–carious Lee? Oh, hey. I have more questions about this.
What the fuck, man?
Obviously. Among other things, but obviously the speakers and their configuration is our primary focus. Are they being held up by the power of suggestion?
“Among other things.”
“Could be. I personally don’t recall tying anything down, but someone definitely could have.”
Wow. My further line of inquiry concerns the overall jankiness.
“Lotta jank with the Dead, yeah.”
“If you say so.”
This was a show at Silver Stadium in June of 1986:
Professionalism could be achieved in 1986. It wasn’t ’72 anymore.
“And yet the kids came.”
Every other band was right to work their crews like dogs.
“Good thing I don’t work for one of them. We ran into those guys a couple times.”
“Those Van Halen jagoffs. Mike’s okay, but the brothers like getting drunk and biting people. They’re vicious little fuckers. And Bobby’s terrified of David Lee Roth.”
“Instinct. For most of the people he meets, David Lee Roth inspires a fight-or-flight response.”
I can see that. Precarious, could you look at one last photo, please?
“Do it to it, chief.”
This is, once again, the Grateful Dead at Silver Stadium in Rochester, New York, on the 30th of June, 1988.
“Need a little zoom-and-enhance on that one.”
No, I like the long view that shows just how bush a league could be. That, sir, is the limit of bush. No league can contain more bush than that. That picture represents the exterior of infinity.
“What you need to remember about our audience–”
Don’t use the drug excuse.
“–is that they were on drugs. It’s true. Most of ’em spent the show staring at a stranger’s neck.”
Stop it. A couple of tie-dye banners. Some curtains to hide the exposed machinery. A proscenium. Something. Anything. You could have done anything and it would have been an improvement, as this is the bare minimum. You stacked heavy shit up, plugged it in, and cracked a beer.
“We were drinking beer while stacking shit up and plugging it in.”
I expect more out of the Grateful Dead’s road crew.