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

Tag: terrapin crossroads (Page 5 of 11)

Speak Of Dinosaurs Like A Child

phil-txr-kids

Hey, kid.

“Me?”

Yeah. Little towhead.

“I’m not s’posed to talk to strangers.”

I’m not a stranger. I’m from the internet.

“Okay.”

See all those colorful buttons on the floor?

“Yeah.”

Go play with them.

“Mommy said not to.”

Your mother has an agenda. Trust me.

“Who is the skinny guy?”

His name is Phil.

“My name is Solarsystem.”

So, you’re local to Marin County?

“Wha?”

Nothing.

“Does he have kids?”

Who?

“The guy you told me his name.”

Phil.

“Okay.”

Yeah. And he has a grand kid a little younger than you, I guess.

“He is sooooooo old.”

Happens to the best of us. Actually, it doesn’t. It happens to some of us.

“I’m gonna stay a kid.”

Good decision.

“I know. What’s your favorite dinosaur?”

Ankylosaur.

“HE IS AWESOME! They have armored shells and tails.”

And they were like twenty feet long.

“I would have one for a pet and ride him to school. I would pick up my friends.”

How would you steer an ankylosaur?

“He would know where to go.”

Okay.

Child Is Father To The Rando

phil-kids-txr-jpg

“Hullo.”

Hello. Who are you?

“Klaxon.”

White people shouldn’t be allowed to name children.

“Wha?”

Nothing. Nice hat.

“It was my brother’s, but he gave it to me and when I wear it, you can’t see me if I don’t want you to.”

I wish I had that kind of hat.

“Mine.”

You look like you’re about to hop onstage, buddy.

“Gonna play the drums.”

Don’t do that.

“Gonna.”

You won’t make it.

KID STRUGGLE

KID STRUGGLE

Told ya.

“Who was the guy with no hair that picked me up?”

Robbie Taylor.

“He’s strong.”

If you were older and had wandered onto the stage, you’d find out how strong.

“Like The Rock?”

Yes.

“Like Superman?”

Yes.

“Wow. Who’s this?”

Who?

“The guy.”

Telling the stories?

“Yes.”

That’s Phil Lesh. He’s the bass player for the  Grateful Dead, which is a semi-defunct choogly-type band. Also, he owns the restaurant.

You see that little boy over there in the yellow shirt?

“Yes.”

The guy reading the stories is the little boy’s grandpa.

“Oh, okay.”

Klaxon, who’re your two favorite superheros?

“Superman and The Rock.”

What if The Rock fought Superman?

“Nooooo. They’re good guys. They would fight Kylo Ren and it would be like PSSSH! and BAAAAAM! and then The Rock would pick him up and be KDDDUSH into a building and the building would BOOOOOOM and then Kylo Ren would take off his mask? He would take off his mask? His mask?”

AND?

“He’s Batman!”

OHMIGOD!

“And, and, and then Iron Man shows up and he’s all KCHOOOM, and then–”

“Young man!”

“–The Rock is like ‘I’m hit, I’m hit’ and then Superman goes–”

“Whippersnapper!”

“–‘I will avenge you, The Rock’ and then–”

“I’m telling a story here, rapscallion!”

Klaxon, shh.

“I blame you for this, idiot.”

Me? What did I do?

“You got him all worked up.”

Everyone’s a little worked up right now, Phil.

Neither Rare, Nor Well-Done

I don’t know where to start with this, Enthusiasts, so let’s begin by stating that we all love Phil Lesh. Let’s get that out of the way. Phil, and his family and friends and Friends, and all of his business concerns are tops in all of our books. Terrapin Crossroads is a classy establishment that provides quality food and reasonable prices, and also has a bocce court that hasn’t been pooped on in months.

And as with all people that we love, peculiarities are forgiven. Oversight is overlooked. Bobby keeps showing up at award shows in sandals, and Billy punches dicks, and Garcia’s dead; we forgive them their trespasses, because without these quirks of personality, they wouldn’t be the men they were and are, and make the music they did and do. Phil’s into the occult: so what?

(Now, Phil’s into a Californian/syncretic/cafeteria-style occult, but the right hand smiley path is just as occult as the left hand spooky path. If Phil were British rock star, he would have a haunted castle and produced a failed musical based on the life of Alastair Crowley. It rains a lot in England, so their occultism is all misery and basement orgies; California, as you know, is California, so even the goth kids have tans and everything’s a little more optimistic.)

Phil’s love of the new age (or New Age: I don’t know if it’s capitalized) led directly to the Egypt shows; he championed the trip from the beginning and you know Phil thinks aliens built those pyramids. Phil was also responsible for the side trip to Stonehenge during the ’72 tour, in which most of the band stood agoggle at the ancient monoliths, and Billy dogged a slag from Essex. (The British Enthusiasts will understand that.)

And now Phil’s enjoyment of the esoteric can be shared and celebrated at TXR. On December 11th, Phil’s hosting An Evening With The Dead, which will feature music and a visit with Thomas John, who is an internationally acclaimed psychic medium.

This is Thomas John, displaying the ludicrous plain-tie-on-checked-shirt fashion that has for some reason infected otherwise normal men’s closets.

tommy-john-mic

That guy looks pretty psychic. I’m psychic about these things: I have a sixth sense about who has a sixth sense, and that guy? That guy’s a…well, hell: let him tell you.

Thomas John is a global psychic sensation who has wowed audiences across the world with his impressively accurate messages from ‘the other side’. Hosting sold-out events such as A Night with Spirit and Dinner with the Dead, Thomas John is one of the nation’s most coveted psychic mediums. Bi-Coastally based, his gifts continue to be in high demand with influencers, A-list celebrities, and those at crossroads in life from coast to coast and around the globe.

That’s from his site, and there’s a lot of clues in this paragraph that Thomas John is an actual psychic. First off: psychics hate grammar. Psychics deal with the realm above us, not the petty drudgery of properly placing modifiers. Second: he told us he was, and when has anyone ever said they were a psychic and lied about it? Influencers love him!

Shall we learn more about Thomas John? Straight from the horse’s mouth:

Thomas John, gifted since birth, connected with the spirit of his late paternal grandfather at the tender age of four and correctly described to his parents the location of a missing wrist watch that had haunted the family for years (Grandpa’s best friend Jack had it!). From that point forward, Thomas and his family knew he had prodigious abilities, unlike any they had experienced before. Though born with the spiritual skills to communicate with the dead, he didn’t always embrace them. At the age of 18, Thomas began his studies at the University of Chicago.  Graduating with a degree in Psychology and Human Development, with departmental honors, Thomas pursued research internships at Yale University and The University of Massachusetts at Amherst, where he was a lead research assistant on studies related to psychopathology and personality. During these internships, Thomas John was the author of three peer-reviewed publications. He was accepted into graduate school programs in medical research, but through the guidance of several of his own deceased loved ones, decided at the last minute to further develop his abilities as an intuitive, and began his metaphysical studies in New York City.

I’m confident that all of this is true. It certainly doesn’t sound like puffed-up half-truths, complete bullshit, and baldfaced lies mixed together and sprinkled with commas. And, sure, the University of Chicago offers a program in “Comparative Human Development,” and not “Psychology and Human Development,” but I’m sure that’s just an oversight.

Oh, Thomas John sells coffee:

screen-shot-2016-10-08-at-1-17-19-am

How did Thomas John know I yearned to connect with my imagination and creative intelligence AND drink coffee? Well, he’s a psychic, that’s how.

Hey, wanna meet another guy? Sure ya do. This is Tommy Flanagan:

tommy-jon

That’s his mugshot from when he got busted scamming people out of apartment deposits on Craigslist. Tommy Flanagan ain’t no psychic: how do you not know you’re getting caught pulling nonsense on Craigslist? That’s like calling in a bomb threat to your high school from your parent’s phone. Anyway, that’s Tommy Flanagan, and like I said: he’s clearly no psychic. I don’t even know why we’re talking about him. Let’s get back to Thomas John, who looks like this:

thomas-john

Much better. Far more psychic. Definitely not a Flanagan, not with those eyebrows.

Besides teaming up with Phil, Thomas John has three main avenues of revenue it seems: speeches, readings, and “Dinner with the Dead,” which is a five-course meal combined with…hell, let him tell you about it:

screen-shot-2016-10-08-at-1-40-34-am

Now here’s what I would do, Enthusiasts, because I’m not a psychic. I would make everyone pay up front with their credit cards or via Paypal; that way, I’d have their names. Out of 30 people–people with enough money to be going to five-course meals with psychics–I would bet at least half have a Facebook page under their real names, maybe a few Twitter accounts or blogs.

Then, I’d have my Event Coordinator seat the room right: those guests on either side of me that I start the evening off with? I’d know things about them their spouses didn’t know, and I’d start off with a big WOW for the night, so if I fuck up a couple times after that, people won’t remember. There’s going to be a few folks I couldn’t get any info on, so I would try a little cold reading on them, but mostly I would make sure they were sat in between people about whom I knew juicy stuff. Bracket the failure with success, and the failure gets forgotten.

Oh, plus I would have a ringer or two inserted into the dinner, people who work for me and mingle with everyone beforehand and try to get stuff out of them. A lot of times before they meet psychics, people will say–out loud–things like “I hope I get to talk to my father. I miss him so much.” Because I’m not a psychic, I know that people are trusting at heart and want to believe that their loved ones are still safe and being taken care even in the afterlife, that they miss the souls departed with an intensity that makes them do foolish things sometimes, and believe foolish things other times. It’s easy to prey on people’s sadness, and that’s what I’d be doing by pretending to be a psychic.

Luckily, Thomas John is a psychic, so he doesn’t have to do any of the treacherous bullshit I mentioned, but if there were no such thing as psychics, then that’s how it would be done. I would also use that strategy for readings: find out who you are beforehand and then pretend like your grandpa is telling me stuff you posted about on Instagram. I wonder how Thomas John accepts payment for readings?

screen-shot-2016-10-08-at-1-37-42-am

That’s how I would do it! Just like that! But, of course, Thomas John is a psychic, so I’m sure that this method of payment is simply for tax purposes or another perfectly believable reason.

Do you wanna meet one more person? (It’s getting so you can’t tell the players without a scorecard, but it’s actually a lot easier than it seems at first.) Okay, this is Lady Vera Parker:

john-drag-queen

Who is not a psychic, or she would not be wearing those shoes. Lady Vera was a popular drag queen in Chicago, an award-winning one.  Again: not a psychic.

Kelly Jacobs, Ricky Botega, and Doug Mennin are not psychics, either. They seem to be aliases. I don’t know what they have to do with anything, so let’s just ignore them and move on.

Thomas John, who is a psychic, has nothing to do with any of those people he used to be, who were not psychics. He can talk to the dead, and–apparently–to the Dead. Luckily, the Grateful Dead’s track record with hucksters and bullshit artists is sterling: it’s not like he comes bearing Ford Cortinas, after all.

Thomas John is a psychic. Just ask him. Or him. Or her.

Phil To Solid Line

phil-txr-grinning-onstage

Hey, Phil. Whatcha doing?

“Picking and grinning.”

Literally.

“Yeah.”

Your bass isn’t headless.

“No, it looks like a shark’s vagina.”

I was mistaken. Phil, can I ask you some questions?

“Shoot.”

What’s your favorite part of doing laundry?

“I don’t…what? I don’t do the laundry.”

What is laundry to you?

“I don’t understand the question.”

How do you make laundry an enjoyable task?

“I told you I don’t do the laundry. What’s wrong with you?”

What’s Phil Lesh’s laundry pet peeve?

“What the fuck is that? Who would have a laundry pet peeve?”

What’s your proudest laundry victory?

“Get off my property, jackass.”

Tell me a laundry fear that you conquered.

“Robbie!”

Going.

Couch Tour Triumphant

In lighter news, Enthusiasts, our friend Phil and his Phriends are back onstage at Terrapin Crossroads tonight, where it is Endless Shrimp Week. They’re celebrating the mumblemumble anniversary of Watkins Glen, and as (almost) always, Radio Busterdog is riding the rail and streaming it all for us back home.

This is what the stage looks like:

txr-stage-watkins-night

TotD, you say, that is just an empty stage with a mindbogglingly expensive bass on it. That is not the fun we were promised. To this I say, what about a Grateful Dead racecar?

txr-acura

That is a Grateful Dead racecar. You know that because it says it is. Also: Acura?

Eyebrows Of The World

phil rando signed guitar

Hey, Phil. Whatcha doing?

“Same ol’, same ol’. Making music, meeting randos.”

Powerful set of eyebrows on this one.

“Ah, leave him alone. Happy little fucker.”

I notice he’s touching you.

“Still within acceptable parameters. If he starts caressing, then we go to Deadcon 5.”

That’s not a thing.

“Sure it is. Robbie Taylor throws ’em in the canal.”

What’s Deadcon 1?

“Robbie chucks ’em in the canal.”

Sure. Phil?

“Last question.”

Okay: why do you sign your name with your left hand?

“Bothers you not knowing, doesn’t it?’

Yes.

Phil?

Phil?

I didn’t know they could do that.

The Phil Who Loved Mike Gordon

phil mike gordon bass 2.jpg

This is wrong. I never got much past Ramones and Cheap Trick covers on the bass, but I know that this is not how it goes.

OR

Their forearm veins touched, and there was a glance that lasted too long. And then they belonged to each other, and to the moment, and Jay Blakesberg took many pictures.

OR

“Show me your war face! GRAAAAAH!”

“Helloooooo.”

“You have to get into it, Michael.”

“HIIIIIIIIiiiiii.

“You gonna take this seriously?”

“Nice to meeeeeeeet you.”

“Robby!”

OR

CELL PHONE NOI

“Don’t answer that, Michael: it’s Taylor Swift and she’s crazy.”

“She called you, too?”

“Twice. I heard she talked to Page.”

“Made him cry, yeah.”

“Page cries a lot, though.”

“We’ve gotten used to it.”

Bass Phishing

phil mike gordon txr onstage

It is the year 2018. Due to death, disease, acrimonious lawsuits, prison sentences, and foreign prison sentences, there are only enough musicians to form one classic rock band. It makes festival season a lot simpler, but some people feel the whole experience is lacking. Also it’s all bass players.

OR

This is from today at Phil’s (remember Phil?) restaurant; it was called the Big Bass Bash, and I swear to you that I thought the theme was fish. I saw another photo of just Mike, and I still didn’t figure out that the “a” was long.”

OR

If you’re in a jam band, and you try to play a normal four-string bass like a human being, then men from the jam band union come and break your shoulders.

OR

“Looooooove you.”

“Thank you, Mike.”

“Looooooove you.”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Looooooove you.”

“Play your bass, young man.”

“Loooooove–”

“Robby!”

OR

Heisenberg on drums.

OR

Phil is wearing his summer flannel.

OR

“How’s the tour going?”

“Great, Phil. Having so much fun. Making great music.”

“Big crowds?”

“Yeah, but they hate us.”

“Huh.”

“Phantasy Tour is crowdfunding hitmen.”

“I have no idea what that is, but I do like starting words that begin with ‘F’ with ‘Ph.’ You guys kinda stole that from me. Hitmen?”

“Yeah. To come and murder us for playing the songs wrong, or in the wrong order, or not long enough, or too long. Something.”

“Internet’s full of lunatics and obsessives.”

“There’s a motion to have Page impeached.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I hoped you knew.”

OR

The longer I look at this picture, the harder I laugh.

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