“Stop depressing people, man.”
It’s a depressing day, Garcia.
“Still, man. Have some self-control.”
Yeah, you’re right. Where are you? It looks like an apocalyptic hellscape.
“San Bernardino.”
I stand by my observation.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: jerry garcia (Page 6 of 139)
“I tried, Jerry. I really did. You know me: I wanna get along with everyone.”
“Don’t worry about it, man. Weir can be a little hard-headed. I remember one time we were out somewhere and he said, ‘Look at the baby squirrel.’ Except he was pointing at a fucking chipmunk. I tell him, ‘Weir, that’s a fucking chipmunk.’ Turns out he thought chipmunks grew up to be squirrels. So I set him right, but he refuses to accept it. I even took him to the zoo and had one of the animal ladies explain it to him, but he wouldn’t give in.”
“He’s steadfast in his beliefs.”
“You could put it that way, sure.”
“He said something about Hollywood. Has Bob tried acting?”
“Shit, man, he’s been going on auditions for eight years. He was real close to getting on Streets of San Francisco one time, but I don’t know if he’s cut out to be an actor. He can’t act, for one. That’s disqualifying on its own.”
“Hey, it’s not like I’m Olivier.”
“Weir’s worse. Trust me, man: I’ve run lines with him.”
“Well, there’s gotta be something he’s better at than me. Guitar, man! I can barely play.”
“Neither can he some nights. Do you fence?”
“Traffic in stolen goods, or fight with swords?”
“Either.”
“No.”
“Shit. Wait, man: is your daughter an Instagram Hottie? And, if so, how many followers does she have?”
“What the hell is Instagram?”
“It’s this thing from 30 years from now. There’s all kinds of artworks on it, and there’s chicks, too.”
“30 years from now? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Oh, right. Your band doesn’t have a time machine.”
“A time machine?”
“It’s a Sheath, technically.”
“I’m gonna see if I can find Sheila E.”
“Sure thing, Hue.”
A REMINDER: The so-called “Days Between” are not celebrated here, as this website does not sell merch and therefore does not need an excuse for a 20%-off sale.
“What about school, man?
“I did pretty good in school, Jerry.”
“Shit.”
“What the hell is up with your boy?”
“Bobby thinks you’re big timing him.”
“I’m not trying to!”
“Y’gotta understand: a lot of Weir’s identity is wrapped up in being the best-looking guy in the room. And most of the time, the other people in the room are the Grateful Dead. Usually, he’s competing with Mickey.”
“That’s not really a competition.”
“You get my point, then.”
“Whaddya want me to do about it, get in the car and pull a Montgomery Clift?”
“Oh, stop being so dramatic. We just gotta find something he’s better at than you. How much money you got?”
“I’ve written, like, nine #1 hits in the past five years.”
“Huh. How tall are you?”
“Six foot.”
“Nope. Is the rumor about your cock true?”
“If anything, that rumor undersells both my length and girth.”
“Shit. Maybe you should just avoid Weir at the show.”
“I’ll give it a try.”
The rarest (and scariest) Billy of them all: Shirtless Billy.
OR
“Are we all playing red guitars, man? It’s gonna look like we planned it.”
“Ah, the dummies out there will hardly notice.”
“I’ve, uh, also got my shirt off.”
OR
The scariest (and rarest) of all possible Mickeys: Mustache Mickey.
OR
Picture courtesy of the great Jesse Jarnow, who wrote about this show (6/22/69) in his outstanding book Heads: A Biography of Psychedelic America, which you should buy and read. You can also listen to the afternoon’s offering via a two song SBD (which is crappy) or a full-ish show AUD (which is also crappy).
OR
Ramrod’s Little Orphan Annie afro is always so easy to pick out in a group shot.
OR
This is the Naumburg Bandshell in Central Park. Martin Luther King once gave a speech there, but did not play Dark Star. WINNER: Grateful Dead.
Precarious?
“Yo.”
You know what I’m gonna ask, right?
“They’re Christmas lights.”
Thought so. Jesus, that looks terrible.
“You should’ve seen the first version.”
Was it spelled wrong?
“Yup.”
Hell of an organization you guys had.
“Yup.”
“Guys? Hey, guys? Why is my piano set up so my back is to the crowd? Is it cuz I’m ugly?”
…
…
…
“Uh, no. No, definitely not. Nuh-uh.”
“Nah, man.”
“The ol’ Pig don’t think you’re ugly, KG! It’s just that your looks is an acquired taste!”
“Yeah.”
“You’re scaring off the skank, Sloth! Hide your face!”
From the Comment Section, Tor Haxson pitches in with some highly useful videos from the In Concert With AIDS show. Above is Garcia and Bobby trying, in their way, to cut a donation spot. The efforts are typically bush league, with Garcia winning the “Quotables” competition with “Send money, and anything else you got.”
Then, Bobby and his chest thatch get interviewed. It goes poorly, as Bobby cannot seem to find a happy medium between single-word answers and logorrhea.
No, don’t shine it up. Put the rag down, fuck off with your bronzo. Maybe that hair was supposed to be in the gate. Could be those scratches in the negative were put there by the Lord’s fingernails. Tuck in your own fucking shirt if it’s so important to you.
Don’t you dare gallant up my goofus.
It was nice of John Fogerty to let Bobby and Garcia hang out onstage while he played the old hits. Our heroes added little to the proceedings other than backing vocals, but even the awesome power of two fully bush league chooglers can’t quite trainwreck the afternoon when the rhythm section was Steve Jordan and Randy Jackson.
OR
What a fetching kerchief, Mr. Forgerty.
“Go fuck yourself.”
Okay.
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