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

Tag: phil lesh (Page 70 of 105)

The Real Pride Of Cucamonga

phil seated fender

Another in a series of photos of our boys with borrowed guitars, this one’s a little more easily identifiable than the last: this is from that weirdo benefit at the Rambler Room at Loyola on 11/17/78, which I’ve linked to before, but there’s no such thing as too much Acoustic Dead.

Eagle-eyed Enthusiasts will note Phil’s trousers, which he stole from Stevie Wonder. One might also note that this picture might have been snapped by either a pervert or a german Shepard or a perverted German Shepherd: rarely does a photographer not named Mapplethorpe make “crotch” both the intellectual subject and the visual vanishing point of a shot.

Briefcase Full Of U.S. Blues

jerry plane briefcase 2

As all Enthusiasts know (or SHOULD know, were it not for the nefarious henchmen of Big Dead, Dwight David Lemiuex Eisenhower) Garcia’s briefcase had hyper-cubinoidal properties that could never be fully measured. (Bobby tried once but what that means is that he showed up at Garcia’s pad with a tape measure, some joints, and a dog he had befriended on the walk over. No pencil.) It was Harpo Marx’ coat, basically.

A partial list of things produced from within Garcia’s briefcase include:

  • 800 kazoos.
  • Judge Crater.
  • Fire extinguisher. (Never discharged.)
  • Zod and the rest of his radical followers.
  • Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania.
  • A cygnet who had mistakenly imprinted on Garcia. The cygnet’s name was Allen. The story has no winners.
  • Hitler. Garcia’s briefcase occasionally Bluetoothed itself to the Time Sheath technology and would they would pull the most irritating bullshit. Like, everybody’s hanging out at Front Street and I’m not even going to mention what Night it was (Chimichanga, obvs) and a grand time is being had by all and these two semi-sentient beings of nigh-upon-infinite power decide to start calling fucking audibles. There was a SNIKT and a BAMF and the sky ripped in two with a huge sound TUCUMCARI! and then, boom: Hitler.
  • And these two idiots–who aren’t even supposed to have wills of their own, mind you–are all, “We helped,” and the Dead were all, “No, you most certainly fucking didn’t.” Then Phil choked on Chimichanga and wouldn’t you know it: Hitler gives him the Heimlich and the ‘changa goes whistling across the room and then there’s silence. (Except for Brent crying: he was scared.)
  • And the Dead are looking at one another, and Phil is absolutely torn: does he thank Hitler? The guy did just save Phil’s life. And yet: Hitler.
  • So Billy just punched Hitler in the dick and shoved him back into Garcia’s briefcase and there was the longest, weirdest meeting ever.
  • Fresh mangoes. No matter what time of year it was: Garcia’s briefcase had an unlimited supply of the ripest, freshest mangoes you’d ever taste and it was simply the creepiest smoothie you’d ever drink.

Put That Thing Away

phil old tongue scarf

Sadly, Phil is not being playful here: he’s exhibiting the first symptoms of tardive dyskinesia. Our thoughts and prayers go out to the Leshes and their neighbors, the Moores.

Also, Americans need to stop dong this with their scarves. It is a ridiculous British affectation and it as unacceptable for a red-blooded American as calling your friends “mates” or pretending Kate Middleton is hot.

The Long And The Shorts Of It

bobby howls phil

Here’s the thing: when Bobby wore this outfit, tens of thousands of people paid to be in the same room as him, cheered his every move, then offered themselves up afterwards so he might pick a fox for a romantic evening of mai-tais and titty-fucking. Bobby thought that shit worked because the universe was offering proof that, indeed: it did.

Phil just wore the jeans Jill picked up for him at Costco and whatever t-shirts people gave him for free.

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