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

Tag: jerry garcia (Page 24 of 139)

Once You Pop

This is 6/18/67 at the Monterey Fairgrounds. I don’t know if I’ve listened to it; I will now, though. This show was the Monterey Pop Festival, legendary for its unlegendariness (at least as far as the Dead goes). The Boys were scheduled in between The Who (beginning a long inter-band relationship) and Jimi Hendrix (beginning his and Bobby’s best friendship); both acts put on high-volume shows punctuated by instrument destruction, arson, and explosives. In the face of such showmanship, the Dead countered by standing there and playing Viola Lee for 14 minutes.

They also refused to be filmed for the movie, which gives them a perfect record for avoiding being in iconic Rock Films: Monterey Pop, Woodstock, Gimme Shelter. Dead missed ’em all by thaaaat much.

Paging Chez Ray, Paging Chez Ray

Where you going?

“Getting that meatloaf sandwich.”

You’re obsessed.

“I’m hungry.”

How did Brent do?

“Who?”

Brent. Your new keyboard player. This is his first show.

“It is? I thought Donna called in sick.”

No.

“How about that? I’m sure he did great. When have we ever hired the wrong keyboardist?”

40% of the time.

“Close enough for rock and roll, right?”

Kinda.

“Now stop bothering me. Sandwich time.”

Okay.

Used To Play For Silver, Now We Play For Klein

You are just in a Jew sandwich there, aren’t you?

“I’m the meat, yeah. Not ham, though.”

Maybe a nice cold meatloaf on a kaiser roll.

“Sounds good. Bring me that.”

I can’t bring you food.

“Well, you know, man: have you even tried?”

No.

“Give it a whirl. Never know what you’re capable of.”

I don’t even know how that would work, honestly.

“No imagination at all on you.”

I know.

“Shit, now I want a meatloaf sandwich.”

Sorry, buddy.

“Yeah, yeah.”

There’s Always One More

Here you go, Enthusiasts: this is my contribution. Previously, there were three pictures of Bobby in various stages of bunnification; now there are four. (I always figure if I haven’t seen a photo, then most haven’t. If that comes across as arrogant, well: consider the topic. It’s like bragging about Magic the Gathering. And plus I didn’t even claim to be the best at it, so it’s like bragging about coming in sixth at a Magic the Gathering tournament.)

The Grateful Dead, Younger Enthusiasts, didn’t do a lot of teevee. Possibly because the first time they were booked on a show, Playboy After Dark in 1969, they ended up dosing the entire building. But it also makes sense: there weren’t too many televised venues for any rock music back then. There was Ed Sullivan in the 1960’s, and the Smothers Brothers for a year or two, but after that the opportunities dried up. Pop stars were all over the dial, obviously, but not rock. Johnny Carson didn’t book bands at all until much later in his run. There was Don Kirshner’s Rock Concert, and that was about it.

And then, in 1975, came Saturday Night Live. They had rock bands on, good ones and wild ones and sometimes things would go terribly wrong, which was horribly entertaining, and they had very hip taste. Tom Waits was on in 1977, and Sun Ra in ’78. The first four musical guests in ’78 were the Stones, Devo, Frank Zappa, and Van Morrison. (Zappa was actually the host, and that went precisely as well as you’d assume. It turns out that “doing sketch comedy with stoners” wasn’t in Frank’s toolbox; he and the cast hated each other by the end of the week.)

Week five was the Dead. The comedy writers Al Franken (who is now a Senator) and Tom Davis (who is now dead) were massive Deadheads and lobbied Lorne Michaels to book the band. He didn’t want to–the Dead were not very cool at the time, and certainly not Lorne Michaels’ New York-centric version of cool–but one has to believe that Al Franken can wear you down. Lorne must have liked them because he had them back the following year, and even let Billy be in a sketch.

Look:

Told you.

Contrary to Frank’s Zappa’s surliness, the Dead are affable fellows (and Mrs. Donna Jean) and made friends with the cast; Belushi and Ackroyd would do their Blues Brothers routine at Winterland with the band the night they closed the place down.

Phil may or may not have gone to town on Lorraine Newman.

Shake The Hand That Wore The Hat

“Jenkins!”

“Sir?”

“What the hell kind of hat is this?”

“It’s an Uncle Sam hat, sir.”

“I don’t see it.”

“That is most definitely an Uncle Sam hat.”

“Just doesn’t say ‘America’ to me.”

“The stripes? The colors?”

“Nope. Nope.”

“What if I stuck a little flag on it?”

“Perfect! Then you’ll say ‘That’s an American hat.’ Wait. You were talking about an American flag, right?”

“What other kind is there, sir?”

“Hot damn, I like that answer, Jenkins.”

“I knew you would, sir.”

Fire, Fire In The Venue

Where you going?

“There’s a fire.”

And who set that fire?

“You seem to be a real finger-pointing type of cat. I’ve noticed this about you, man.”

And if you were anyone else, you would be an arsonist.

“Arson implies intent.”

At a certain point, negligence becomes intent.

“Uh-huh. Where’d you read that?”

Made it up.

“Right, yeah. You got any other dopey ideas or can I escape the fire now?”

How big is it?

“Show’s probably gonna be canceled.”

Wow. You should blame this on Keith.

“I was planning on it.”

Smart.

Even A Piano Player Can Shake Hands

“Jerry, wow. It’s such an honor to meet you. I’m a huge fan.”

“Great, great. Where’s my meatball sub?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not the kid with the meatball sub?”

“No. I’m Bruce Hornsby.”

“That means what to me?”

“I sing the piano songs on the radio.”

“We’re circling around the point here.”

“The meatball sub.”

“I have my mouth all fixed for it.”

“Do you want me to run and get you a sandwich?”

“Gee, could ya? Here’s a twenty. Get yourself something, too, and keep the change.”

“Um, okay.”

“Great. Be back in under a half hour and you can join the band when Brent dies.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Hurry.”

Photographic Evidence

When the shutter opens it lets light into the camera. Just for a split second, maybe less. The lens focuses the incoming light onto a small square of plastic that has been treated with chemicals, which is called film. The light interacts with the chemicals and leaves an image. If another drop of light hits the film before it is processed, it will be ruined forever.

In a darkroom, you essentially reverse the process: now you blast light through the film, and onto a piece of paper which has also been treated with chemicals. You then take this paper and dunk it in several tubs of poison. You need to get the order of poisons right, and the timing, too. Otherwise, the picture will be ruined forever.

And after all that, you have a photograph.

But sometimes, just sometimes, a hair will fall into the works and be caught in the negative and live forever as a spectral addition to the picture, a thin and unerasable reminder that human beings make art with their hands.

OR

How many tambourines does one man need?

Blue Shirt, Pink Strap, Black Knife

“Hi, there.”

You look like…I don’t know what you look like. You’ve stymied me.

“I look like I know what an annuity is.”

Yes.

“Funny thing: I know what that is, actually. Very good with finance.”

Yeah?

“Oh, sure. 2017 me sends me stock tips.”

Isn’t that insider trading?

“When the IRS gets a Time Sheath, then I’ll worry about it.”

What do you remember about France?

“Phil refused to play it live.”

Not the song. The place. Where you played the party in ’71.

“The Chateau day Hamburger.”

Close enough.

“Fun stuff. We were gonna do this big show outside a castle, right? Le Woodstock, something like that. Little French hippies take off their berets. Good time. But, uh, it rained. Who’da thunk?”

No one could predict rain in the South of France in the spring.

“So, you know, we go back to the old place and we’ve picked up some stragglers. Film crew. Mayor.”

Randos.

“Randos.”

Dealers.

“Dealers.”

Tapers.

“Yeah, that was confusing. We were in France, and all of a sudden–bam–there’s this little forest of microphones sticking up from behind the board. Phil had a theory about spontaneous generation.”

I would agree with that.

“And then, you know, we dosed everyone in sight including the gendarmes and played for a while.”

Lemme ask you something.

“Shoot.”

How the hell did you get away with dosing so many cops?

“Oh, no, no. Can’t dose cops. Bobbies, gendarmes, polizei: those you can dose. They don’t even have guns. We were better armed than they were. And, you know: it was 1971. You could get away with murder. We did several times.”

What?

“Nothing.”

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