As we cruise into the 1980’s…
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: 12/31/78
Billy looks like a character in a Randy Newman song.
OR
Hey, Mrs. Donna Jean. Whatcha doing?”
“Ah’m wearin’ mah wizard robe, sugah.”
Happy New Year’s, ma’am.
“Bring mama her lime rickey.”
Yes, ma’am.
“Mama loves her a rickey.”
OR
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“Phil and Jer are telling jokes and leaving me out again.”
Ah, no. That sucks.
“And, you know: I know great jokes. There’s the one about the bees.”
We all know the one about the bees. Does anyone in your organization have any plan to get the balloons off the stage?
“Huh. I, uh play guitar and do some singing. A bit of songwriting is also expected of me. That’s my whole portfolio. I am not involved with the logistical side of it.”
Sure.
“You should ask Precarious.”
Good idea. Precarious?
“Yo.”
Same question.
“No plan whatsoever.”
Thank you.
“Uh-huh.”
PRECARIOUS LEE EXITING THE SCENE NOISE
Oh, so that‘s what that sounds like.
“Not, uh, what you’re expecting. Different sound than you’d assume.”
Way different, yeah.
“It was my ringtone for a while.”
Nice choice.
CELL PHONE NOISE
“I should take this; it might be Elvis Presley.”
That sentence is 100% true.
…
“Weir here.”
“HAIRY GARCIA, THIS IS ELVIS!”
“Oh, hey. Hold, please.
…
“Yeah, like I said: Elvis. Gimme a sec.”
Are you talking to me?
“Yeah.”
Why? That’s not how this bit goes.
“Right, but I didn’t want to be rude. Like, uh, Jer. And Phil. Mostly, I’m mad about Garcia ignoring me. Sometimes it’s nice when Phil ignores you, but it hurts when the Big Guy does it. And, uh, I didn’t wanna pass that rancorous sentiment down the line.”
How thoughtful of you. Thank you, Bobby.
“I’ll be back in two shakes of a wig’s tail.”
Sure.
…
“Elvis? You still there?”
“AH AM HERE, AN’ SO IS GRITS!”
“Grits?”
“AH HAVE ASSEMBLED A TEAM O’ KARATE-DOLPHINS. THIS ONE’S NAME IS GRITS.”
“Good name for a dolphin.”
“KARATE-DOLPHIN!”
“Team of what? Why?”
“TH’ KING WAS COMIN’ ON OUT TO BE YOUR HON’RABLE SECOND IN A KARATE FIGHT T’ THE DEATH WITH THAT HEWIS LEWIS FELLA. GONNA GET ALL UP ON THAT MAN THERE. AH’LL BE A SQUIRREL GETTIN’ A NUT.”
“Uh-huh. King, I gotta be honest with you: I do not pay attention to the bullshit around here in the slightest.”
“IT WUZ A STORYLINE.”
“I’m not doubting you, but I just care at the time, so I don’t remember now. Also, you know, the near-constant time travel has jumbled up all my memories. It’s like cut-up poetry up there.”
“NEVERTH’LESS, AH HAVE A PLAN TO HELP YOU REGAIN FACE. IN TH’ STREETS, WE CALL IT A GOOD NAME, BUT IN THE DOJO, IT IS CALLED FACE.”
“I’m familiar with the concept.”
“IN MAH HEART, AH AM ALWAYS IN MAH DOJO.”
“Ah.”
“SPEAKIN’ O’ WHICH: TURNS OUT DOLPHINS AIN’T PORTABLE. LEAST NOT ON LAND, THEY AIN’T. AH WUZ THINKIN’ OF ‘EM IN TERMS O’ WATER HORSES. AH MAHT HAVE TO TURN MAH PLANE, TH’ LISA MARIE, INT’ A FLYIN’ AQUARIUM LAHK IN THAT STAR TREK WHERE SPOCK STUCK HIS PECKER INNA WHALE.”
“I think I saw that one.”
“HAIRY GARCIA, AH WILL NOW CONFIDE IN YEW: MOST O’ WHAT AH USE MAH TIME CAPE FOR IS SEEIN’ FUTURE MOVIES. BEEN T’ EV’RY BATMAN MOVIE THEY GONNA MAKE.”
“Some of ’em were all right. I didn’t like the guy who did the voice thing.”
“NAW, MAN. SOUNDED LIKE TH’ DING-DANG COOKIE MONSTER. AIN’T NO CRIMINAL SCARED O’ NO DING-DANG COOKIE MONSTER! SPENT THAT WHOLE DAMN MOVIE WANTIN’ T’ GIVE BATMAN A LAHZ’NGE! HAIRY GARCIA, WOULD YOU LIKE A LAHZ’NGE? AH C’N HAVE CHARLIE HODGE BRING YEW A LAHZ’NGE.”
“I’m all right.”
“CHARLIE HODGE GEN’RALLY BRINGS ME MAH SCARVES AN’ WATER, BUT HE COULD GET A LAHZ’NGE, TOO. WOULDN’T TAKE HIM BUT THREE OR FOUR TRIES. BOY’S DUMBER TH’N A DEAD CAMEL’S DICK. TOOK HIM A FULL YEAR T’ MASTER BRINGIN’ ME SCARVES, TH’N ANOTHER TWO T’ TEACH HIM WATER.”
“Y’know, you might want to have him tested by a specialist.”
“DOCTOR NICK HAS EXAMINED CHARLIE HODGE ON MANY OCCASIONS, SOMETIMES IN FRON’ OF ME AN’ THE BOYS.”
“Okay. Why?
“GETTIN’ MAH GOOF ON.”
“Cool. Gimme a sec.”
“WE STILL NEED T’ DISCUSS TH’ DOLPHINS!”
“Yuh-huh.”
…
“Ahem.”
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha and Elvis doing?
“Listen, man: you gotta make him a new friend. Let him bother Josh.”
Aw. come on. Elvis is great.
“He’s weird even for around here.”
He’s supposed to be: he’s Elvis.
Everybody’s favorite fun game: Spot The Fret-Eeze.
OR
Cipollina was the only one from that whole Summer of Love batch that actually looked like a Rock Star.
OR
Lee Oskar’s harmonibelt is not worse than John Popper’s harmonoliers. It’s not better, either.
OR
Precarious?
“Yo.”
Is everyone allowed on stage? There’s all sorts of randos creeping in from the corners.
“Uh-huh.”
Why?
“Modified work stoppage.”
You’re on strike?
“Nope. Just forgetting to do certain parts of the job. Like keeping randos off the stage.”
Why?
“Band and crew aren’t getting along. I don’t even remember the exact reasons. Started at a softball game, and Kidd crashed Mickey’s car, and then Phil liked this chick but Ramrod threw up on her. It’ll be good for us. Relationship’s gotta be re-balanced every now and again.”
Sure. How long until the randos start wandering out and hugging Garcia?
“It’s already happened. Why you think he’s ducking back there by the drum kit?”
Sure.
“Take the sunglasses off, schmuck.”
OR
Mr. Fabulous, ladies and gentlemen!
On every New Year’s Eve, wherever the kids are getting down and real loose with it, you can hear a man call: Have your tickets out and ready. Don’t bother looking for him, though.
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.
They ran a tight ship.
OR
It’s past that kid’s bedtime.
OR
Rarest Phil of all: baseball cap Phil.
OR
Could the giant speaker be any closer to Keith’s head? When he died, how deaf you think he was on a scale of one to Mickey?
OR
On New Year’s, Precarious always amused himself by getting the newest member of the crew to look for the “heavy helium” to fill the balloons with.
OR
Seriously, why is Phil wearing a hat?
Jeremiah watches and keeps the count; he has always done so.
Did you think Jeremiah abandoned his post after the last notes seeped out of the crumbling building and soaked into the parked cars along Steiner Street, tangled with the early morning feral cats patrolling Post? Walked away as if his job was done?
Foolish to think so.
On that first day after the SF Dark Star, Jeremiah slept late. He still had a “1” posted in the number section of the banner by mid-morning, though. This was his task; it had just begun and had been going on for quite some time.
He watched the city come and go, boom and bust: San Francisco was always beautiful despite her chill, and still gritty no matter how much cash flowed up and down Market.
Jeremiah watched men and woman fall in love, marry, raise children, die: all without an SF Dark Star and this saddened him. Would he be the last one left? Were there no more encores left in the evening?
He was there watching during the Big One, the 9.2 that broke and burned California. The Golden Gate was his hero: four cables snapped, that’s all–she braved the cataclysm and earned herself a scar. The Oakland bay Bridge, on the other hand, collapsed instantly. Thousands died in simply the most horrifying way you can picture. Jeremiah tried hard to concentrate on the silver lining
Keep the days straight, an eye on the horizon, an ear to the ground, a shoulder to the wheel, nose to the grindstone, nipples to the polling place: watch and keep the count, Jeremiah. Watch and keep the count.
There were men all around him at first and the guy selling blue jeans and white t-shirts must have been doing some business. And there were more men and more. And then there weren’t as many. Jeremiah had no idea where these men were disappearing to, but it must have been overflowing. Perhaps there was a Dark Star there. If there was, he would hear.
Jeremiah watched the men and women and children of San Francisco leave, supplanted by guys. Workers. Callow punks who talked about disrupting society. Jeremiah knew about disruption: the SF Dark Star.
Everybody’s going to want a dose.
The techies left right after the money left; San Francisco was ceded back to the whores and merchants who founded her and the city went back to smoking dope and sheltering runaways. Jeremiah liked it better this way, but he was not a critic. He watched, kept the count.
Jeremiah was there for the Robolution, when the city more than held her own as it turns out that anyplace built on a series of 20 degree inclines is eminently defensible. He was there for the Hobolution, when the homeless people started punching dicks for social justice.
He was there when the AI that runs the trolley cars became self-aware and the cars leapt off their tracks and started humping each other.
Could an SF Dark Star have helped ay of these things? Jeremiah believed so, but it was just belief. There had been so very many days since the last SF Dark Star.
There would be another, though. There’s always another SF Dark Star.
Jeremiah watches and keeps the count; he will always do so.
Y’know how You can tell that Bob Weir is a white guy?
Because in the Closing of Winterland extras, he uses the phrase “seminal country-rock band.” That is a bit of a shibboleth.
A detailed analysis of minutes 11.45-40.30 of The Closing of Winterland (See previous post). We’ll talk about Bobby’s glasses later, I assure you.
11.45 What the fuck, Phil?
12.33 Donna thought it was the Halloween gig and came dressed as a woman ripped to the gills in an awful dress.
13.15 LISTEN TO FUCKING DONNA: SHE HAS THE VOICE OF AN ANGEL.
14.20 …but she should probably knock it off kinda soon.
16.00 What the sweet potato pie is Garcia doing? Oh my god, I’ve seen that before: that’s MOVING. GARCIA IS FUCKING MOVING. He is no longer in precisely the same spot Parrish duct-taped him to an hour earlier.
17.25, Oh, Mickey, why?
18.50 Garcia is two seconds away from twirling the guitar around his body while Angus Younging across the stage to emotionally bully Bobby. There is only one word, fellow Enthusiasts, for what is going on right now: rock star. Shut up.
21.40 Mickey is wearing a Dead shirt because of course he is.
22.26 Mickey is just terrifying.
22.48 Mickey just drum-fucked us all with his eyes and mustache, but mostly mustache.
23.29 We will get to the glasses, Bobby.
24.00 We’re all thinking the same thing, but let’s have some respect, ok.
24.30 Except i cant stop looking at them–oh, thank god, a wide shot.
26.30 Garcia has gone loopy. Now, I know he’s Jerry Fucking Garcia, man…but isn’t anyone else in this band? A certain dickpunching manager of the caddies at Bushwood? Mm, Danny? (You just read that in his voice, didn’t you? Predictable.)
13.05 There he is! Hey, Billy! What’s with the hair, Billy?
32.50 Bill Graham!
33.15 Sometimes i like it when Bobby talks. Sometimes.
37.10 There’s Phil aaaaaand no more Phil.
37.44 Keith exists!
40.30 I’ve decided I don’t want to discuss Bobby’s glasses.
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