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

Tag: jimi hendrix (Page 1 of 2)

Thoughts On The New Jimi Hendrix Live From Maui Release

  • Oh, cool, he’s soloing.
  • Didn’t expect that.
  • Curveballer, that Jimi.
  • He’s just gonna solo for two sets, huh?
  • Jimi Hendrix is like Dune: I like the ripoffs better than the source.
  • No, wait.
  • He stopped soloing.
  • He’s talking.
  • Well, “talking.”
  • Jimi’s high as fuck and shouldn’t be allowed to introduce the tunes.
  • Mitch Mitchell’s still in the band, huh?
  • That’s a choice.
  • Oh, c’mon.
  • Kiss my ass, “Live” in Maui.
  • And, uh, yeah.
  • Jimi probably didn’t have much to do with the tapes post-1970.
  • I’m trying.
  • God, I’m trying.
  • NOPE, I still fucking hate Jimi Hendrix.
  • Hippie bullshit.
  • I’m gonna listen to The Residents sing about Elvis and Nazis.
  • NOPE, I don’t like this art school nonsense, either.
  • I’m gonna listen to the Grateful Fuckin’ Dead.


Reasons Sha Na Na Is Better Than Jimi Hendrix

  • Members of Sha Na Na went on to become respected doctors, high-powered litigators, and beloved professors; Jimi did not go on to do anything, as he choked to death on his own vomit at the age of 27.
  • So many guys in Sha Na Na that you could get a good pick-up game going in multiple sports; Jimi just had two guys.
  • None of Jimi’s bands contained any Bowzers at all.
  • Nor did Jimi have Chuck Berry as a musical act.

  • Look, kids: Avery Schreiber!
  • What other Grateful Dead-adjacent websites provide you with Avery Schreiber content?
  • You won’t get The Schreib on Jambase.
  • It’s fair to say that Thoughts on the Dead is the only voice in the online community asking the tough questions, the first of which being Hey, who wants to see Avery Schreiber?
  • That’s a tough qustion, in that most people do not know how to answer it.
  • They’ll say:
    • “Who?”
    • “Wha?”
    • “Did you just lick my ice cream?”
  • And I’ll answer:
    • “Avery Schreiber, braj.”
    • “You wanna see him?”
    • “Yes, I did and I’m gonna bite your cone, too. Stop me. You can’t; I’m an American.”
  • So, you see, the topic of Avery Schreiber is fraught.
  • Fraught!
  • You’ve lost interest in this post, haven’t you?
  • I’m enjoying the tomfoolery, and that people’s time is being wasted.
  • Is there a parasite that specializes in ticks and fleas? Like, a parasite that attacks other parasites. The lowest of the low. Absolute bottom of the food chain. 
  • Are you describing me?
  • I am, yes. 
  • Ouch.
  • Jackass. 

Our First Batch Of Winners*

We return, Enthusiasts, to the Dylan Cover Contest, which I again remind you is not a competition. Some of you have followed orders and posted your choices in the Comment Section, where  asked you to, and others of you–roundheaded cheese-thieves that you are–answered on Twitter. Some of your picks are brilliant, and a couple of you like that lady who sings in French.

You know that TotD is not xenophobic, but the site does have a policy regarding foreigners, and that is: They should be hated and feared, Doubly so if they talk gobbledygook, and these gobblings were on purpose! Fuckface Condition was a British band. They chose to sing in French. Serge Gainsbourg sang in French, but he didn’t have any other options. Maybe scat-singing. But this was a brunette lady named Sandy who grew up in London, so I can get mad at her decisions.

It is of very little use getting mad at Nina Simone.

Miss Simone will not care, hopefully. If she does notice, you should duck. (The sign of a true diva: like Elvis and Miles, Miss Simone enjoyed shooting at her business associates, generally while indoors.)

Hey, Bob Dylan.

“I need drugs and a dogsitter.”

I’ll work on it.

All you can hear is Jimi’s voice and guitar, but no one’s hitting play for Chas Chandler. (That would, however, be a Rock Nerd Power Opinion: I think Jimi Hendrix never recovered after losing Chas. Pull that one out of your cargo pants at the next Phish Scholars conference; you’ll start a riot.)


*It is in no way a contest. This title is misleading, at best. I don’t understand how these mistakes keep getting through.

My Guitar-Playing Friend

“Oh, hey, are we back at Woodstock?”

Stop it, Bobby.

“A lot of people don’t know this, but I spent most of that weekend with my best friend, Jimi Hendrix.”

That is not true. The Dead camped in a motel miles away and held the promoter up for more cash, then played terribly.

“I snuck off. Me and Jimi had a blast. Talked about the old days, engaged in free love, got disco fries.”

They had disco fries at Woodstock?

“No, but we had a helicopter.”


“Much different vibe than the West Coast.”

How so?

“Longitude was off.”

Bobby, I need you stop fibbing. You didn’t hang out with Hendrix at Woodstock.

“Oh, yeah. Jammed with him a bit onstage.”


“I was, uh, the black guy playing congas.”


“Wailed on those suckers, man.”

Bobby, knock it off.


Okay? Just like that?

“This is the last of these pictures that Spencer sent. Bit’s over.”


“It wasn’t great.”

No, but now I have to think up something new. I hate that.

“Preaching to the fire, and into the frying pan.”

You understand me.

Row Jimi

Bobby, stop this.

“Don’t tell me who to be best friends with.”

These are manipulated photos that do not reflect reality.

“Reality is so often pliable.”

It’s truly not.

“This picture is from, uh, right before our first tour.”


“The Jimi and Bobby Best Friends Experience.”

Stop it.

“We’re opening for the Monkees. I’m, uh, surprised you haven’t heard of this. Famous rock and roll moment.”

Yes, it was, but you weren’t part of it.

“Those teens didn’t know what we were laying down. Monkees were real decent guys, though. Peter Tork let me try on his hat.”

None of this happened.

“Gotta tell ya: it was weird getting someone else’s leftovers in the Hostility Suite. Didn’t much care for it.”

I need you to stop telling these lies.

“Is this because Jimi’s black?”

No! It has nothing to do with that!

“Those exclamation points say different.”

I can’t do this any more.

“No one asked you to.”


Third Stone From The Sunstroked Serenaders

“I told you we were best friends.”

Bobby, this is not a real picture.

“It’s a real friendship. We made each other bracelets.

This is literal fake news.

“Oh, no. This is, uh, Monterey. I’m the guy in the middle.”

I got that.

“And this is my best friend in the whole world, Jimi Hendrix.”

I recognize him.

“On my left.”


“No, left.”

I don’t wanna do this bit.

“And, uh, I think this is Brian Jones.”

It might be.

“People aren’t aware of this, but the Monterey Pop Festival had very few pixels.”

I see.

“But, you know, it was a much blurrier era.”

Bobby, this is not a real photo.

“No one can be sure of that.”

Spencer from the Comment Section can, seeing as how he made it.

“You ever met this fellow?”

Not in person, no.

“There you go. Could be an Editor of Time.”

A what?

“Imagine Photoshop, but for reality.”

Oh, let’s not make them a thing.

“Hey, Bobby baby. Who you talkin’ to?”

“Jimi, are you familiar with the concept of semi-fictionality?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Oh, great. Usually I have to explain it, and it makes no sense.”

“I can dig it. Hey, is that Brian Jones?”


“I can’t make him out, either. Tell you what: put a woman within arm’s reach.”



“Yeah, that’s Brian.”

“Let’s ditch his bad vibes, Bobby baby, and go jam out and get freaky.”



“No, I’m driving.”

More Musical Questions Answered

Who’s Zooming Who? First of all, Aretha: whom. You meant to ask “Who’s zooming whom?” Second: I think you’re using some kind of colloquial definition of “zooming” that I am not privy to. Zooming could mean almost anything. You’ve given me nothing to work with, and therefore I cannot answer this.

How Long Has This Been Going On? Okay, I am going to need all of you fuckers to be more specific. These pronouns are killing me. What’s “this,” Paul Carrack? Photosynthesis? If you’re asking how long photosynthesis has been going on, then the answer is “a very long time.” But if “this” refers to the fidget spinner fad, then I would say it’s been six months or so. But without more information, this song too remains a mystery.

Who Wrote The Book Of Love? Neruda, or maybe E.L. James.

Where Have All The Flowers Gone? It’s winter, Pete. They’ll be back in May. I can’t go through this with you every fucking January, man.

Are You Experienced? STOP BEING VAGUE, ASSHOLES. Experienced at what? Long-haul driving? Animal husbandry? Refrigerator repair? (Although knowing Hendrix, he was probably talking about headband-wearin’. Jimi wore the fuck out of headbands.)

Are You Lonesome Tonight? Little bit.

How Much Is That Doggie In The Window? The one with the waggly tail? I don’t know and quite honestly think you’re a monster for even considering buying an animal from a store. Rescue your pets, folks.*

Who Wears Short Shorts? Bobert Herbert Walker Weir.

Is She Really Going Out With Him? I can’t. I just can’t. Who is “she” and who is “him,” Joe Jackson? I don’t travel in your social circles, so I need more context.

How Soon Is Now? Oh, shut up, Morrissey.

Who’s That Girl? FUUUUUUUUUUCK. Are you pointing, Madonna? Are you pointing at a woman on the street? You need to be more forthcoming. Tell me who that girl is. Wait. Are you talking about Marlo Thomas? Holy shit, has Who’s That Girl been about Marlo Thomas all these years? Does Donahue know?

You Down With OPP? Yeah, you know me.


*You can buy fish from the store. I don’t think there are rescue fish.

Is John Mayer Experienced?


Where are you? And why are you in black and white?

“Backstage. And you know why I am in black and white.”

Are you sad?

“I’m a lot of things right now.”


“Yes. Yes, sore. Muscles got used that don’t usually become involved during lovemaking.”

Lovemaking? That was not what that seemed like.

“Freddie Mercury is a charismatic man.”

I’m glad you got into it. Why are you backstage?

“I needed a minute.”

Sure. John?


Did he?


Did he?


Rock you?


Rock you.


See? We have so much fun.

“We don’t, really. I just wanted–”

To take drugs and see a band. Yeah, yeah: everybody gets your motivation, John. What happened to your unicorn outfit?


Jesus, you just couldn’t wait to wash that thing, could you?

“No. No, no. It truly needed washing.”


“Many stains.”


“Pre-soaking right now.”


“The Johnicorn.”

“Uh, hi. I’m, uh, looking for Jimi Tee-Shirt?”

“What? Bobby?”

“No, not Bobby.”


“This is Bobby Tee-Shirt. I’d, uh, like to speak to my best friend, Jimi Tee-Shirt.”

“He’s not available.”

“Hey, cat! Is that my groovy friend Bobby Tee-Shirt? Slide me that telephone so we can rap!”

“None of this makes any sense.”

Oh, nothing makes any sense any more. At least my bullshit has jokes.

“Now all you have to do is make ’em funny.”

Sure, sure: keep digging your own grave. You have no idea how many people dressed up as Freddie Mercury to go to that show.

“A lot?”

You should start drinking.


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