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

Tag: ship of fools

Good Day At Red Rocks

Step right up, cats and kittens. Sup upon the milk of human kindness that TotD lavishes upon you. DRINK FROM THE NIPPLES OF HOPE, CHILDREN.

Ew. And I’m still keeping an eye on you after that MLK bullshit.

Fine: 8/31/78 from Red Rocks.

It only has the first ever Shakedown AND an Ollin Arageed Jam so brand-new and piping-hot that even the band didn’t know how it went AND the only Nobody’s Fault Jam from all of 1978 AND a steel drum-infused Jerry Drums AND the only recorded instance (that I can think of with no research, as usual) of Bobby fucking up the words to Playing in the Band AND a HoF Ship of Fools.

That’s all that this show has.

I wasn’t going to bring this up, but–using Time Sheath technology, Dr. King actually attended this show.

What did I JUST say. you loathsome titfucker?

Ship Of Fools, Island Of Rhode

Oh, sweet mother of six orphaned boys and a non-gender-declared child named Yes, is this an apparition in sound, a thrusting pulsing surging raging honker of a show that you need to listen to. I chose my words carefully: you NEED to listen to this show; 5/14/78 in the providence Civic Center is now a part of Maslow’s Heirarchy. It’s in the middle somewhere.

Some might say that the 17 minute Let It Grow, which incorporates the controversial (amongst the silly and shallow) new disco rhythms all the while bounding forward confidently is the highlight of the show, and they’d almost definitely be right, but listen to the next track.

Samson & Delilah gets short shrift, sometimes deservedly. it was always prone to wobbling and had this odd habit of coming to an unexpected, but complete, stop every once in a while for no reason at all, followed by this hilarious lurch back into the tune. Not this night, though. Keith kicks off the song with the drummers, comping funkily until the rest of them put out their cigarettes and remember that they’re working and Garcia just snarls his way through the back-up vocals and continues into Ship of Fools, growling and snapping consonants off quick and sharp.

Listen.

To come: Dave picks his 8th.

Just Like Jack & Jill

The Dead wrote about 135 songs, and did probably half again as many covers, except that doesn’t tell the whole story. Mainly because some songs, they wrote three or four times.

Jack-A-Roe and Peggy-O are–thematically–the same song: doomed love, hyphens, Game of Thrones vibe. Ramble On Rose and  Tennessee Jed are musically the same song, while Ramble On Rose and U.S. Blues are lyrically the same song. Eyes of the World and Help on the Way could be mistaken for each other in a dark alley.

The Dead are lucky that they premiered Iko, Samson, Throwing Stones,and Women are Smarter after their mind-blowing Europe ’72 warm-up show at the Brooklyn Academy of Music (Dick’s Pick 30). Otherwise, jamming with Mr. Diddley might have been a little more awkward. (And if you haven’t checked out this offering, you’re just a sillypants: the first disc* alone is worth the price of admission, featuring the five song Bo Diddley jam, a version of Are You Lonely For Me, Baby that defines “ragged but right,” and the only GD performance of How Sweet It Is**–which is odd, because they really rock the hell out of it, but perhaps the three chord tune was a bit boring for a certain bass player.)

To Lay Me Down, Must Have Been the Roses, and Ship of Fools are identical cousins; Black-Throated Wind and Looks Like Rain a bit more distantly related, but still clearly available to donate organs to one another. (Don’t tell Phil.) Chinatown Shuffle and U.S. Blues aren’t fooling anyone.

Now, don’t take this as any sort of chastisement, of course. Hell, a lot of really, really popular bands ripped themselves off: for example, AC/DC has only written, like, three songs in their entire career, which puts them two ahead of the Ramones.

*I hadn’t listened all the way through that first amazing disc when I wrote this, but you MUST check out the Smokestack Lightning, which is usually kind of a drag, but cooks right here PLUS the added fun of–about 8 minutes in or so–hearing Bobby try again and again to drag the rest of them into Truckin’, but the rest of them are simply not having it.

**I mistakenly thought that Bobby and Garcia played How Sweet It Is on Letterman, but it was actually Second That Emotion, because, in keeping with the theme of the post, they are also pretty much the same song. Check it out, anyway: Garcia with Tiger, Bobby with Pepto Pink, and the MONSTROUS Will Lee holding down the bass and backup vocals.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BOeDEVyUBek&w=420&h=315]

Without Lope Day To Day, Insanity’s King

The Jerry Ballad is one of a number of sacrosanct moment of the show, along with the Dylan Slot, the Closing Raver, and the Brent Bathroom Break. (Or the second set Estimated in ’77; on two separate occasions, they set up their gear so they could play Estimated on an off-day.) Unlike the other categories, the Jerry Ballad has been there since the very beginning, along with the part of the show where the drummers get high while the rest of them irritate the audience and then the reverse.

The songs that work in the Jerry Ballad slot are perfect examples of what I call The Lope, that uniquely Dead stop-and-start stumble. Ramble On Rose, Sugaree. Slow it down a little and you’ve got Row Jimmy (or the later versions of They Love Each Other). Speed it up and it’s Brown-Eyed Women (or the early versions of They Love Each Other). It is the sound of a small barefoot boy in overalls ambling along with his donkey in the South that only exists in the first 20 minutes of rock star bio-pics. The donkey may be wearing a hat. Bum-BA-Bum-BA-Bum: the beat toodles to and fro.

Black Peter does that. So did Standing on the Moon and Ship of Fools and Wharf Rat. Sing Me Back Home never did that: it might be the worst of all Jerry Ballads. It is a perfect exemplar of the maxim Keep it snappy, boys! They’re DYING out there! Plus, SMBH was always a victim of the Dead’s most pernicious trait: the tempo drift. Songs have a certain tempo they sound right in. A 10 bpm deviation either way leads to the rushed, coked-out clatter od ’85, or the sludgy miasma of the Fall ’76 shows. They never got the tempo for Sing Me right, which might not have been such a problem but not for the fact that they were incapable of playing the song for anything less than a dozen minutes at a time.

(Bobby also had interests in a late show weeper. In fact, that’s what he called it: the Bobby Weeper. When he told Garcia about this, Garcia said nothing, just walked away and found Billy and the crotchpunching began.)