Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
The intractable nature of the scheduling conflict became evident the first time someone hits a three-pointer and the ball bounces off Billy’s head, so–of course–he rifles the basketball into the crowd and it bounces off head after head like Captain America’s shield, breaking nose after nose.
Also: hey, Mickey. Taking a breather, pal? Call yourself a time-out for a smoke and a beej? Get back to work screwing around with your tom-toms and being petulant.
Garcia’s belly is bigger than Mountain Girl’s and she’s pregnant.
Of course Pig rolled his own.
There’s a moment in Festival Express, the great documentary about the doomed Trans-Canada Festival, that explains why Garcia will be forgiven his sins.
Sha Na Na is playing and they’re great: this was the early band and they were ugly as sin, fat as fuck, balding, acne-scarred, openly oozing pus from several locations, one of the guys used to shit himself onstage–it was a bad-looking group and what they would do is dress some of the guys in gold lame, dress the rest in wife-beaters, then scream ROCK AND ROLL at you in three-part harmony until you either cheered or shit yourself in solidarity.
Sha Na Na was, in its own way, far weirder than the Dead. There was no nostalgia industry back then: there hadn’t been enough stuff made for there to be ironic takes on it, plus the 50’s were the first period anyone could be nostalgic for. No one missed the 40’s. Later on would be Bowzer and TV shows with corny jokes, but in 1970, they were a far more aggressive goof.
Still a goof, though: the best part of the performance is watching the other musicians react to it. They cut to Garcia and he’s having a grand old time, and they stay on him as the song ends.
“Sha Na Na has to catch a plane! Wave ‘goodbye’ to Sha Na Na, Calgary!” the announcer says.
And Garcia waves goodbye to Sha Na Na.
From 8/13/70 at the Fillmore West. Here’s an AUD that actually sounds damned good, at least for the acoustic segments.
When you can turn your back on neither the audience nor the drummers, this is the only configuration left.
Seriously: no other band in the history of the multiverse (that wasn’t some super-drummer’s vanity project: I’m looking at you, Billy Cobham) has ever situated themselves like this.
Also: Mickey’s headband and Billy’s posture
Phil looks exactly like his skeleton from the Touch of Grey video.
In 1970, $4.50 would get you not just get you into the Fox Theater in St. Louis to see that far-out band from the Coast, the Grateful Deads, but you might just wind up hanging out onstage.
Nowadays access costs a bit more. This year’s Interferon Concert–or whatever the mudfest is called–offers an executive all-inclusive Diamond Level package for ten thousand bucks. Granted, you do get to sleep with Bobby and Phil, all in the same little bed like the Three Stooges, while wearing those old-timey sleep hats and Phil has that old-timey snore: chhhhhhh-WEEEboobooboo, chhhhhh WEEEboobooboo, so on that level the whole thing’s worth it.
This is the least sexy fetish ever.
When you were a big-time rock star in the 70’s, it was nothing but the finest rickety folding chairs and things-propped-on-stage-cases.
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