Tag: phil lesh (Page 11 of 105)

“Hey, tell Big Red over there to slow down.”

“I keep telling him, Weir. He won’t listen.”

“Gingers can be obstinate.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Is Radio City an actual place?”

“No.”

“Because, uh, I’m picturing a universe like in the children’s film Cars.”

“But instead of cars being alive, it’s radios?”

“Yeah. And the fancy systems are racist against the transistors. And, uh, the senior citizens are all AM car radios with the push-button.”

“And then video comes and kills everybody.”

“There you go, there you go.”

“Hey, how much did you tell Treyvon we were gonna pay him?”

“Oh, I didn’t. I thought you were having that conversation with him.”

“Nope.”

“Ah.”

“So, no one has discussed him getting paid?”

“Looks it.”

“Let’s keep it that way.”

“Good idea, yeah. We should give him cab fare, though.”

“Oh, sure. And I got a shitload of coupons for the restaurant.”

“That’s perfect.”

“I think so.”

“It just doesn’t work, Weir.”

“It’s a great backdrop.”

“You tacked up your old Farrah Fawcett poster.”

“Right. Great stuff. It was, uh, cold that day.”

“It’s coming down. This is a swanky place, Bob. We gotta go upscale.”

“I could draw a bowtie on her.”

“No poster.”

“Okee-doke. You’re right, this is classy in here. Much better than the Mattress Firm Amphitheater.”

“Jesus, is that what those sheds are called nowadays?”

“You got the cash, they’ll put your name on the building.”

“I miss the old days. The venues had better names.”

“Like the Miami Jai-Alai Fronton?”

“Okay, not that one.”

“Onondaga War Memorial Auditorium?”

“Ugh, not that one, either.”

“The Iowa State Fair?”

“Just forget I said anything.”

“Done.”

“Where the hell have you been?”

“I’m not in the band any more, Bobby.”

“Are you sure? We’ve got a rug. Usually, when you and me are standing on a rug, then that means the Grateful Dead is on the move.”

“The rug notwithstanding.”

“What exactly was it we fired you for?”

“I didn’t get fired, Weir.”

“Was it sexual harassment? Very popular these days.”

“Can we just figure out what we’re gonna play, please?”

“I got a great idea. When I was in Mexico, I learned a whole bunch of narcocorridas.”

“Let’s not get the cartels involved in this.”

“You should hear ’em. They’re plaintive as all get-out. We’d, uh, need several trumpeters and the same number of giant hats.”

“Let’s stick to the usuals.”

“I sing a couple of cowboy songs, you bleat out a few of Jer’s numbers, we doodle at each other for fifteen minutes, donor rap, we’re in the van before the lights come all the way up?”

“Bingo.”

• Dicks out for John Perry Barlow.
• The whole set’s acapella.
• Hologram Garcia. (Do not make Hologram Garcia.)
• Even though it’s just the two of them, they’ll still manage to fuck up the ending to Samson.
• A confused and out-of-place Antelope Greg wanders in and starts a fistfight with Rockstar Richard.
• No drummers; 15 minutes Drums.
• More stories from the ranch.
• Out of habit, Phil tries to upsell the crowd on the jalapeno poppers.
• You dosed the Rockettes? I dosed the Rockettes. Jesus, how many people dosed the Rockettes? We should check on them.
• Mayor DiBlasio gets humiliated in public by a guy from Miami. (New York politics joke.)
• “Maybe, uh, they should call it ‘Internet City Music Hall’ now. Just saying.”
• Trey joins in on guitar, gets all psyched up to play the riff from Fire on the Mountain, Bruce Hornsby steps on it again, Trey cries.
• Baby Levon on percussion.