Hey, where’s Pig?
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: phil lesh (Page 82 of 105)
It was a pain in the ass to get his sexy across the border to this 1970 show in Calgary, but Phil wanted to represent America the best he could.
To Mrs. Donna Jean’s ever-lasting credit, the first person who said “itty bitty titty committee” got the living shit slapped out of him. (It was Mickey.)
The boys didn’t care how all the other rock bands stood: they were keeping their eyes on Billy, and that was the end of the discussion.
Phil was proud of his posture, perhaps overly so.
Ray was a big fan of the Dead, and Phil in particular, so he was thrilled to get a picture taken of the two of them. Phil was incredibly nice, too: he chatted with Ray for a while and even bought him a coffee and then Ray woke up in a motel bathtub full of ice and, as if missing an internal organ or two wasn’t bad enough, someone had drawn dicks all over his face with a Sharpie.
Everyone laughed when Phil stepped to the mike and announced that he was going to read “the Blood Poetry of Domok the Absolute Worst.”
The laughter had ended by the fourth verse. That’s the verse about what Domok did to the orphans.
What he did with them.
A new set of guidelines was put into place about microphone privileges the next day.
From just the picture above, you might be proud of our Philbert: alone among his contemporaries (at least two of them, anyway) he maintains his dignity and eschews a death grip on the fashions of his youth for a casual presentableness that suits him.
From the picture above. What you can’t see is that Phil’s as bottomless as a cup of Waffle House coffee.
More like DOPE and change, amirite?
I hate you.
Sometimes the Dead seemed like the final result of a game of telephone that started with “rock band” but the only people playing were lunatics, cyborg fetishists, and interstellar bounty hunters.
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