Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: donna jean godchaux (page 1 of 13)

This Way And That

The true depths, the abyssal reaches, that the Dead’s bush leagueosity permeate to are revealed when you realize that they couldn’t even all face in the same direction most of the time.

She’s Safe, Everyone

Are you okay, Mrs. Donna Jean?

“I’m better’n okay, sugar. Momma got her load on.”

Wonderful. Glad you got away from Harvey.

“Harvey. Yeah. Okay. Sugar, I got a l’il secret for you.”

What?

“Harvey wasn’t so special. They was all like that. Every. Single. One.”

Oh.

“‘Oh?’ That’s all you got?”

Your hair looks nice.

“Bless your heart.”

OR

The trunk. Jesus, the trunk. There is neither floor nor ceiling to the Bush League that the Grateful Dead occupied.

Harvey Weinstein Meets The Godchauxes

If I have taught you but one thing, let it be this: There is always a Dead connection.

OR

Harvey got fat, but he was always ugly. Fucker looks like Chuck Wepner having an allergic reaction to shellfish.

OR

Holy shit, Keith can smile.

OR

“Keith, darlin’, you gonna stand in between me an’ that Jewish fella, all right now?”

“Okay. Why?”

“Hush up an’ do what momma says.”

“Okay.”

OR

From the Sabres sign behind them, we can assume that this is War Memorial Stadium in Buffalo; this is either ’73 or ’77. I’m going with ’73. What do you think?

I Spy With My Little Eye…

  • Classic iPod. (Behind Mrs. Donna Jean.)
  • Amazon Echo. (In between Mrs. Donna Jean and Garcia.)
  • Two iPads. (To the left of Billy and Mickey.)
  • Phil’s booty. (Behind Phil.)
  • Precarious Lee’s handiwork. (Bottom left.)

Precarious?

“Yo.”

Is that a humidor?

“On top of the monitor?”

Yes.

“Nope. Ashes.”

Human ashes?

“Yup.”

Whose?

“Don’t worry about it.”

Is that secure? That angle is rather…

“Precarious?”

Exactly.

“It’ll be fine.”

Will it?

“Should be.”

Your words don’t fill me with confidence.

“I duct taped it.”

Oh, well, then it’s fine.

“I know.”

I was being sarcastic.

“I know. Don’t care.”

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’.

Balloony, Tunes

They ran a tight ship.

OR

It’s past that kid’s bedtime.

OR

Rarest Phil of all: baseball cap Phil.

OR

Could the giant speaker be any closer to Keith’s head? When he died, how deaf you think he was on a scale of one to Mickey?

OR

On New Year’s, Precarious always amused himself by getting the newest member of the crew to look for the “heavy helium” to fill the balloons with.

OR

Seriously, why is Phil wearing a hat?

There’s Always One

Mickey’s demands for the day:

  • Visor.
  • Dead shirt.
  • All the cocaine in the world.

Two If By Band, OR The Duality Of Nature

Bobby still has no idea who Ned Lagin is.

OR

Look again. That’s not a balloon.

OR

Phil and Mrs. Donna Jen have assumed what can only be described as boogie-posture.

You just gonna keep posting compulsively all night?

Yes. It’s like knitting. It calms me.

When did you become afraid of flying?

It’s not the flying. I have no fear of flying whatsoever. I like watching out the window during takeoffs and landings; to tell the truth, I still have a child’s fascination with airplanes.

So what is it?

It’s every single thing that surrounds the flying: showing up early, and having your shit together, and being locked in a tube with strangers, and cops everywhere. And then assuming Radical Islamic Terrorists–

Which Hillary Clinton will not say.

–don’t kill me, which they probably will, at the end of the flight I am 2,000 miles away from my bed, books, and desk. And toilet.

There’s a bed and toilet waiting for you.

Sure, full of strangers’ filth and rot.

Your entire family–some of whom are actively dying–will be together for the first time in several years. Your beloved Brother and Sister-in-Law on the Dead are looking forward to seeing you. If you act like an asshole, I will slap you like a wife. You will behave, goddammit, and you will not talk about politics and you will not grouse and gripe.

I’m not a good traveler.

You are like french fries. Still, though: you will not be an asshole.

Are you giving me The Talk?

Yes.

How old am I gonna be before I stop getting The Talk?

Up to you, isn’t it?

Yes.

Quick tip. What’s your favorite sentence the past few weeks?

Oh, that would have to be “We’re all gonna fucking die.”

Right. Let’s leave that one at home. Don’t pack it.

What if I need it?

You won’t need it.

Please don’t be an asshole.

Christmas is known for miracles.

Herding Cats Under The Stars

jerry-bobby-phil-scaffold-32873

The other way, Garcia.

“Which way?”

Rotate to your left about 140 degrees.

“Wouldn’t that make it way too hot in here?”

Bobby, don’t help.

“This way, Jer!”

No, no. Don’t listen to Phil. Turn towards the crowd. The way Bobby is facing.

“Are you talking to me?”

DON’T TURN AROUNDoh goddammit.

Thank God, The Cavalry

jerry-donna-long-hair-bobby

Hey, Mrs. Donna Jean. Whatcha doing?

“Feelin’ it, sugar.”

I see that. You look like Kate Moss.

“All pretty people look alike.”

Your hair length says to me that you’ve suffered no extended illnesses.

“Okay, that’s enough. Don’t talk to me like you talk to those Burnin’ Man skanks, darlin’. I ain’t gonna contemplate the universe with you.”

Sorry.

“Besides, I’m married.”

What?

keith horse egypt

Oh, Mrs. Donna Jean. I don’t want to do this bit with you.

“IS THIS GUY BOTHER–”

shlummmmph-plop

Did Keith just slide off the horse?

“Looks like.”

Where’d he get a horse?

“Stable?”

Good talk, Mrs. Donna Jean.

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