This is Bobby and Bonnie Raitt and a male person from the other night at the Ryman. Bobby was getting a lovely award, and it was a happy night, so I have no idea why the three of them look like they’re watching a terrorist attack live on TV.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: bob weir (Page 72 of 198)
Bobby, ask that guy for a chicken sandwich.
“Oh, yeah. The best. They heat it up, serve it on a hard roll.”
You gotta marinate the chicken.
“24 hours, yeah.”
As you know, Bobby was at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville this evening to collect an award and sing a song; this is him getting a well-deserved ovation from the crowd. Bobby was inspired by the music and history around him, and has decided to make another record. Instead of the cowboy tunes from his upcoming release Blue Mountain, he has chosen to focus on Country Schlock, that pervasive strain of the genre that’s not quiiiiite a novelty song, but sort of is.
Only TotD can provide you with this exclusive preview of the track listing for Bobby’s upcoming album, Bob Weir: Modern Sounds in Country Music:
- I Met my First Wife at Last Call.
- Drinkin’ and Thinkin’ (But Mostly Drinkin’).
- I Poisoned her Dog Today.
- (Lord, Why am I Always) Hungover in Church.
- I Gave her my Heart, and She Took my House.
- All of my Ex-Wives Live in the Maldives.
- The Whiskey Told me what you been Saying.
- Jesus Still Loves you, But I Hate your Guts.
- Our Favorite Record’s Spinning (And so is the Bar).
- The Grass is Always Greener (In the Spot where she’s Buried).
- Drunk on Easter.
- The Gator that Ate Daddy.
This, Enthusiasts, is what you’re supposed to wear at the Ryman Auditorium; you should also be at least this Gentile. Bobby, who is currently doing a victory lap around the music industry like a retiring sports legend, is there tonight; he’s wearing a sports coat, at least, but he is also of course wearing his Birkenstocks. This is simply not done, and in fact may be the first time a man has ever worn sandals on that particular stage.
TotD now presents Other Clothing Never Worn Onstage At The Grand Ole Opry:
- Tie-dye.
- Uggs.
- Pink sweatpants with JUICY written across the butt.
- Dashiki.
- Barrister’s wig. (There have been a shitload of wigs worn at the Ryman–hell, Dolly’s wearing one in the picture–but not a powdered, curly, symbolic, foreign wig.)
- Assless chaps. (Again: there have certainly been chaps at the Ryman, but none of that David Lee Roth tushee-window bullshit.)
- Armor, plate.
- Armor, chain.
- Armor, all.
- Rainbow-colored Speedo.
- Turtleneck. (It’s just a weird rule; no one knows why they’re banned, but the last person to flout the proscription was Randy Travis; ever since then, he’s had his career and life systematically ruined by a shady group of country music insiders known as the Hillbilluminati.)
“AS AH WAS SAYIN’–”
Are you still at this?
“DON’T YOU INTERRUPT THE KING, BOY! AH’M DOING THESE PEOPLE HERE A FAVOR BY LETTIN’ ‘EM ASK ME QUESTIONS AND BE SO CLOSE TO ME! AH HAVE ALSO BROUGHT MY FILTHY REDNECK DADDY, VERNON, WITH ME.”
Did you buy him that suit?
“AH DID NOT.”
No?
“AH HAD IT MADE FOR HIM.”
Right. He looks like he should be refusing to close down the beach on the Fourth of July.
“MAH DADDY IS A FINE SOUTHERN PRINCE OF A MAN! HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE HIM OF IGNORING THE SHARK ATTACKS!”
Elvis, face it: your father Vernon is going to pretend this problem doesn’t exist until it swims up behind him and bites him in the ass!
…
“WHAT ARE WE TALKIN’ ABOUT?”
I have no idea.
“AH AM MOVING ON! ASSEMBLED PRESS PEOPLE, MEMPHIS MAFIA, MAH BEAUTIFUL DRUNKEN HILLBILLY FATHER VERNON, AH PROMISE YOU THAT AH WILL SETTLE THIS LITTLE THING WITH THAT THERE FAT BOY, AND AH WILL BE THE HERO OF THE COMIC BOOK, AND AH WILL ALSO PROB’LY MAKE DOCTOR GARY AN’ DR. NICK FIGHT TO THE DEATH.”
Elvis, I think keeping the public apprised of your every move here is going to be counter to your goals.
“WELL, YOU KNOW THE PEOPLE LOVE ME SO MUCH.”
They do. But this is going out live over the internet.”
“THE INNERWHAT?”
Great. What I’m saying is that you shouldn’t call Kim Jong-Un names into the microphone.”
“MICROPHONES. I’M ELVIS, I GET A LOTTA MICS, MAN.”
I see that.
“DON’T HAVE TO GO BEGGIN’ FOR ‘EM LIKE SOME PEOPLE.”
Unnecessary.
“WHEN DID AH CALL HIM NAMES?”
You called him Fat Boy.
“COURSE AH DID. THASS HIS NAME.”
What? No. His name is Kim Jung-Un. Fat Boy is not a name.
“CHOW YUN FAT. IP MAN. FAT BOY IS A PERFECTLY CHINESE NAME.”
Korean.
“AH FOUGHT THE KOREANS WHILE STATIONED IN GERMANY!”
Sure.
“IS HE BIG AND FAT? A ROLY-POLY TUB KINDA GUY?”
Elvis, please! He might be watching! He’s sensitive as hell!
“AW, I’M JUST FUNNIN’.”
CUT TO – INT. KING TUT SUITE
“Who that sissy boy think he is!?
Kim Jong-Un?
“He so cool? He so awesome? LOOK WHO I HANG WITH, YOU SISTERFUCKING HILL PERSON!”
How’d they get up there!?
“I kidnap.
Jesus.
“I make sit down. Talk. More important: I make listen.'”
Well, here’s a sentence that’s never been written before: Kim Jung-Un, please don’t marriage counsel Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie.
“They two crazy kids just trying to make it.”
Leave Brangelina alone.
“Who?”
Brangelina. You combine their names. Tabloids call them that. Brad plus Angelina. Brangelina.
“No can say this word with Only Korean accent.”
It’s barely pronounceable if you’re from America.
“Okay, you send Josh Meyer for hang. Or I torture.”
Please don’t torture Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie.
“They on nerves. He smelly, she crazy.”
Sounds right. Don’t torture them, please. I’ll see what I can do.
“Tell hillbilly not talk about me.”
Sure.
“Nuke is armed.”
What?
“Nothing.”
…
Hey, Bobby? I was wondering if you could help–
“I told you I wanted no part of this”
Okay, okay. Just checking.
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“Sammy time!”
You two have fun together.
“You bet. Hagar’s good people. He thinks I should open up more restaurants.”
More Sweetwaters?
“Nah. Wants to call them Bobbo Wabo.”
I dunno about that one.
“Yeah, I passed. Sam’s the business guy. I bought Sweetwater because it’s got a bar and a stage and it’s ten minutes from my house.”
Sure.
“There might be nothing I’d less rather do than actively own a restaurant. Dunno how Phil copes with it.”
He’s got the busboys to help him.
“Ah. Sure. Thought there was gonna be more about the busboys. Kinda got dropped as a storyline.”
Well, John and Katy are doing such interesting things.
“Yeah, that’s a whole other thing they got going on, Vegas and Elvis and all that.”
You want any part of it?
“Fuck, no.”
Just checking.
I don’t think that’s necessary.
“Huh? Ah, finger. It just, uh, resembles the bird. Holding the pick, gesturing dramatically.”
Oh, yeah, okay.
“Saw your buddy tonight.”
Chris Jennings, author of the award-winning Paradise Now: A Biography of American Utopianism?
“Yeah. I was doing a number with Wilbur–”
Wilco.
“–and I came off the stage, and there he is. You can’t, you know, you can’t miss him.”
Above-average height.
“Right. So first I thought he was Walton.”
He’s not that tall, Bobby.
“You didn’t let me get to my second thought.”
Sorry.
“It was ‘He’s not that tall, Bobby.’ And I was gonna keep on thinking, but he complimented me on my performance.”
He’s a polite guy.
“You bet. I was ready to be best friends with him.”
Really?
“Yeah. I’m lonely. Jimi Hendrix hasn’t been returning my texts.”
Sure.
FoTotD and award-winning writer of Paradise Now: The Story of American Utopianism Chris Jennings sends in this picture of Bobby sitting in with Wilco tonight.
Wilco is a band from Brooklyn, and they are the musical equivalent of The Wire.
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“Lunch.”
One of the three best meals of the day.
“Can’t knock it. Not as heavy as dinner. Plus there’s, you know, no food restrictions. Breakfast has all these rules.”
What if you want a nice piece of fish?
“That’s what I’m saying. Maybe I want pasta first thing in the morning. Shouldn’t get guff for it.”
Pasta for breakfast is not a good idea, though.
“It was just an example.”
You know who that is at the other table, right?
“The white guy?”
They’re all white guys, Bobby.
“No.”
Jason Newsted.
“Good for him.”
From Metallica.
“Oh, yeah. Okay. Metallica. They play that heavy mental music. ‘DADADADADA grrrrr Satan Satan Satan.’ That kind of stuff, right?”
That’s about it, yeah.
“Huh. They still together? Touring?”
Metallica is still together and touring, yes, but Jason is not in the band.
“I don’t understand.”
He quit.
…
“Well, I don’t know about that. Huh. No, I don’t know about that. You don’t quit your band. I’m still in every band I’ve ever joined. No, no, I just don’t know about that at all. I got fired and didn’t even leave my band. You stay in your band, man.”
I’m with you on that one.
“Why’d he quit?”
Wanted to do solo stuff, I guess.
“So you hire Billy Cobham, call up your buddy with the harmonica, have a Star Trek actor write some lyrics, and book some studio time. You don’t have to leave the band.”
There were also personal issues.
“Billy tried to murder every member of the band except Garcia on multiple occasions. You don’t leave the band.”
Sure, but–
“You don’t leave the band.”
…
“No, fuck this. I’m 86’ing him.”
I support your decision.
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