There was a good two or three years in the beginning where Pig–God bless him–looked like a swamp monster.
Check out the JFK-cut on the square on the right. That’s a hairdo that’ll stand up to Communism.
Until rather recently, you were allowed to smoke around any machine, no matter how complicated and expensive and fragile.
Thick air, man.
If you just ask Bobby–
“Get stuffed, man.”
–he’ll help you with your hair.
You look like the dude from Coheed & Cambria.
“Oh, they’re great. I caught their show last week.”
Please stop using–
–the Time Sheath to check out bands from the future.
“You heard my answer, man.”
Oh, hey. Bobby. Sorry. In my defense, you looked like a girl until ’72 or so.
“I’d argue with that, but it worked for me.”
What is this? ’67?
“Well, I don’t have my beard so it could be ’67. Or maybe 2002.”
Is Garcia alive?
LOOKING FOR GARCIA NOISE
“Yeah, there he is.”
I guess it’s not 2002.
“Don’t be so quick. Twin Towers standing?”
The Twin Towers would not have been standing in either 2002 or 1967.
“Oh, no. Did the terrorists–”
The terrorists didn’t get hold of a Time Sheath.
“–get hold of…okay, good. I was worried.”
I mean, Miles Davis has one but he’s not technically a terrorist.
“Lemme, uh, ask you a question, okay?”
“You got a point to this post or are we just bantering pointlessly?”
The second thing.
Go steal Billy’s hat.
What the fuck?
“The picket fence?”
The picket fence.
“40,000 volts running through it.”
40,000? Isn’t that a bit of overkill?
“Hey, man. I don’t work for the fuckin’ Eagles.”
I was gonna do a whole thing with Jenkins; I was even gonna call this a Time Flippity-Flop.
But I think it’s beautiful as it is.
(Who posted this in the Comment Section, and where’s it from?)
This is 6/18/67 at the Monterey Fairgrounds. I don’t know if I’ve listened to it; I will now, though. This show was the Monterey Pop Festival, legendary for its unlegendariness (at least as far as the Dead goes). The Boys were scheduled in between The Who (beginning a long inter-band relationship) and Jimi Hendrix (beginning his and Bobby’s best friendship); both acts put on high-volume shows punctuated by instrument destruction, arson, and explosives. In the face of such showmanship, the Dead countered by standing there and playing Viola Lee for 14 minutes.
They also refused to be filmed for the movie, which gives them a perfect record for avoiding being in iconic Rock Films: Monterey Pop, Woodstock, Gimme Shelter. Dead missed ’em all by thaaaat much.
Long Strange Trip may be hogging the spotlight this year, but it’s not the first film the Grateful Dead appeared in. That would be Petulia from 1967, which–disappointingly–is not the Petulia Clark story.
Richard Lester, the guy who directed the Beatles’ movies, did this one; it’s about George C. Scott beating Julie Christie or something. He also takes some time to look appalled by the young people, and order pressed duck. (That’s what the waiter’s doing at the end of the clip. “Pressed duck” is not a euphemism: they put the whole bird in there and squeeze it until it’s yummy.)
“Jer, would you say that we–you know, as a group–enjoy a party?”
“It’s a party every day around here, Bob.”
“Well: some days more than others, right?”
“Sure, sure. And, uh, Jer: we play for a pretty long time, huh?”
“Like: we rock and roll, you know, all night?”
“Yeah, I guess. What’s going on, man?”
“Bobert Herbert Walker Weir, you take that shit off your face.”
“Aww! C’mon, Garcia!”
“Right now, mister.”
“What was that?”
“That’s right, nothing. Take it off.”
“I was gonna–”
“–do your makeup, too. Aw.”
And sometimes you find a picture you’ve never seen before. (I feel like I should have seen this photo already–I’ve seen the rest of the photo shoot–but it’s new to me. Am I just clueless?)
PLUS over at Terrapin Crossroads, Phil and his Phriends are taking the stage and you can listen in thank to Radio Busterdog.