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

Tag: phil lesh (Page 23 of 105)

Semper Reptilis

Hey, Snake Tee-Shirt. Long time no see.

“How’sss it hanging?”

Can’t complain. You?

“Sssad.”

Aw, buddy. What’s the matter?

“Worried about the United Ssstatesss.”

We all are.

“I’m a patriot. You know I wasss in the Marine Corpsss.”

You don’t pronounce the S in that word, let alone pronounce it like that.

“You don’t ressspect veteransss.”

Yes, I do. And you are not a veteran.

“I ssserved my country, boy! Not like sssome pussssssiesss I could mention.”

You did not.

“I wasss at Khe Sssan.”

NO, YOU WERE NOT.

“Sssometimesss, I’m ssstill there. My buddiesss died in my handsss!”

You don’t have hands.

“Ssslevesss.”

You don’t even have sleeves. You were not a Marine.

“Thisss isss my rifle, thisss isss my gun.”

YOU DON’T HAVE HANDS.

“Audie Murphy didn’t have handsss. They let him be a Marine.”

First of all, he was in the Army. Second of all, he lost his hands in combat. He didn’t show up at the draft office and open the door with his foot. Third of all, you are a tee-shirt.

“You’re racissst.”

Can’t be racist against shirts. Shirt is not a race.

“I even remember the sssongsss we would sssing when we marched.”

You can’t march. You slither.

“I DON’T KNOW, BUT IT’S BEEN SSSAID–”

Stop this.

“MARIE ANTOINETTE GIVESSS REAL GOOD HEAD!”

I regret talking to you.

Phiddling Around

“Who is Salt Bae?”

What?

“Salt Bae. He’s a meme. And what the hell’s a meme? Who is Salt Bae, and what’s a meme? Answer my questions.”

Are you looking at Buzzfeed again?

“I like taking the quizzes. Do you know they can tell what Marvel hero I have a crush on from my pastry choices?”

Yeah, the material’s getting thinner and thinner over there.

“I chose a bear claw, so apparently I have a crush on Hawkeye.

Hawkeye?

“Right? No one has a crush on Hawkeye.”

No one sane. Why didn’t you go to Sundance to see the movie premiere?

“Too cold.”

And?

“No ‘and.’ I don’t want to go anywhere too cold any more, and I’m just not going to.”

I respect that.

“I don’t give a shit.”

I respect that, too.

The Promised Land

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.)

Marshall Plan

Hey, Phil. Whatcha doing?

“Paying for a book.”

See, I hold merchandise up in stores and take selfies with it, but they don’t give it to me.”

“Are you a Grateful Dead?”

No.

“There ya go. One of the better perks of the job. Hold stuff up, get stuff free. Used to just be guitars and gear and things, but now you can get damn near anything for free by holding it up.”

You’re an Influencer.

“Call me that again and I’ll strangle you with my scarf.”

Sorry.

The Least They Could Do

Perhaps as usual I’ve stumbled onto a theme for the evening: the rank unprofessionalism of the past. All of this–every single part of it–is unacceptable in today’s shiny and buffed branding exercise of a culture: the duct tape all over the piano, the circus tent, the plywood the plywood the plywood holy shit the plywood. No one even thought to order some tie-dyed curtains from Nighthawk to drape over the backdrop which, as I have mentioned, is just naked plywood.

So much unused space to announce corporate partnerships.

OR

Precarious?

“Yo.”

What are you doing?

“Checking the stage to make sure it won’t collapse.”

You think maybe you should’ve done that before the band got on it?

“Things get gotten to when I get to them.”

Okay.

“You all right?”

Took me a second to parse that sentence.

“You knew what I meant.”

I truly didn’t.

Standee On The Mountain

Fun fact: Garcia was pissed. In ’94, the Dead was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame and Garcia decided not to go for several reasons; the rest of the band had a cutout of him made up and took it to the ceremony. They didn’t run their joke by him; he didn’t think it was so fucking funny; there was yelling.

I learned that fun fact in Susana Millman’s new book, Alive With The Dead, which was BotDs gift to me this Christmas. It’s beautiful, and my copy is signed and came in a very classy slipcase.

Horde, Tour

Younger Enthusiast, I cannot overemphasize how unprofessional the past was. In 2016, putting on a concert is a science, literally: people have written dissertations on the subject. (Okay, it’s a soft science.) But in 1973–and this picture is from the Watkins Glen Festival on 7/27/73*–no one knew what they were doing, ever.

The promoter of the show (Bill Graham) wanted to protect the band from numbskulls; he just didn’t know how. The high stage is only half the equation. You also need a moat filled with enormous security guards. Otherwise, as pictured, there will be boosting.

OR

At least two people in this photo are using cell phones.

OR

99% of being a Rock Star was enjoyable, but this bullshit? Here’s the analogy: one of you breaking in to my home while I wrote. Keith Richards was completely right to whack anyone who got onstage with his Telecaster.

Speaking of Rock Stars: the Dead’s crew were probably a little rough with the guys, less so with the girls, but if you pulled this shit on Led Zeppelin then you’d be dead.

OR

Thanks for the help, Number 12.

*Wait, this might be RFK. I don’t give a shit. It’s definitely ’73. Listen to the Watkins Gen soundcheck.

Rock, Band

I’d not seen this shot before. The other more famous and widely-circulated frames from this roll of film, yes, but not this one. Any day, any day at all, you could wake up and meet your true love, or step in front of a Honda, or you might see a picture of the Grateful Dead you’d not before.

There’s always a reason to wake up.

OR

Get out of the picture, Rock.

OR

Spot the Heineken(s).

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