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

Month: September 2016 (Page 12 of 20)

Jenseits Der Meerstein

Allow me to explain, Enthusiasts. A trans-continental conundrum has been raised! Dead Scholars in America, Canada, Germany–and possibly even the bass player from that one surprisingly-good Japanese tribute band–have turned their prodigious attentions to this newest and most important of questions: Did Seastones get booed, specifically onĀ  9/14/74 in Munich, Germany (well, at the time it was West Germany)? And, even more specifically, if they were indeed booed, was it the Germans or the Americans?

Now: unlike the list bullshit I was making fun of before, this is actually important.

Phil later said in an interview that it was the German kids booing, but as with so much else about the Dead, the band members seem to be the least reliable witnesses. It’s not his fault, though: lighting at shows is designed so that the audience sees the band, and not the other way around. Also, Phil is a good American, and part of being a good American is blaming other countries for things.

That the Germans were digging Seastones, and the Americans annoyed by it, sounds like the more defensible position if you have any context. The Americans in question were Army-Americans; there were a lot of them in West Germany at the time because the Commies were literally miles away. This is not to say a serviceman couldn’t enjoy the Dead–I know for a fact that several loyal Enthusiasts are veterans–but if you have to be back on the base at midnight, you’re not going to be in the proper headspace for Seastones at ten.

There is also the point that I believe precludes all further argument: why would Germans boo unpleasant-sounding music? Germans invented unpleasant-sounding music. Why would Germans boo bleepity-bloop music? Germans perfected bleepity-bloop music. If there were any crowd that was going to give Seastones, which is essentially weaponized art, a chance, it’s going to be a German crowd.

Finally, we have an eyewitness account:

german-review-of-74

For those of you who don’t speak German, I’ll translate.

“Good evening, fellow German. I hope zat Wotan calls to you from ze Black Forest of der dreamenwurlden.

“Papers, bitte?

“Danke.

“Viz regards to Grateful Dead show dated 14.9.74: the behavior of der Yankenshootens vas abominable. Zey hooted like animals in a zoo at any song they did not classify as ‘Boogie.’ Also, zey laughed at ze way Germans say ze word ‘Boogie.’ Ve failed to see ze humor in ze situation.

“Ze Americans also became upset at Ned’s nudity, while ve Germans are of course more mature about such matters. The human body is natural! You Americans and your hang-ups!

“Also, ze Americans did not conform to proper seating. I had personally gone to ze theater at dawn and put my beach towel on my chair, but ze American did not seem to realize what zat meant.

“Seastones by Phil und Ned vas a revelation. I know for a fact that Kraftwerk attended ze show, and said to each other afterward, ‘What if ve do that, but good?’

“Following ze show, mein friends und I vent to a bierhaus and ate enormous pretzels.”

Case closed.

All 26 Letters Of The Alphabet, Ranked From Worst To Best

26. C The most useless letter, C does nothing that either K or S could not do; C also fucks up where I and E go, except for sometimes, but sometimes is actually most of the time because the “cie” sequence is more common than the “cei” one. A few good states and curse words start with C, but that’s it.

25. Q Fuck you, Q. Why do you get a sidekick letter, Q? Is U your Robin, Q? Is U the sidecar to your motorcycle, Q? Holy shit, Q: do you own U? Are you a slaver, Q? Also, many annoying famous people’s names begin with Q, plus I like to play a Boggle-ripoff game on my phone, and when Q pops up, the whole round is ruined: even if you luck into a next-door U, then you still need another vowel to make a word. Q is helpless on its own.

24. W Get your own name, W. And get a name that’s not a lie: you are two V’s, not two U’s, W.

23. E This is a shocker, I know. E is the most common letter in the English language; that’s why it’s at #23: it’s just common.

How much longer you going to keep this up?

This particular variation on the theme, or the theme itself?

Either, both.

Dunno.

What’s number one?

R.

Why?

If you hadn’t interrupted me, you’d know.

All 184 Grateful Dead Songs, Ranked From Worst To Best

184. France, Shakedown Street This slight number from 1978’s Shakedown Street is crap, but it does count as Bobby’s last collaboration with Robert Hunter so it’s a historical novelty.

183. Money Money, From The Mars Hotel No one likes this song.

BANG

schlump

Did you just shoot yourself in the face?

Yes.

You could have just stopped writing.

You know as well as I do that I can’t stop writing.

Sure.

I just hate those fucking lists so fucking much.

Well, no one’s paying you to do one.

Oh, I would absolutely write one up in exchange for money.

Sure, but no one’s offered and you’re not volunteering.

I am not, no.

What’s number one?

Born to Run or Stairway.

The Dead wrote those?

It doesn’t matter: all Rock Lists have to end with Born to Run or Stairway.

Thanks, Obama.

A List Of Paradoxes

The Barber Paradox If three barbers are in a shop, and one of them only shaves men who are not barbers, then who sweeps up?

Cantor’s Paradox The set of all sets would logically contain the set of all sets of all sets, and the set of all sets of all sets of all sets, and so forth. If you ignore it, then you get Garcia’s Briefcase of Infinite Felonies.

Canter’s Puzzle The corned beef or the pastrami?

Uncertainty Principle You can know where something is, or you can know how fast something’s going; the more precisely you measure one, the less you can know about the other. No joke for this one: it’s a radical insight and rather simple when you think about it, but no one did the math until Heisenberg, so good for him.

The Monty Hall Problem First of all, it is racist that this is not called the Wayne Brady Problem now. Second, there are three doors and you’ve chosen a goat, but you want a car. Should you open the third door, or re-choose the first or second doors? Behind one of the doors is a lady; there’s a tiger in the other one. Third door is a 2016 Chevy Cruze with California emissions. Does the goat exist?

Irresistable Force Paradox Postulate an unpunchable dick. Now have Billy enter the room. What happens?

Schrodinger’s Dick Paradox In a locked box is placed Billy and someone who has a dick. Until the act is viewed, the dick can be said to be both punched and unpunched, but let’s be honest: Billy punched the dick. This is actually a great example of why quantum mechanics doesn’t make sense translated into classical physics.

Omnipotence Paradox If Billy could create dicks–like he just woke up one morning and he had reality-warping superpowers and that’s how he chose to use those powers, by zapping dicks into existence–could he create a dick so unpunchable that he himself could not punch it?

Zeno’s Paradox No jam is ever finished, because to get to the end of a jam, you have to get halfway through Garcia’s solo, and to get halfway through, you must get halfway through that, and on and on. Disproved by the first chapter of any calculus textbook: it’s just summing infinites. Zeno was a putz.

Black Hole Information Paradox Information cannot be destroyed, so why are magazines so flammable?

Catch-22 Why, that’s the best catch of all.

Catch-31 Not as great.

Buridan’s Ass If a donkey were exactly halfway in between two sources of water, then he would die of thirst, but he wouldn’t because the donkey would go to the water source upwind of him, so this one is just as dopey as Zeno’s nonsense.

Liar Paradox Garcia says “This hotel room is not on fire,” but it totally is on fire.

Fuck Communism

The only problem with Communism is that every time it’s been tried, millions of people die. Also, it’s just fucking stupid. Communists have various rebuttals to the first fact. “In theory,” they’ll say. “Not real Communism,” they’ll say. “Strictly a coincidence, all the starvation,” some will argue. “The tenets, my boy, the tenets were sound,” and if someone speaks to you that way, you may slap them in their beards. All efforts to defend the belief system lie in the academical, because the historical record of Communism invariably includes snipers on guard towers shooting people trying to leave.

Say what you will about corporate-influenced representative democracy combined with late-stage capitalism: you’re allowed to leave. The other countries don’t have to take you, but you’re still perfectly free to go.

Can people live in a communal fashion? Kinda. For almost all of human existence, it’s been the default setting: the tribe that lived in the Caveman Valley near Dinosaur Falls were close enough to quintessential communists. You had yourself a Big Boss or a Tribe of Elders, and they told everyone how much food to gather (as much as you can, I suppose) and stuff like that.

And then a couple million years or so went by and we invented the Industrial Revolution and boom: Communism. (That last sentence was a portion of my new book, A Short History of Communism. Actually, it was the whole book.)

Most of the ideas behind Communism are dumb category errors: there’s no such thing as the Proletariat, there’s just poor people. The poor people over here want different things than the poor people over there, and this leads to another flaw of Communism, which is that it isn’t scalable. To work together as a tangible community, in harmony and towards a shared goal, is possible in a Kibbutz. Not a country. People see what’s in front of them; people care about what they can hold.

And this, Enthusiasts, is the death knell for Communism: it is anti-human. Its precepts run counter to human nature. A command economy–or a command culture, which is what all Communist states turned into rather quickly–is absurd to anyone who’s ever met a person. I know very little for a fact, but I know this: people hate being told what to do. Now, people need to be told what they can’t do, but involuntary conscription into someone else’s bullshit is rarely welcomed.

Speaking of someone else’s bullshit, there is this:

What can be said about the Grateful Dead that has not been said before? They are on one hand somewhere below Coldplay and Nickelback on the list of hatred-objects for Leftists of who came of age between the late 80s and late 90s, signifying affluent frat kids tripping balls and hacky sacking, earnest liberals reading Sean Wilentz and taking bong hits, and so on and so forth.

That is the first paragraph of an article feebly attempting, and utterly failing, to link the Grateful Dead to various Commie nonsense. It is delightfully, deliriously, deliciously wrong. It is not even not even wrong, ignoring the Dead’s stated apoliticism and imparting magically obtained intentions upon them, intentions apparent to no one–not even the Dead themselves, who were all born into working-class families–but the author. Communists all! he says. Radicals, dontcha know? Here, read for yourself:

When they first started out, the Dead called themselves anarchists, at the time – some still do, in a qualified sense (check out the Netflix documentary on Bob Weir) – and were particularly close to an anarchist collective known as the Diggers, named for Winstanley’s 16th century movement, perhaps the first anti-capitalists.Ā They had cordial relations with the Black Panther Party, playing numerous benefits for them. While they claimed to not be political, this was and is besides the point, given that they were embedded within a subculture in which having radical politics was common sense.

There’s the problem with your average Communist, right there in black and white, Enthusiasts: individual agency is beside the point. The grand narrative of the dialectic, or whatever the fuck Historical Materialism means, supersedes your expressed intention.

“No, no, you silly prole. You actually meant to say this, right?”

Did the Dead hang out with Commies? Sure, partied with them, too. And radicals? There were many backstage. But mostly the Dead surrounded themselves with Capitalists. You’ll find that most of the band, in fact, believed in the system of a well-regulated market economy, coupled with individual freedoms and an open ballot.

Anyway: fuck Communism. The Grateful Dead ain’t no goddamned Commies.

(Oh, plus the article contains every single one of my Grateful Dead Article Pet Peeves: apologizing for liking the band, bringing up that epic-length tribute album that everyone’s forgotten about already, retelling the Origin Story, dragging the poor Czech Spring into the matter. Take your pills before you read it.)

Conspiracy Theories About Hillary Clinton That I Am Looking Forward To

  • Killed Harambe.
  • Body double.
  • Clone.
  • Evil clone.
  • One of those fucked-up mutant clones that always gets made because someone jostled the machine when it was working or something; you know: giant eyeball in the middle of her chest, brain on the outside, etc.
  • Clone of Hitler dressed in pantsuit and wig. (Obviously, you would leave the mustache on for comic effect.)
  • Evil clone of Hitler, etc. (Wait: Hitler’s evil clone would the opposite of Hitler, meaning he would be History’s Greatest Hero. Enthusiasts, we must evil clone Hitler.)
  • Lupus.
  • Muscular Dystrophy.
  • Attenuated dwarfism.
  • Chelsea’s real father is Dallas Cowboys owner Jerry Jones.
  • “James Carville” is not a real person, but a person-shaped collective of swamp-demons brought into this reality by Hillary’s foul magicks and (barely) controlled by a holding spell that requires thrice-yearly virgin sacrifice.
  • Personally selects Saudi Arabian homosexuals to be thrown from roofs, and the worst part is that she does it like Madeline Kahn in History of the World–YES yesyesyesyesyesyesYES! etc.–and it’s just creepy how much joy she takes from the event.
  • Whitewater. (Remember Whitewater? Ever think you’d be nostalgic for that penny-ante, backwood sweetheart’s deal of a scandal?)
  • Disguised as a stingray, Hillary Clinton murdered Steve Irwin.

An Anniversary

jm-sad-diptych

Look how serious you look.

“Really?”

Are you the Saddest Rock Star in the World?

“Knock it off.”

Ladies and gentlemen, step right up and see The Saddest Rock Star in the World! His tears fill stadiums! His guitar solos sound like moping!

“You done?”

Sure. Why are you in LA? You were literally en route to the Luxor hotel–

“Which Katy now owns.”

–last time I saw you.

“No. No, I was a deer-person last time you saw me.”

Oh, right. Katy–

“Who owns the Luxor.”

–is also an Egyptian god now and chimerafied you.

“I was a deer-person.”

You’re angry?

“A little.”

Johnboy–

“Don’t call me that. Only Andy Cohen gets to call me that.”

–I don’t understand why this is the thing that drives you over the edge.

“Straw that broke the camel’s back, man. Forget the freejacking. Forget the deer-person thing. It’s everything. Remember when Eddie Vedder beat me up?”

Umm…yes. Wait, yes. That was funny.

“And when all the dead musicians used a time machine–”

Sheath.

“–for the specific purpose of pooping in the Earthroamer?”

That’s happened on several occasions.

“What about the time I turned into Lego?”

That was Bobby.

“I wasn’t in that one?”

Can’t make a Lego you. Just looks like a guy.

“Sure.”

If you grew a giant beard or something, you would be much more Legoable.

“No, no. I getcha.”

John?

“Yeah?”

jm-kylo-ren

“You’re a dick.”

What?

“This Instagram post was very meaningful to me, and you’re just a dick.”

I know, I know: it was to celebrate the 15th anniversary of a record or something.

“Tenth.”

Excuse me?

“Tenth anniversary. Of Continuum.”

Oh. Because I was going to say you looked good for 15 years, but for ten years, you look rough.

“Asshole.”

Hey, man: you’re the one who thinks a face can be washed in only an hour. That’ll catch up with you eventually.

“Such an asshole.”

Hold on, wait: aren’t you supposed to be meeting Kim Jong-Un at the Luxor, too? And didn’t he threaten to set off more nukes if you didn’t?

“He can wait.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Asshole.”

Whatever. Pick up the phone. Someone needs to teach you responsibility.

“Mayer.”

“You don’t need to come by. I don’t need that thing.”

“Katy?”

“Everything’s all good. Fo sheezy.”

“You sound weird. I’m coming there right now.”

“Negative, negative. We had a small reactor leak. Give me a minute to lock it down.”

“Katy, what the hell is going on!?”

Russell Brand And Katy Perry Visit Planet Hollywood Resort A nd Casino To Celebrate Grandmothers 90th Birthday

“Don’t come here okay bye.”

DIAL TONE EVEN THOUGH PHONES DO NOT DO THAT ANY MORE

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooo!”

To be continued!

“Well, no shit ‘to be continued.’ These things are always continued.”

Leave me alone: I didn’t have an ending.

“It’s the effort you put forth that brings all your success.”

You do realize that every time you open your mouth, that phone gets closer to ringing?

I thought so.

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