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

Tag: 1985 (Page 1 of 3)

No Human Band Would Stack Speakers Like This

My God.

“Yo.”

Precarious, I have only one question.

“Is it ‘What the fuck?'”

Yes. Yes, it is.

“I’m not gonna lie to you: We thought it was funny.”

Where did you even get windsocks?

“Those are Brent’s clothes.”

Really?

“Yup. Jeans on the left. That’s one of his tee-shirts on the right.”

Why?

“I told you: We thought it was funny.”

It’s kinda funny.

“We left his wallet in the pants. He cried a little.”

Hell of an organization.

Stella Zoo

The Grateful Dead played in a casino a few times, the Aladdin in Vegas, and they played Disneyland in 1968 (there’s no tape), and at least one other theme park. Several fairgrounds, though it should be noted that the band did not actually play any State Fairs.

And they played a zoo. Not in the zoo. Like, at no point was Billy within punching distance of hippo dick, but he was much closer than at most shows. This is 9/2/85 from the Zoo Amphitheater in Oklahoma City, and it is 85ish as shit. Garcia’s voice sounds like torn styrofoam, and the drummers are in their “close enough” mode.

But, hey: it’s a Dead show. Whattya gonna do, watch the fucking news and hang yourself? Listen to the Dead; it’s good for ya.

Astronuts

You want to be as close to the equator as possible if you’re going to launch a rocket into orbit, which is why Cape Canaveral is in South Florida. You can, however, be anywhere on Earth to communicate with said rocket ship, so if the Speaker of the House is from Texas when NASA is being set up, then Mission Control will be in Texas. Houston, specifically, and in the 60’s, Houston was Space City and they weren’t about to let you forget it. Their brand-new baseball team was called the Astros; they played in the Astrodome, the world’s first indoor stadium, and since it was indoors and real grass could not be kept alive, the team played on a newly-invented synthetic surface called Astroturf.

So when Six Flags built an amusement park across the parking lot, they didn’t really have any choice in what to name the sucker.

There were rolly coasters and logs that would flume you about: it was your standard American theme park, and so it also had an outdoor theater called the Southern State. During the week, they would do shows for the kiddies or dance troupes or whatnot; on weekends, they would have bands for the local teens. You could ride the SkyScreamer in the afternoon and then get down to some groovy tunes in the evening, all for the price of one ticket. It’s a good deal.

For the teens, that is; the acts must have closed their eyes and gotten through the evening like professionals. Look at this bullshit:

Do they drop people from that tower? I think they drop people from that tower. You’re onstage singing your little song, and WHHHHAAAAAAAGH behind you every 150 fucking seconds. It’s goddamned demoralizing.

The Dead played the Southern State Theater on 8/30/85, and it seems almost criminal to take ’85 Garcia to Houston in August. The air is so thick with humidity as to behave more like a solid than a gas; also, it being Texas, the air is armed. He (and Bobby) looked like this:

(Holy shit, this show is one week after Boreal Ridge, where they dragged poor Garcia up a mountain. Serious question: were they trying to kill him?)

Now, obviously, this post is in honor of the great scholarship and snappy storytelling in the latest missive from Lost Live Dead detailing the Dead’s relationship with Texas; his site is a must for any Enthusiast, as is the sister site Hooterollin. , which OMIGOD I FORGOT TO TALK ABOUT THE LAST POST OVER THERE which is so very good. (It’s about Skeletons in the Closet. Remember Skeletons? Don’t play all cool like you didn’t listen to Skeletons a million times.) However, Corry Arnold (author of both sites and a valued commentator here) only allots a scanty three paragraphs to the most important show the Dead ever played in Texas, instead choosing to fill space with “evidence” and “facts” and “contextual analysis.”

But you know I don’t roll that way. I made a few calls and was able to get detailed notes of the Dead’s day at the Astroworld:

3:00 pm 

Band arrives at venue. Phil refuses to leave van. Garcia is unable to leave van. Rest of band wanders off.

3:30

Soundcheck. No one is there except Phil; he is asleep behind the amps like a drunken angel with perfect pitch. Road manager Jon McIntire attempts to have the band paged, but Billy has commandeered the PA booth and is broadcasting his skank session. (Billy found skank.) Mickey has been thrown out of the park for punching a hot dog vendor.

4:00

Through a mixture of bribes, threats, and cocaine, the band has been lured to soundcheck. No one has seen Brent. Billy announces that if Brent isn’t there in five minutes, then he would rub his testicles on Brent’s synthesizer.

4:05

Billy rubs his testicles on Brent’s synthesizer.

4:20

4:20, yo.

4:30

A representative from the park asks Jon McIntire a question; while his attention is diverted, the entire band wanders off.

4:35

Mickey, now wearing a fake mustache over his real mustache, is thrown out of the park again, this time for punching the guy who runs the bumper cars.

5:00

Billy, returning to the source of his previous fun, has once again taken over the PA system and is using it to tell jokes of a questionable provenance. Garcia was in the bathroom, which made Jon McIntire both sad and happy: sad because of what Garcia was doing in there, but happy because he wasn’t going anywhere. Bobby has eaten astronaut ice cream, and a giant turkey leg, and had a caricature done of himself, and bought a license pate with his name on it, and he was thinking about taking his shirt off.

5:01

Bobby takes his shirt off.

5:20

4:20 plus 1, yo.

5:30

Billy, lying in wait behind a blind turn, pounces on a family of five from Corpus Christi. When later asked why he did such a thing, Billy would respond–and I quote–“I felt like a puma.”

6:00

Phil wakes up and wanders into the park, where he makes a kid in a Dead shirt buy him a giant churro. Jon McIntire spots him, asks if he’s seen Brent. Phil hits Jon McIntire with the giant churro, then makes the kid buy him another one.

6:10

Mickey, now in blackface, is thrown out of the park once more for punching a balloon salesman. No one has seen Brent.

6:30

Billy has ridden the Texas Cyclone 17 times in a row; he punched the ride operator in the dick and turned the switch to FULL so the train’s been circling without stopping. Security is on its way.

6:35

Security arrives and throws Billy out, along with Mickey, now in blackface with a fake mustache, who had snuck back in and punched the same balloon salesman again.

6:45

Bobby arrives backstage. He is wearing a tee-shirt with his own face on it and carrying one of those leashes for imaginary dogs.

6:55

Phil shows up and yells at Jon McIntire because the wine selection at the theme park is not up to snuff.

7:10

Billy and Mickey wander in and begin making fun of Weir’s shirt while secretly wanting one.

7:20

Someone in an armadillo costume comes backstage. Everyone says,

“Hi, Brent,” and he removes the costume’s head and says,

“Hey, guys,” and no one asks him any questions at all.

7:30

Garcia emerges from the bathroom and tells Bobby and Brent to change. Bobby protests; Brent does not.

7:40

Showtime.

The Joining Of The Two

“Hey, asshole. I’m a ballerina. Looka me dance.”

Hey, Phil from ’85. Everybody’s looking for you.

“Let ’em look for my balls, and then let ’em suuuuuuuuuck.”

Please give back all the time machines and the ham.

“I ate the ham.”

Please give back the time machines.

“Top-notch ham.”

This is not about the ham.

“Still had the bone in. Picked it up and ate it like a turkey leg. Took off my shirt because I got sweaty.”

Holy shit, do I want to stop talking about this fucking ham.

“The Jewish thing?”

No, I’m just nauseated .

“Nauseated is a very Jewish thing to be.”

Can we discuss the–

“Actually, that sounds great.”

HUHWHLORF

Ew.

“The Heinies needed some breathing room.”

“Jesus, man. You’re a mess.”

“Who’s that?”

“I’m 2016 Phil.”

Oh, no. NO. One iteration at a time!

“Stay out of this, young man.”

“Yeah, stay out of this, similarly-aged man.”

“Dammit, 85 Phil: fat, drunk, and stealing time machines is no way to go through life.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. You’re not my father.”

“No, I’m you.”

“Right. Heinie?”

“No.”

“Doobie?”

“Sure.”

chik

Pwof Pwof Pwof

PHWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

“That’s good doobie.”

Okay, I officially have no fucking idea what’s happening.

“Well, whose fault is that?”

“Ha, burnt.”

“Jackass, give the time machines back.”

“No.”

“I tried.”

DIAL TONE EVEN THOUGH 2016 PHIL WAS NOT ON THE PHONE

“He yoinked the doobie!”

Phil from 1985, I need you to concentrate. What have you done with the devices powerful enough to rend time itself in half like a bootleg tee-shirt?

“No more devices. No more Time Cape. No more Time Sheath.”

Oh, God, what did you do?

“Time Sweatband.”

Dammit. Why?

“You can lose a sheath. Capes get dropped. Sweatband? That fucker stays put.”

True.

“My forearm is the nexus of all realities.”

Yes, but my point is: that’s not optimal. Can’t you at least give that thing to a more sober iteration?

“Fuck those guys. Phil from ’78 owes me $20. Besides, I like it. It’s like my Apple Watch.”

How is a Time Sweatband like an Apple Watch?

“Can’t FaceTime on either.”

Irrelevant.

MEANWHILE

“HAIRY GARCIA, AH REGRET EVER WANTIN’ TO KARATE WITH YOU IN VIOLENCE. AH WISH T’ NOW KARATE WITH YOU IN FRIENDSHIP, AN’ MAYBE DO SOME BIBLE STUDY T’GETHER.”

“Uh, yeah. Okee-doke.”

“THIS HERE ROAD TRIP DONE BROUGHT ME CLOSER T’ YOU THAN AH HAVE BEEN WITH ANY MAN. THESE MILES DONE GLUED US! YER WISE WORDS IN MAH EAR, YOUR POLK SALAD AGAINST MAH BACK. WE ARE NOW BROTHERS.”

“We’ve only gone, like, six miles. You keep stopping so let people admire you.”

“AH COULD NOT DEPRIVE TH’ PEOPLE OF THAT. EV’RY MAN, WOMAN, AND ITTY BITTY THING DESERVES A CHANCE T’ TELL ME HOW WUNNERFUL AH AM.”

“And Wendy’s.”

“AH ALSO WANTED WENDY’S.”

“I’m just saying, you know: we’re never gonna get there at this pace.”

“WE AIN’ GOIN’ THERE, MAN. WE GOIN’ THEN.”

“Ah. Yeah, then I guess we got all the time in the world.”

“CONSISTENTLY ODD HOW AH AM TH’ ONLY ONE ‘ROUND HERE THAT UNNERSTANDS TH’ FULL RAMIFICATIONS O’ HAVIN’ A TIME MACHINE.”

“Sloppy writing masquerading as a running joke.”

“THASS PROB’LY IT. YER SO SMART, HAIRY GARCIA. HOW YOU FIXED ON SCARVES?”

“All set.”

“WAWA?”

“Fine, thanks.”

“LOOKIT ME, MAN. AH’M YER CHARLIE HODGE. THASS TH’ DEPTH OF MAH MANLY FEELINGS F’R YOU, HAIRY GARCIA. WE LIKE ACHILLES AN’ PATROCLES, MAN.”

“I, uh, don’t really wanna have that kind of relationship with you, Elvis.”

“WE OUT THERE PLAYIN’ OUR BEAUTIFUL MUSIC IN TROY, BUT MAH HEEBIE-JEEBIES ACT UP! AH CANNOT LEAVE MAH DRESSING ROOM. SO, OUT OF YER LOVE F’R ME, YOU DON MAH JUMPSUIT AN’ ENNERTAIN ALL TH’ NICE PEOPLE.”

“Pass.”

“BUT THEN A GUY KILLS YOU, SPURRIN’ ME INTA ACTION, AN’ SONG. AN’ THEN AH KILL A HORSE WITH KARATE.”

“You’re getting your epics mixed up, and I still pass.”

“IF YOU WANT, YOU C’N HOL’ ON TIGHTER.”

“I’m fine.”

“DON’ BE AFRAID TO, IS WHAT AH’M SAYIN’.”

“Noted.”

“WHATCHOO WANT AT BURGER KING?”

“I’m still working on my chili.”

“YOU GOTTA GO?”

“No.”

“AH GET EIGHT WHOPPERS, HOW MANY YOU GONNA EAT?”

“None.”

“AH WILL EAT EIGHT WHOPPERS.”

“Sure.

“YOU MAH BEST FRIEND, HAIRY GARCIA.”

“You bet.”

“NOW LESS GO DEFEAT COMMUNISM.”

“Hit it.”

Bill Graham Addresses The Crowd At Live Aid

“Good morning. We welcome you on behalf of the Ethiopians.

“We’re gonna get started in just a second. We’ve got some great bands on the lineup, and we also have George Thorogood. Both Durans are here. Joe Piscopo is one of our celebrities, so who knows what crazy mishegos is gonna take place? Piscopo’s a wild card.

“Some short announcements before we get started.

“There is a blue Chevy Caprice in the parking lot with its lights on. License plate number RVA-119.

“Fuck Paul Simon.

“And finally: Philadelphia, you are a rock and roll town. Like my good friend Huey Lewis, who can also go fuck himself, says: the heart of rock and roll is in Philadelphia. We couldn’t do this show anywhere else. So, that said: please do not throw D batteries at the performers. If you want to keep throwing them at the cameramen and roadies, then go to it. But not the performers, please. If you must throw batteries at the stars, then keep it to a double-AA.

“Except Stephen Stills. You can throw car batteries at that putz for all I care. You see what he’s wearing, that putz?

“Look at him. Captain of the USS Cocaine. Putz. I’m wearing a long-sleeve button-down shirt with shorts and I still have moral standing to critique his outfit. That’s how much of a putz he is, that putz.

“Okay, so here we go. Feel free to get loose with each other and boogie. Tee-shirt concessions are open.”

Live/Aid

Just where were our heroes the Grateful Dead–this is a blog about the Dead–when the rest of the planet was feeding the world with Sir Bob Geldof in London and Bill Graham in Philly? Why was the Dead not at Live Aid?

Several reasons, first and foremost being that they had a gig at a county fair. (Okay, it was just at the fairgrounds, but it’s still verging on Spinal Tapness.) Live Aid was 7/13/85, and the Dead were in Ventura, California. This is what Garcia, who was a glamorous Rock Star, looked like:

Living the dream.

Later on, he switched to a red shirt; this inspired the same joke told a billion times, and looked like this:

The first set–which has a truly peculiar set list–looked and sounded like this:

So, you know: they were busy. And if they weren’t, they would have pretended to be: they had tanked every festival they’d played before this (except Watkins Glen, where they played better at soundcheck than at the gig), and at those festivals they had been allowed to play for an hour or so.

And gotten paid. The Dead insisted on getting their money–in cash–before even leaving the hotel at Woodstock, and they shook Wozniak down for a hundred thousand or so at the US Festival. It’s not that the Dead didn’t do benefit shows: they did quite a few, and then started their own foundation to streamline their charity efforts.

But mostly the time thing. There was no way they could get their act across given the constraints of the show. The Dead didn’t play for 20 minutes; the Dead tuned for 20 minutes. Were they going to take the stage with vigor and bludgeon the crowd with hit after hit? The Dead didn’t even have one hit, let alone another one to follow it, and–even if they did–they certainly weren’t going to rehearse for the gig.

Now back to the money: the bands had been paying their own way, which is why so many performers showed up by themselves. The smaller acts got their tabs picked up by the record companies in exchange for the publicity, but I would assume the record companies figured out a way to make the acts pay them back. The Dead was four years into the Arista contract in ’85 and had not given Clive Davis a hit, so he wasn’t paying for the plane tickets; also, it’s not like they would have just shown up by their lonesomes and performed on borrowed gear: the Grateful Dead traveled heavy. The band may not have been able to afford to go.

AND Garcia was messy at the time AND they might have said no just to piss Bill Graham off AND who the fuck is Bob Geldof? AND they all hated MTV.

Plus, Bobby hates Phil Collins. Always has. Bobby doesn’t hate anyone, but he hates Phil Collins.

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