Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: phish (Page 1 of 10)

Rocky, Top

January 3, 2020 / / 0 Comments

Precarious?

“Yo.”

I have further questions.

“Figured.”

Why did the rigging fail?

“It didn’t fail. If it had failed, Phish would be on the phone with John Mayer right now. That rig froze.”

Okay. Why did the rigging freeze?

“Nerves?”

Stop that.

“Hell, ya got me. We never did shit like this in the Dead. Things were either on the floor or hanging from the ceiling, but not both. Fly systems are complicated as hell. Lotta Peter Pans have died over the years.”

I don’t know about that.

“Weir wanted to do this once. Fly around like a fairy.”

Sounds right. You said no?

“Course not. The band gets what it wants. So we tied a rope to his belt, tossed it over a light stanchion, and swung him back and forth until he puked.”

Good problem-solving.

“We were known for that.”

The Only Possible Explanation

January 2, 2020 / / 1 Comment

Precarious?

“Yo.”

When did you start working for Phish?

“Just consulting. Keep my hand in.”

And did you consult on this?

“Yeah.”

Figures.

“Hey, I tried to tell ’em: If you’re gonna suspend someone from the ceiling for a New Year’s thingy, make it someone whose death won’t fuck up the tour.”

Right.

“We nearly killed Walton a couple of times. And that would’ve been sad. But the band would’ve made the next dates. Gotta think with your business head.”

They didn’t take your advice.

“Nope. They also didn’t listen when I told ’em it would be cheaper to just buy a shitload of acid, pass it out to the crowd, and not do any special effects. We used to do that shit all the time. People loved it.”

It’s not 1971 anymore, Precarious. You can’t hand out hallucinogens to the public.

“Pussies.”

Lesser-Known Phish Songs

December 31, 2019 / / 4 Comments
  • Minestrone Tony & the Michigan Fricassee.
  • Bloopango.
  • Simmering Dustmop.
  • Caribou Cafeteria.
  • The Reason I Slapped You Is Because You Look Portuguese.
  • Inky, Blinky, Pinky, and Cheesesteak.
  • Smack You in the Nuts With a Calendar.
  • Limpopo Shellacking.
  • Zebras Have Secrets.
  • Dopplegangbang.
  • Fluffy Dracula Pasta.
  • The Blacksmith’s Bunions.
  • The Hottest Wife On Saturn.
  • Sclurp!
  • Gimme Brine Shrimp.

Brigham Kicked A Prairie Dog

August 25, 2019 / / 2 Comments

Hey, Prairie Dog. Whatcha doing?

“Burrowing, eating seeds and grasses, carrying the plague. Same old thing.”

Right. It’s that last thing I need to talk to you about.

“The seeds and grasses?”

I said “the last thing.”

“The plague.”

Right.

“You’re upset about the plague situation?”

Well, you’ve inconvenienced a lot of people…what can I call you?

“Nate.”

Your name is Nate Dog?

“You’re upset about the drug-and-burrito bazaar being shut down, and lament the frivolity that you believe yours by birthright.”

Um, sure.

“And yet spare no tear for the thousands of my brothers and sisters this so-called ‘plague’ has taken. Oh, no! Some little white motherfucker isn’t gonna get to buy himself a grilled cheese! We’re dying, actually dying in the tens and hundreds and thousands, and you don’t even notice, but to celebrate. That shit kills 90% of the prairie dogs that get it!”

Wow.

“Blaming us? Ha! Where did we come from? You wanna know where prairie dogs came from? We came from right the fuck here, pal. The prairie. See how there’s no trees? We’re what the basic rodent chassis evolves into if it’s left in a treeless environment. We’re from where we are. Where’s the plague from, dicknose?”

Europe? Asia?

“But not Colorado, right? Definitely not from Colorado?”

No.

“Our land wasn’t enough. Our pelts, our meat. You imperialist motherfuckers even want to get in our bloodstream. It’s a sickness with you people.”

What do you mean “you people?”

“I said what I said.”

There’s a cure for the plague, you know.

“We know what you did to those poor bastards at Tuskegee. No doctors.”

I wasn’t suggesting doctors. What if all of you just popped your little heads out of your holes at a pre-determined time? During the day, obviously.

“Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

Listen, Nate, it’s in your species’ best interest to be culled.

“You must be shitting me.”

We want to be humane, so let us shoot you in the head.

“No! How can you be so cruel?”

Capitalism demands it.

“What about the People?”

The People are the ones who demand Capitalism. Everything loops back on itself up here.

“We burrow in straight lines.”

Bully for you.

The Grateful Dead: A Temporal Appreciation

July 29, 2018 / / 10 Comments

Dear The Grateful Dead,

Hi. How are you? Hell of a baseball season, huh? Okay, enough pleasantries.

Thank you, The Grateful Dead, for not existing concurrently with the internet. I know that the internet technically existed when you were around, but there were nine people on it at the time, and two of them were Penn Jillette. (He was much fatter then.) What I mean is…

THE INTERNET

…you know, how we have it nowadays in 2018. The “ruining the world” internet. The “okay, now we hate that guy” internet. The “you should have done it this way” internet. The “hey, remember that shitty thing you said 16 years ago” internet. The instant-feedback web where everyone’s opinion is equally valid and every putz with a camera phone is either Edward Murrow or Ernie Kovacs.

Thank you, The Grateful Dead, for packing it in before #couchtour was a thing. There’s another band just like you, The Grateful Dead, and they’re extant. Extant as fuck, as a matter of fact: playing some of the best shows of their lives, but their fans–basically Deadheads with a higher tolerance for shitty lyrics and fewer options as far as tee-shirt iconography goes–don’t seem to be aware of the fact.

O, the whining (from the gentiles)! Oy, the kvetching (from the Jews)! Hey, I’m Katy Tur (from Katy Tur)! They played this song last week, the fans tweet angrily. They haven’t played this song in years, the other fans post on Facebook. One point oh, two point oh, fuck point off: they won’t stop yelling and, far worse, making the same joke over and over.

So, thank you, The Grateful Dead, for taking place in an era bereft of real-time reviews, next day podcasts, and digital fucking petitions. (Because if you think Deadheads in 1982 wouldn’t have started up a “BRING BACK DARK STAR” petition, then you should go and read someone else’s site; you’re too naive to be here.)

Sincerely,
Rock Star Richard

Phish And The Nazis: An FAQ

July 23, 2018 / / 11 Comments

What the fuck, man?

Phish Nazis.

Seriously, what the fucking fuck, hombre?

Got me, muchacho.

Can you tell me what happened?

Factually? No, but: here.

Ew, Reddit.

I know, but it’s helpful in this circumstance.

What if I don’t wanna read it and need you to tell me the story, unto like a child?

You’re a lazy dick.

Yes.

Saturday night (that would be the 21st) saw a gaggle of Nazis attend the concert put on by the popular rocking crew, the Phishes from Vermont.

This is probably just another case of you Leftist SJWs calling everyone you don’t like a Nazi.

They had tattoos of swastikas and SS symbols.

Oh, okay.

And then–and you’ll never have seen this coming–someone got assaulted. Reports vary, but the victim seems to have been of color.

Oh, no. 

That’s right.

But how do you know they’re Nazis?

I’ll punch you until you die, you daft motherfucker. I’ll ruin my hand on your skull, but I will crack it open and use my broken fingers to pry open the fissure and pull your eyeballs through your sinuses.

That’s counterproductive.

Feels good, though.

What happened next?

On Sunday the 22nd, some or all of the Nazis returned to sell nitrous.

They returned to the scene of the crime to do a different crime.

These are not high-level villains.

Is there any chance Sunday’s Nazis were not Saturday’s Nazis?

It’s possible. Sunday’s Nazis were filled with much more grace.

Seriously.

I dunno. Fuck ’em for being Nazis. Arrest ’em all on sight for Aggravated Fuckery.

You have a problem with seeing this problem logically.

There’s no logic to Nazis! It’s a death cult!

But shouldn’t they be allowed to live their lives?

Yes. In any community which chooses to allow them to do so. The Phish lot doesn’t need to be one of those places.

You privilege group harmony and accord over individual rights.

I’m rather Confucian that way.

Does a Nazi not have the right to entertainment?

He does. What he does not have is the right to performative Nazism. They knew what they were doing when they picked out their favorite black tank tops and Dickies shorts that morning. At that point, the community’s rights kick in.

Community’s rights?

An angry mob.

But there wasn’t an angry mob at the Phish show.

No, because the cops scooped the Nazis up and arrested them. Otherwise, those guys filming them would have kept on filming them, and that would have drawn a nice crowd, and somewhere in that crowd would be a loudmouth; he or she would enlighten the growing scrum, and some drunk guy would pull off one of the Nazis shirts, revealing a bigger swastika on his chest; the Nazi would punch the drunk guy and then it’s fucking on. There’s your riot.

I’m glad that didn’t happen.

Bad look.

What’s to be done about Nazis?

Keep stomping. You’ll never get rid of ’em. But you can keep stomping.

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