Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Precarious?
“Yo.”
Is that Cipollina?
“Yup.”
Why is Keith in the middle?
“Pizzazz.”
Seriously.
“One of the casters locked up while we were moving the piano. Just left it where it was.”
But Keith should not be in the middle. Especially not in 1978.
“We had to wheel him to the stage, too.”
I’m not shocked. Is that a skull?
“Where?”
Under the Perlstein.
“I think so.”
Why is it there?
“Sounds like a Mickey thing.”
Yeah.
Precarious?
“Yo.”
Explain.
“It’s the past, so we weren’t pussies or spazzes.”
I can’t have this argument with you again: adhering to modern safety protocols do not make you a pussy or a spaz. And you know we’re not saying “pussy” any more.
“I’m in 1978. We’re still saying pussy. Hell, we’re still saying fa–”
Just stop there. I cannot stress enough how ‘carnival in the mall parking lot’ this all looks.
“We weren’t going for aesthetics.”
You succeeded. What would happen if someone fell off?
“They’d die.”
What if the Deadheads took the structure?
“Lots of fuckers’d die.”
Uh-huh. What’s the rope assemblage for?
“Well, there’s another cluster stand on the other side of the field, so–”
Please don’t say zip-line.
“–we rigged up a zip-line. But, you know, the rope forms a parabola.”
You get stuck in the middle.
“Parish did. Fell on a couple fans. He’s okay.”
And the fans?
“No idea.”
Precarious?
“Y–”
…
…
…
You okay, buddy?
“No.”
They were trying to pay tribute.
“Huh.”
It was out of respect.
“I’m trying to see it that way.”
…
“Nope. Can’t.”
Don’t do anything rash.
“Getting my gun.”
That is rash.
GET MY DISINTEGRATION RAY WHILE YOU ARE AT IT.
“Sure thing.”
Do NOT get Wally his disintegration ray!
“This ain’t your party anymore, pal.”
YAY, VIOLENCE.
Ah, dammit.
Precarious?
“Yo.”
The drum riser.
“Ol’ Risey.”
You named the drum riser?
“Nah. I just made that up.”
Did you build it?
“With my own hands. I used tools, but you know what I mean.”
Sure. Why not put a siding on it so it didn’t look like a pallet you stole from a warehouse?
“What purpose would that serve?”
It would be a more attractive and professional presentation.
“You talk the stupidest shit sometimes.”
I know.
“I already know what you’re gonna bitch about.”
Precarious, what is that speaker doing?
“Teetering.”
Why?
“Cuz it’s halfway off its perch.”
No, I know why it’s teetering. Why was it set up this way?
“Spatial perversity.”
Sure. Precarious?
“The kids?”
The kids.
“They just show up. Usually, they’re naked.”
True.
Precarious?
“We couldn’t get the stage any closer to the fuel tank, if that’s what you’re gonna ask.”
It was. What’s the ladder for?
“Climbing.”
Sure.
Jesus.
“Yo.”
Precarious, why is–
“No. Not Precarious. It is I, the Christ.”
Why?
“You asked for me, my son.”
It was just an expression.
“Ah. My mistake.”
Nobody’s perfect.
“I am.”
Eh. So, uh, is Precarious around?
“Lemme get this straight. You’d rather talk to a semi-fictional roadie than to me, Jesus. King of Kings. Alpha and Omega. That’s what you’re saying?”
Yes.
“Precarious!”
“Yo.”
“Jackass wants you.”
“Yo?”
Precarious, is that Ramrod?
“Hanging by his fingertips 20 feet up?”
Yes.
“Yup.”
No safety gear?
“Well, here’s the thing about Ramrod: he’s not a pussy.”
Wow.
“Besides, why do you think Parish is standing there?”
To catch him?
“Or cushion him. Whichever.”
Whole lotta “whichever” in the Dead.
“Sometimes, it seems we were nothin’ but.”
“Yo.”
Precar–oh, you’re already here.
“It’s load-bearing.”
The Coke cup?
“Yeah.”
How?
“We managed.”
Monitors look nice.
“Well, we considered the aesthetics.”
And?
“And then we said, ‘Fuck it,’ and left ’em unpainted.”
Sure. You were joking about the Coke cup, right?
“Shit, no. You move that and we all die.”
Makes sense.
Precarious?
“Yo.”
Were you trying to kill them?
“Who?”
The band.
“Eh.”
I can’t even begin to count the safety violations in this picture.
“Ah, they’ll be fine. Big babies. I wrapped the cable around the mic stand.”
You honestly think that counts.
“I do.”
Is that plank of wood attached to anything?
“Attachment leads to suffering.”
Wow.
Precarious?
“Yo.”
Why did Keith’s piano move from one side of the stage to the other, depending on what show it was?
“Two reasons.”
Were they shits and giggles?
“Little bit, yeah.”
Why would you do that?
“Gotta find your fun somewhere. We’d put his piano stage left for a few shows, then shift it to the other side, and he’d get so confused. One time, he just sat on a road case and started playing a monitor.”
That is kinda funny.
“Yup. He kept tweaking Bobby’s nipples trying to turn himself up.”
That’s damn funny.
“Certainly was.”
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