Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
The realest Fake Jerry guitar money can buy?
Check.
Handbill from the ’85 show Phil and Phriends are commemorating tonight at Terrapin Crossroad?
Check.
Non-soundboard stream (for that you gotta pay; I’ll steal but I won’t pirate) courtesy of Radio Busterdog?
All systems to Phil.
No one knew how the rivalry started. Terrapin Crossroads and the Sweetwater Cafe had existed in harmony for years; the patio renovation pushed Bobby over the edge.
“We need a wave pool,” Bobby said.
So the Sweetwater busboys built a wave pool, and fewer of them drowned then was budgeted for, so it was a good day.
“Wave pool, eh? Fuckers,” Phil said. The man-made lake was dug within days, and then the bottom was dredged to form an artificial island in the shape of a Stealie in the middle of the lake. There’s probably a more efficient way to do that, but Phil is not an engineer.
“Is that his game?” thought Bobby, as he priced a zipline leading from the top of Mount Tamalpais to the women’s bathroom of Sweetwater. The bathroom thing was not Bobby’s idea, but–like Phil–he is not an engineer. If the guy in the hardhat says that the zipline finished up in the ladies room, then that’s how it goes.
“Bastard thinks he’s clever,” Phil muttered as the motorcycle Wheel of Death was installed, and then filled with busboys on Supercubs. (None of them even knew how to turn the choke to get the things started, which is good because all of them would have died. Phil would still not let them out of the Wheel of Death until it was time for the dinner service.)
“Skate park!”
“Log flume!”
“It’s New Year’s every night!”
“Wicker man!”
“Mechanical bull at every table!”
“Illegal casino in the back!”
“Two-for-one tuggers.”
This went on; the authorities became involved.
Phil has an Instagram. Soon, you will be able to buy tooth-whitening devices, tea cleanses, and swimwear from him.
Also: Billy’s in the rigging again.
Hey, birthday boy.
“Why are you using a picture of me from 2006?”
Your hair looked good.
“Not a bad reason.”
What’d you wish for?
“Birthday cake and birthday sex.”
Not a bad wish.
“You have a year like mine, you start to appreciate the little things.”
Undoubtedly.
“Plus, I’m a rock star with a restaurant and a couple of Ferraris. Not much left to wish for.”
Give ’em to Baby Levon.
“Sure. He can have every wish I got left.”
You dig that kid.
“Oh, yeah. He’s all right. Got about a year ’til his hands get big enough for a guitar.”
Gonna start him early?
“Already got Alembic making him a bass.”
Alembic?
“Kid’s a Grateful Dead. Kid plays Grateful Dead guitars.”
If you say so. It’s a mini-instrument, though, right?
“No, jackass. Six-strings and 45 knobs. Of course it’s small-scale.”
Okay. Does that make it cheaper?
“Much more expensive, oddly enough.”
Sure.
1978 was a self-actualized year, as far as pictures go. Sometimes you’ll see a Baby Dead photo and think, “’69? ’70?” or one from the 90’s and not care, but when you see a picture from 1978, you say, “That picture is from 1978.” 1978 was more 1978 than, say, 1984 was 1984, if that makes any sense.
Also: this picture is Texas Hold ‘Em, but with Dead shirt-wearin’. Three cards up, and the drummers are down. There could potentially be three humans in the same band wearing the shirt of the band that they’re in. (I am not including the Godchauxes because they have never clicked the Donate Button.)
A question for the researchers: what is the greatest number of Grateful Deads Dead shirt-wearin’ at one show?
Issues to consider:
The answer to this question is within our grasps, Enthusiasts.
From one of my eyes and ears in the field known throughout the world (or at least Marin County) as the Haight Street Irregulars comes this sneaky-peak at our own Philbert J. Lesh, who got that jacket at the Santa Clara Farewell Shoes and has worn it proudly ever since when Jill doesn’t see him before he leaves the house and makes him take it off.
I’m team Phil on this one: that looks to be your standard Levi’s jean jacket–the vestigial waist epaulets give it away–and it is an unfairly maligned garment. The coat is officially called a Trucker Jacket, which makes sense when you note that the useful pockets (the smaller, buttonable ones on the breast and the large, open-mouthed ones in the inside) are all accessible while sitting in a car, while the outside pouches are just big enough to ball your hands into.
The pockets are the selling point: all teenage dirtbags know that one’s the exact size as a pack of Marlboro Reds, and the other’s a tight and secure fit for a CD.
PLUS, you could pair the jacket with a hoodie underneath, and that’ll get you through the winter in most of the country.
I will also give points to Phil for threading the double-denim needle: there’s almost infinitely manyways to get double-denim wrong, but starkly contrasting shades of blue is the only path to success. You might think that black jeans with a blue jean jacket might work, but stop thinking like that because if you think like that, you think terribly. Never succumb to the siren song of black jeans; black jeans are for guys from Long Island and teens who work at movie theaters.
Before you put on your black jeans, ask yourself: am I in Metallica? If the answer is no, then do not black jeans.
Remember the other night when I told you that Phil was doing a show from ’77? Yeah, I didn’t know what I was talking about.
Tonight’s ’77. Check it out at Radio Busterdog. (Or pay for it and get the SBD-quality stream.)
It’s 1977 at Terrapin Crossroads tonight, but it’s 2016 on the innertubes, which means Couch Tour is in session. Check out Radio Busterdog here.
I stumbled on this the other day–someone linked to it in a comment already–and it’s a wondrous timesuck. Jerilyn Lee Brandelius has put her Grateful Dead Family Album up on the innertubes for all to enjoy. It’s out-of-print, so this might be your best chance to get a gander at some photos that are new to me. Or you can wait until I steal them. Either way.
(Like, I said: it’s out-of-print and pricey–$30 or so–but if you want one, look to your right and scroll down.)
Also: “corporate.” That’s adorable. Let me introduce you to Brett Ratner.
Hey!
You, in the middle. Long-hair.
Put that damn tongue back where it belongs.
Also: this picture is a stark reminder of what a hairy time, men’s face-wise, we are living through. Dead shows used to be considered remarkably bearded, along with blacksmith conventions and Ren Faires, but by today’s standards this is a clean-cut group. Any random group of white guys off the street would have more beard, both collectively and individually, than these Deadheads.
Also also: Phil’s BMW shirt. (Here’s a fun database for the ultimate Rock Nerd archivist to put together: searchable index of clothing worn by date. But, that’s a trouser too far, isn’t it? You should get mandated to therapy if you do that, but I wish it existed and would bookmark it.)
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