I won’t be bound by reason, nor shackled by logic. When you think I’m going to zig, I collapse in a heap crying, then hie away to dark and obscure corners of the interweb to play Smackytush. (It’s a game I don’t want to talk about, CAPTAIN BRINGDOWN.) So today, when Brent is on my mind, I should link to a spectacular and high-energy Brent show, maybe a Fall from ’87 or ’89.

But people who make assumptions have gumption making asses out of umps. Umps don’t need help with that; they do it quite well on their own. How is it possible that Baseball doesn’t have instant replay yet? It’s 2009 and–

What? It’s…are you kidding? It’s 2013.

–we’re just supposed to ACCEPT human error when there are cameras available?

2013, you say?

Yes. Coming up on August, 2013.


Bring me the anal pear.

Getting back to business…

The pear was for me; it brings me an exquisite pleasure. I was actually enjoying the crazy make-em-ups.

So, instead of a Brent we have a double-dose of Not-Brent: Keith and Pig from 1/2/72 at Winterland.

HOLY GOD, Good Lovin, ladies and other ladies wearing trousers! Listen to 9:00 in, the ECSTATIC peak they hit transitioning into the most dramatic tone settable while someone’s singing about a pony.

AND THEN LISTEN TO 12:15! Y’know what: just listen to the whole show. Hall of Fame.

Let’s think about them all today: Brent and Keith, Vince and Pig. Garcia, too. They’re gone. The shows can’t bring them back, but it’s all we’ve got.