I don’t know if I say this enough (or ever), but I’ve gotten used to having you around.
Thank you for reading this nonsense.
As a reward, please enjoy this picture of Garcia and Phil playing Peek-A-Boo with Bobby, whose hair was perfect.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: jerry garcia (Page 122 of 139)
Black power, Mickey.
This haircut is not doing it for Garcia’s sexy, although to be honest: that briefcase and its contents weren’t helping the sexy, either.
That hair, though: he looks like Gene Simmons when KISS cut their hair and made that concept album Music from the Elder.
Someday, we’ll find it: the Rainbow Connection. The spinners, the AUD guys, and me…
Can you see the thick layer of cover-up around Bobby’s left eye? The makeup artist did an excellent job, but if you know what’s there, you can see it.
This was the Dead’s first big TV spot in a while, and Bobby wanted to make the most out of it, even though Letterman was already giving them two interview segments and two songs and letting him do his not-quite-coherent magic trick.
Bobby wanted to twerk.
“No, Bobby. That’s a bad idea and here’s why,” Garcia said. He laid out his arguments (Bobby was famously mediocre at booty dancing, cultural misappropriation, twerking wouldn’t be invented for thirty years or so) logically and with kindness. Garcia paused in between concepts, and made sure Bobby was with him, all the way through. It was an impressive show of sophistry and rhetoric, made all the more impressive that Garcia nodded off twice during it, setting fire to the couch both times.
Bobby digested it, thinking–sometimes out loud–and asking questions of Garcia to pin him down on specific points, such as the fact that they did seem to have become unstuck in time. Garcia said he had noticed that too, but quickly decided that they had all become toys in the hands of a bored god and that Bobby shouldn’t worry about it.
Then, Bobby stood up suddenly, spun around and started twerking the shit out of Garcia. And this is just so far beyond simply tugging on Superman’s cape: this is using Superman’s cape as a jizz-mop. Beyond the pale doesn’t cover it.
But Billy’s not there and Parrish has stepped outside, so Garcia has to take care of this himself. It must be dealt with.
Garcia don’t twerk.
So, he popped Bobby. Not all that hard: Garcia didn’t summon the Power Cosmic like he could have, but it left a nice mark. For the next week, the sound of Bobby shrieking, “I FELL DOWN, ALL RIGHT!?” and storming out of the room echoed up and down hotel hallways.
All hands are on deck of this ship of fools, fellow Enthusiasts: ideas, hosannas, and nifty artifacts streaming in over the digital transom from Friends of TotD.
This one comes from Mr Completely, head of the Interdimensional Affairs Desk operating out of the satellite office in Fillmore Northwest, where a Gore-Tex fetish is a helpful acquisition and soccer is openly tolerated.
It’s a decent show, for an ’85 right before Garcia went night-night. But the fun is watching Bobby stop merely comprehending gravity: finally he would understand it.
Watch, starts around 53:30:
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y5qjwcMJnqc&t=53m47s]
So, Bobby goes to do The Lunge, which–and, being a Bobby Man as I am, this pains me to say–Bobby is the only one in the room not getting the joke on. Bobby, the cheering you heard for The Lunge was sarcastic: I am sorry to have to be the one to break this to you. Everyone forgave you immediately after it happened, but if it had not have happened at all, people would have been cool with that, if you’re reading me on this one.
Anyhoo, the best part isn’t watching Bobby fall (which is , obviously, hilarious in and of itself), no; it’s the direct aftermath, when by means of body language and general rocking, Bobby attempts to convince the crowd that he intended to fly ass-over-teakettle to celebrate Estimated changing keys.
Who goofed on Bobby the longest for this? You’d think Mickey, right? Seems like some Mickey shit to do, but in reality: Phil still brings this up to this day; it was part of a horrific fight on the last Furthur tour. They were drinking green tea in their hotel suite. (Bobby and Phil share a room on the road; in fact, they share bunk beds.)
“This is delicious honey,” said Bobby.
“Why did you call me honey?” said Phil.
“I didn’t. I said that the honey was delicious, not that–”
“It makes me uncomfortable when you call me honey,” said Phil.
“–you were my…what’s happening here?”
…
“Hey,” Phil said. “Who am I: ‘My time coming, any day. Don’tWHAUUUUGH!’ I’m down! Bobby down, repeat: Bobby down!”
“Why do you always go there? You’re not my Garcia! YOU’RE NOT MY GARCIA!”
Anyone bitching about Mrs. Donna Jean being out of tune must first provide three (3) discrete examples of Garcia finishing Playing with all six strings having any relationship at all with the Western system of harmonics.
Thanks to Friend of TotD, Steveb, for alerting me to the existence of this picture, which I had never seen before, but will now be getting tattooed on my face.
In case you don’t read the comments, he posted a portion of a cool article about the gig (12/6/80 at the Mill Valley Recreational Center) pictured above and in the last post. Check it out:
There’s a sweet story behind this gig, which was on 12/6/80. To quote from an article by Steve McNamara in Marin County’s Pacific Sun newspaper, which I have actually saved all these years:
“The Dead live in Mill Valley
“In New York and San Francisco people sleep on sidewalks for days in order to buy – at nearly any price – tickets to a Grateful Dead Concert. So it was remarkable to spend a mellow Saturday afternoon at the Mill Valley Recreation Center listening to The Dead play, free, to an audience of no more than 70. The occasion was the annual Christmas party of the Marin-Sonoma chapter of the Muscular Dystrophy Association. Rodney Graves, who has a form of muscular dystrophy, is a good friend and Alto School fifth grade classmate of Justin Kreutzmann, son of Dead drummer Bill Kreutzmann. The boys were talking about the party and how it would be nice to have some entertainment and one thing led to another. ‘We all live in the county,’ said Bill Kreutzmann, ‘and when I explained what was happening to the other guys it seemed like a nice thing to do.’
“Followers of The Grateful Dead – Deadheads – are the most loyal and fervent group in the world of music. They insist that The Dead are more than music, they are a way of life – an assertion that baffles fans of less complex musical groups. An element in this love affair is the low-key decency and intensely human presence of band members. Crazed pop stars they are not.”
In addition to the picture you used, the article includes several others, including one of Bill Graham taking Garcia for a ride in his motorcycle sidecar and one of Garcia, cigarette in mouth, signing an autograph outside on the deck.
As always, the recording of the show is available on archive.org. It was definitely a relaxed event.
EDIT: Go listen to this show: it’s spectacularly fun. Listen for Bobby forget to tell the band what the song was, then count off Cassidy anyway, only to have one of the drummers shout “What are we playing?!”
Anyone who played guitar in the ’80’s or ’90’s can tell instantly that this is a thrown-together gig. How?
Because if you have any choice in the matter whatsoever, you’re not using a Peavey amp.
Phil Tesh – John’s brother, stays in the guest place out back. Watches the kids, takes care of the house when we’re gone. Good guy, glad to have him around, good guy when he’s not drinking. 4 months, knock wood: we’re proud of him. Oh, damn, is it 3 o’clock already? I have to get Simon to soccer practice. Nice talking to you. Wait: who are you? How did you get in my backyard? JOHN! COME HERE! COME HERE AND PROTECT YOUR LAND, JOHN TESH!
Donna Bean – Cousin to the lima, pinto, refried, Mexican jumping, and the Funky Winker.
Drums/Spade – That time in 79 when, after the drum solo, Phil, et al, sat at a card table Parrish had set up and played Spades for a good 35 minutes, which is impressive when you realize that Bobby didn’t know the rules, Brent was losing on purpose to get people to like him, and Garcia had snuck back into his dressing room two or three hands into the session.
Winterhand – The nickname of the groupie with poor circulation who liked giving tuggers.
Sex Luthor – All of his elaborate plans involve Superman’s butt, and doing weird stuff to it. Supes has had it up to fucking here, man.
Wall of Hound – One time, Billy got high as fuck and piled three or four dogs on top of each other and made people come and look, repeating the joke all afternoon, and then he got bored and punched one of the dogs in the dick, and I’m gonna tell you something about dogs: they have no concept of the proper deference due to a rock star, so no matter what band you’re in, if you punch a dog in his dick, he’s going to completely lose his shit on you, plus the other dogs were mildly annoyed with Billy anyway, so they joined in and all of them chased Billy around for an hour or so; he was bitten repeatedly, and let’s face it: he simply could not have deserved it more.
Knob Weir – What Bobby calls his dick sometimes.
Cob Weir – What he calls it other times.
Throb Weir – Bobby also calls his penis this.
Mickey Fart
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