Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Hey, Mickey. Got a theremin?
“Yup!
And baseball gloves?
“Uh-huh.”
Sweatbands on lockdown?
“They ain’t going anywhere.”
Barn full of people to listen to you whomp on stuff?
“They ain’t going anywhere, either.”
You happy?
“Pig in shit, man.”
Cool beans.
Mickey just posted this. JUST posted this: it’s from Camden, and the show is going on right now.
So…I don’t know what the fuck Bobby is doing in the crowd.
Also: is anyone going to SPAC? FIND PETER. He’s in the 10th row.
It had been right in front of them the whole time.
Happy Father’s Day, Mickey.
“Thanks. Look, it’s my daughter.”
Yeah. She get you anything?
“A drum!”
You’re easy to shop for.
“I think that’s a good thing.”
I wasn’t making fun.
“Hey, Heavy Cheddar. Nice to meet you.”
“Close enough, I guess.”
“Heard you beat up Josh.”
“No, no. John. I beat up John.”
“Who’s John?”
…
“Yeah, I beat up Josh.”
“That’s great. We’re not allowed to, so thanks.”
“Wait, what?”
“It’s in the contracts. Smart clause, actually.”
“Did the Dead fight a lot?”
“Oh, all bands fight, but we used to strike each other with our fists, or improvised melee weapons. There was also some choking.”
“Jesus, Mick: you guys used to strangle each other?”
“Try to. Never to completion.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“Legally it does.”
“Okay, I gotta give you that.”
“Your band doesn’t do any of this? Never had a keyboardist and a backup singer try to murder each other with luxury cars?”
“We don’t have either of those–”
“You kids today got it easy. Problem comes up and you discuss it? Try to work things out reasonably? We couldn’t do that. We had to throw cooked turkeys at concert promoters and have intra-rhythm section knife fights.”
…
“You didn’t have to do any of that, Mick.”
“No. But, God, it was fun.”
I knew a boy named Mickey,
Guess you could say he was a drum fiend.
Stop this.
I met him in a hotel lobby,
Mastur–
SHUT THE FUCK UP RIGHT THE FUCK NOW, FUCKER.
*Phrase stolen from the great Jesse Jarnow, who is on the West Coast promoting his book Heads: A Biography of Psychedelic America, and will be sitting down with Dead archivist Nicholas Meriweather on Thursday to talk about some old band or something. Go see them and ask ridiculous questions and insist that the shit I made up is real.
“Don’t you put that fucking hat back on.”
“Put your finger down or I’m going to eat it.”
“Go ahead. Do it.”
“You wanna be the Garcia, I’ll make you the Garcia, buddy.”
“Lose the hat and learn the song.”
“Lose the finger. I’m warming my teeth up. They’re getting ready to bite.”
“Bite away. Your mouth comes near me, and I reach in and pull your asshole out through your nostrils.”
…
HRANCH!
“MotherFUCKER!”
ACROSS THE ROOM
“Billy, Bobby’s punching our drummer.”
“I’m the drummer, Branford.”
…
“I’m not talking to any of you for the rest of the day.”
“You take that thing off, jackass.”
“Kiss my dick and sing your sailboat song.”
“Take it off or I’m telling Irving.”
“He’ll side with me. Rules of being Jewish.”
“No, he’ll side with me. I’m the singer. Rules of the music business.”
“Ha! The music business IS Jewish! You’re screwed, Weir!”
“Take off the hat and play the song right!”
“Make me!”
“Fine!”
PUBLICPUNCHINGPUBLICPUNCHING
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STAGE
“Um, John?”
“Yeah, O?”
“Our guitarist and drummer are punching one another.”
“No, man. I”m the guitarist.”
…
“Is there some sort of group chat I’m not privy to where these running jokes get passed around?”
“What?”
“Forget about it. Weren’t you wearing a hat?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“No, Mickey.”
“Are they swag or not?”
“You can’t yoink one. They’re two grand.”
“Two grand retail. Don’t tell me retail.”
“They’re for contest winners, Mickey. Do you want a t-shirt?”
“I have one of every t-shirt within a ten-mile radius of this venue. Do you know who you’re talking to? I’m Mickey fucking Hart, man. I invented the Merch Yoink.”
“The Merch Yoink?”
“I also named it.”
“I got that.”
“It’s like Prima Nocte. Members of the band are entitled to free shirts.”
“Shirts, Mickey. Not hand-made guitars.”
“Ah, what’s the difference?”
“So much. So, so much difference.”
“Why is Poppin Fresh there?”
“What? Who?”
“Poppin Fresh.”
POKE
“Tee-hee! Poppin Fresh.”
“Mickey, please don’t poke me.”
“You don’t see him?”
“Where?”
“There.”
“Poppin Fresh.”
“I don’t see it, Mickey.”
“What? You’re nuts. It’s Poppin Fresh. What do you see?”
“My mother stabbing my father 27 times.”
“I think that’s on you, man.”
“No, no: look again.”
…
“I totally see your mother stabbing your father 27 times.”
“Right?”
“I can see it when I cross my eyes a little.”
“Oh, I see it every time I close my eyes.”
…
“Just give me a t-shirt.”
“We actually don’t have any.”
…
YOINK!
runrunrunrun
…
…
…
“What the fuck just happened?”
“MENTION SEAWORLD!”
“Lillian Monster, I’m gonna talk about the Orlando thing and all the assholes and all that.”
“WHAT ABOUT VEGAN RECIPES?”
“I wanna stay on topic, I think. Gonna tell people to vote.”
“BERNIE!”
“Just, you know, just ‘to vote’ is gonna be the message, sis. Any chance you could put the bullhorn down?”
“MICKEY ASKED ME TO USE IT!”
“She’s the only person I can hear, Bob.”
…
“When did I become the grown-up?”
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