Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
“Happy birthday, Jay.”
“Aw, man, thanks. Phil, this is so nice of you to–”
“Eight bucks.”
“–do, and…what now?”
“Cake is eight bucks a slice. Pony up, longhair.”
“But it’s my birthday.”
“I’m running a restaurant here, camerafucker. No free cake.”
“Okay. Eight bucks?”
“Mm-hm. And two more for the candle.”
“Two bucks for a candle?”
“It’s vegan.”
As you know, TotD has eyes, ears, and genitals everywhere, especially the Foot Locker. (It’s been a while since I recommended taking your dick out at the Foot Locker, and that’s a sad oversight: you totally should. You feel better afterwards.) Pictures, gossip, popular opinion: all of these flow inwards and flood Fillmore South in a sad, weird, and lonely Grateful Dead juice.
And it is one of these popular opinions that I must refute, this idea that Young John Mayer is more suited to the Dead’s music than Tralfamadore Abilene. I have seen more than one person say that they were “gay for Trey, but gayer for Mayer.” And while all things that rhyme are true, this one is also false, and for one reason.
The last three Dead (Or What’s Left Of ‘Em) shows that TotD attended, Tripoli Ardennes was the guitarist. Therefore, he is better. Now, if Josh Meyers wants to swing down here on the way to Colorado and pick me up (I will not chip in for gas) and make me his tour buddy for the rest of the summer, then he would be better than Tr@y.
I hope that settles things.
(Also: in the background of the photo is longtime Dead photog Jay Blakesberg, and now I can’t get the image of him and Jeff Kravitz doing an Enemy at the Gates thing with each other.)
Meanwhile back at TXR, the other side of this semi-dysfunctional, choogly-type family is up to all sorts of shenanigans. Phil and his Phriends are playing a show from 1987. TotD has, through careful sleuthing–
You googled it.
–determined that the show is 9/18/87 from Madison Square Garden, which was released as part of the 30 Trips set, but is also available as a Healy UltraMatrix; someone better-informed than TotD can fill us all in as to what precisely an UltraMatrix is in the Comment Section, but whatever their makeup, the sound is unique and maybe you’ll like it, and maybe you won’t.
But there’s more, Enthusiasts: Jim Irsay got all pilled up and sent Tiger on a field trip; it’s been wandering around the Bay Area like the Stanley Cup and I’m expecting to see Tweeted pictures of rando babies napping on it. Perhaps it will be taken to inner-city schools to inspire poor children. Will the lame be permitted to lay their twisted flesh upon it, that they may be healed?
Tiger has made friends with baseball pitchers:
And reunited with the Lesh family:
Phil got in on the action, too:
And then Phil handed Tiger into the audience, where it was passed from Deadhead to Deadhead; everyone got a turn.
As usual, though, TotD has a member of the Haight Street Irregulars in the audience (if we’re honest, he’s a full-fledged FoTotD) and he sent along this sweet shot of Phil and Grahame:
Fun fact: that is Kidd Candelario’s head in the foreground.
Less fun fact: from the angle of this shot, TXR needs to step up security. Maybe some velvet ropes, or give the busboys truncheons; I don’t know; I’m not a restaurateur.
Funnish fact: a silent letter is written but not pronounced; the “n” that is pronounced but not written in the word “restaurateur”is the opposite of a silent letter. (See also: the second “r” in “sherbet.”)
Just two old friends enjoying their leather jackets together.
ALSO credit where credit’s due: Mickey is the dictionary definition of “semitically handsome.”
How many times did the water bottle get knocked over before someone figured that trick out?
Additionally of note: Phil’s 76th birthday is coming up and he doesn’t look a day over 75. He has a proud posture and a new Apple watch. There could not be a more obvious “yes” answer to a question than, “Has Phil called his Tesla to him with his Apple Watch?” Maybe “Did Phil make Jill come and watch him do it, like, three times?”
Also, on Phil’s right arm is his new Apple sweatband. It has Bluetooth.
What Jay Blakesburg is pointing at may be guessed in the all-new, chromed-out, luxury-package Comment Section.
…
Wait.
…
Is that Tiger? And, wait, what? There are two? (Partially obscured behind Jay: white pickups.) Did Phil borrow them for the night? I don’t think you’re allowed to borrow any of Garcia’s guitars anymore. (I mean: you weren’t allowed to borrow them when he was alive, but I’m pretty sure no one ever asked.) Garcia’s guitars–even the minor ones–now go out On Loan.
Or are those Fake Jerry guitars? Does Phil make his band play Fake Jerry guitars, like how you had to dye your hair when you joined KISS? (Because I don’t get that. No judgement, but having yourself a Fake Jerry axe crafted by Alembic–has to be Alembic or it doesn’t count–just confuses me. Do you go all the way and strap on a fake beard and shove a pillow under your shirt? But, hey: different strokes for different Enthusiasts. If you’ve got a couple grand to spend on a guiHOLY SHIT, THEY’RE ELEVEN THOUSAND DOLLARS.)
I demand answers.
TotD is happy to report–from multiple, unrelated sources–that Phil looks great and happy tonight; he is bouncing around and smiling, and this is a very good thing.
This is Robbie Taylor, who has been Phil’s Parish for four decades. His eyebrows will fight you; they will defeat you; do not challenge them.
(I know nothing about Robbie Taylor besides the broad strokes: came aboard in ’76 and stayed there ever since. I don’t know his childhood, or his family; his triumphs and regrets. He is a man in full totally alien to me. But I do know he could kick your ass.)
And this is Photographer-to-the-Dead Jay Bakesburg, mistaking guitars for teenaged hippie chicks. (Jay likes Hippie Chicks.)
The band is making its way through 5/13/83 from the Greek, with the first-ever Hell in a Bucket. Other than that, not many surprises in the setlist, but you can check out tonight’s version here.
As always, TotD has eyes and ears everywhere: our man Phil has been lying low lately, but he’s continuing the year-by-year tributes at Terrapin Crossroads with 1982.
He’s talking to his Benjy, Jay Blakesburg, right now and will be kicking ass soon. Maybe this is what it sounds like.
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