Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: fillmore

Some Dogs, As You Know, Are Chain-Smokers

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The Sixties: a time of possibility and wonder, of magic and luck, of revolution and rage. There was dancing in the streets and fighting in–

No.

–the boulevards…what?

This is from the Fillmore show.

Right: Fillmore West. The first great Rock Palace. Where–

No. The new one. This picture is from Monday night.

Can’t be.

Brown shoes.

Hm.

Misfits patch.

Huh.

Pretty sure that’s a Bernie pin on the guy’s hat.

Yeah, maybe.

No maybe about it. This picture was taken in 2016.

We’re still doing this?

Apparently.

A Huddle Of Hippies

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AAAHHHHHH!

What? They’re hippies.

We’re still doing that?

Always.

Saudis are right. Burkas are the answer.

You want to put women in burkas?

I want to put everyone in burkas. People are gross and they should wear sheets over themselves at all times.

What about Australian fitness models on Instagram?

They don’t have to wear burkas.

Ah.

Fillmore, Hear Less

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Reasons There’s No Official Stream For Tonight’s Free Fillmore Show:

  • Mickey believes that livestreaming steals one’s soul.
  • Couldn’t find anyone in San Francisco tech-savvy enough to set one up.
  • There was an EMP burst.
  • They were going to, but then Bobby got in in his head that they needed to “go viral” and then he bought himself a Chewbacca mask; everyone got so annoyed that they cancelled the stream without telling him.
  • Billy only goes online for porn, so if you put him on the internet, he takes his dick out.
  • “No livestreaming” is a condition of Jeff Chimenti’s parole.
  • Is it impossible to broadcast over the internet from the Fillmore: every time it’s tried, the signal goes dead; numerous witnesses have reported hearing a spectral voice yelling, “WHAT IS THIS FERKAKTA BULLSHIT?” right before the feed went down.
  • Band wants to test out Hologram Garcia in private. (Do not make Hologram Garcia.)
  • Building is a Faraday cage.
  • Because while they’re not the Dead anymore, they’re still kinda the Dead, and therefore: bush league.

Live At The Fillmore, Second Set

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You think I don’t care, Enthusiasts; you couldn’t be more wrong. When Dead & Company announced their free show at the Fillmore  Monday night, I was both in a rush and–because of this afternoon’s thunder–covered in my own fear-doody. (TotD responds to thunder much the same way a golden retriever does.) Yet, I posted the news of the show as soon as I heard; I felt a responsibility to let you know.

And what do I get?

Abuse.

Derision.

Nitpickery. And y’know what?

Please don’t–

I ‘J’ACCUSE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS OF THINGS.

j’accuse the readers of…dammit.

It’s their fault! They brought this on themselves! Look at what they’re wearing!

A t-shirt they purchased from you right before you started yelling at them?

Possibly!

How you doing, slugger?

I do not like thunder at all.

It was like seven hours ago.

Well, I’m apparently still a little jumpy, aren’t I?

Concentrate. Tell the nice people–

Bastards.

about the free show. It’s very exciting.

It’s thrilling. Well, wait: it is actually cool. When tickets go up for grabs tomorrow at 12 PST, there’s a limit of two, plus you have to present the credit card you bought them with at the door; they’re non-transferable, so the audience is gonna be Deadheads. And it’s a much smaller place than D&C have played before, plus it is free, after all.

(The real hip kids in the crowd will hide in the bathroom after the show and remain in the building until the next night, when New Jersey’s own Titus Andronicus will surely be destroying the joint.)

Finally: you know there is no bigger fan of Jeff Chimenti than I. Or me, whichever is grammatically correct. It doesn’t matter; my love for Jeff Chimenti is like the love of a butterfly for a southerly breeze, or a cloud of a rainbow: it makes no sense upon examination. Is it a coincidence that Jeff Chimenti shares initials with Jesus Christ? And even if it is a coincidence, what if it weren’t?

But there was a memo. Oteil wore shoes, and Oteil declared it summer a month ago and broke out his flippity-flops. Not even sandals: flippity-damn-flops, and you know my feelings on those. (You lose the right to feet. Like cutting off a thief’s hand. Wear flippity-flops; state takes your feet.)

WHAT THE FUCK, OTEIL? I DEFENDED YOU. And then I scrolled back to the picture and MOTHERFUCKING FLIPPITY-FLOPS.

I stood up for you two slapdicks. “Let Oteil and Jeff Chimenti be in the pictures,” I said. AND THIS IS HOW YOU BEHAVE? Shorts and flippity-flops? No. Fuck this: I will not be treated this way. Both of you have lost your photo privileges; back to the old arrangement of old guys and pretty guy.

You did this to yourselves.

We’re back to this, huh?

I have a legitimate grievance this time.

Sure you do, buddy.

Live At The Fillmore

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Go get in line: tickets go on sale tomorrow at noon for Monday the 23rd, but not “on sale” because they’re free.

Also: can someone please come to my house and hold me? It is thundering so hard and I am so scared.

The Gang's All Here

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Of note: Billy’s shirt, Garcia’s face, a shopping bag for some reason (though, in a strictly photographic sense, the bag helps the shot out).

Also notice Mickey and Billy’s snare drums, how they’re angled away from them. This was the jazz style and how nearly everyone who strapped into a trap set did it for a half-century.

And, Phil is standing in the back because he was bad.

My Old Kentucky Home

“Hey, Bobby? I was hoping you’d play slide tonight,” is a sentence only uttered by one man in history.  It is our bad luck that the man was Bobby. He used to talk to himself a lot, on the road somewhere between Iowa and Summer. Immediately after viewing the classic made-for-TV movie ‘Sybil,’ Bobby demanded the rest of the group recognize his other selves, except Bobby had named them all Bobby and they all had his personality and, quite honestly, Bobby hadn’t even decided real concrete-like on precisely how many of them there were, so the whole situation just played itself out, quietly and quickly

Dear whoever put together the soundboard tape for 4/21/78 at Rupp Arena: thank you for doing what you did, allowing me to–at virtually no expense–possess this show, this wonderful artifact. But there is no such thing as 4 minute and 40 seconds of stage banter in 1978. Maybe in ’70, they would have sat there bullshitting with the rowdy kids in the front row on the Fillmore East, but no longer. Not here, now.

From the end of the Hiatus (June of ’76) to Keith leaving the band (2/17/79) can be seen as a gradual speedening up. Not a typo, a choice: speedening.

But here’s the thing about 4/21/78 at Rupp arena: apparently no one showed up and the security was dicks. That’s the story. Which is the problem with knowing anything, really, about the actual gig part of it–it removes the textuality of the text (well, not just the text, but also the text) and places the praxis of the ur-Dead and the…ah, fuck it. i can’t even make fun of that kind of crap anymore.  The best thing one can say of any music is nothing, there’s music on, shit the fuck up. But the second best thing you can say is, “Listen to this. Now, Now, you must.” When he got excited about an upcoming song or passage or transition, my friend Glenn would grab your forearm and he was strong. There was no getting away from the Sugaree he was offering you.

What I’m getting at is that I like to look up the shows that I listen to and read the reviews, but sometimes you see things like this:

This was a really good show for the Dead. I am from Lexington so I know they were probably playing to just a few thousand fans inside a huge 24,000 capacity seating arena. I guess that’s what they mean when they say their were plenty of seats down in the front. This was the first time the Dead ever played Lexington and it would also be their last time. That’s too bad, I wish I knew why.

HOW CAN YOU WISH FOR THAT INFORMATION? IT WAS CONTAINED WITHIN YOUR PREVIOUS SENTENCE. THEY DIDN’T PLAY THERE AGAIN BECAUSE NO ONE SHOWED UP

 

PS: Seriously, go listen to the Rupp show. They’re killing it.


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