Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
The Dead played a billion covers. Some they played forever: Me & My Uncle, NFA; some just the once: How Sweet it Is (from the DP 30 Academy of Music shows that I’m always honking on about). Some songs, though: it’s better the Dead never sat down to figure out the changes.
Dubstep would not have worked; Phil would probably like it. If you haven’t heard dubstep, it’s the sound of a Transformer getting raped. Actually, Mickey might have liked it, too. This is what dubstep is: it get interesting 90 seconds in. I understand why half-naked teens on drugs would love dancefucking to this, but it’s not for listening.
Itsy-Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini (fuck you all for making me type that) would be a poor choice as Bobby would fuck up the chorus so badly that everyone would think it was a Dylan tune.
Any of the particularly tricky Rush tunes: La Villa, YYZ, By-Tor (not the Snow Dog, oddly enough.) The Dead had the chops to pull it off, but those tunes required precision and practice. Even the Dead’s more complicated tunes, like Terrapin–if you missed the musical turn, you could wait for it to come back around again. Plus, there were twice as many people in the Dead as Rush, man.
Devo. Any deconstruction-type stuff. The Dead did not dismantle, in fact they piled on, always. They were rococo and baroque. Also, broke, but that’s for a different post.
Any artists out there? Like good ones, who wanna make a Dead comic book? Any lawyers out there wanna tell me precisely where on the scale from happy ending to prison girlfriend (the ugly one) that action would fall?
Also, if you mix up the letters in the word “dead”, you can make Dade, which is a county in Florida or Edda, which is Old Norse hoolihoo. Perhaps you can make some other words it you’re some sort of Boggle nut, but if that’s the kind of nut you are, I’ll have no truck with you at all. Nut.
Bands the Dead was better than:
And I’ll just tell you upfront that I’m leaving Phish out of this entirely. I have as much interest about arguing Dead v. Phish as I do with getting involved in internet arguments about atheism: none.
Pink Floyd – Quick: what was the Pink Floyd sound? (Yeah, yeah.) Imagine Floyd jamming on, say, Summertime Blues. What would it sound like? Right.
Jefferson Airplane – The whole two singers just kinda standing there annoyed me. If you’re singing on a stage, you either stand tall with thrusted chest holding a libretto or you rock the fuck out and end the show by laying your enormous wang on a PA speaker, allowing the audience to watch it vibrate to the feedback of the guitars. That’s a lead singer. Being curly-haired and singing part of shitty Airplane jams makes you just a guy standing there singing occasionally.
Van Halen – Eddie and Garcia were both virtuosos, I suppose. Eddie could play a lot more notes. Both were known for their custom guitars, although Eddie made his in his garage for $40, and the creation of Garcia’s guitars always included, somewhere along the way, the phrase,”Well, it costs what it costs, man.” These are some of the most dangerous words in the English language, and when you hear them, you should stop letting the person who spoke them have anything to do with your money ever again.
The Sleigh Bells
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=roTsrA-0Rxs&w=560&h=315]
Where is your drummer? You fuck right off back to Brooklyn and get yourself a drummer. We understand that the Marshalls are ironic, but Leggy Von Bangsinhair, an Ibanez guitar, and an IMac do not a band make.
Queen – And that pains me to say, because I love Queen. When the Wembley ’86 double-CD live album from the legendary–yes, legendary: like Dunkirk–Wembley Stadium Show came out, I ditched school for an hour to go to the mall and pick it up immediately: I wanted to show enthusiasm in my purchasing so perhaps Queen would do another tour in America. Freddie was dead within weeks.
But still, it was a good album.
Freddie did this a lot. No one in the Dead ever did this, except maybe after chimichanga night at Club Front. So, points: Dead.
U2 – Because every band is better than U2. It’s music for people who don’t particularly like music.
The Beatles – You couldn’t dance to the Beatles. Could you make sweet, sweet love to them? You could certainly make drugged-out love to Revolver, but the rest of it? Piffle and bosh. Plus, Revolution #9 was, pound-for-pound, every bit as annoying as Seastones, but y’know what: Seastones wasn’t on the album in the middle of the all the other stuff, the stuff you actually wanted to hear but now you had to sit through these dicks futzing around with their recording desk or, since it was 1970, get up and walk across the room the move the record needle, which is barbaric.
The Who – The Dead and the Who had a friendship/friendly rivalry thing starting at the Day on the Green in ’76. It was only an equipment loan from The Who that turned the Egypt excursion from “economically infeasible” to simply “ruinously expensive.” Also, Daltry, Townshend, and the dead one behaved badly after Keith Moon’s death: they should have retired the name, at least. Instead, they carried on with a drummer so boring he was called Kenny Jones.
AH HEAR YURR LOOKIN FURR A NEW WRITER FOR THIS HURR NEWSPAPER.
Aw, man: you just made the spell-check kill itself.
DIRTY SOUTH! SKRILLEX!
Those two things are not related except for tangentially at best.
YEAH! KING! YEAH! ELVIS KING!
You’re not listening. This is a job with the Grateful Dead. I’ve heard there have been incidents.
MORE LIKE A NON-INCIDENT, HEH-HEH-HEH.
Why are you laugh–
HAIRY GARCIA WONT KARATE WITH ME, EVEN THOUGH I TOLD HIM TO!
That actually seems to be the precise way to get him to not do something. Maybe if you–
AH’M AUDITIONING NOW
—Great.
THE GRATEFUL DEAD WAS JUST SOME CHOOGLY-TYPE JAM BAND WITH NO DISCIPLINE INSTILLED IN THEM BY THE STUFF NECESSARY TO BECOME A BLUE BELT IN PRES-LEE-DO, WHICH IS A MARTIAL ART I MADE UP. THE FACT THAT EVEN I, ITS CREATOR, HAVE NOT MASTERED IT SHOULD SHOW ITS FIENDISH DIFFICULTY. AH AM HALFWAY THROUGH ‘KICKING.’
That’s gonna be all I need to hear.
SO ELVIS HAS THE GIG?
Sure: we start at 8:00 AM.
ELVIS PASSES.
Okay, E.H.?
The Dead was a good band, fine and manly. They first met as volunteer firemen in the Boer War. That was a fine war: manly as all wars were, except the French-Indian War, which was some totally homo shit.
Okay, we’re fine with stretching the truth, but that’s just wrong.
But I look like your guitar player.
Thank you. Next: E.D.?
When Etna purrs
I tremble
Have not left my room
since I discovered the Archive
So, it’s just poetry and frilly blouses and your meals being brought to you, right?
Essentially.
Thank you, sweetie. Next: R.H.
The Dead were like my testicles: hairy and they knew how to swing, man. Check out this MONSTERLICKER–
You sound familiar.
–of a show from 2/15/70 in Philly, that I haven’t actually listened to yet, just pretty much picked at random and will bother you with P.S.’s about in the coming hours.
Ah, fuck it: it’s you. I thought Billy…?
Oh, hells yeah, he worked my sack: I’ll never play the harmonica again, but as it turns out, you can’t truly fire me.
Why not.
We are the same person. It’s just…it’s just that the fonts change, buddy.
…
Buddy?
Why won’t you play along?
Oh, I’m sorry, man.
You always–
–You’re right–
—you do this–
I know.
And it’s why we can’t have fun, y’know?
So, let’s have fun!
I want to go skiing.
We’re gonna go skiing.
YOU KNOW I HATE SKIING!
OKAY, EVERYONE OUT OF THE POOL.
Okay okay okay: what if the Dead were mattresses? Garcia would be soft and fluffy, Phil would be firm and ungiving, Vince would be blood-stained and lying by the side of the road in an industrial section of town.
Are you mocking your own tropes are have you genuinely just run out of gas?
80/40.
That is not a thing.
70/40?
Nor is that. Look, I’m going to need the ball. We’re going with the lefty.
Wright?
Yes, yes: Lefty Wright.
Doesn’t he also switch-hit?
Yes and no.
KNOCK IT OFF WITH THE ABBOT AND COSTELLO ROUTINE.
Sorry, boss.
Life is short: listen to ’73!
You are just the worst kind of suck-ass that there is. What you do is shameful and whether or not you feel wrong about that like normal humans have evolved to do over millennia doesn’t matter: your actions have shame attached to them and will hound you not just here, but in all the worlds to come.
How about the boys as olde-time comedian? Bobby could be Lucy and get into situations because Garcia don’t wanna take ‘er to da show. Garcia, Ricardo, same shit, right.
BILLY!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOthump0000000000000000thump00000000.
Audition time!
Hey, what if the Grateful Dead were Secretaries-General of the United Nations? Obviously, Garcia is Boutros-Boutros Ghali (which my spell-check says is spelled wrong, therefore: racist devil). Phil is clearly U Thant, and if you can’t see Trygve Lie’s baby blues staring out at you from behind the drums stage right, well…I don’t know what’s wrong with you, pal.
You got nothing, do you?
Not as such, no.
It really is going to be sad to see you go–
Dead as the A-Team? With Garcia as Hannibal and he’s like, “I love it when a jam comes together.” And Billy is Murdock and Bobby is Face and Merl is B.A., because they tried it with Mickey in black-face and even he saw the problems, so they called the only black guy they knew.
I’m going to pass.
Merl was the Dead’s Billy Preston
Nice observation, but still gonna pass.
Can I just go workshop some stuff, rub it up some flags, get it back to you in a much more proactive paradigm?
If you admit that what you just said doesn’t mean anything, then: yes.
Complete bullshit. All of it.
Get back to me.
I just started in on today’s Listening, beginning with 7/2/85 in Pittsburgh. Check it out for nothing but the Jack Straw, where they basically dare themselves to play it that fast, and then mostly pull it off.
Plus, Healy is already being a giant creep–weirding Bobby’s voice all over the place and pulling his usual bullshit.
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