From 8/13/70 at the Fillmore West. Here’s an AUD that actually sounds damned good, at least for the acoustic segments.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: phil lesh (Page 69 of 105)
Has Phil’s Adam’s Apple always been so big? It looks like an Adam’s Produce Section.
One must always remember: if someone in the band wasn’t wearing a shirt bearing the band’s logo, then Bobby would become confused and agitated and start doing his “Al Jolson sings Mammy” routine and Billy would jump in and even in the ’70’s, it wasn’t okay.
Hey, Grateful Dead. Whatcha doing?
“Rocking.”
“Rocking.”
“Rocking.”
“Rocking.”
“Crossing my arms and swaying gently.”
“Rocking.”
Awesome-balls.
PLUS The drummer double-mustache, or as the kids call it: dubstache.
Bobby was promoting his new love-advice book, Think Like a Garcia, Act Like a Bobby. He insisted on writing “You’re a strong independent woman and you don’t need no man,” on all the books and it was holding the line up something fierce.
Also, Phil just lost it when he heard. “That’s what I write!” Phil said.
And Bobby just drank his chocolate milk and when he was finished, he had chocolate milk all over his mustache and he didn’t lick it off, just stared at Phil while it dripped.
“I write that now,” Bobby said.
“Yeah, Bobby, yeah. Okay, brother. No problem.”
“Say it.”
“What?”
“Say it!”
“Where Weir–”
“NOT THAT.”
Okay, this has gotten too silly. Stop it.
In the waning and crepuscular light of a Pacific and Northwestern sun, Billy and Phil plowed ahead. They dodged and swirled together, fell apart laughing, came back as one, swirling twirling swirling twirling. Everything is on the one, if you can find it.
Let the damn guitarists and Keith (wherever he is) twiddle and tinkle: we shall stomp, you and I: Phil and Billy, Billy and Phil. We share a tent in the Sacred Band of Thebes, you and I: Phil and Billy, Philly and Bill.
They can play with their lightning, but only we call down the thunder. Also: Garcia’s wearing sweatpants, so he can’t sit with us today.
Phil gave no fucks before you knew what fucks were, you peasant. Bow the fuck down. Or don’t: Phil doesn’t give a fuck either way.
Bobby thought it was cute to do his Three Stooges routine behind the drummers while they weren’t looking, but then Billy got a wind of it and the punching began. Of dicks.
These were rock stars. Women–good-looking ones–lined up to tend to these mens’ dongs.
Electric Dead: Phil stands at all times.
Acoustic Dead: Phil generally stands, but may sit if he so chooses.
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