Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: bob weir (page 1 of 147)

Nudielicious

Here’s another shot of Garcia’s Nudie Suit from behind; the outfit maintains the usual Dead motifs: skulls and roses and bullshit. Nothing says Grateful Dead like skulls and roses and bullshit.

Fuck it, might as well empty out the Nudie Suit library in one easy-to-find place. Here’s Bobby:

Is that a chicken? I think that’s a chicken. Here’s another of Bobby:

The son of a bitch just didn’t have a bad angle.

Say “Cheese.”

“Cheese!”

You look spiffy.

“Flash, baby.”

Awesome. This is Phil:

But you already knew that. (Check out the cowboy boots.)

This is a better shot of the weirdo Strat from late ’72:

This is 12/12, and he also played Numbers (I just named the guitar) on 11/22/72 at the Municipal Auditorium in Austin. We know this from this picture…

and this article.

I gotta be honest with you, Enthusiasts: this research horseshit is not for me. I’m exhausted. The president’s right: facts are for suckers.

And we finish up with a shot featuring both the Nudie Suit and the weird guitar. I brought all the threads together.

And you without a Pulitzer.

I know, right?

Live Nudies

The Nudie Suit experiment has never been properly explained; this sounds like a job for Lost Live Dead. There’s not many pics of The Boys in their suits, and they only wore them for a few shows: one (or more) of the Winterland run in December ’72, and then again at New Year’s. The outfits came out again 2/19/73 in Chicago, and then made their final appearance on 3/19/73 at Nassau Coliseum. (And not even for the whole show: everyone changed during set break.)

Wait, you’re saying. Those sound suspiciously like facts, TotD. You don’t traffic in fact and research.

Stop talking, I’d say, or I’ll throw myself out the window and you’ll never find out how the Little Aleppo story ends.

Wow, you’d reply. That got dark real fast.

And then I’d start crying. Are you happy? Is that what you wanted?

Stop this.

They did it. It’s all their fault.

Who is “they?”

Them.

Just stop it.

Fine. The dates from Winterland and Chicago may be wrong–I’m just going on Archive comments–but the Nassau show is a confirmed event. There is, Enthusiasts, evidence.

Look:

Bobby says in an interview that Garcia had his first, in fact had his before April of ’72 because he brought it to Europe with him (even though he didn’t have the balls to wear it onstage.) After March of ’73, though, they were gone forever. Phil still has his…

…and it still fits. (Phil went a little low-key with his, which I disagree with. What’s the point of a Nudie Suit if it can’t be seen from space?)

Who has Garcia’s? Gotta be worth something, more if it hasn’t been laundered.

But let me start at the beginning: 1902 was a terrible time to be born Jewish in Kiev. There’s never been a good time, but 1902 was worse than usual.

“Izzy?”

“Yes, Schmuley?”

“We should go somewhere where there aren’t Cossacks.”

“What is it with those guys?”

“They just seem to like hitting us with sticks.”

“And kicking.”

“Kicking, too. Let’s go to America.”

“You mean the Land of the Free, a country built on immigration that would never turn away needy and desperate refugees?”

“No, America.”

“Oh, okay. At least there’ll be jobs.”

“Sure.”

And so on.

One of these newly-arrived Jews was a young man named Nuta Kotlyarenko, who renamed himself Nudie Cohn and became a tailor, first in Minnesota where he met his wife Bobbie; they opened a shop in New York selling underwear to showgirls, and then moved to Los Angeles in the 40’s to make Western Wear. Spangles and frills and themes, and the last one is the most important: the key to the Nudie Suit is the theme. Anyone can slap some rhinestones onto a jacket, but a Nudie has a raison d’etre.

Look at this bullshit:

That’s some down-home bullshit right there.

That’s Porter Wagoner (right), and he was the first Country star to start wearing Nudie Suits; in fact, Nudie gave him his first suit for free, thinking it would be good promotion. It was. Soon, every male Country star had to have a Nudie Suit.

Hank Williams had one:

The notes represented his love of music.

Gram Parsons had one, too:

The drugs represent his love of drugs.

Every artist has a masterpiece, and Nudie Cohn was certainly an artist. His greatest suit of all time may have been both his simplest and his flashiest. You’ve seen it before once or twice:

“AH’M BACK!”

No, you’re not. Shh.

Anyway, Nudie Cohn died in 1984, but you can still get “Nudie Suits;” they make periodic comebacks adorning roots-rockers or alt-country acts. (You really can’t wear a Nudie Suit anywhere other than the stage. If you walk into a Taco Bell dressed like this, you will get gorditas thrown at you.)

Circling back to the Dead (this is about the Grateful Dead, remember), we still have many questions. Why would Garcia have had one in the first place? A Nudie Suit wasn’t an impulse purchase, nor could it have been a gift: they were hand-made, so you have to visit Nudie for measurement and fittings, and very expensive. And recall that Garcia got his before everyone else did, so it wasn’t a group decision. Garcia–in an entirely out-of-character move–bought himself a Nudie Suit out of nowhere? None of this makes sense. Bobby was the one who thought he was a cowboy. Someone explain this to me.

Like I said, the rest of the band thought it was a spiffy idea, so they followed Garcia down to the San Fernando Valley of Los Angeles, where Nudie’s of Hollywood was located, and fancied themselves right up. Bobby and Billy looked like this:

“I was gonna get skank on the legs, but I settled for pot.”

Quiet. This is not a dialogue post.

“Ah, suck my nuts.”

Great.

Even Keith had one, though there’s just this one black-and-white photo of him:

Poor Keith. He doesn’t want to be in a Nudie Suit. He knows he’s not pulling it off. Aw.

Much like the Farewell Shoes, Mrs. Donna Jean was not included. She did, however, wear a very fetching red number when the rest of the band payed dress-up. She looked like this:

Another alternate reality created, another unwritten future. What if they hadn’t learned to write songs? What if they buckled down and rehearsed and continued being the band they were in ’77? What if Brent didn’t die? And: What if they gave a shit about what they looked like?

Alas, it was not to be. The Nudie Suits were put in the closet, and the tee-shirts and jeans came out; in the 80’s, sweatpants and short shorts replaced the jeans. Never again would the Dead have “stage clothes.” But for a moment, they looked bitchin’.

At Last, He’s Enjoying the Ride

The glamorous life of a Rock Star.

“Gig’s a gig.”

What is this, a county fair?

“Festival.”

Which one?

“One of ’em.”

Sure. Actually, this is worse than a county fair.

“How so?”

County fair has animals. Local farm kids bring in their prize heifers and chickens and whatnot.

“And that’s desirable?”

I like looking at animals.

“Can’t really argue with that. But, uh, here’s one for the festival’s ‘pro’ column: there’s a chick on the ferris wheel that flashes me every time she goes by.”

You sure she’s not flashing Josh Kaufman?

“Yeah, positive.”

Me, too. Just asking. You gonna go on the ferris wheel later?

“Oh, no. Nuh-uh.”

Scared of heights?

“I’m actually scared of widths, but it’s not that.”

What is it?

“Here by myself. My wife–”

Natasha Monster.

“–Natasha Monster isn’t here. Can’t ride a ferris wheel without your girl.”

That’s very sweet, Bobby.

“I’m gonna go on the bumper cars without her, though.”

Well, duh.

That’s No Lady, That’s My Gaga

“You ever meet Lady Gogo?”

“Gaga, Bob.”

“Goo goo, Trot. Anyway, she’s a little bitty thing. Might be an elf.”

“I don’t think Lady Gaga’s an elf. She’s from New Jersey.”

“Ah, well, yeah. That’s where the elf community settled after the war. Mostly around Teaneck.”

“How about that.”

“But, you know, I don’t judge.”

“You’re not bigoted against elves?”

“Nope. Good folks. Now, pixies can go fuck ’emselves.”

“Bob, do you know the words to this song?”

“About as well as you know the chords.”

“Great.”

‘Cause The Bobby’s Got The Locomotive Under Control

Hey, Bobby. New guitar?

“It’s a D’Angelico.”

Nice.

“Real light. Easy on the shoulder.”

That’s good.

“Lemme ask you something.”

You want a banana?

“So bad.”

I’ll rustle one up.

“And maybe a grub or two.”

Gotcha.

We’re A Two-Gong Band

“How many cables do we need, Precarious?”

“All of them.”

“Gongs?”

“All of them.”

“Amplifiers?”

“Put everything we own on the stage.”

“Gotcha.”

OR

They must be playing one of their bibbledy-boppidy songs that Pigpen can’t understand, because look how sad he looks with that stupid tambourine.

Walk Along That Lonesome Trail

“Are you all right, Troy?”

“Yeah, Bob.”

“You’re hunching.”

“I’m going with the music. I’m really feeling it.”

“You gotta use the can? Shouldn’t hold it in.”

“I’m good.”

“Okay.”

“Is it your back? I got pills for that.”

“No, thank you.”

Brown-Eyed #Handsome Man

I don’t know how to respond to this.

“The guitar?’

Nope.

“Shirt?”

Yup.

“Well, I don’t know if you know this, but I’m the Bobby.”

I know that, Bobby.

“I’m the handsome one.”

You were and continue to be, yes.

“And, you know, the internet’s real big nowadays. So, uh, hashtag.”

Hashtag what?

“Hashtag handsome.”

Wait. Did John Mayer buy you that shirt?

“No.”

Okay.

“Josh Meyers did.”

Sure.

Together Again, Again

“Are you back in the band?”

“Just siting in, Bob.”

“The kid’s working out, but if you want in, then say the word.”

“I got plans this summer. We’re playing the Garden.”

“When?”

“This summer. We’re gonna start playing Memorial Day and end on Labor Day.”

“Wow. Do you wanna borrow Red Metal Stool?”

“I’d rather have a seat that wasn’t sentient.”

“It’s not optimal. He’s a bit of a whiner.”

“You could just buy a normal one, Bob.”

“Not the Grateful Dead way, Troy.”

“Sure. Hey, you wanna play a Lady Gaga song?”

“You bet.”

Once You Pop

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.

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