Phil apologized for trying to eat the that tour groups’ livers, so they let him come out from behind the drums and sing.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: phil lesh (Page 90 of 105)
Of note: Billy’s shirt, Garcia’s face, a shopping bag for some reason (though, in a strictly photographic sense, the bag helps the shot out).
Also notice Mickey and Billy’s snare drums, how they’re angled away from them. This was the jazz style and how nearly everyone who strapped into a trap set did it for a half-century.
And, Phil is standing in the back because he was bad.
“Just bring every amp.”
“Yup, bringing everthing we got.”
“No. Not every amp that you have. Every amplifier in the entire world.”
I make fun of Phil a lot and he makes it easy, quite frankly, but some of his choices earn my undying respect.
For example: Phil knows we don’t want to see his feet and shods himself accordingly.
All the boys in the band knew that when Mrs. Donna Jean was having a moment, you complimented her hair without making eye contact and then you moved the fuck on.
Those balloons? They ain’t full of air.
It’s better to simply avoid nitrous oxide, instead of the more common relationship people have with the gas, which is to enjoy it immensely until, one afternoon, they enjoy it slightly too immensely and get a dick-hair away from stroking out and never do it again. Everyone with a certain level of drug-fondness who has made it to a certain age has had that one bad time; nitrous is Latin for ‘tequila’.
Bobby felt light onstage sometimes, not like he was floating, no: he was streaking across the sky with the band at his back and the horizon in his hair. No running start needed, not even a second at idle: just up, up, away. Past the lights, by the speakers, through the ceiling–sheer magical physics punching him through the roof–and he’s gone, going fast fast faster than the need of light (which is far greater than the speed of light, as light is rather insecure) until he hits the part of the universe that isn’t part of the universe and Bobby flies fast, he flies into the Space Between and every time this happens, Bobby feels an intense sadness that only someone who has loved only in dreams would recognize.
Sometimes, though, Bobby forgot it was a dream and started pretending to fly and making WHOOOSH noises into the mic and Garcia would just side-eye the fuck out of him until he started behaving.
I don’t know if I say this enough (or ever), but I’ve gotten used to having you around.
Thank you for reading this nonsense.
As a reward, please enjoy this picture of Garcia and Phil playing Peek-A-Boo with Bobby, whose hair was perfect.
Black power, Mickey.
Being blind has to be worse than being deaf.  Deaf people said (well, not said…) fuck it and just hang out with each other and they seem not to especially want to hear.
If you invented robot eyes, there’d be a vague and shapeless line out the door to get them immediately, and that line would inevitably snake into traffic and OH, THE HUMANITY.
Also, here is a picture of Pigpen somehow making the jumpsuit/cowboy hat combo work for him. In the background, you will notice that Phil has the sexy.
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