Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Tag: jerry garcia (page 1 of 135)

On The Whole, I’d Rather Be In Colorado*

Precarious?

“Yo.”

Just piled up the blankets and left ’em there, huh?

“Looks like it.”

Question.

“Shoot.”

What the fuck is that box?

“An ice dispenser shaped like W.C. Fields’ head.”

Obviously. Why?

“Why did we have it, or why is an ice dispenser shaped like W.C. Fields’ head?”

The first thing.

“Margaritas. We also had a blender shaped like Carmen Miranda.”

Sure.

OR

You fuckers thought I was kidding, didn’t you?

It’s not that I don’t know how to do research, it’s that I can’t usually be bothered.

 

*One would assume that this shot of Garcia is from Red Rocks; I am unaware of any other venues the Dead played where their backdrop was shale.

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes Of The World

You weren’t really a church in Medieval Europe unless you had some relics. What was the point in sending all those belligerent rich kids to Jerusalem if they weren’t going to yoink some merch? (For those of you keeping track: yes, that is the first time the Crusades have been referred to as a “merch yoink.”) Bigger the cathedral, the more important the souvenir, too: locks of His hair for county parishes, knuckle bones for the city venues. Pilgrims would come from miles away, and they didn’t mind a two-indulgence minimum, either.

Anything to be closer to Him, right?

OR

I need someone who knew Garcia to explain this shit, because I cannot live in a world where Jerry Garcia was one of those psychos who don’t have a brand. Were the Merits (which were filtered) the “snack” cigarettes, and the Camels and Pall Malls (both unfiltered) the “meals?” Were the Merits the downstairs cocaine, and he handed ’em out to randos and bummers? Why the fuck would you have Camels AND Pall Malls? Why the fuck would you buy hard packs AND soft packs?

That is my question here: Why the fuck? To all of this, I say: Why the fuck?

OR

They didn’t sell. Guess Shapiro was saving his money for Lot 49: “A Jerry Garcia wad of crumpled-up tin foil with brownish residue on it.”

On Your Left

Takes a couple seconds to realize what’s wrong with the picture, right?

OR

Opposite Day, as always, was a complete disaster.

OR

“Hey, uh, guys? We wearing our enormous glasses today?”

“Obviously, Weir.”

“Yeah, man. Biggest you can find.”

OR

If you don’t like 9/1/79, then you don’t like the Dead. And if you don’t like the Dead, why are you reading this bullshit? Who am I even addressing here? Ah, screw it: life is pointless.

OR

Which band had the most lefties in it? I can’t think of any with more than one southpaw player. (Not counting natural lefties who learned to play right-handed because left-handed guitars were tough to find and/or more expensive.)

If One Good Dose Of Thunder Don’t Get You, The Lightning Will

“Found yourself a new band to have a crush on, man?”

You ever listen to them?

“The Placemats?”

The Replacements.

“Never heard of ’em, man. They play that snarly-type music?”

At first. They got mellower as they aged.

“Happens to the best of us.”

Do the beard and the hair both get shampooed at the same time?

“How else would you do it?”

Just wondering.

Pictures of Rock Stars, Some Dead

Valued Commentator JES sends in this pic in re: the Leslie ranking. Enthusiasts over the age of two will count seven–SEVEN–Leslie speakers behind the vocalist/flautist/organist/muttonchoppist of Dutch band Focus, Thijs van Leer. I gotta be honest with you: there’s such a thing as being too European. Even the Dead wouldn’t pull this shit; it’s just unAmerican*, man.

Are the British still European? I think that question is being answered on a moment-to-moment basis this week. The island of Britain sits on the same tectonic plate as the Continent, and that’s not gonna change, but every other facet of the query is up for grabs.

The phenomenal Larry Radar sent in this action shot of Ian Hunter and Mick Ronson; go check out his pics, and tell him how awesome they are so maybe he’ll dig around in his basement and find some more for us to enjoy.

This is what that photo sounded like:

(Kinda. The shot’s from 7/27/79 and the video’s from April of 1980. But the band’s the same, so close enough.)

That’s Garcia (left) with a white Stratocaster. Where did he get it? Why was he playing it? The answers are lost to the ages. However, the fantastic Michael Clem has put together a (seemingly) exhaustive photographic timeline of Garcia’s axes.

FUN FACT: It is also a photographic timeline of Garcia’s weight, and–towards the end–hair loss.

 

*Unamerican? UnAmerican? Un-American? They all look horrid.

In Which Novelty Rears Its Head

Phil? Fat.

Garcia? Skinny.

Cowboy? Fancy.

Must be 1979. Go listen to 12/5 from the Uptown Theatre in Chicago, the third show of a run recently showcased in the Dave’s Picks series. The He’s Gone is dreamy, y’all. D-R-Eamy. Someone call the nurse, cuz Dr. Eamy is scrubbin’ in.

Are you going to be obsessed with “Dr. Eamy” now?

Yes, I am.

Saturday In The Park, I Think It Wasn’t The Fourth Of July

40% casualty rate is good, right?

OR

Billy found his drum kit in a Cracker Jack box.

OR

Why are they set up like a normal band? Pig should be on a different truck ten yards away, or Phil should be in the driver’s seat. This is, like, how you’re supposed to do it.

OR

Phil still weighs exactly the same, and still has the same amount of hair.

OR

Young Garcia = Chubby Slash.

OR

That fucker was at every single rockyroll show in the 60’s. The shirtless dude with no body fat doing his freaky-deaky arm-wavey dance? He was at every show.

OR

Obviously, Pig is not playing the gargantuan Hammond B3 organ that was his usual instrument; that is a far more portable (and affordable) Vox Continental, and it is unbelievably cool.

See? Sounds good, too:

Hear?

 

Stop This Shit, Peter Shapiro

Garcia’s briefcase isn’t the only attraction we’ve brought with us! Come on down to Garcia’s at the Cap™ Forest and see more of our collection! We have:

  • Montgomery Clift’s windshield!
  • Natalie Woods’ life preserver!
  • One pair baby shoes, never worn (from Sharon Tate)!
  • The pickle that accompanied Mama Cass’ ham sandwich!
  • Book on knot-tying that belonged to Michael Hutchence!
  • Gram Parson’s skeleton!

That’s right! Garcia’s at the Cap™ has the the bones of legendary country/rock musician Gram Parsons! His friends stole his body and buried him in the desert, and then we dug him up and mounted him! For you to look at while you drink $11 beers!

Garcia’s at the Cap™! Come on down!

OR

That was where he kept his death. He carried his death around, and took out a little bit at a time. That briefcase was where he kept his death.*

And you hung it on the wall like a trophy.

 

 

* Garcia kept all of his death in there. The narcotics, obviously, but you know he also had his Camels and some cookies in there.

The Loneliest Walk

Everything fuzzes and slides together, where you start and the world ends, and the colors eat each other.

The summers become one, but the beatings will remain sharp until they don’t; violence has an integrity which kindness does not.

And then no more faces, no more words, it’s all just the hard, white empty.

It’s A (Mocca) Sin

“Hey, uh, guys? Did we forget something?”

“We’ve got our soft-soled hippie shoes.”

“And our enormous guitars.”

“Sure, right, yeah, uh-huh. But, uh, aren’t there usually people in the seats?”

“Goddammit, we forgot to sell tickets.”

“Let’s blame Mickey.”

“He doesn’t join the band for two weeks, Lesh.”

“I don’t give a shit. I say this is Mickey’s fault.”

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