Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: trey anastasio (page 1 of 9)

Kiss Me On The Bus

“Because there’s no piping system. At home, you’re either hooked up to the mains or you got yourself a private tank, but the bus toilet isn’t like that. It’s just a seat on a bucket, basically. Nothing goes away. You literally take a dump. You take it with you down the highway.”

“We all know that, Bobby.’

“I literally grew up on a tour bus, Uncle Bobby.”

“We have a plane now, Bob.”

“Number one is fine. You’re more than welcome to make number one. But, uh, no loaf-pinching.”

“Please don’t call it that.”



“All right, who’s’ ready for the tour?”

Fare Thee A Little Bit Better Than This

After a great deal of discussion, the school board decided that Heather Has Three Daddies, At Least Two Of Whom Are Schnockered wasn’t appropriate for the library.


Ginge on a binge.


Li’l Orphan Xannie.


“Whose shoulder hurts?”


“Over here.”

I Don’t Know Where To Start

Everything. Everything is wrong about this.  Questions include:

  • Why is Garcia wearing Cavaricci trousers?
  • Is that what you think a turtle looks like?
  • Was the l’il bit of spine poking out from Trey’s severed head necessary?
  • What’s up with Garcia’s crotch?
  • If this is what human sentience lead to, then is sentience a good thing?

Caption Contest!

Whatcha got?

Fake Johnnies: A Definitive Ranking

Enthusiasts, we are not even close to Peak Rank. Oh, sure, the “Best Albums of the 70’s” gets a ranking, and so does each Seinfeld episode, but there’s so much more that freelancers could be underpaid to gradate. What about political assassinations? (#1: John Paul I, 1978.) Or toes? (#1: Wee-wee-wee all the way home.) Or concentration camps? (You’d think Auschwitz would be number one, but you’d be wrong. It’s Bergen-Belsen.) MORE RANKING! That’s why Jesus gave us thumbs, after all: so we could rank pop culture.

Even the Dead got roped into this make-work nonsense in the past couple weeks. Twice, as a matter of fact, and about the same pointless subject: Grateful Dead studio albums. (You don’t have to click on either offering, as neither author follows me on Twitter and therefore can’t possibly have anything to say about the Dead. I’m the Sidney Morgenbesser of the jam band scene.) TotD was not asked to submit his own article, as the full text of it would have been…

You can listen to American Beauty or Workingman’s Dead if you want, but there’s only so much fucking time, man. You’re gonna die. One day, maybe soon, you’re gonna die. Listen to the shows. The albums all suck, even the good ones. Just listen to the shows.

…which is downright unprofessional.

But I got the ranking bug, Enthusiasts, and it’s gotta come out! I gotta RANK, baby! And then you fuckers are gonna argue about it. There’s two players in this game. So: as you know, Dead & Company have been through many iterations before landing on the classic contemporary lineup, and along the way plenty of axe-slingers have tried to fill our Johhny’s limited-edition, hand-painted shoes. Who sucked? Who was Best EVAR? Let’s go backwards down the number line and start with our worst Fake Johnny.


To paraphrase the Ghostbusters, “If you’re don’t see our movie, you’re a sexist.” To paraphrase the real Ghostbusters, Trey had the talent but not the tools. When he filled in for John Mayer at the Fare Thee Well shows, he was under-rehearsed AND dealing with a Fake Oteil. The cards just weren’t in the hand for Trey to succeed.


Better than Trey, but barely. Much more like Jerry Garcia than John Mayer, and so you wonder what Bobby and Fake Oteil were thinking hiring the guy.


No style. Did not hop up and down in place when happy. Rarely, if ever, fucked Jessica Simpson and then talked about it on the radio. No Instagram presence whatsoever. Did not even know Andy Cohen. Giant beard. Not one single ab.


Y’know what? I don’t even know enough about Jimmy Herring to make a joke. Was he the guy Fake Oteil’s wife threw off the bus in the middle of a tour? Christ, I don’t wanna rank anything any more.


Oh, no, not Woody Hayes.


That’s not even a guitarist.


He’s a made-up wizard. What’s happening here?


This has degenerated into silliness, as usual.


It’s why I haven’t caught on with the respectable internet publications. I’m just gonna hit Publish and pretend this didn’t happen.


Can’t argue.

Why Are These Two Men Laughing?

“I’m not gonna tell you to slow it down again, Josh.”

“Was I going too fast?”

“Oh, yeah. You were, uh, not holding your horses at all. Free horses, man. I don’t know if you know this–”

“You spent a summer on a ranch.”

“–but I spent a summer on a ranch, so I know my horses. Gotta be held. Otherwise, you know, you got chaos.”

“We don’t have chaos, Bobby. We’re killing it.”

“The fans have grown used to Dead & Company tempos, and this sudden shift might discombobulate them.”

“I think they’ll be fine.”

“They’ll be relieved of their comboble.”

“‘Comboble’ is not the root word of discomb–”

“Don’t lecture me, Josh.”

“I let the first one go, but I have to correct you this time. I’m not Josh. In fact, there is no Josh.”

“There’s no Josh? Am I manifesting my imaginary friends again? That happens occasionally.”

“John. The man’s name is John. And I’m not him. I’m Trey.”

“Are you the one who plays basketball?”

“No, that’s Bill Walton. I’m Trey Anastasio. I played with you for the Dead’s 50th anniversary.”

“You did?”


“How’d it go?”


“Sounds right. Now, listen: whoever the hell you are, and however the hell you got on stage: slow the hell down or I’m gonna do attack yoga at you.”


Phoreheads Are Better Than One

“What’s going on here?”

“Forehead time, boy.”

“Oh, okay. How long does it–”

“Rub. Back and forth. Get some friction going.”

“I don’t understand what’s–”

“Nogginate me, Treyvon.”

“That’s not even a–”

“Gimme the nog! Gotta have it!”

“Are you finished?”

“I’m just happy to be out of the restaurant.”


“Now, remember: no matter how many times I tell you to slow down, keep playing fast.”



Enthusiasts, I was wrong–wrong as hell–about the Bobby & Phil Duo shows. I thought they would be goofy (they are, but in a good way), and sloppy (they are, but in a comforting way), and most of all I thought they would be boring.

I was not prepared for the jams, Enthusiasts. This is last night’s second set with Trim Arugula, and you should watch it.

Bright-Eyed Katy

“Pretty lady is pretty, Trey.”

“She is, Page, but she’s more than just a pretty lady. She’s a big-time reporter.”


“She’s not secretly Superman, Page.”

“Oh, right, right. Okay.”


“No, Page. All reporters are not secretly Superman. I don’t know who told you that, but they were messing with you.”

“Is she Spider-Man?”

“She has no super-powers at all, buddy. Although, she put up with Keith Olbermann’s bullshit for a few years, so maybe she does.”


“Big media joke, pal. Don’t worry about it.”

“What does she do?”

“Katy? Well, she covered the Trump campaign for NBC.”

“He is bad!”

“He is, buddy.”

“I don’t like him!”

“I’m with you.”

“He is orange! Presidents should be black!”

“Could not agree more, man.”

“Trump should not be around Katy. He will chain her up and make her wear a metal bikini.”

“She’s safe now, Pagey. She’s with us.”

“Okay. I like her better than Jake Tapper.”

“Everyone does.”


“Yeah, buddy?”

“What doughnut is it?”

“We’re not doing that anymore.”


Something Sweet

You know Annabelle and Trixie, but those are Trey’s daughters, Kay and Fay, on the outside.

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