Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Whither the All-Star Super Jam?
Everybody, everybody
Everybody on stage for the All-Star Super Jam.
It’s in D
No, not A
B flat?
Fuck off with that, man
It’s in D.
Somebody
Grab Ringo
Set up a kit for Ringo
He’s gotta do it
Wouldn’t be right to All-Star Super Jam without Ringo.
You’ll take a solo
Then I’ll take a solo
And he’ll take a solo
It’s in D, remember.
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“Honestly? No clue. Am I at a Dead show? There’s a little kid wandering around the stage unsupervised, and that happened at pretty much every Dead show.”
No, I think this is a charity thing.
“Ah. Fellow on the bass is awful boisterous.”
He’s got an energetic stage presence.
“I can see. We, uh, never got up to much of that in the Dead. Mostly just stood there. I had a couple moves. Did the Lunge. Gave the fans the High-Knee once in a while. Lotta stuff going on with my neck.”
Yup. Those are your moves.
“Phil tried skanking for a couple shows.”
The reggae dance?
“Yeah. Turns out it’s not that easy. False advertising.”
I guess.
“Question.”
Shoot.
“What the hell happened to Emmylou Harris?”
That’s not Emmylou Harris. That’s Patti Smith.
“Ah. She is the warrior.”
No, you’re thinking of Patty Smyth. This is the Patti Smith from CBGB’s.
“She’s a punker?”
Yes.
“I’m having a wild night.”
You sure are.
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“Vastly overshooting the carrying capacity of this couch.”
That’s a two-person deal.
“Oh, yeah.”
Can you introduce me to your friends?
“Sure, yeah. I assume you know my potato salad.”
I do.
“And, uh, Ramblin’ Jack.”
I know Ramblin’ Jack.
“Next to him, well, that’s a lady.”
Mm-hmm.
“I’m thinking her name is Gloria.”
No.
“G.”
No, Bobby.
“L.”
Stop it. Her name is not Gloria. She sang Gloria.
“Ah. Then it’s Laura Branigan.”
No, the other Gloria.
“Ah. Then Van Morrison has lost a lot of weight.”
That’s Patti Smith, Bobby.
“Was she a punker? With, uh, the ripped shirts and middle fingers?”
Kinda.
“I admired that genre’s effervescence.”
Sure. And the guy on the end?
…
…
…
“I’m just gonna be honest: no idea.”
Eric Burdon from The Animals.
“Good for him.”
New Year’s Eve is an ancient and arbitrary collusion between the Babylonians, Romans, and Pope Gregory. There are no years, and there is no January, and neither is there a “midnight.” There’s a middle-of-the-night, but it’s tough to have a countdown to a nebulous concept.
There is time, and we mark it and pretend like our watches are the driving force.
Fuck the clock–listen to Patti on this one–and burn your calendars, and plant a shade tree over your sundial.
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