I have cued the show up to Love The One You’re With, as it is the highlight of the evening. The band is familiar but not intimate with the song’s changes, and Stephen Stills is doing Stephen Stills-like things, such as braying, and being on cocaine; you can hear him sweating. Rest of the show’s got a (too-short) H>S>F and a (just right) Throwing Stones>NFA. You could do worse by your ears.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: 1983 (Page 1 of 2)
Hey now, Enthusiasts! How about I recommend a Grateful Dead show for you to listen to? (The keen and aware might remember that this site is about the Grateful Dead, after all.) Something fun and kicky, with choogle galore. (“Choogle Galore” was the worst Bond Girl, by the way.) A few hours of groovy tunes to take your mind off the terror of the news, or college fucking football. How about a bitchin’ show from–
TO CHOOSE A SHOW FROM 1973, PRESS YOUR ‘A’ KEY.
TO CHOOSE A SHOW FROM 1983, PRESS YOUR ‘B’ KEY.
–I’m sorry, what just happened?
YOU HAVE SELECTED ‘B.’
Oh, fuck, are we doing this bit? I didn’t even watch Black Mirror. Why do I have to–
YOU HAVE SELECTED ‘B.’
FINE! Stop yelling. Uh, how about…um…I was gonna go with a ’79, but ’83 is good, too. Kinda. Ummmmm…let’s go with 4/9/83 from Hampton Coliseum. I am completely unfamiliar with the show, but it’s got a H>S>F, and it’s Hampton, so how bad could it be? Ooh, hey: West L.A. and an Esau in the first set. Okee-dokee, I’m sold.
Now let’s get back to what I wanted to talk about: Live Aid. I bet you don’t know the real story behind the biggest–
TO CONTINUE READING ABOUT LIVE AID, PRESS YOUR ‘A’ KEY.
TO SEE A PHOTO OF BLOATED VINCE NEIL, PRESS YOUR ‘B’ KEY.
–charity concert of the…HEY! Knock it off! No one wants to see–
YOU HAVE SELECTED FAT VINCE.
–Vince Neil…oh, come on.
“SHOUT! SHOUT! SHOUhach-hach-hach! Gimme a second. Lost my breath. Just one second.”
Jesus, you look awful.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I’m good. Could you bring me some spanakopita?”
I don’t have any spanakopita.
“Baklava, then.”
I have no Greek pastries whatsoever.
“That’s it, man! You’re getting the thunder!”
What?
TO LET VINCE NEIL BEAT UP TOTD, PRESS YOUR ‘A’ KEY.
TO HAVE NICOLAS CAGE STEP IN AND COOL SHIT OUT, PRESS YOUR ‘B’ KEY.
I wish this site made sense.
YOU HAVE SELECTED ‘B.’
Of course they did.
“He’s not worth it, bro!”
“I’m fuming, bro!”
“Bro! Your temper is as fiery as your legendary vocals! But think of your dojo!”
“I would never dishonor my dojo, Nicolas Cage.”
Seriously, I will pay someone American money if they make this bullshit coherent. An editor or something.
TO ADD CARROT TOP INTO THE MIX, PRESS YOUR ‘A’ KEY.
TO ADD CARROT TOP INTO THE MIX, PRESS YOUR ‘B’ KEY.
That wasn’t even–
YOU HAVE SELECTED CARROT TOP.
–a choice!
“Hey, sailor.”
“Ready to rock?”
“Welcome to the dojo.”
Nope. I’m done.
Chrononomorphososis. This is the proper name for calendar magick, and maybe an extra syllable or two. Dates have meaning within them, Enthusiasts. They have secrets and stories, and they hold grudges. Some have the private numbers of powerful people; others drink paint thinner and thank the Lord for the refreshment. The calendar’s a bloody field of shifting alliances, and don’t you forget it. Don’t you turn your back on a calendar, even one with pictures of kittens or firefighting hunks.
The Grateful Dead played on October 17th eleven times, which is a 44% appearance rate. Furthermore, two of the eleven shows took place outside of the country. Leaving one’s home is an inherently occultic act; energies of a spooky nature accompany the traveler. This is known. Furthermost, three of the concerts are famous, and when you combine calendar magick with fame enchantments, you really speed up your astral plane.
10/17. Very mystical.
What are you doing?
Fucking around.
At least you’re honest. Get back to the Dead.
The first two shows were lost–no recordings, not even a setlist–but now there’s an AUD up of the 1970 show from the Cleveland Music Hall. The ’72 is, well, a Fall ’72 and therefore outstanding. In 1974, the Dead played five nights at Winterland to announce their retirement; in 1978, they played the same venue because show-biz retirements are not legally binding.
The third and fourth European tours get little respect or attention, but that’s only because they weren’t very good. In the tours’ defense, the second visit to the continent also went poorly. Statistically, ’72 was a fluke: the Dead was not made to play Paris. Now, you bring ’em to a field in Oregon or the Oklahoma State Fairgrounds, and they’ll knock your cocks off, but Paris? In ’90, they broke Vince in with a European tour and played the Grugga Halle in Essen. They had some history with the venue, having stopped there in 1981 (not on this date) and jammed with Pete Townshend, who has NO fucking idea what he’s doing.
He’s feeling around for the beat like a blind man trying to find Jack Kerouac. It’s adorable.
And there’s Lake Acid. Sugaree good. Yay for Sugaree. Go hear.
You okay, slugger?
Got sleepy all of a sudden.
Hit the hay.
Goo goo.
Speaking of which, there are two kinds of people in the world: those who welcome the existence of a half-hour long My Brother Esau, and numbnuts. You’re not a numbnuts, are you?
I didn’t think so.
In keeping with local tradition, Bobby took multiple stone-cold foxes back to his room that evening.
Also: that’s Robert Vaughn on the balcony. Honest.
(This pic is from 9/4/83 at the Park West Ski Resort in Park City, Utah. The Dead played there once again in ’87 and then three shows at the Delta Center in Salt Lake City in ’95. When you think Utah, you think the Grateful Dead.)
Okay, Enthusiasts: you don’t have to work tomorrow, so listen to the music play.
In this ring is 10/12/83 from MSG. An always-welcome Esau, one of the Six Cumberlands of Power, and a tour-highlight Help>Slip>Frank’s that might be one of the better ones of the early part of the decade.
And in this corner is the last part of Phil from the Brooklyn Bowl, which is in Vegas.
TotD is happy to report–from multiple, unrelated sources–that Phil looks great and happy tonight; he is bouncing around and smiling, and this is a very good thing.
This is Robbie Taylor, who has been Phil’s Parish for four decades. His eyebrows will fight you; they will defeat you; do not challenge them.
(I know nothing about Robbie Taylor besides the broad strokes: came aboard in ’76 and stayed there ever since. I don’t know his childhood, or his family; his triumphs and regrets. He is a man in full totally alien to me. But I do know he could kick your ass.)
And this is Photographer-to-the-Dead Jay Bakesburg, mistaking guitars for teenaged hippie chicks. (Jay likes Hippie Chicks.)
The band is making its way through 5/13/83 from the Greek, with the first-ever Hell in a Bucket. Other than that, not many surprises in the setlist, but you can check out tonight’s version here.
Phil (and his Phriends) are celebrating 1983 tonight over at Terrapin Crossroads, and I am an idiot, as I just looked up when the last St. Stephen was instead of simply reading the shirt.
Also: muscle-T.
Also also: if you’re interested in what it all sounds like (man) then an innertubes hero named Busterdog has what you’re looking for.
In an effort prove my usefulness and non-being-a-complete-weirdo-ness, TotD invites you to listen to a rare bird: an ’83 that is solid goodness: no post-drums Sleepy Bear, no slacking from Phil, the drummers play as though they’d been introduced to one another before the show: 4/26/83 at the Spectrum in Philly in a great remaster by Yoda himself, Charlie Miller.
A big Shakedown to open, followed by a Minglewood with one of Garcia’s finest solos from the period. And an Esau (You all know how much I love an Esau.) And a Help>Slip>Franklin’s that someone–I won’t say who–remembers all the words to, and then to celebrate, that unnamed person skips Space in favor of Solo, and just turns his guitar up really loud after the drum solo.
Brah? The Dew? The Dew, brah? Killer. Killer Dew, brah. Killer Dew.
Go listen. This one’s not good for ’83: it’s good.
Listening to too much Dead? (As if that were a possibility.) here are some helpful signs that you might want to load up some other bands on your iTunes.
- You can’t look at your watch without relating the time to show dates: e.g. “It’s 2:18. BEAUTIFUL JAM.”
- Your first thought upon hearing of Russia’s invasion of the Crimea is, “Billy could stop this in 15 minutes.”
- You get a cat, name it John Kahn, and it immediately starts enabling your heroin habit.
- The only reason you do leg day at the gym is because Halloween is coming and you’re going as 80’s Bobby. Again.
- You wonder how John Travolta would pronounce Phil’s name. (Paul Loing.)
- You’ve listened to the entire 30-minute rehearsal version of My Brother Esau from 3/14/83.
- You’re 1500 posts in to a maddeningly obscure blog about the Dead.
- You refer to fat people as Wall of Pounds.
- You’re already camped out in front of Barnes & Noble waiting for Billy’s book.
- And you’re in costume.
- And you’ve punched three booksellers, seven random pedestrians, and a dachshund named Colin in the dick.
- Someone asks you what you want for your birthday and you automatically answer, “The security alarm code to Bobby’s house.”
- At international customs they ask you if you have anything to declare and you say, “1979 was really underrated.”
- You throw a tantrum when Words With Friends won’t accept “Godchaux.”
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