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

Tag: mickey hart (Page 18 of 71)

Don’t Call It The Short Hills Mall

Anything in a frame is art: this is the loophole Mickey took advantage of this weekend in Short Hills, NJ, at the Wentworth Gallery in The Mall at Short Hills. There was an exhibition/sale/lecture of Mickey’s art, and if it did not turn into a fancy drum circle, then maybe we don’t know Mickey very well at all.

As a wee TotD, there were two important malls: the Livingston Mall, and The Mall at Short Hills. The Livingston Mall was comfortable and straight-forward and solidly middle-class. It was (still is) shaped like this: ‡. Up and back loop around the first floor, escalator, second floor, done. The anchors on each end were Sears and Macy’s, nothing fancy, and there were three record shops and a bookstore and a Nathan’s Hot Dogs. When I was real little, there was the Superhero Shop, a closet-sized comic store with a mural of the Hulk and Spider-Man painted on the outside glass.

In the winter when the snow came, the plows would make piles twenty feet high that turned black and scabrous almost instantly; they were packed so tightly that they lasted until April.

Livingston wasn’t a hotbed of crime, but a mall attracts all sorts of ne’er-do-wells, and the police chief made it his personal mission to cut down on the pilferage and nonsense. This led to him being run over by fleeing suspects’ cars in the mall parking lot on three separate occasions. (I’m not making that up. I know I make a lot of shit up, but not that. It was a town joke forever.)

In recent years, though, the mall has shifted its focus a bit further down the socioeconomic scale: there’s a Dollar Store, and nine places to buy baseball caps, and those kiosks staffed by pushy foreigners selling knock-off perfume and cell phone cases. Last I heard about the Livingston Mall, two youngsters had bumped into one another, leading to an argument. This led each to call his friends for backup, but–as said friends didn’t have cars–the gang members all got on buses to come to the mall to fight. The cops caught wind and put up a roadblock. (This also actually happened.)

Always something to do at the mall.

That would never happen at The Mall at Short Hills. Here’s the simplest, but most telling, comparison: the Livingston Mall had a Kay-Bee; The Mall at Short Hills has an F.A.O. Schwarz. It’s a different tone. Quieter and more refined, and also there are snipers on the roof picking off poor people before they get in the door. The Mall at Short Hills is very cold inside and has no smell, except for tightly defined radii around the cookie place and the perfumeries. Music does not boom; no one ever, ever runs. There is Van Cleef & Arpels, and Neiman Marcus and Gucci; John Mayer would like it there.

It’s so fancy that there’s no food court.

So if you were wondering why there was an art gallery in a mall: well, now you know.

Do Not Hug These Drummers

mickey-billy-hug-trap-jpg

We’re all thinking of Admiral Ackbar, right? It’s a trap, and his little rubber squid-fingers wibble around, and all that? Because I am positive that National Hug a Drummer Day is also National Get Assaulted by a Drummer Day.

TotD now presents Less Obvious Traps Than National Hug a Drummer Day:

  • The obligatory “van with Free Candy written on it” joke.
  • Giant box propped up with stick.
  • Land war in Asia.
  • Tiger cage with a sign reading “Tiger is friendly. Please enter and pet.” but the sign is clearly in a tiger’s handwriting.
  • Reverse mortgage.
  • The South of the Border rest stop on I-95 in South Carolina.

He’s No Harvey Korman

mickey-laundry-carol-burnett

Oh, what the hell is this now?

“Mickey Hart’s in the laundry game!”

Why is Carol Burnett there?

“I kidnapped her!”

Goddammit, Mickey.

“Did you know that drums were humanity’s first washing machines?”

That’s not true.

“Oh, yeah. The sound of the women of the village pounding clothes against rocks down by the river: this is man’s first drum circle.”

You said women, then men.

“Same thing.”

Also not true.

“Drumming and laundry have a long and storied connection.”

How so?

“The Maytag Man once got his ass kicked by Buddy Rich.”

I don’t think that counts.

“Laundry is where I’m at now. Josh has really shown me some things: did you know you could wash t-shirts?”

Of course. You didn’t know that?

“No idea!”

What would you do when a shirt got dirty?

“Go to the merch table and yoink a replacement.”

Yeah, humans can’t do that, Mickey. Strictly rock stars.

“Really? Huh. You should be a rock star, then.”

You’re telling me.

“And, and–this is so exciting–you know the machine that’s next to the other one? Not the one that washes.”

The dryer.

“Right. Do you know that’s for clothes?

What have you been using it for?

“You’re aware of my duffel bag full of furious raccoons.”

Goddammit. Don’t put raccoons in the dryer, Mickey.

“Sometimes they’re not furious enough!”

Sure.

“Five minutes in that thing does it, though. ‘Dryer?'”

Dryer.

“They hate that, man. You wanna piss off a raccoon, throw it in the dryer.”

I’ll make a note of that.

“But I’ve also been going to laundromats. Josh has really inspired me, in a very specific sense.”

Laundromats?

“They’re great. Did you talk to Billy yet?”

Yes.

“So you’ve been made aware of the skank.”

Yes.

“Great skank, man. A skank wearing her very last outfit is a skank at her skankiest. Uncut skank. Plus I found a loophole in the social contract.”

What’s that?

“You can totally take your pants off at the laundromat.”

Not really.

“Yes, you can! I do it all the time!”

You throw bags of raccoons at people! Just because you do something, doesn’t mean it’s acceptable. In fact, it usually means the opposite.

“I’m not seeing your point.”

Like usual. Stop sexually harassing laundromats.

“I don’t take off my underwear.”

Tell the truth.

“I take off my underwear.”

There it is.

“Sometimes, I’ll lay my junk on the washing machine and call everyone over to watch it vibrate.”

For fuck’s sake, Mickey.

“I’m into all kinds of new stuff, man. Other day I gave a skank a Fluff-and-Fold.”

…

“Gave a skank a Fluff-and-Fold.”

…

“Gave a–”

What’s a Fluff-and-Fold?

“I jammed a marshmallow up her butt and bent her over a dryer.”

I regret starting this conversation.

Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves

CELL PHONE NOISE

CELL PHONE NOISE

“This is Gaga.”

“Where are you?”

“Katydoodle?”

“Why does everyone call me that?”

lady-gaga-gd-mag-2

“Because you’re powerful, but fun. The Lady Gaga believes in you, Katy, and she’s on her way.”

“You’re still at the supermarket reading the same magazine! No one is helping me, and if you’re going to be as crazy as the rest of them, then I don’t need your help.”

“No, Katy. Gaga will help. Gaga is coming.”

gaga-vegas-sign

“Gaga is here.”

“Wow.”

“I told you I knew a shortcut.”

“Still.”

“How are you, Katy? Tell Gaga everything, so a plan may be formulated, and a design language created, and a look book assembled, and Swedish producers hired, and clothes made.”

“Can I be honest?”

“You must! Otherwise, Gaga will sense it, and grow displeased.”

“Um, you know I’m an Ancient Egyptian god, right?”

“I am Gaga.”

“Oh, yeah. Okay, so: things are not good.”

katy-perry-crying

“I’m just having a rough time here, Gaga!”

“You have been left alone.”

“Yes.”

“By men.”

“Yes!”

“To clean up problems caused by men.”

“YES!”

“There is only one solution, Katydoodle–”

“You can totally call me that.”

“–and it is this: we must assemble the Divas.”

…

“Oohhhhh. I don’t know about that. It always ends up causing more destruction than it was supposed to stop. Divas are like wolverines, Gaga. One at a time.”

“Katy, listen to Gaga. What is happening right now in the King Tut suite? As we speak?”

picsart_09-28-03-53-54

“YOU STEP INSIDE MAH DOJO, YOU STEP INSIDE A WORLD OF PAIN!”

“This not your dojo, hillbilly! It my hotel room!”

…

“Well, Katy?”

“Nothing productive is happening in the King Tut suite. Also–”

“The nuke is missing.”

“–the nuke is missing.”

“And who has absconded with the nuclear device?”

“I have no idea, but Doctor Gary stole it.”

“And who caused this entire problem in the first place by luring Kim Jong-Un to Las Vegas and flaking?”

“John Mayer.”

“Gaga, too, likes them tall and douchey, Katy. But you have let these men run rampant over your power, and all the magic here is very penis-based. It needs to be counteracted with feminine wiles.”

“Ooh, battle of the sexes.”

“Genders, Katy. Get woke.”

“Sorry, Gaga.”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

“Katy, where exactly are we?”

“Don’t worry about it. Yes?”

mickey-army

“Miss Katy, I’m C. Mickodemus Hart and my army has rode in from Manassas to assist you in putting down the Coolie rebellion.”

DOOR SLAMMING NOISE

“You’re right, Gaga. We need women.”

“Girl power, motherfucker.”

“Assemble the Divas!”

America Del Surly

The big groups all toured South America, the harder rocking members of the music industry mostly. There had to be a Brazilian version of The Eagles; every country has their own sappy bullshit, so why import another culture’s? KISS or Queen, though, could sell out stadiums down there: South Americans love it loud, and they enjoy when others rock them.

Which is why the Grateful Dead’s ’81 tour through Brazil, Argentina, and several other countries that Billy had to be discouraged from referring to as “Lower Mexico” is such a mystery. The concept, the agreement by the band to do it, actually getting them on the planes (and in 1981 it took a series of increasingly smaller planes to get anywhere in South America), the bookings: everything, really. To this day, no one knows whose idea it was in the first place, but lately people have been blaming Brent.

Thankfully, the original idea of driving down was nixed, even though it took a few days to explain to Bobby that the Darien Gap was not a clothing store. Mickey pushed hard for the overland journey, wanting to record indigenous drums and native cymbals and hopefully a half-civilized tambourine or two; he hoped to locate and capture on tape drums never before seen or heard, and then he would have the right to name those drums when he wrote up the article for the Journal of American Drumming. (Mickey was planning on naming the newly-found drums after his penis.)

The plane landed safely in Guatemala and Phil asked, “Why are we in Guatemala?”

To which Billy replied, “Because we’re touring South America, shitbird.”

“That’s unnecessary.”

“It’s been a long flight.”

“To Central America. The flight has only been to Central America. We’re supposed to be on a South American tour.”

“South, Central: what’s the difference?”

“Location. Location is the difference.”

“Ah, stop being such a Phinicky Phil, shitbird.”

And then there was a fist fight on the plane in Guatemala; Garcia got conked in the head by accident; he was in a foul mood about it for days. After consulting both the itinerary and a map, it was determined that Guatemala was, in fact, not where they thought it should be, which led to a vote of “no confidence” in both Guatemala and the map. The plane took off again, pointed downwards.

45 hours later, the Grateful Dead touring party landed in Buenos Aires, where there was a press conference for them. Billy was given a microphone, because otherwise he’d start swinging chairs around, and kicked off the question-and-answer session by thanking the Argentinians for being so welcoming.

“People have been so nice, you would think we were escaped Nazis!” Billy said and then they were all immediately thrown out of the country.

From there it wasn’t on to Chile, as it had been decided by everyone to skip the country: in the very beginning of the planning process, someone mentioned hitting Chile, and Bobby said, “We should bring sweatshirts,” and everyone in the room realized they would be hearing variations of that one for months to come, so it was tacitly agreed to never bring up the place again.

After that was Brazil, where they do not speak Spanish because a Pope drew a line on a map in the 1500’s. What Brazilians do have in common with the rest of the continent is a philosophy in stadium-building: as big as a Midwestern city. They are built so large because the architects want to give the peaceful sections of the crowd somewhere to run to once the riot breaks out. In Paraguay’s largest stadium (El Stadio Grande de Paraguay), any given Tuesday night will see four futbol matches and two unassociated riots going on at the same time.

The Maracanã hold 78,241 people. The Dead sold around three thousand tickets, and the place seemed kind of empty, but the crowd rioted anyway. The band did make at least one fan, who showed his appreciation the traditional way: chucking a lit flare at Bobby during Estimated.

Venezuela was next, but no one wanted to go and everyone hated South America and Brent, who they were blaming the whole thing on, so the plane stopped in Colombia even though the flight logs do not say that it did and the tour was never spoken of again.

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