Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: bob weir (page 3 of 159)

And His Sidekick, Colonel Waitlist

This, Younger Enthusiasts, is what was called General Admission. Clubs and small theaters without seats still use it, and fly-by-night festivals, but promoters who didn’t buy their insurance from Antoine’s House of Chicken and Indemnity try to break the crowd into smaller pieces now. Three or four paddocks on either side going back. This keeps your audience safe. (Or controlled, however you want to think of it.) Otherwise, the audience surges towards the stage when the band starts and doesn’t stop until everybody’s favorite fun game, Take A Step Back.

That’s how shitty free-for-all GA was: it went wrong so often that a song (kinda) was named after it. There are famous Take A Step Backs, for fuck’s sake. The band couldn’t have enjoyed doing that, either. How can you choogle when you’re watching a 15-year-old in a tube top get crushed against a police barrier? It also killed people, making GA the equivalent of Communism: an idea so bad it’s lethal. Eleven kids at a Who concert in ’79, three at an AC/DC show in Utah in ’91, two at Donnington during Guns n’ Roses’ set.

Younger Enthusiasts will also notice that there are no Superluxe Esteemed Guest Praetor’s Suite boxes upfront.

Keen-eyed Enthusiasts will note the ultra-rare sight of Phil playing a normal bass guitar.

Keener-eyed Enthusiasts will spot the chick in the black tank top standing next to the tall guy and know that Bobby was making eyes at her the whole set.

All Enthusiasts will notice the loose wires all over the goddamned stage and know who was responsible.

Otherwise Known As The Chickenshit Show

Jeff Chimenti looks like a beloved high school music teacher who’s also a member in good standing of his local BDSM community.

OR

Billy and Oteil have both noticed the meatball the intern is holding aloft. This will not end well; Billy loves meatballs, and interns. Oteil also enjoys meatballs, but no one’s getting tackled for one. Billy’s gonna tackle the intern.

OR

All new on CBS this season: Friends. Due to legal incompetence on the part of Warner Brothers, the rights to remake Friends became available, so CBS cast these six and they perform the episodes line-for-line. It’s fucking terrible. (Bobby used to be a Joey, but now he’s a Phoebe. Mickey is Ross. Josh banged Rachel.)

OR

Can Mickey still fit the merch he’s yoinked these past few tours into a storage space, or does he need a warehouse?

OR

ATTENTION PLEASE: Billy has new sneakers.

OR

I can’t see his feet. Is Oteil in his goddamned flippity-flops? Bobby had the sense of decorum to put on his formal socks, but I think Oteil is going full flop. You are not running into a Sarasota Publix in for a chicken tender sub and a sweet tea, Oteil. At least Bobby’s sandals are made of leather.

Pss pss pss.

I am being informed that there are such a thing as vegan sandals, and even if Bobby didn’t care, he would most likely wear them just so not to get protested by Lilian Monster.

OR

What is that?

“My toppermost?”

Your kimono.

“No, no. It’s a Japanese-influenced men’s toppermost designed by Givenchy in associated with streetFUVK”

There’s no such thing as a toppermost.

“You only know about poor people clothes. We have access to shit you’ve never heard of.”

Uh-huh.

“This is what I like to call ‘Fun John.’ Real playful, just mixing and matching and, you know, trying to display my own style. I’m always thinking ‘What is my aesthetic?'”

What is your aesthetic?

“Guy who spent an hour deciding what to wear.”

You nailed it. What is that garment made of?

“Ultrasilk.”

Is that like ultrasuede? A synthetic?

“No, it’s real silk, but much fancier. The worms are all wearing little tuxedos–get this–made from the silk that they themselves produced. It’s self-sufficiency in action.”

Is it expensive?

“Oh my God, yes.”

Ballpark it for me.

“Where are we?”

What?

“I wanna know how far my dollar goes. We could buy a town in most countries for what this thing cost.”

We’re in America.

“You could start your own business.”

Pre-built space or custom structure?

“The second thing.”

Goddammit, Josh Meyers.

“Don’t call me that. Don’t worry about how I spend my money.”

I’m not worried. I’m judgmental.

“Kiss my ass. What should I do with my money?”

Take as much of it as you need for yourself and give the rest to the poor.

“I will not.”

Well, there you go.

“And of course you’d say to give my money to the poor. You’re the poor.”

I’m just repeating the words of some Jewish guy I met once.

“You would buy just as much stupid bullshit as me if you had a nickel to your name. Easy to make a decision for someone else when you’ll never face it.”

You’re right. Absolutely right. Tell you what: you give me all your money. Then you’ll see that I would live up to my words and distribute it to the needy.

“This is a trick.”

It is.

“You wouldn’t give the money away.”

I would.

“I don’t believe you.”

If you’re feeling froggy, leap.

“What if I gave you a little bit of money and saw if you gave that away? Like, as a test.”

No. I will keep and squander any amount of money less than all. All or nothing. Maximum Christ, baby.

“I’m gonna pass.”

“I like that toppermost, boy.”

“Them other white boys look like homeless lumberjacks or some shit. Hats on indoors. They lucky I got a cocktail.”

“Oh, wow, Mr. Davis. Hi. My name is John Mayer.”

“I don’t fucking care.”

“I am such an enormous fan of your music. I have every one of your albums, every single one. You’re one of the most important men in musical history. In American history! It’s just such an honor. Wow.”

“In the key of E flat, what does the C minor resolve to?”

“G minor.”

“You see this medal?”

“I do.”

“You holding?”

“We are. Collectively.”

“Gather that shit up. Those motherfuckers look smelly.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Nice. Respectful. Hey, motherfucker.”

“Me?”

“The other motherfucker.”

Me?

“Yeah. Why didn’t you introduce me to this white boy before? I like this young man.”

Awwwwww. I wanted you to hate him.

“I’m fucking unpredictable.”

Aw.

The Great Wig In The Sky

Stop looking at Mickey, Jeff Chimenti.

“I can’t. His doohickeys are vibrating.”

Did he explain himself before the performance?

“Kinda. He said, ‘New Brent–‘”

He still calling you that?

“–I’m tired of being a Vulcan. I’m an Andorran now.”

Is that a Space Track reference?

“Maybe. I’m not a nerd.”

Good for you. Stop looking at him.

“He’s just so fascinating.”

In his own way.

iPado, iPadas, iPadat, iPadamus, iPadatis, iPadant

You’re more iPad than man now, Bobby.

“Technology is just incredible. Couldn’t live without these suckers.”

What do they do?

“One on the left is for social media.”

Twitter?

“Pinterest.”

Sure.

“And, uh, the one on the right is for gaming.”

Oh, no.

“Yeah, I’m a gamer now.”

Don’t be a gamer, Bobby. Be anything but a gamer.

“Too late. All in. I’ve, uh sent a number of death threats to Nintendo this morning.”

Why?

“I told you: I’m a gamer now.”

Awesome. How do you feel about not being named 2017’s Sexiest Man Alive?

“Better than not being named 2017’s Sexiest Dead Guy.”

I admire your sanguine outlook.

“Uh-huh. I never quite got a handle on what that word means.”

Me, either. I was hoping you wouldn’t call attention to it.

“Ah.”

They Want To Lead The Glamorous Life

Precarious?

“Yo.”

Do I want to know what’s in the sack?

“No.”

Is it–

“Not a human.”

–a human? Okay.

“Just let this one go, boss.”

It’s gonna be tough.

“Suck it up.”

Mickey’s raccoons?

“Let it go.”

Fine.

Bobby, Bird

Is that directed at the rest of the band because of the Cumberland?

“Little bit. You know, uh, usually the train wreck comes in the middle of a song. I haven’t seen anything start that poorly since the Obamacare rollout.”

Topical. Nice.

“I read the papers.”

Bobby?

“Uh-huh?”

How come you’re flipping off your band three nights ago for something that happened tonight?

“Are you familiar with the concept of semi-fictionality?”

Hey, don’t pull that shit on me, man.

“You asked for it.”

I did, yeah.

Picture A Bright White Ball Just Spinning, Spinning Free

Bobby?

“I sensed the camera.”

And now you’re glaring into it.

“Bobby Picture Pose #1.”

It’s a classic. You’ve got, like, a Spidey-Sense.

“I smell them with my mind’s nose.”

I’m gonna pretend like that wasn’t an insane thing to say and move on. Great show last night, buddy.

“Didn’t fall apart too bad.”

Bobby, one question.

“About five inches long and seven inches around.”

I’m not asking about Billy’s dick.

“Ah.”

Who’s idea was it to play Fire on the Mountain at the benefit for people who lost their homes to fires on mountains?

“Three guesses.”

Is his dick five inches long and seven inches around.

“Not as dumb as you look.”

That would be almost impossible.

“Yeah, uh, Billy thought it would be funny.”

It was a little funny.

“Yeah, a little.”

Just Your Neighborhood Rock Star And His Saturday Night Girl

“Hold me close, Natasha Monster.”

“Stop it.”

“Count the headlights on the highway.”

“Stop it.”

Bobby, Bonds

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“You see the size of this sumbitch?”

Barry Bonds is a big guy.

“I’ve, uh, played venues smaller than his skull.”

Enormous fellow.

“Jeff, you seeing this?”

“I am, Bob. This fucker’s gigantic.”

“Oh, hey. I, uh, didn’t ask. How’s that Broadway musical going?’

“It went.”

“That quick?”

“Yup.”

“Check clear?”

“It did.”

“All right, then.”

Everybody Say “Potato Salad!”

Bobby, confused by the sight of a camera that wasn’t aimed at him, sulked until the show.

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