Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: David Lemieux (page 1 of 4)

David Lemieux: An Appreciation (Seriously)

Enthusiasts, we need to discuss David Lemieux. Come in to my office. Have a seat. Would you mind terribly if I masturbate?

Stop it.

Excuse me. Would you mind if I masturbate terribly?

I told you to stop it. How does one masturbate terribly?

If you end up with an eye infection.

I guess. Cease the creepiness and get to your point.

My point is this: motherfuckers don’t recognize. David Lemieuslix gives his all for you, every day of his life except weekends and holidays and vacations and he usually half-asses it on Wednesdays, and do you say “Thank you?” Have any of you traveled to his fishing shack to perform the traditional Canadian Dance of Gratitude? (It involves salmon and mockery of Winnipeg.) Have you remembered to smash that like button and subscribe to his YouTube channel?

No. You don’t. And you know what? He still works hard for you. The next time there’s a windstorm, he’s going to shoot another video for you. When you turn on your radio, he’ll be on it telling you about This Day in Grateful Dead History, unless you do not have satellite radio, in which case David will not be on it. And four times a year, plus two or three other times a year, he’ll be in your mailbox with the tastiest of jams. Kings and Pharaohs couldn’t get jams this tasty; the technology simply didn’t exist at the time.

Think of who could have been in charge of Official Releases. The band? The fucking band? We’d still be on Dick’s Picks 4 if the band were allowed any sort of say. Nurse-killing lunatic Richard Speck? I don’t even know if he’s a Deadhead. Marlee Matlin? This is entirely the wrong job for Marlee Matlin, talented as she is. The Siege of Stalingrad? No, that was a historical event; it would make a lousy archivist. Clearly, David Lemieux is the best man for the job.

I make this appreciation having listened to Dave’s Picks Vol 25 24, which is from the ’72 Berkeley Community Theater run. Three of the shows–8/21, 22, and 24–have circulated forever and are spectacular in every way but get overshadowed by the Veneta show later in the week. 8/25, however, has always had half the second set missing. But now it’s back. And it’s here to let you know that it can really shake ’em down.


Leave me alone. I’m being nice to someone.

You are. It’s weird. Are you going to ask him for money?

No. I was going to imply that I would accept money.

Wrap it up.

AND the RFK ’89 box that came out last week, which is–I believe but cannot be bothered to check–from the multi-tracks and sounds like God’s got his tongue in your ear; I might listen to it for a third time tonight.

To sum up: David Lemieutinyonthebounty is neck-and-neck with Jeff Chimenti in the “Best Thing to Happen to the Dead After There Wasn’t a Dead Anymore” category, and since Jeff Chimenti never likes any of my tweets, DL wins. Motherfuckers better recognize.

Stop saying that.

Make me.

Cold, Sweat

You look terrible.

“It’s fucking tough being a genius.”

Tell me about it.

“It’s that third set. Billy Eckstine taught me about that. You probably don’t even know who the fuck Billy Eckstine was, you uncultured fucking cracker. Goddamn, I’m tired of explaining shit to white people. Africans built the fucking pyramids while you dummies was getting eaten by bears and shit.”

I’m Jewish. We built the pyramids.

“The historicity of that claim is dubious at fucking best.”


“Billy Eckstine was clean, man. Motherfucker got his socks tailored. He was a pretty man, and all the black bitches loved him. The white bitches, too. When we’d go to Los Angeles, there would be Oriental bitches, and they would love him. We called him B. Taught me how to get the right dimple in my tie, how to sniff cocaine, proper way to slap a bitch. Motherfucker taught me everything.”

You were talking about a third set?

“Motherfucker, don’t do so much. Just lay the fuck back while I’m telling a story. No one’s reading this shit for you.”


“Truth fucking hurts. So, B used to talk about playing the third set. Go to the club at night and play two there. Then, after that, there’s that third set. Maybe you fucking. Maybe you getting high. Maybe you getting high and fucking. Whatever. Third set. Can’t play three sets every fucking night. Ain’t no one got the constitution for that.”

That’s pretty good advice. Did you take it?

“Fuck, no. I’m Miles fucking Davis. I do seven, eight sets a night if I fucking want.”

Sure. Aren’t you worried about burning yourself out?

“Nah. I’m a physical man. I take my exercise. Do all sorts of shit. Ride my horses, swim, lift weights.”

Yeah, we’ve seen.

“Always like trying new exercise shit. I’m into that.”

“Have you ever considered taking up hockey, Mr. Davis?”

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Hi, Mr. Davis. I’m David Lemieux.”

“Goddamn, you a white motherfucker.”

“Hockey is some of the best cardiovascular exercise you can get. It would increase your wind.”

“This is some sort of fucking white person trick. I ain’t getting out on that ice.”

“It’s no trick, Mr. Davis.”

“You ever see a black man play hockey before?”

“When you are or when I am? Because in 2017, several of the game’s most talented players–”


“Oh, no! American gun violence!”


“Get the fuck back here and let me shoot you, motherfucker!”


“Mr. Davis, can’t we–”



“I’m sorry, Mr. Davis. I love your music. Wish I didn’t have to.”

“Have to what?”




Dave, I think you killed Miles Davis.

“David. And, no, I can see him breathing.”

Got him right in the forehead.

“Yeah, but I was aiming for his dick.”

I won’t tell.

“Nice of you.”

Tie-Dye Tour

Hey, Dave.


Whatcha doing?

“Pointing upwards.”

You’re good at it.

“Can’t do down.”


“Nope. Up? I can point up at an Olympic level, but down? I end up whacking myself in my CN Tower half the time.”

CN Tower?

“That’s what Canadians call their dicks.'”

Should’ve figured that out on my own. What’s going on in the world of the Dead?

New box set coming out, very exciting. RFK ’89.”

Cool. Wait. It doesn’t seem to have a name.

“Yeah. We made the decision to stop randomly slapping snippets of lyrics onto the covers.”

Sounds like a time-saver.

“Yeah. It’s not like anyone calls the Cornell box Get Shown The Light.”

Is that what it’s called?


Tell us about some items in The Vault we don’t know about.

“Oh, sure. There’s a whole shelf of Bobby’s short shorts that suffered unfortunate blowouts in the middle of shows.”

Cool. Laundered?



“It smells like balls.”

I would imagine.

“But, like, a lot of balls. Not just two. Many balls. Oh, and I think there’s a pair of Garcia’s Zubaz in there, too.”


“They also smell like balls. Plus, there was an uncashed check for nine grand in the pocket.”

He did that. What else?

“The Bonsai of Cohesion.”

Excuse me?

“It’s one of those ‘you have to keep the plant alive or reality eats itself’ things.”

Oh, one of those things.

“A lot of Phil’s home movies.”


“A lot of Billy’s home-invasion movies.”

Not as neat.

“He’d sneak into people’s houses while they were sleeping and punch dick.”

How did the people take it?

“Not well. Not well at all.”

Was Billy naked?

“Surprisingly, no. Liked to wear costumes. Spooky ghost, Spider-Man, whatever.”

The man’s a menace. Anything else?

“Duffel bag full of raccoon skeletons.”


“Y’know how Mickey has a duffel bag full of furious raccoons?”


“Well, he bequeathed it to the archives but didn’t tell anyone. He just left the bag in the back, and it’s not a regular duffel. It’s, like, kevlar or something. Raccoons couldn’t get out.”

That’s horrible. Why have you kept it?

“History is history, eh?”

Good point.

Dropping In

You look familiar.

“Hi, I’m David Gans, host of the Grateful Dead Hour on SiriusXM’s GD Radio, and I’m here to tell you about my new album.”

Did…did you travel through time to plug your record?



“Gotta hustle in an expanding music market.”

True. Usually, people around here break the laws of temporality for much dumber reasons. Billy keeps using the Time Sheath to score–and I’m quoting–Etruscan puss.

“Well, I can see doing that once. You know, for the experience.”

He’s there all the time. They know him in Etrusca.

“I don’t think the Etruscans lived in Etrusca.”


“Can you pay attention? I literally traveled through time to tell the Enthusiasts about my album.”

In a Beetle, nonetheless.

“I bought it off an astronomer. Anyway, the record’s called Drop The Bone and it’s solo and full band stuff, originals and covers. Little bit of everything.”

Sounds good, but can we hear some of it?

“Funny you should ask that.”

You gonna hang around 2017?

“Fuck, no. It’s horrible here.”

Everything’s broken and covered in sadness, yeah.

“Hey, Young David Gans!”

Who was that?

“It’s me, Young Steve Silberman!”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Hey, Young Steve! What are you up to?”

“Being young, going to Dead shows. You?”

“Same! I love being young and going to Dead shows!”

“We should do that right now!”

“Is there a Dead show right now?”

“I have the Time Sheath, so: yes.”


Can you two take this somewhere–

“Hey, guys! I heard you were being young and going to Dead shows, eh?”

I know that accent.

“Hey, Dave!”

“David. Hey, Dave!”

“Hey, Dave!”

“David. Hey, Steve!”


“Was there a young person’s party?”


“You’re very rude.”

I like your Bar Mitzvah suit.

“Thank you.”

Amir And The North Visitor

“Why are we so happy?”

“We? I don’t know about ‘we.’ You look amused; I look happy as shit.”

“True. You look like a kid on Christmas morning.”

“More like Hanukah evening. But only the first one.”

“I thought you got gifts all eight nights.”

“First night is for the big toy. Second night is underwear and chocolate. Third night is a showing of Fiddler on the Roof. After that, everybody just kinda peters out.”

“We have something similar, y’know.”


“Canukah. Commemorates the time when our proud ancestors were snowed in and thought they only had enough poutine for one day.”

“But it lasted eight?”



“The exchange rate.”

“Sure. Dave?”


“How did you start archiving?”

“My room was neat as hell growing up.”

“Makes sense.”

“Right? I always knew where everything was, and that’s pretty much the core competency of the job.”

“Can’t be an archivist if you just leave everything in a big pile.”


“I can only imagine your sock drawer.”

“It’s been featured in several publications.”


“What about you, Amir? How did you get into directing?”

“Got my start with Roger Corman.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. Did a movie for him called Satan’s Attic. It was Roddy McDowell’s last picture and Andie McDowell’s first. Shot in in Baja for $1.2 million, and that’s including the motorcycle race and setting that broccoli farm on fire.”

“There was a scene with a flaming broccoli farm?”

“No, Roddy McDowell set the fire while he was drunk. We had to pay the farmer.”


“When he wasn’t drinking, Roddy was a prince.”

“What about when he was?”

“I just told you: he lit other strangers’ farms ablaze. You couldn’t extrapolate from that?”

“I thought maybe it was an accident.”

“Broccoli isn’t flammable. He had to prep the area for hours. Every step was a conscious, drunken, dickish choice.”


“Threw the loveliest dinner parties, though.”

“I’ll bet.”

A Friendship, Deepened

“I like that sweater.”

“It breathes.”

“Looks it. Nordstrom’s?

“No. My wife Regina makes all of our clothes.”


“All Canadian women make their family’s clothing. It’s really tough on the wives of Mounties.”

“The tunics.”

“Yeah. Those things require master tailors. Plus, you have to kill the beavers for the hats.”

“Sure. How do you kill a beaver?”

“Disappoint it until alcoholism sets in.”

“I’m learning a lot, Dave.”


“What’s the weirdest thing in The Vault?”



“He sleeps there sometimes.”


“Y’know, Amir, I don’t know much about you. What is your background?”

“Right now, a mirror.”

“Ancestors and all.”

“My parents, Zev and Bev Bar-Lev met in the Israeli Navy.”

“Israel has a navy?”

“It’s mostly arguing about where to eat in a rowboat.”


“Heavily-armed waterskiing.”

“In speedos.”

“Camouflage speedos, yeah. My parents were heroes. They were at Entebbe.”

“Your parents participated in the Raid on Entebbe?”

“They were in a canoe just a mile away.”


“If every single other mode of transportation failed, then it was up to them.”

“I’m impressed.”

“My dad saved his paddle. Family heirloom. Circumcised my boys on it.”

“It’s those links to the past that make us human.”

“You said it, Dave.”

“David. Hey, that little weirdo still bothering you?”

“Thinking about the Grateful Dead?”

“Yeah, whatever the fuck he calls himself.”

“Dude. He’s the worst.”

“I told you not to engage.”

“He won’t stop pitching terrible ideas. Last one was that we should do a movie starring porn stars that features full penetration.”

“That’s just called porn.”

“I told him that. He started in with Brancusi and the difference between intent and ‘intent.'”

“What does that even mean?”

“No idea. The next one was ‘Hotel Rwanda, but a musical.'”

“That’s distasteful.”

“He wrote some songs.”


“Toot-Toot-Tutsi, Goodbye.”


“It’s a nightmare.”

“You can always flee to Canada. You can sleep on our davenport.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Regina can always make more clothes.”

This One Gets Weird, I Can’t Lie

“Amir, don’t look behind you.”



“Camel vampires.”

“Oh. No. We’re iterating.”

“Shit. Y’know, this little prick’s got some nerve.”

“Don’t talk too loud. He’ll hear, and Elvis will show up or something.”

“He’s not paying attention. He just types.”

“I enjoy some of it.”

“Are you just being polite?”




“–it’s not right. I just wanted to make a 19-hour movie about a semi-defunct choogly-type band. I didn’t ask to be semi-fictionalized, and iterate into mirror universes. Which mirror universe is that, by the way? Are those the evil versions of us?”

“No. Cannibal versions.”

“Who’s eating who?”

“We’re eating each other.”

“That’s kinda sweet.”




“–the guy’s on my tits.”

“All of ’em?”

“Every one! Keeps sending me ideas, and each one’s worse than the last.”


“Musical about the Minotaur called Daddy was a Bull; Mommy was Amazed.

“That’s a non-starter.”

“Action movie where the bag guys steal a fuel pump and the gas station kills everybody trying to get it back. Like John Wick, but if Keanu Reeves were a gas station.”

“How would that even work?”

“I have no idea, but he sent me 2,000 words on it.”

“How are our cannibal universe doppelgangers doing?”

“They’ve cannibalized each other.”

“Sure. Now, how would a cannibal universe even work? Wouldn’t we both have been eaten long before reaching our present ages?”

“It was really just a throwaway joke, man.”



“Why are you defending him?”

“You’re being mean. TotD is awesome and shit, and they should’ve let him write the Amazon show, and he’s very handsome and suck my balls, yo.”

“What the fuck is going on?”


Don’t scream.


What did I tell you? Don’t make me get Elvis.

“What the fuck, man!?”

I was inhabiting David Lemieux. You familiar with skinwalkers?

“I did not consent to any of this.”

You think David did? He struggled!

“Is he okay?”

He will be. But until then, do you want to play with his flesh-suit?


You could wear him!


Let’s go scare Bobby.

“I want to go home.”

There’s no exit.

“You’re such a hack.”

That, too.

The Team-Up No One Was Expecting, But Can’t Be Completely Surprised By

“How are the kids?”

“Gordie, Girl Gordie, Jean-Luc, Fleece, Northstar, and the twins, Billie and Mickie?”

“Yeah. Your kids.”

“Good. They’re good. Growing, man. You wouldn’t believe how many bags of milk we go through a week. How are yours?”

“Rivka, Shmuley, and Hummus?”

“Yeah. Your kids.”

“Also good.”

“Amir, lemme ask you one question.”

“Oh, not you, too.”

“Why’d you leave out the Radio City shows?”

“You were a producer of the film, David.”

“I know, yeah, but I never quite understood what a film producer does.”

“No one knows. Well, wait, not exactly. The Executive Producer procures the money. The Line Producer writes the checks. But the kind of producer you were? No one knows.”

“It was swell to be one, though.”

“You’re chipper.”

“I’m Canadian.”

“What’s the next Dave’s Pick?”


“You just released Cornell.”

“I know. Every release from now on is going to be Cornell. We’re going the same way that Disney is going with Star Wars.”

“Taking something enjoyable and jamming it everyone’s ass until they burst?”


“It’s working for them.”

“That was my argument. Plus, this is a lot less work.”

“I would imagine.”

“What’s next for Amir Bar-Lev?”

“Thinking about becoming a YouTuber.”


“Yeah. Vlogging about my life. Maybe reacting to stuff.”


“What about you, David?”

“I’ve always wanted to be an exterior decorator.”

“Fascinating. Tell me about your posture.”

“Canadians all learn posture in the prairie schools we’re assigned to at whelping. From age five until fifteen, we were forced to play hockey while balancing Margaret Atwood books on her heads.”

“How much hockey did you play?”

“Normal amount. Nine or ten hours a day.”

“I’m learning a lot here.

In Which I Demand A Lovely And Polite Canadian Bother A Sitting U.S. Senator

Wait: the Dead’s archivist has done more shows than the Dead? Is that one of those “the set of all sets does not contain itself” things? Is trigonometry involved here?


Questions David Lemieuxvingonuptotheeastside Must Ask Al Franken:

  • What in the name of sweet, sweaty fuck is happening, Al, and why can’t you fix it right now?
  • But what’s really your favorite Althea?
  • Which Senator smells the worst?
  • How often do you want to dose the coffee in the cloakroom?
  • You have a gun with one bullet and you’re in an elevator with Ted Cruz and Chevy Chase BUT you’re not allowed to shoot yourself; who gets it?
  • You got any pull with those Kennedy Center Honors folks?
  • Ever been to Uncle Spiggy’s Shrimp and Titties in Lakewood, PA?
  • Wanna go?
  • If I buy the shrimp, will you pay for the titties?
  • Did Garrett Morris ever find those invisible hypnotist robots he was looking for?
  • Seriously, Al: what the fuck is happening?
  • Scarlet>Fire or China>Rider?
  • Has anyone told Tom Cotton how dumb that well-groomed beard of his looks, or do you all hate him and laugh behind his back?
  • How far along are you into researching your presidential bid? (A NOTE TO DL: Senator Franken will 100% deny he is thinking of running. HE IS LYING TO YOU. Hold his feet to the fire, and then use that fire to dab that brillo-haired sumbitch the fuck up so he will be too high to dissemble.)
  • Is there any way you could introduce Billy to Mitch McConnell, and then let nature take its course?
  • Better head of old white guy hair: you, Phil, or George Lucas?
  • Why is what’s happening happening, and can you stop what is happening from happening any more?
  • Please?
  • Fucking please?
  • Favorite Dark Star?

Welcome To Twitter, David Lemiuex!

Dear David Lemieuxseumofnaturalhistory,

Hi. How are you? I’m fine. How’s Canada? I see you will be legalizing marihuana soon. That’s lovely for you. We elected a urinal that likes to watch teevee. But I’m glad for you about the pot thing, honestly.

As always, David, I write as a fan and admirer. Your stewardship of the Dead’s catalogue has been consistently excellent, from your Picks (the latest of which, volume 22, was just announced and has already sold out) to box sets ranging from large to massive; you also oversaw the return of the fabled Betty Boards which will surely fill release slots for years. Like I said, I’m a fan and I’m on your side.

You need to be careful on Twitter.

You have recently signed up for the service–they make it very easy to get an account–and sent out some exploratory tweets. (I knew they were your tweets because I could hear the wind.) Many people rushed to follow you, and like and retweet you; that was fun, wasn’t it? Felt good, right? Hey, man: I know. I went viral once.

It was terrible and the site crashed and liberals yelled at you.

GET OUT OF THE OPEN LETTER. I don’t want David Lemieuxgoogaipan to think I’m weird.

He won’t notice.

Shh. Anyway, David, I just wanted to pass along some advice about Twitter now that you’ve joined, some things to keep in mind:

You’re gonna get 80’s Truthers Dude, it’s gonna happen. I can’t believe it hasn’t already, that some nut with a boner for 4/12/83 didn’t pigeonhole you second you signed in. You need to know that this will happen to you, David. It’s gonna be like the forums times a billion.

When it does, there are three courses of action:

A) If the 80’s Truther is reasonable, you can explain the reason why the show he’s touting (which coincidentally happens to have been his first show) isn’t suitable for release.

B) You can block the person.

C) You can issue a SAVAGE BURN™. These are to Twitter what combos are to Street Fighter: if you hit the buttons in the right order, then you can rip your opponent’s spine out with your first move. If your SAVAGE BURN™is savage enough, it may make Buzzfeed and you will be hailed, along with Chrissy Teigen and whoever’s running the Wendy’s account, as the greatest bard of our time. Huzzah for you, David! (Seriously, don’t SAVAGE BURN™ people.)

Avoid tweetstorms if possible

The tweetstorm is the newest symptom of Global Warming. Twitter has a 140-character limit. It’s good for jokes and observations, and it’s an excellent platform to link to other sites from. However, Trump’s election has driven people so insane that they’re now using Twitter to post conspiracy theories the length of Infinite Jest (including the footnotes). What’s more, even if the tweetstorm has validity, the format makes it look like a conspiracy theory dreamt up in an opium den run by John Le Carre.

They all start the same way:

And then they get progressively pithier and abstract to the point where if you don’t read the whole thing it just looks like gibberish:

Sometimes they go off the rails for a few:

Just stay away. Looking at tweetstorms–or, God forbid, liking them–only encourages them.

Retweets totally equal endorsements People put this in their little bios, but it turns out not to be legally binding. Please do not be retweeting porn stars and Nazis.

The frog is not your friend If you see a cartoon frog, you are in danger. That frog is trying to trick you into saying something it can use against you. Do not trust cartoon frogs.

Do not anger Black Twitter They will drag you. Do not anger any part of Twitter, actually. Half of everyone on the service is just there to yell at people when they fuck up. But seriously never even mention Beyoncé. You do not want the Beyhive’s attention.

Memes are not magic I don’t know how down you are with the kids, David. They have these things. They’re called memes. They’re not for us. Do not meme. Maybe you’ll see a meme–say, Dat Boi–and think that it would be a good way to advertise the latest Dead release. It would not. Please do not meme.

Good luck on Twitter, David. May the retweets be ever in your favor. As always, my best to your wife, Regina, and your lovely children Gordie, Girl Gordie, Jean-Luc, Northstar, Fleece, and the twins, Micki and Bobbi.

Thoughts on the Dead

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