And then, you know, we dosed everyone in sight including the gendarmes and played for a while.”
Lemme ask you something.
“Shoot.”
How the hell did you get away with dosing so many cops?
“Oh, no, no. Can’t dose cops. Bobbies, gendarmes, polizei: those you can dose. They don’t even have guns. We were better armed than they were. And, you know: it was 1971. You could get away with murder. We did several times.”
What?
“Nothing.”
They ran a tight ship.
OR
It’s past that kid’s bedtime.
OR
Rarest Phil of all: baseball cap Phil.
OR
Could the giant speaker be any closer to Keith’s head? When he died, how deaf you think he was on a scale of one to Mickey?
OR
On New Year’s, Precarious always amused himself by getting the newest member of the crew to look for the “heavy helium” to fill the balloons with.
OR
Seriously, why is Phil wearing a hat?
I think this was during Deal.
Bobby?
“Uh-oh.”
Bobby, I think the bottom half of the universe is decohering.
“I’ve seen this before. Besmudgement. It’s not, you know, optimal.”
Do you know what to do?
“Y’have to think real sharp thoughts at it.”
…
Even for this universe, that doesn’t make sense.
“World’s getting weird, what can I say?”
What’s that?
“Mm?”
That.
“This?”
No.
“This?”
Yes.
“Vape.”
Oh, Bobby.
“I’m very thoughtfully entering the vape life.”
At least tell me it’s doobie in there.
“Well, yeah. You, uh, thought I stopped at the gas station and got a canister of Tooty Frooty-flavored nicotine juice?”
No. Okay, a little. What’s wrong with joints?
“They set my beard on fire.”
Sure.
“When I shave the ol’ boy down a little, then I’ll twist one up, but when he gets fluffy and powerful like this? Like dry season in the hills. Any spark and boom.”
The rando is into you, man.
“Well, you know, part of what makes ’em randos is that they love the Dead. Self-selecting group, is what I’m saying.”
Very true. You read Josh’s article in the Times?”
“Yup, yup.”
Any thoughts?
“Eclipses must’ve scared the crap outta people in the old days.”
Any thoughts about Josh’s article?
“Ah. Well, no real specific advice or anything. I’m just wondering about the Japanese clothes.”
Right?
“You can get clothes in America.”
All kinds.
“Maybe there’s a category of garment that we don’t know about. Something, you know: we can’t even imagine.”
Josh Meyer’s Japanese clothes are an Outside Context problem?
“Yeah, sure. We’re incapable of even conceptualizing the stuff.”
So how did Josh find out about it?
“Internet?”
Sure.
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“Giving Stripey here a try.”
Please stop turning your clothing into characters.
“Well, you know: they have feelings, too.”
They don’t.
“Besides, I’m paying tribute to Prince. So young.”
Bobby, you’re in 1987.
“Sure, sure, but there’s a Thai place that’s gonna open up down the road from me in 2016, so I like to pop in for takeout.”
Goddammit, stop using the Time Sheath to get lunch.
“Dinner, too.”
All meals. Eat in your own reality.
“It’s ’87, man. Everything’s fusion bullshit now.”
Just don’t.
“Probably gonna keep doing it. Hey, why are ducks singing about us?”
…
Drake.
“Boy duck, girl duck, whatever.”
It’s a person.
“Ducks are people in 2016? Not at the Thai place. They’ll kill one right in front of you.”
No, Bobby. Drake is a person. Well, he’s a Canadian.
“That counts.”
Legally. And he’s a rapper.
“Like Kool Moe Dee?’
Kind of.
“Kool Moe Dee is not related to Rick Dees. You know: the deejay? I found that out the hard way.”
I am not pursuing that.
“So, this Drake fellow. Big time guy?”
Famous as shit.
“Good for him. Music industry is tough on Canadian ducks.”
Not a duck.
“Does he have a human beatbox? I like that routine.”
I dug that act, too, but I don’t think Drake has one.
“Oh, hey, that reminds me: if Mickey asks if you want to see his human beatbox routine, say no.”
Does Mickey just–
“Beats humans with a box.”
–beat humans..sure, yeah.
“Is the duck gonna show up?”
Haven’t decided yet.
“Just lemme know.”
Gotcha.
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