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

Tag: throwing stones

86 The 85

But feel free to join me in the 85-est show that ever stomped the plains. Everything’s either too fast, too slow, or just plain wobbly; the transition between Gimme Some Lovin’>Stella Blue is the definition of “not even trying;” there is a Gimme Some Lovin’>Stella Blue.

For the entire show, the drummers are almost, but not quite, playing together. They also fuck up the ending to Samson so badly that Garcia almost, but not quite, wakes up. Also, Billy spends the first five minutes straight of Drums making bloopy noises on his talking drum.

There’s nothing enviable about this show, either: they’re in Philadelphia in November (which is always a rawboned and windy month) at the Community War Memorial Auditorium (which doesn’t even make internal sense.)

But Bobby loses his shit entertainingly on Throwin’ Stones, and he’s backed up solidly by Brent’s tinkly Fender Rhodes and there are no scarves of any sort, so…

Not all that good at all: just exactly perfect. 11/7/85 in Philly.

Frost: The Show, Man

Digressions and distractions, they buzz around me and lick me like the patch of carpet that Keith thought “smelled like dope.” I intended–honestly, with no agenda–to make a full and sweeping, perhaps even academic overview of the Dead’s various visits to Chicago. It was to be multi-paragraphed and sourced and impartial: it was gonna be my Lost Live Dead: I was gonna hit the big time, Pop!

And barely 36 hours (or maybe three days–I have been binging on Storage Wars and time and space seem to have, I don’t know, maybe switched places a little bit?) after undertaking this feat of literary endurance that would make Samuel Johnson soil his trousers, I get sidetracked.

By the way, Samuel Johnson soiled his trousers a lot. More than you would accept in most men, but fuck it–it was Samuel Johnson: if you write a dictionary all by yourself, you get to shit yourself. The fucked-up thing was that every time it happened (and remember: it happened quite a bit), he would–even before attending to his pressing hygienic needs–white-knuckle his walking stick and start whaling the daylights out of Boswell, who hadn’t done anything: fucking Johnson was the one who made the doody in his pants, HE should be the one getting hit! But, no: Johnson would sock the poor fucker, like, six or seven times, hard, and start screeching, “Not for the book!” SHWAKATHOOM “Not for the book!” HAGGADAH “Not for the book!”…

Stop it. Stop it now. You are a mutant who will never know love and you need to stop it and get back to the point.

Fine.

So: I’m fully immersed in The Chicago Project. I was gonna put it on Kickstarter just as soon as I figure out what that means. And then a certain Mr. Completely (yes, Enthusiasts, the same Siren who lured me onto the rocks of Fucking Jerry Band for a while) mentions a bunch of ’80’s shows on Reddit and everything’s gone pear-shaped.

So check out this exquisite ’82 from Frost Amphitheater: not the more famous 10/10, but the day before. Brent is playing scads of piano–real piano, not the Fender–in this one and it just might be the show to fully convince me of his Motherfucker status. He’s clearly listening to Garcia and is fast and responsive and dynamic: everything Keith wasn’t at the end. PLUS, early Touch and Throwing Stones AND a rare On The Road Again! Listen to this, or I’m getting the Time Sheath, loading Samuel Johnson up with Mexican food, and coming to your house.

Protested Development

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xRNvezElbIg]

“Video shoot’s tomorrow, guys! I’m packing the truck: we got the post-apocalyptic trenchcoats and awful hats…who’s got the jarringly out-of-place Holocaust footage? Yeah, of course it’ll work–the kids today are really into grainy, black and white clips of soul-deadening war atrocities.

“Well, obviously, with Bobby’s face superimposed. What do you think we bought the Video Toaster for?”

Just Like Jack & Jill

The Dead wrote about 135 songs, and did probably half again as many covers, except that doesn’t tell the whole story. Mainly because some songs, they wrote three or four times.

Jack-A-Roe and Peggy-O are–thematically–the same song: doomed love, hyphens, Game of Thrones vibe. Ramble On Rose and  Tennessee Jed are musically the same song, while Ramble On Rose and U.S. Blues are lyrically the same song. Eyes of the World and Help on the Way could be mistaken for each other in a dark alley.

The Dead are lucky that they premiered Iko, Samson, Throwing Stones,and Women are Smarter after their mind-blowing Europe ’72 warm-up show at the Brooklyn Academy of Music (Dick’s Pick 30). Otherwise, jamming with Mr. Diddley might have been a little more awkward. (And if you haven’t checked out this offering, you’re just a sillypants: the first disc* alone is worth the price of admission, featuring the five song Bo Diddley jam, a version of Are You Lonely For Me, Baby that defines “ragged but right,” and the only GD performance of How Sweet It Is**–which is odd, because they really rock the hell out of it, but perhaps the three chord tune was a bit boring for a certain bass player.)

To Lay Me Down, Must Have Been the Roses, and Ship of Fools are identical cousins; Black-Throated Wind and Looks Like Rain a bit more distantly related, but still clearly available to donate organs to one another. (Don’t tell Phil.) Chinatown Shuffle and U.S. Blues aren’t fooling anyone.

Now, don’t take this as any sort of chastisement, of course. Hell, a lot of really, really popular bands ripped themselves off: for example, AC/DC has only written, like, three songs in their entire career, which puts them two ahead of the Ramones.

*I hadn’t listened all the way through that first amazing disc when I wrote this, but you MUST check out the Smokestack Lightning, which is usually kind of a drag, but cooks right here PLUS the added fun of–about 8 minutes in or so–hearing Bobby try again and again to drag the rest of them into Truckin’, but the rest of them are simply not having it.

**I mistakenly thought that Bobby and Garcia played How Sweet It Is on Letterman, but it was actually Second That Emotion, because, in keeping with the theme of the post, they are also pretty much the same song. Check it out, anyway: Garcia with Tiger, Bobby with Pepto Pink, and the MONSTROUS Will Lee holding down the bass and backup vocals.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BOeDEVyUBek&w=420&h=315]