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?
RANK ME, DADDY
This has degenerated into silliness, as usual.
AND YOU DIDN’T EVEN NUMBER THE RANKINGS.
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.
THAT’S WHAT MOST PEOPLE DO WITH YOUR WORK.