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

Tag: jerry garcia (Page 37 of 139)

Thou Shalt Not Be Afraid Of The Terror By Night

I want to say to my sisters and my brothers
Keep the faith
When the storm flies and the wind blows
Go on at a steady pace
When the battle is fought and the victory’s won
We can all shout together, we have overcome
We’ll talk to the Father and the Son
When we make it to the promised land

Chorus
If we walk together, little children
We won’t ever have to worry
Through this world of trouble
We’ve got to love one another
Let us take our fellow man by the hand
Try to help him to understand
We can all be together
For ever and ever
When we make it to the promised land

Our bible reads
Thou shalt not be afraid
Of the terror by night
Nor the arrow that flies by day
Nor for the pestilence
That walketh in the darkness
Nor for the destruction
That waiteth in the noonday hour

[chorus]

This world is not our home
We are only passing through
Our trail is all made up
Way beyond the blue
Let us do the very best that we can
While we’re travelin’ through this land
We can all be together
Shaking a hand
When we make it to the promised land

[chorus]

When we make it to the promised land children
Make it to the promised land children
Make it to the promised land children
Make it to the promised land
When we make it to the promised land sisters
Make it to the promised land children
We can all be together, forever and ever
When we make it to the promised land

Garcia On Garcia

jerry citifield

Goddammit, Garcia. We had this talk last summer.

“No one’s noticed, man. I’m being discreet.”

No. This is the opposite of discreet. This is creet. You are being unbelievably creet right now.

“How so?”

You’re wearing a shirt with your own face on it.

“Right. I’m hiding in plain sight.”

No, you’re just in plain sight. At least go backstage or in the Earthroamer or something. Stop wandering around the lot.

“I’m going backstage in a little bit. Concentrate on your own problems.”

You’re not sitting in.

“Donna is!”

DONNA’S ALIVE.

“I’m alive in the hearts of most of the folks here.”

Good for you. Stay off that stage.

Choogle Finds A Way

When the last pterodactyl had been felled, and the blood cleaned up, people began to ask questions; first among them was “Why was the Grateful Dead allowed to have dinosaurs?” In the Dead’s defense, no one had told them they couldn’t.

Mickey had bought a piece of hash the size of a well-fed child, and discovered an ancient mosquito within its crumbly innards. He brought the mosquito (and a sizable chunk of the hash) to Front Street for a more scientific investigation; Phil, luckily, was already wearing a lab coat. Unluckily, he was wearing nothing else, but he wouldn’t let Mickey use the microscope or any of the other doohickeys without being included.

They began by thin-slicing the mosquito, then carefully affixing it to slides. Stains were added to some, and others were treated with various chemicals. Phil made notes for five minutes and then started drawing mean cartoons of Mickey with a drum kit up his ass. After the slides had all been prepared, they examined each specimen.

“You know what you’re looking at?”

“They’re pretty.”

So they asked the Wall of Sound to figure it out and went out for tacos.

ISLA INVIERNA – ONE YEAR LATER, BUT ALSO SIMULTANEOUSLY

“Jerassic Park?”

“Well, yeah. See: your name’s ‘Jerry.’ So it’s like–”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t get it, Weir.”

“–combining that with…okay, yeah, sure. It’s a great name. Irving Azoff thought it up.”

“I managed to avoid that guy my whole life, and you do this to me? Nice work, pal. The shame, the shame.”

“It’s a good name, Jer. Lends itself to merch. The shirt where you have tiny little T-Rex arms and you can’t reach your guitar and you look so sad? Big seller.”

“Right, man.”

“Phil’s head on a brontosaurus.”

“Yeah, I liked that. Yoinked one.”

“My favorite’s where they replaced the turtles on the porch with ankylosaurs.”

“That porch wouldn’t be around much longer.”

“Lotta collateral damage involved with having an ankylosaur dance your porch, yeah. Phil had one on his bocce courts. No good for anyone.”

“Billy punched a dinosaur in the dick yet?”

“Like, the second the first one was made.”

“He’s a go-getter.”

We Were Randos Once, And Young

mickey carlos santana hat

“I heard there was a Rando War going on.”

I really hoped this would have blown over by now.

“I got one, too!”

Mickey, that’s not a rando. That’s Carlos Santana.

“Yup, yeah. I see it now.”

Please don’t say–

“Thought it was one of Phil’s busboys.”

–anything racist. Like that.

“Gimme a sec. I got randos coming out of my ass.”

Ew.

mickey george lucas

“Rando!”

The opposite.

“Not a rando?”

I thought you were deaf. Are you blind, too?

“This is not a rando.”

No.

“It’s Steven Spielberg.”

Close enough.

“I can do better.”

But you don’t have to.

“Found one!”

jerry mickey smiling

That’s Garcia.

“Dammit.”

You’re awful at this game.

“Sure, but look at all the famous people I know.”

Yeah, okay.

Ladies Man

Jerry-and-Heather

Happy Father’s Day, Garcia.

“Shh.”

Sorry.

“Just got her to sleep.”

What’s the point of a baby sleeping if you can’t Instagram it?

“What?”

Nothing. That’s Heather, right?

“Yeah.”

Pretty name.

“Pretty girl. I like girls. Some guys wanna have boys, but I like girls.”

That is good to hear.

“Why?”

jerry wives daughters

“Good God, what is that?”

Your family.

“Just one?”

Couple of ’em.

“I gotta get some gigs, man.”

Happy Father’s Day.

“Sure, yeah.”

Out With The Old

As is my computer’s wont, it has again filled up with tabs I thought that I might give a shit about, but have since failed to muster up said shits. In the ongoing rearguard action to have a clean working space, I now pass them along to you, so that you may not give a shit about them.

One

The San Francisco Zoo named a wolf after Garcia; the wolf is on his fourth marriage.

Two

Jambase interviewed Oteil, but have not given him a weekly advice column titled What’s the Deal with Oteil, and that is an oversight.

Three

More unbearable fashion assholes cluelessly glomming onto the Dead while letting you know that they would never, ever listen to the band.

Read:

His inspiration: Deadheads, a term coined for the fans of the psychedelic rock band in the 70s The Grateful Dead, or rather, “inspired by what the daughter of a Deadhead would wear”. Although Johansson makes it clear that he himself is not a Deadhead, he was rather interested in how a daughter born into that subculture would interpret the lifestyle today.

First of all, the designer’s name is Jonny Johansson, which means he owes Jesse Jarnow money.  Second of all, fuck this guy. Third of all, copy-editing is not an option.

You’re one to talk about copy-editing.

That’s a professional website; I’m some jerk-off in Florida with a good imagination.

Yeah, maybe.

A Pig Out Of Time

pigpen jerrt fuzzy organ 68

Hey, Pig. Whatcha doing?

“Don’t you ‘Hey, Pig’ me, punk! The Pig’s out here sweatin’ and frettin’, tryin’ to make it right for the boys and girls out there so they can MAKE IT, and you come around here, what, once a month? Say ‘Hey, Pig’ every four weeks?”

Aw, Pig.

“Wait! I know what you are now! You’re a period!”

Hey, man.

“Monthly menace! Get what you need and skedaddle back to that brokedown present o’ yours! That’s your game!”

Pig, that is not my game. I have no game.

“That’s what all the ladies say, too!”

Pig.

“Aw, the Pig’s just pulling your leg a li’l bit. Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

You could visit, y’know. You have access to a Time Sheath. Brent’s here all the time. Had to chase Garcia out of Soldier Field at least twice.

“Nah. I’ve taken a look, and you done fucked up damn near everything! Fightin’ in the streets and hatred in the air!”

That was going on in your time, too.

“That’s what I’m sayin’! Supposed to get smarter, aintcha? World’s doin’ the exact same bullshit fifty years along! Enough to put a Pig in his cups!”

Well, it didn’t take too much to do that, did it?

“Heh, no. You know the ol’ Pig’ll take a drink.”

Yeah.

“Besides, ain’t no place for a bluesman no more. When’s the last time you saw one out in the wild?”

Been a while.

“Yeah.”

Pig?

“What now, you scribblin’ simp!?”

Why are you guys so blurry?

“Don’t be puttin’ that on the Pig! Your magic typewriter done goofed us all up!”

Yeah, could be.

We Live In The History Of The Future

bobby jerry donna summit 78

There will always be a Mrs. Donna Jean.

Fillmore South will be a reef, corrupt and smoky and teeming with surly fish. The water is rising, and the lakes becoming brackish, and we will move to the mountains; buy real estate in Colorado right now.

Your ancestors, if there are any, will forget your name and all records will be lost after the Grand Mutilations of the Shallow King. When they dig up Las Vegas, they will surely think it religious.

There will still be a Mrs. Donna Jean.

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