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Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: dead & company (Page 30 of 38)
Remember the house in your hometown that went apeshit for Christmas? Wired up the house to a nuclear reactor and lit the sucker up so bright pilots were blinded miles away? There were snowmen, and snowwomen, and snowchildren (which obviously implies snowfucking, but that’s a different topic) on the lawn and Rudolph’s nose was a diode the size of a basketball focused through a neon-copper gain medium. (Funny science story: turns out that’s a death ray.)
You loved that house, and so did all the visitors, and so did all the news crews who liked to use the lights for some instant production value.
The neighbors, though? If they had a tenth of a chance, they’d nuke that place from orbit. No one wants to live next to other people’s’ fun.
Hey, remember the Grateful Dead? This blog used to be about them? Weird-looking fuckers, bunch are dead?
Anyway, a few of the remnants and some pretty guy and a couple of ringers are playing in San Francisco, which–and this is something only a real Dead fan would know–is where they’re from. Some of them still live there and most likely drove themselves to the show like big boys. (Mickey’s wife drove him, as Mickey has been drinking since Christmas Eve.)
The show doesn’t start for another hour or so, because everyone but the East Coast of America gets the time wrong, but if you’re interested in the show, maybe someone will post links to the streams in the Comment Section. Or maybe they won’t, and a bear will break into your house and eat your tushee. Who knows what the future holds?
Also: maybe a Bay Area Enthusiast can enlighten us all. Is that Oakland in the left hemisphere of the Stealie? Because–and I mean no offense by this–that is a seriously unimpressive skyline. At least the San Francisco part has that big pointy building that’s going to kill so many people when it collapses in the Big One.
Hey, Oteil. Whatcha doing?
“Posing in front of stuff.”‘
You got a little Egyptian in you, right?
“Just once in college.”
What?
“Nothing.”
You have a good tour?
“Oh, man: you have no idea. I am a blessed man, man. Playing with these guys, playing for these crowds? Plus, we’re going first-class, baby! Private planes and suites at the Ritz!”
I like a man who appreciates a good creature comfort.
“Oh, yeah: this creature likes to be as comfortable as possible, especially when someone else is paying for it, right?”
Hell, yeah.
“You would not believe how much fancy shampoo I’ve stolen. Much better than the old days, man. One tour with Aquarian Rescue Unit, we had to share a hotel room.”
Doubling up in a room isn’t so bad.
“No, I mean the whole band shared one room. Also, we had to share it with a stranger.”
That budget might be a little too tight.
“Hey, it’s better than working.
You got it. What are you doing with your time off?
“Baby time! Baby baby baby!”
Right, you just had a kid.
“Wife did the actual having.”
Sure.
“Gonna hang out with the baby, play him some music, throw him in the air once or twice.”
Careful.
“Our parents dropped us all the time, man.”
Yeah, and look how fucked up things are.
“Good point.”
Bobby just took his sandals off and this photo shows the exact moment the smell hit John Mayer’s nostrils.
OR
John Mayer looks like the guy who stands behind the main guy who threatens people in movies and helps.
“You got two days to get me dat money.”
“Two days.”
OR
“…Like I was saying, Phil and I had wandered out to a small clearing and built a revel fire. We stripped down and gave each other the ritual massages, but as we talked about baseball the entire time, it wasn’t gay. Then, from above, there was a great light and a bright roar and all that had before been black shone like the headlights on Jesus’ Camaro.
“It was aliens! Or so Phil said. Admittedly, Phil sees alien involvement in many places it turns out to not exist; for a good decade, he had a pet theory about Rigellians building the Washington Monument. This time, though, he was right. It was their ship and it was whirring and beeping and whooshing: all the alien bullshit you’d expect. I cried out:
“‘WHY HAVE YOU COME HERE?’
“And they couldn’t hear me because the aliens were actually Mickey in a stolen helicopter. Turns out those things are real easy to fly. Plus, you know: the downdraft of the chopper spread the revel fire into the surrounding brush and started a pretty large fire. The fighting of which was hampered by the fact that Mickey had stolen the helicopter used for fighting fire.
“Kind of a loser of an evening all around.”
OR
Bobby’s a latecomer to Dead Shirt Wearin’, but he’s picked it up quickly.
OR
Potato salad.
That Friend of Ours out there in Cascadia points us to a well-written review of D & C’s Nashville show that focuses on the music; I enjoyed it and believe you would, too.
…
That’s it?
Listen, total honesty? I just needed to close that tab. The thing’s been open since Completely sent it to me and I can’t look at it anymore.
We’ve all been there.
And the man’s hashtaggery is strong. Let’s say hi to Oteil.
Hey, Oteil.
“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”
That looks awesome.
“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”
Bet it smells nice in there.
“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY”
Don’t let Chimenti drive.
“Oh, no.”
…
“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”
Every interview he gives and Instagram photo he posts makes me like Oteil more: he could not be happier about this gig and is making no effort to hide this joy. I would advise him not to post pictures of airplanes with hashtags containing the word “bomb” while having such an ethnic name, but that’s a minor quibble.
Billy, however, was slightly more jaded about private air travel and complained loudly about “the yabbos–or lack thereof, I should say–on the stewardess.” Also, Billy still says “stewardess.”
The Dead or What’s Left of ‘Em have hit Colorado, where marijuana is legal. If I were Colorado, I would be fighting as hard as possible to keep marijuana illegal everywhere else so I could be the Vegas of doobies. Instead of casinos and drinks, there would be comfortable chairs and plentiful appetizers and jam bands every night.
Assorted notes:
- Even with the gas mask on, Mickey is still not wearing the dopiest headcovering.
- Take that shmata off, Young John Mayer.
- Speaking of hats, Billy has grown very attached to Red Rider up there.
- The best-looking guitar amp is four Marshall stacks; the second-best-looking is a tweed amp.
- These men are high.
- Not trying to blow up anybody’s spot over here, but: these guys are high as fuck.
- Billy may or may not also be drunk.
- Careful observation will reveal that Mickey is wearing a sweatband under his sweatsuit.
- Good work, Mickey.
- Completely empty or full arenas look much smaller than arenas with a few people scattered throughout the stands.
- Jeff Chimenti’s hair is spun from childhood dreams and first loves.
- You might be able to substitute one of Jeff Chimenti’s strands of hair for the usual unicorn hair used in one of Ollivander’s magic wands and still get some magic out of the sucker.
- If you floss with a hair from Jeff Chimenti, then you will never get another cavity.
- Speaking hair, John Mayer just turned 38.
- Not one grey.
- Just saying.
- Billy’s sweater looks very soft and pettable, but if you pet Billy, he will punch you in the dick.
- Unless you are a stone-cold fox and pet him on his dick.
- Billy’s fine with that.
- How long were they in Colorado before Mickey had smoked so much weed that he’d gotten bored with the normal methods of ingestion and started gas-masking?
As I’ve mentioned, the concept of time zones stymies me, so tonight’s show might be happening now, or three hours from now, or may be over by now.
If it’s one of the first two options, I hope someone will be kind enough to post streams in the Comment Section.
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