“So, the apartment has two bedrooms, two baths, aaaaaaaaand it’s just been burned down accidentally. Have you thought about a condo?”
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: dead (Page 5 of 19)
Look behind Billy. Seriously, WTF?
Immediately after this picture was taken, Walton tore his ACL doing the Noodle Dance and missed the rest of the playoffs.
No one had the heart to tell Garcia it was October 3rd.
Tonight, the part of Phil will be played by Donald Sutherland. Also appearing will be every amplifier in the world. We hope you enjoy the show.
Phil has the teethiest teeth I’ve ever seen.
The Dead could end songs. And by that I mean they had the requisite musical knowledge to properly end a tune, not that they knew when to do it. Also, rock songs only end one of two ways: sudden stop or big loud noise.
Starting songs was a little more difficult. That first riff, the one that most bands labor over to get your attention immediately, that says that this band is a professional band made up of professional people? The Dead weren’t good at that. They figured they had at least four or five bars to get the tempo together, and eight to ten bars for the key. They had, however, all been playing the same song at the same time since the “someone just walk over and tell Keith what we’re playing” policy was implemented.
For good or for ill, the songs were precisely as long as they wanted to be (which means, until Billy got bored). The tempos wandered all over the place, from the glacial ’72 Sing Me Back Home to the skittering, out-of-control ’85. ’85 was like the first ten minutes after you slam crystal, right? And you’re just like UHHHHHHH and then you’re like YEEEEEESSHfuck and–
I’m gonna step in here turn down his volume just a touch and say to everyone out there that Thoughts on the Dead supports living clean, waking up early, and smoothies of all sort. Under no circumstances should any of you shoot crystal meth. Let’s check back in.
–and your cock’s like–
Oh, for Christ’s…
I think no more Jerry Band for me. These bloggings started with the express rule: no Jerry Band, which of course encapsulates Ratdog and Seastones and drunkenly narrated slide shows from Billy’s scuba trips. (“Punched that fish in the dick, punched THAT fish RIGHT in the dick. Swimmin’ over here and takin’ our jobs.”)
There is something, a gestalt (a Jungian would say that) that exists between four men and whomever else they let on the stage that creates the Grateful Dead. It’s like Voltron, except it now takes up to three hours to form the Voltron Robot because one of the lions–I’m not going to say which one, but it’s Garcia–has locked himself in the Space Lion Bathroom again and we can’t really force him out of there because he’s in an 800 ton warp-capable lion mech; outright aggression would be counter-productive.
I say four because it was four who were necessary: Garcia, Bobby, Billy, Phil. Mickey came and went; keyboardists plowed under as if stage right was the Somme. It was the four of them that made the sound that was the Dead: that lazy lope, that leonine lurch, that lupine lambada and they checked one another’s bad habits.
The worst thing to happen to Garcia–or any of them, really–was being the guy in charge of the band. Because Garcia wanted to play this next number for 23 minutes. Doesn’t matter what song, but it’s probably Dylan or a reggae tune he has de-reggaefied, and it’s gonna be 23 minutes. So, if Garcia’s the one signing your check, you comp under him for 23 minutes. Also, it’s going to be slow.
Billy wouldn’t put up with that shit, though. Billy was the guy who, when the group needed to buy a new truck in the early days, instead demanded they buy him a Mustang that he promptly wrecked. If Billy wanted a song to be over, it was going to end.
Phil didn’t really do any solo stuff; he could be a bit lazy. And surly. All of the Evil Dwarves. And, of course, when Bobby gets left to his own devices, this happens:
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dWscxdleZzI&w=420&h=315]
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MH8ObibNCoo&w=420&h=315]
I usually make fun of Vince, but I’m old-fashioned enough to like it when people put their hands over their hearts during the Anthem.
Am I going to Gathering of the Vibes? Sure: $200 bucks to sleep outside and watch Billy’s new bar band sounds about right.
7 Walkers featuring Papa Mali is gonna be there? YAY!
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