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

Tag: jerry garcia (Page 78 of 139)

The Things Weir Carried

In recent interviews, Bobby has mentioned being Garcia’s bagman–holding the Persian and giving him just the daily dose. As usual, Bobby and the rest of Big Dead are telling only a small portion of the truth: Bobby carried many things, for many people, for many different reasons.

  • Garcia’s wallet.
  • Garcia’s car keys.
  • Garcia’s trousers. (One time in Michigan.)
  • The blueprints to Front Street detailing the building’s security weaknesses. (Stolen by Bothan spies, many of whom were killed by Billy and/or the road crew.)
  • A hardcover copy of Finnegan’s Wake for Phil, who swears that he’ll actually read it this tour.
  • Mickey’s hockey bag full of raccoons. He always needed it in the middle of the night, plus: they’re raccoons. They can get out of a hockey bag in seconds and then they coordinate their attacks. They would invariably break out and head straight for Garcia’s room (Garcia and Bobby always had adjoining rooms in case they wanted to gossip) while Garcia nodded off on a smoldering bed, steal the remnants of his chicken parm sub, put out the fire (raccoons are nature’s first responders,) and scurry into the night.
  • And then Mickey would burst into the room and be all, “Garcia, what did you do with my raccoons?” as if he were somehow complicit in this, like he planned it, and it wasn’t entirely Mickey’s fault for stuffing a hockey bag full of raccoons and leaving it in a hotel room. Everything that happens as a result of that is on you, Mickey.
  • The key to Brent’s chastity belt, which he wanted Bobby to unlock “only when I been good, ‘kay, Bobby? Judge me harshly and dole out your sweet rewards and your just punishment.” Bobby took the key, backed out the room slowly, lost the key, called a locksmith, went to the hospital.
  • Billy’s briefcase containing $10,000 in Kruegerands, a forged passport, and a fake mustache. (“They’ll be looking for a guy with my mustache, but I’ll have this mustache!”) Billy called it “the football” and tried handcuffing it to Bobby a number of times, but Bobby’s quick and could easily dodge the attempts.
  • Everybody’s gum. (Bobby was actually an awful bagman w/r/t gum. Bobby’ll chew your gum right up.)
  • Two or three extra livers for Phil, plus an extra kidney for Mickey, who was both in perfect health, and hesitant to explain his need for the organ.
  • Phil made Bobby hold Ned Lagin for him one tour, but Bobby put his foot down after three or four shows. “There are some things I simply won’t cross state lines with,” and then Phil corrected Bobby’s grammar and then Bobby accused Phil of being a Prescriptivist and then Billy, who had been eating ribs and not bothering anyone, called both of them Bolsheviks, and everyone was yelling at everybody, and once again: Ned Lagin ruins everything.

Friend Of A Friend Of The Devil

bobby jerry bill graham jpb 76

“Hey, Bobby,” Garcia said under his breath.

“I don’t wanna talk about it, man.”

“The hat’s cool and all…but, you know: the hat’s not all there is to the matter, is it?””

“I am not even looking at you. Please shut up.”

Bobby doodled on his guitar.

“I feel like I should ask him which side he served in Mr. Lincoln’s infernal war.”

“Listen, he’s my friend. Leave it alone. Your friends are terrible, too.

Baby On Board

73 Desmoine05

What were children made of back then? Adamantium? That little shit’s been perched–perched!–there for half the first set now and Phil has been dropping bombs on him like he thought the kid was the Viet Cong and he’s completely nonchalant. He’s the li’l fry version of walking away from the explosion without looking back.

“Oh, those guys behind me? Hadn’t noticed ’em. Now that you mention it, sure: there are a bunch of what could best be described as rabid deathbeavers playing boogey music at jet engine volume, enabled by a sound system so complicated it was used to calculate the BCS standings; I was kinda inside my own head. Thinking about getting my dinosaurs and having a little imagination time.”

Also: is Keith still in this band? He show up for this gig? Where are ya, buddy?

Seconal To None

band 5.7.77

Phil welded together three or four regular-sized pairs of sunglasses to get those things.

Mickey, who is wearing a Grateful Dead shirt, bonked his head on the light fixture behind him and flew into a rage, attacking all the sconces, crown moulding, and especially the wainscoting in the room. The wood paneling didn’t stand a chance.

Bobby played the “whose elbow gets to be on top” game with Mickey for a moment, then let him win out of fear that Mickey would fly into a rage and attack the non-load-bearing features of the room.

Holy shit, Garcia invented The Shocker, didn’t he?

“Hi, there! My name’s Mrs. Donna Jean and I want to be your next state senator. I believe in deporting the unborn,  creating terrorism for the middle-class, and ruthlessly hunting down all the Cat People of Felicidae IV, Throneworld to the Felis Empire, currently infiltrating our government, media, and jam bands. Thank you, and get out the vote!”

Billy’s expression, plus the fact that he is–no joke–being restrained by two men, is news of the poorest sort for the photographer. What has he done to arouse Billy’s ire? Been in the wrong place at the wrong time? (With Billy, the “wrong place” is in front of him, and the “wrong time” is when he is conscious.*)

Keith’s dead.

*It should be noted–for safety’s sake at the least–that Billy has punched dick in states of awareness that were other than fully conscious such as, but not limited to: sleepwalking, napwalking, blackout drunk, blackout…maybe cattle tranquilizer?, infected with the mindworms of Ceti Alpha VI, turned into a zombie slave via arcane Houdon means, deep hypnosis, activation of his sleeper personality, rabies, enslaved by love, made the earthbound host of Abbadon the Unforgiving.

The Ministry Of Silly Jams

phil jerry rfk silly

“There’s no way you look sillier than me.”

“Dude, I look like a scarecrow who came to life and started selling meth.”

“Whatever. My shirt clearly belongs to a closeted middle-school music teacher from Saskatoon.”

“Using Time Sheath technology, I stole this ridiculous hat from a tiny black man who lives in the future.”

“Prince?”

“Fuck no, not Prince.”

“You’ve noticed–”

“Yeah, I saw the pigtails.”

“–the pigtails, right? Right.”

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