Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
There might be no show biz trick more primal, more bankable, or more affordable than coming out in matching outfits.
There may, however, be no act more Grateful Dead than Phil fucking the whole thing up with a vest he stole from a lesbian bookstore owner. (That phrase was ambiguous, so allow me to explain: both the human and the bookstore are lesbian in nature. Lesbian in a vest sitting behind the counter of a bookstore that caters to lesbians. There are absolutely no dicks in this equation.)
In an alternate trimension, Bobby learned not the slide guitar onstage, but the pedal steel. For this, we are grateful.
The guy with the ‘chops is Texas legend Doug Sahm, who put out an album called Groover’s Paradise that sounds exactly like you’d guess it would.
Hey, Garcia.
“Hey, man. What you’re doing? Riding the guys about selling out? You keep that up, man. You’re right, absolutely right.”
Well, thanks. I appreciate that.
“Corporate bullshit, man. Have no part of it, I say.”
Right on!
“Yeah!”
Whatcha doing?
“Shooting an advertisement.”
Gotcha.
“Making money isn’t a crime, y’know? Unless you’re robbing a bank, I guess.”
Then, it is.
“Or actually making the money.”
You’re talking about counterfeiting.
“I don’t know. Are we? Do you know a guy?”
…
“It’s charity or some bullshit. Little bit of publicity: gotta get your name out there if you wanna fill the dance floor, right?”
I guess.
“Sweet and pure Grateful Dead selling stuff like one of those regular bands. Can’t have that, can we?”
Harrumph.
“Do me a favor and grab me a pint of ice cream out of that freezer there?
Sure, which flavor?
“The flavor that proves the point I’m making.”
I see what you did.
“Yeah, you know: I’m Garcia, man.”
…
What is going on here again?
“One of those ads for the guitar magazines. They gimme like a dozen nice guitars, an envelope of cash: sweet deal. If it’s offered, you should take it without hesitation.”
You knew the photo shoot was today?
“Yeah, man. Of course.”
And you thought the shorts were the way to go?
“Parish!”
I’m going.
Hey, Garcia. Whatcha doing?
“Fooling everyone.”
Really?
“They have no idea I’m high, man.”
They do.
“Yeah?”
The microphone knows you’re high.
“Ah, well. Them’s the breaks. Don’t see anyone cancelling the interview.”
Is that what this is?
“Sounds right. Either that or I had a side career voicing children’s cartoons that everyone forgot about.”
Seems like one of the books would have mentioned it.
“Have there been books?”
No joke: you need a library shelf just for the reputable ones?
“What about the shady ones?”
Several cardboard boxes.
“Sounds right.”
This Super Bowl halftime pipe dream won’t go away: people are now providing us with listicles about why the Dead (Or What’s Left Of ‘Em) should appear at this year’s big game.
In hopes of putting this folly to an end, TotD now presents 10 Reasons Why the Dead Playing the Super Bowl Is a Terrible Idea:
You’re welcome.
Earlier, I posted that oral history of the Dead in Austin; it goes on about Manor Downs, and one of those very shows got into the 30 Trips box: 7/31/82. I can’t link to the new mix, but this one is a Charlie Miller SBD with a bunch of good reviews, so it can’t suck.
Also from the oral history, here are two pictures of the Dead in Austin. They’re from–I think–the ’71 shows captured on the Road Trip release, and feature a terrible idea: see if you can spot it in this group shot.
Did you spot the terrible idea? You have to enlarge the picture, so luckily there’s a better shot.
Even if you’ve taken only a little tiny bit of acid, those numbers are going to start meaning shit. That will become distracting.
Hey, Garcia. Whatcha doing?
“Getting a whole shitload of free guitars, nice check.”
Did you know there was a photo shoot today?
“Sure, man. Drove myself here and everything.”
And you went with the shorts.
“I did, yeah. Hot out.”
Yeah, but you’re in.
“Stop hassling me, man.”
Stop making me look at your thighs, man.
“Get stuffed.”
Scabby-ass knees, hairless hamstrings: what’s the drag coefficient of your legs?
…
“Parish?”
SORRYI’MLEAVINGSORRYDON’THITME.
Hey, Garcia. Whatcha doing?
“Oh, hey, man. Just thinking about something Billy said to me the other day.”
Which was?
“He said, ‘Garcia, even a broken cock is hard twice a day.'”
What does that mean?
“No idea. That’s why I’m thinking about it.”
Okay.
Hey, Garcia.
“Heeey, man.”
Good look.
“Woke up like this.”
I believe you.
The youth of today are virtually illiterate dopesucking jitterbugs, and they’ll be the death of us.
But their memes…
Their memes.
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