Thoughts On The Dead

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

Category: Uncategorized (page 4 of 772)

Show, Festival

Go read this. The great Jesse Jarnow writes (wonderfully, as usual) about the Bobby & Phil shows from Radio City.

Read this, too. It’s by the brilliant Corinne Fitzpatrick, and it’s about medicine and money.

Or, don’t. I’m not in charge around here.

Old Tricks

“Hey, tell Big Red over there to slow down.”

“I keep telling him, Weir. He won’t listen.”

“Gingers can be obstinate.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Is Radio City an actual place?”


“Because, uh, I’m picturing a universe like in the children’s film Cars.”

“But instead of cars being alive, it’s radios?”

“Yeah. And the fancy systems are racist against the transistors. And, uh, the senior citizens are all AM car radios with the push-button.”

“And then video comes and kills everybody.”

“There you go, there you go.”

“Hey, how much did you tell Treyvon we were gonna pay him?”

“Oh, I didn’t. I thought you were having that conversation with him.”



“So, no one has discussed him getting paid?”

“Looks it.”

“Let’s keep it that way.”

“Good idea, yeah. We should give him cab fare, though.”

“Oh, sure. And I got a shitload of coupons for the restaurant.”

“That’s perfect.”

“I think so.”

Phamily Band

“Having a much better time playing with you than last go-round, Treyvon.”

“Yeah, we’re kicking ass.”

“It’s not that. It’s because the drummers aren’t here.”

“You guys do not get along.”

“Too old to deal with their bullshit any more. Neither of ’em ever grew up. I heard they went on several panty raids this last tour.”

“I think panty raids are felonies now.”

“They were always felonies! Both of them are felons!”

“I getcha.”

“Your drummer’s an idiot, isn’t he? Imagine two of the little cross-dressing hobbits running around.”

“I don’t want to.”

“So we understand each other.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good man. Now let’s play faster and annoy Weir.”


What In The World Did I Do?

In honor of Patsy Cline, who died this day 55 years ago, and everybody’s new best friend, Sam Nunberg.

Dead & Company 2049

“I’d like you to meet my secret, Mexican family.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. None of these people are secret or Mexican. These people are whiter than an envelope factory.

“You’re right. This is Team Mayer.”

You should make some trades. I think this team needs a rebuilding year.

“Nah. We’re a finely-tuned machine. All the way on the right there is Stubby Maybelline. He’s my personal croupier.”

Why do you have a personal croupier?

“Never know when the bones are gonna call.”


“Next to him is the Human Post-It.”

I don’t get it.

“Those aren’t tattoos; they’re, like, notes I wrote to myself. ‘Pick up milk, bang Demi Lovato’ that sort of thing. Sometimes, I just doodle on him while I’m on the phone.”

Doesn’t seem cost-efficient.

“And next to him, of course, is Pete Ulrich.”

Who’s that?

“Skeet’s younger, far less talented brother.”


“Jumpsuit Jean, the Jumpsuit Queen.”

Obviously. And her purpose is?


Right. What about the beardo?

“That’s Not Your Father’s Gorton’s Fisherman.”

I’ll say.

“No, that’s his name. Not Your Father’s Gorton’s Fisherman. Gorton’s did a rebrand of their corporate logo and they’re paying me a million bucks to cross-promote it.”

Nice work if you can get it.

“Plus a  truckful of fishsticks. You know the saying, ‘They’ll back the Brinks truck up to your door?’ Well, they did, but the truck was full of breaded cod or whatever the fuck it is.”

I’m going to go back to ignoring you until the next time you’re a Grateful Dead again.

“Cool. See you Friday in Boston.”


Los Weirs

“I’d like you to meet my secret, Mexican family.”

No, Bobby.

“Please, uh, don’t tell my regular, American family.”

You are not related to these people.

“This lady here is my wife, Phlebitis.”

Are you all right?

“All the way on my right, which would be your left, is my brother-in-law Luis Agarraculo.”

Stop this.

“On the other side of the aisle is, well, we don’t exactly know. He kinda came with the house. There’s some sort of feudalism situation going on down here.”

There isn’t.

“And the remaining two are our strapping young sons, Primero and Segundo.”


“Primero is older.”

I got that. Bobby, none of what you’re saying is true. These people are not your family.

“Es this verdad, Papi?”

“Tell him that we are familia, Papi!”

“Settle down, boys. You, uh, you better go. You’ve riled them up.”

This whole site gets dumber every day.


Enthusiasts, I was wrong–wrong as hell–about the Bobby & Phil Duo shows. I thought they would be goofy (they are, but in a good way), and sloppy (they are, but in a comforting way), and most of all I thought they would be boring.

I was not prepared for the jams, Enthusiasts. This is last night’s second set with Trim Arugula, and you should watch it.

The Music Never Stoppermosted

Why are you here?

“Picking out my Oscar outfit.”

You’re going to the Oscars?

“I’m dating Jennifer Lawrence.”

She seems awful.

“She is. Big crack smoker.”

Crack? Wow, retro.

“Yeah, her aesthetic is ‘Revere, Massachusetts, in 1992.’ She screams the N-word a lot.”

Why are you with her?

“Star’s a star.”

You’re despicable.

Oh, fine: talk about your clothes.

“THANK you! You’re just rude sometimes. As you can see, I’ve acquired a new toppermost. It’s called Sexual Diabetes.”

That’s a terrible name.

“It sounds better in the original Japanese.”

Can toppermosts be made anywhere other than Japan?

“Kinda. You could create a garment that wasn’t quite a robe, and not exactly a kimono, but definitely not a coat in any foreign land, but it’s gotta be from Japan to be called a toppermost. It’s like Champagne and sparkling wine.”

Sure. Did you pick this out yourself?

“Oh, absolutely. No toppermost-sei has an internet connection or anything. Gotta go to the source. I just got back. Could not sleep the entire time I was there. Things started getting weird. Then, Bill Murray seduced me obliquely.”

That’s the plot to Lost in Translation.

“Let me twirl for you.”

Oh, don’t.

“I’m gonna.”


“Did you see that?”


“The way the fabric blooms out like an enemy’s blood in the river of a fresh dawn?”


“Again: sounds better in Japanese.”

You’re like a fashion weaboo. Stop being obsessed with Japan. It’s the creepiest country to be obsessed with.

“Dude, Germany.”

Yup, you’re right. Sorry. Japan is the second creepiest country to be obsessed with. Why are the calves on your pants so tight?

“In case I have to kick something.”

That’s it.




“Did you just walk out of the room?”

“Excuse me? Hey!”

“Well, how the fuck do I get out of here?”

Just Like Radio City

“It just doesn’t work, Weir.”

“It’s a great backdrop.”

“You tacked up your old Farrah Fawcett poster.”

“Right. Great stuff. It was, uh, cold that day.”

“It’s coming down. This is a swanky place, Bob. We gotta go upscale.”

“I could draw a bowtie on her.”

“No poster.”

“Okee-doke. You’re right, this is classy in here. Much better than the Mattress Firm Amphitheater.”

“Jesus, is that what those sheds are called nowadays?”

“You got the cash, they’ll put your name on the building.”

“I miss the old days. The venues had better names.”

“Like the Miami Jai-Alai Fronton?”

“Okay, not that one.”

“Onondaga War Memorial Auditorium?”

“Ugh, not that one, either.”

“The Iowa State Fair?”

“Just forget I said anything.”


Pop Star

Can I be honest with you, long-time monitor guy Harry Popick?


Nice tush.

“Don’t be honest with me.”

You put the c in thicc.

“Which one?”


“Stop talking to me.”

It’s commanding, almost arrogant. I feel like your buttocks are judging me.

“They’re not. Go away.”

My anaconda does indeed want some.

“Be like this somewhere else.”

You should be flattered.

“Is anyone ever flattered when you do this to them?”


“There you go.”


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