Happy Father’s Day, Phil.
“Look at my boys!”
They are handsome and strong.
“Did something right.”
Sure did.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: phil lesh (Page 30 of 105)
You were screwing around with that Time Sheath again, weren’t you?
“I know how it works. We’ve had that thing forever.”
You’ve had a time machine forever from the first second you own a time machine.
“You know what I mean. I think the Apple Watch freaked it out.”
Warned you about those things. The Devil’s bracelets.
“Uh-huh.”
Tell me what’s happening. Is this a clone thing?
“Reality fritz-type deal.”
Like Bobby’s rando glitch. I got it. What were you doing with the Time Sheath?
“Wanted to see Athens at its height.”
How was it?
“Full of shit and disease, just like every other city in the past.”
I don’t know why you keep to visit.
“You just have to get used to the smell and not touch anything or anyone.”
Like the DMV.
“Sure.”
You want me to call Precarious?
“He was always the go-to guy for stuff like this. Just don’t tell Robbie Taylor.”
Jealous?
“Yeah.”
Aw.
Hey, Phil. Whatcha–
“Gonna make yourself a little joke about the munchies? Is that what you’re gonna do?”
…
Yeah.
“Fuck off.”
Okay.
Rareness abounds in this shot: Peanut makes an appearance, and the ultra-hyper-mega-super-rare tie-dyed Bobby.
Also: what the fuck? Please explain the greengrocer’s apostrophe. I don’t understand anything about what that is. (After the most minor of research, it seems that the opening act was called Michael and the Messenger’s [sic] and Pig was borrowing the organ. Which just brings up more questions. This was 3/21/71 at the Exposition Center in Milwaukee (only that partial AUD exists) and they had been on a mini-tour of the Midwest; did they not bring Pig’s organ? How did they break that to Pig when they were leaving for the airport? Did Pig threaten to hogtie anyone in retaliation?
And what the fuck to Michael, too. Was that sign printed seconds before the show, with no time to correct the mistake? Michael and the Messenger’s [sic] were a local Milwaukee band (I’m assuming) and back then a local band would play high school dances, and high school dances have chaperones: was not one of these chaperones an English teacher? Or any sort of teacher, really? Or a bright student? Or an average student?
I’d walk out. If I went to see your band and you fucked up the language that badly, I would lose faith in your ability to rock. Bands are allowed to spell their names wrong deliberately, or employ the superfluous umlaut, but they may not make errors in grammar or punctuation within their names. That’s a rule.
Hey, Phil. Whatcha doing?
“Posing with randos.”
How’s it going?
“Right hand’s asleep.”
Oh, yeah. These are some weapons-grade randos right here.
“They’re fans.”
You ever get creeped out?
“Not unless they do something weird like obsessively write about my band for years on end.”
…
That hurt a little.
“Good.”
You cranky?
“Weir. I try to help my brother out, and the guy gets confused and starts stealing my ideas.
It was just a table or two.
“That’s how it starts. I heard he’s changing the name of the place.”
From Sweetwater? To what?
“‘The Grateful Dead Restaurant That Won’t Give You E.Coli Poisoning.’ I mean: that’s libel!”
It’s slander until he puts up the sign, actually.
“Shut up.”
How do you even know these things?
“I have spies. I sent some of the busboys in undercover.”
Undercover?
“Deep cover.”
CUT TO:
The WEIR FAMILY KITCHEN TABLE. BOBBY is enjoying OATMEAL that is mostly going on his BEARD. Also seated at the table is a MEXICAN MAN IN A DRIVING SUIT AND BLACK WIG. He has a BULLHORN.
“Lillian Monster, could you pass the blueberries?”
“¡CARNE ES MUERTE!”
“I can’t understand a word you’re saying since you got back from safari.”
CELL PHONE NOISE
CELL PHONE NOISE
“Weir here.”
“What the fuck, Bob?”
“Oh, hey, Phil. How’s tricks? Caught that guy pooping on the bocce courts?”
“That storyline went nowhere. Bob: move all that shit back inside right now.”
“It’s nice out. And, you know: Sunday.”
“Right! Sunday, outside: that’s my thing. I own being outside on Sundays in Marin County.”
“It’s just a couple tables, Lesh.”
…
“Did you just call me ‘Lesh?'”
“Yeah, it didn’t sound right while I was saying it.”
“No, not right.”
“Your name is tough to say after a couple drinks.”
“Tell me about it. Back to the topic, Bob: I see what you’re doing.”
“Just a couple tables.”
“Bar?”
“Not a full one. Just beer and wine and hard liquor.”
“Band?”
“Acoustic only.”
“Guy in a turtle suit wandering around?”
“Well, Brent’s coming by, so I would assume so, but we didn’t hire a guy or anything.”
…
“Goddammit, Weir.”
“What?”
“You’re stealing my thunder, and you’re gonna get my lightning.”
“Are you singing that song now, too?”
“Move it inside or we’re fighting.”
“Aren’t you fighting with enough Grateful Deads at the moment?”
“One more won’t matter. Move it in.”
“Like, physically?”
“Of course, physically. How else would you move things back into a restaurant?”
“No, no: the fighting. Are we, like, brawling?”
“What?”
“Court in the streets? Mano a mano?”
“Probably not.”
“Although, when white guys fight, it’s mayo a mayo.”
“Well done, Bob.”
“Ah, I can’t lie: Oteil told me that.”
“Funny guy.”
“Don’t get him started on honkies.”
“Why would you think we were going to fistfight?”
“Well, we used to.”
“Forty years ago, Weir. And we never hit each other, I don’t think.”
“You and me? No, no. Don’t think. Billy hit me.”
“Tried to slam your head into a curb, if I recall.”
“And Billy hit you.”
“Choked. Billy choked me in mid-conversation.”
“And Billy hit Mickey a lot.”
“He always deserved it.”
“Christ, who didn’t Billy hit?”
“You know who.”
…
“Ah, right.”
“Last warning, Weir: let this be the extent of it. Do not build outdoors. Outdoors is my territory.”
“Phil, this is some tables and some food and some alcohol at a 700% markup. Nothing permanent.”
“Good.”
“People have some fun, listen to some music, I read some stories to the children, and then they go home.”
“We’re fighting.”
PHONE SLAMMING NOISE, EVEN THOUGH PHONES CAN NO LONGER BE SLAMMED
“Aw.”
There is quite literally no other performing combo on the planet that would put Phil in the middle.
“Who gets set up in the center? The good-looking one?”
“Nah.”
“The iconic guitar god?”
“Nope.”
…
“The guy in the sweatband?”
“Yup! Front and center.”
“Whatever you say, Precarious.”
The day was going wonderfully, until the boy with the balloon sword got a little over-excited by the story; he took a swipe at Phil and Robbie Taylor–acting not from malice, but just going on muscle memory–threw the child in the canal.
No lawsuits will be filed. Also: the father of the boy, who is an amateur drummer, is now in Phil and Phriends.
No band had two bass players. I’m sure some Rock Nerd is scurrying to the Comment Section to inform me of some obscure punk band with three singles from Stiff Records, but I stand by my statement: no band had two bass players. If one did, it shouldn’t have. You can double up on any other instrument in the rock arsenal, but not bass because what’s happening in the photo is what always happens when you have two bass players: one does the normal bass playering while the other fucks around way up on the neck; that’s literally all you can do because if both play low notes, it sounds like sonic chili. And not good chill: the stuff from a can with cinnamon added.
Also: holy shit, why is there a third bass guitar in the scene? Is Geddy there? Is that Geddy’s bass? Did Phil and Oteil jam with Geddy Lee and none of you fuckers told me about it? That is information I would enjoy having, and you know this. Why would you keep this from me? Or, if that’s not Geddy’s bass, then to whom does it belong and why is it there?
Wait: was this some sort of bass-off, like when drummers solo at one another? Ginger Baker used to do that bullshit: two drummers would solo at each other, possibly to the death. One guy goes WHAKKATHAKKABOOM, and the other guy goes BOOMTHANKKAWHAKKA, and repeat ad infinitum. I have not one single time made it more than three minutes into any “drum battle” except for this one:
[embedyt] http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VJh9W3Gcpmo[/embedyt]
Bass players are like quarterbacks: if you have two, you don’t have any. One bassist at a time.
Also: Oteil’s hat.
Also also: Sunshine Gaydream.
(Yes, some great songs have two bass parts–American Girl and Walk on the Wild Side come to mind–but that’s just a studio trick; no band has two bass players.)
Here’s a cool shot I hadn’t seen before: FoTotD, and co-author of the acclaimed This Is All A Dream We Dreamed, David Gans with Phil doing some radio sometime in the late 80’s. David has that expression on his face because Billy has been calling in for the past hour on multiple phone lines, and every time he gets on the air he screams “BABA BOOEY!” and it’s tough to keep a call-in show going under those circumstances.
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