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

Tag: bob weir (Page 71 of 198)

Dylan And Two Deads

bobby-dylan-sneaky-jerry

I see you back there.

“I’m sneaky when I wanna be.”

Dylan tour, huh?

“Four shows to go.”

You been counting?

“Christ, the cat’s a pain in the ass. Buncha malcontents in the Dead, sure, but once we choose a key for a song, we stick to it.”

He’s unpredictable.

“He’s a pain in the ass.”

Is Bobby wearing a pink hoodie with the sleeves cut off and jean shorts?

“As long as he doesn’t disappear into the bathroom for hours at a time like the poet over there, he can go onstage naked for all I care.”

Sure.

Ad, Nauseam

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This picture’s been going around, and it’s primary source evidence of the nadir of the Dead’s guitaristic evolution. The Moduluses (Modula? Moduloi?) were drastically uncool tech-y, gadget-y, pocket protector-y instruments, plus they were clearly named by the twelve-year-old son of the company’s owner. Blackknife! Quantum! Other guitars in the Modulus line included:

  • Fistkicker
  • Ninjalien. (It’s an alien ninja. Or a ninja who goes to another planet, and then he‘s the alien.)
  • Laser.
  • Funkynunchuck.
  • Tank made out of dicks. (And here I must apologize, Enthusiasts. “Tank made out of dicks” doesn’t fit the premise: the others are absurd, but still follow the rules of the bit. But I include it because in the writing–if you can call it that–of this little list, I asked myself, “What would a 12-year-old boy think is cool?” and the first thing that popped into my head was “tank made out of dicks,” and it made me laugh so hard that I called an audible on the premise  so I could share it with you.)

Phil has stuck with the headless guitars, mostly, since then; I stand by my distrust of the configuration. There’s something wrong about it. You know when you’re talking with a person and you feel uneasy and can’t put your finger on it, but then later you realize that the person you were talking to was actually several raccoons? Headless guitars are just like that.

Let’s Play A Fun Game

Review: Grateful Dead’s Bob Weir delivers earthy solo effort

September 28
Bob Weir, “Blue Mountain” (Columbia/Legacy and ROAR)

The Grateful Dead’s Bob Weir, showing more than a little touch of grey at age 68, delivers a heartfelt and earthy solo record with “Blue Mountain.”

It’s Weir’s first solo effort in a decade and the first of entirely original material in 30 years.

Weir, who sang with the Dead that he may be going to hell in a bucket but at least he’s enjoying the ride, strikes a more reflective pose on “Blue Mountain.” It’s a deeply personal collection of cowboy songs drawn on his memories working as a teenager on a Wyoming farm.

Say “cowboy songs” to many Grateful Dead fans and they will go running for the skip button. And, to be sure, songs like “Ki-Yi Bossie” on “Blue Mountain” aren’t likely to convert those who can do without tales from the dust-covered trails.

 Still, Weir’s collaboration here with Josh Ritter and The National’s Bryce and Aaron Dessner results in a moody, dense record unlike anything he’s done before. The production, and subject matter, fits his road-weary vocals.

The closer, “One More River to Cross,” feels as heartfelt as anything Weir has ever written and should resonate with fans who have been along for any part of the long, strange trip of his unparalleled career.

Copyright 2016 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

Here’s the game: is “Scott Bauer” a real person or the Grateful Dead Reviewbot 2000?

America Del Surly

The big groups all toured South America, the harder rocking members of the music industry mostly. There had to be a Brazilian version of The Eagles; every country has their own sappy bullshit, so why import another culture’s? KISS or Queen, though, could sell out stadiums down there: South Americans love it loud, and they enjoy when others rock them.

Which is why the Grateful Dead’s ’81 tour through Brazil, Argentina, and several other countries that Billy had to be discouraged from referring to as “Lower Mexico” is such a mystery. The concept, the agreement by the band to do it, actually getting them on the planes (and in 1981 it took a series of increasingly smaller planes to get anywhere in South America), the bookings: everything, really. To this day, no one knows whose idea it was in the first place, but lately people have been blaming Brent.

Thankfully, the original idea of driving down was nixed, even though it took a few days to explain to Bobby that the Darien Gap was not a clothing store. Mickey pushed hard for the overland journey, wanting to record indigenous drums and native cymbals and hopefully a half-civilized tambourine or two; he hoped to locate and capture on tape drums never before seen or heard, and then he would have the right to name those drums when he wrote up the article for the Journal of American Drumming. (Mickey was planning on naming the newly-found drums after his penis.)

The plane landed safely in Guatemala and Phil asked, “Why are we in Guatemala?”

To which Billy replied, “Because we’re touring South America, shitbird.”

“That’s unnecessary.”

“It’s been a long flight.”

“To Central America. The flight has only been to Central America. We’re supposed to be on a South American tour.”

“South, Central: what’s the difference?”

“Location. Location is the difference.”

“Ah, stop being such a Phinicky Phil, shitbird.”

And then there was a fist fight on the plane in Guatemala; Garcia got conked in the head by accident; he was in a foul mood about it for days. After consulting both the itinerary and a map, it was determined that Guatemala was, in fact, not where they thought it should be, which led to a vote of “no confidence” in both Guatemala and the map. The plane took off again, pointed downwards.

45 hours later, the Grateful Dead touring party landed in Buenos Aires, where there was a press conference for them. Billy was given a microphone, because otherwise he’d start swinging chairs around, and kicked off the question-and-answer session by thanking the Argentinians for being so welcoming.

“People have been so nice, you would think we were escaped Nazis!” Billy said and then they were all immediately thrown out of the country.

From there it wasn’t on to Chile, as it had been decided by everyone to skip the country: in the very beginning of the planning process, someone mentioned hitting Chile, and Bobby said, “We should bring sweatshirts,” and everyone in the room realized they would be hearing variations of that one for months to come, so it was tacitly agreed to never bring up the place again.

After that was Brazil, where they do not speak Spanish because a Pope drew a line on a map in the 1500’s. What Brazilians do have in common with the rest of the continent is a philosophy in stadium-building: as big as a Midwestern city. They are built so large because the architects want to give the peaceful sections of the crowd somewhere to run to once the riot breaks out. In Paraguay’s largest stadium (El Stadio Grande de Paraguay), any given Tuesday night will see four futbol matches and two unassociated riots going on at the same time.

The Maracanã hold 78,241 people. The Dead sold around three thousand tickets, and the place seemed kind of empty, but the crowd rioted anyway. The band did make at least one fan, who showed his appreciation the traditional way: chucking a lit flare at Bobby during Estimated.

Venezuela was next, but no one wanted to go and everyone hated South America and Brent, who they were blaming the whole thing on, so the plane stopped in Colombia even though the flight logs do not say that it did and the tour was never spoken of again.

Sandals Weather

bobby-rando-cape

Goddammit, Bobby: are you wearing white trousers after Labor Day?

“They were sold to me as an eggshell slack.”

What is going on here with the rando?

“Y’know, I haven’t actually seen a rando in years. My brain registers, like, a rando-shaped blur in reality. Mostly so I don’t bump into them, I guess. Otherwise? Zhwoop, out of there.”

Your brain is efficient.

“I don’t need to know, it don’t stick.”

Wow. Is she wearing a cape?

“I think she’s going to a press conference later.”

Sure.

“I got this gig in the record store in a minute. Lemme meet you there. I gotta change.”

That’s polite of you, Bobby.

“You bet.”

bobby-amoeba

This? This is what you changed into?

“You know I’m in Los Angeles, right?”

Sure.

“Ask your watch what the temperature here is.”

Yikes.

“There you go.”

Essentially

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Evolution pares, Enthusiasts. What once took an entire cohort of Grateful Deads can now be achieved by only one, armed with just an acoustic guitar and a Jew. So far, Bobby has:

  • Identified the ringing sound by its frequency.
  • Worn an outfit he got at Creepy Ernie’s.
  • Forgotten the lyrics.
  • Tuned.
  • Re-tuned.
  • Begun the song only to realize he was out of tune.
  • Re-re-tune.
  • Got in an argument about what key something was in. (He was up there by himself and it was weird.)

Doggone Longhairs

bobby tele 68

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“Just letting all these nice folks enjoy my hair.”

It looks spectacular.

“You bet.”

Like the sun was playing favorites with its shine.

“And, you know: this was ’68 or whenever. We didn’t have the hair care technology we do today.”

Sure.

“Shampoo had only been invented a couple years before this picture was taken, y’know?”

That’s not true.

“Oh, yeah. Introduced at the 1964 World’s Fair. Big hit.”

How did you wash your hair before that?

“Went down to the river and beat it against a rock.”

Okay, Bobby.

Why are you playing a Telecaster?

“I have no idea.”

Sure.

Award To The Wise

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“Y’know, no one used to show up when the Dead would play Nashville. You’d have a few weirdos crowded down front, and then there’s nothing doing in the rest of the place. Took a while to warm up to us, I guess. We’d still get laid after the show, though. I would, at least.

“Now, you may or may not know this, but I spent some time on a ranch when I was a kid. Ropin’, ridin’, whatnot. And, uh, at night all the hands would sing in the bunkhouse. And I had my guitar, and I could figure out the changes real quick, so I was what you might call the backing one-man-band.

“And we sang old cowboy songs. Y’know how it’s called Country & Western? We were doing the western part. Songs about the prairie and Mexico and the open nature of the whole area. We played ‘Midnight on the Herd’ by the Fatty Bacon Boys, and ‘My Woman, My Horse, and My Gun (But not in that Order)’ by Delbert McShanahan, and ‘You Caught my Heart in your Barbed Wire.’ I think that last one was Porkchop Paxton and his band. This is a nice event, so I won’t say their name.

“Some of my favorites were the yodeling songs. I can’t yodel: you gotta have a double-jointed throat for that, man. Real neat stuff, loved to play it. One of the hands was the hairiest guy I’d ever seen. Everybody called him Hairy; ranch hands are direct in their nicknaming. Knuckles, shoulders, all the way around the hips. Hip hair, man. That’s a hairy guy if he’s got hip hair. And, you know: I’m a Grateful Dead, so I’ve come into contact with some of the hairiest people that ever lived; Hairy had ’em beat.

“Hairy bastard could yodel, though. We’d put some booze into him, and he’d open up his fuzzy mouth and the most incredible noises would come out. He knew all the songs, too, and taught ’em to me. We did ‘The Yodeling Pervert’ by Jumpy Lee Joggins, that was a good one. There was ‘Whoopee-hi-hi-hi’ by Tonya Tobacco. ‘Smuggler’s Serenade’ by Yodelin’ Goebel Gödel was a fun tune.

“The ranch we’re at, you know: it’s the middle of nowhere. That’s the nature of a ranch, I guess. And the bunkhouse, where we’re at having such a good time, is kinda separated from the other buildings, y’know? Bunch of guys, it gets loud. So the point I’m getting to is that we’re on our own.

“And here’s something I didn’t know: yodeling attracts wolves.”

Bobby.

“There was a rifle in the corner, but the wolves got in between us and it real fast.”

Bobby.

“I still haven’t completely ruled out the possibility that these were werewolfs.”

“Why are you interrupting my speech?”

You were getting weird.

“It was getting interesting.”

Does it end with Hairy joining the wolfpack?

“No, they eat him.”

That sounds more likely.

“We all got away, but the wolves, you know, ate him.”

You should tell my version.

“It’s more of an uplifting ending, sure.”

Congratulations on the award, Bobby.

“You bet.”

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