Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: lost live dead (page 2 of 2)

Talk Amongst Yourselves

Busy as a beaver, Enthusiasts, whether it’s a dam-building beaver or a beaver engaged in various pornographies. Posts tonight? Maybe. We’ll know about the future when it becomes the past, I suppose.

For the bored among you:

LISTEN: 6/28/76 from the Auditorium Theatre in Chicago. Big ol’ Eyes, disco Dancin’, jammed-out first set Scarlet Begonias.

READ: Worlds collide when Lost Live Dead interviews Jesse Jarnow about black-market vinyl.

WATCH: A perfectly surreal episode of a sadly forgotten sitcom, Newsradio:

Or you could talk to your families or something.

Pack Up The Babies And Grab The Old Ladies

Corry from Lost Live Dead (where there is a spectacular post about the San Francisco Whiskey-A-Go-Go for you to gobble down) also notes that, in addition to sharing a drummer, Neil Diamond also shared a Mrs. Donna Jean with the Dead.

She’s on the left in your headphones, with a couple of other singers, and makes her entrance around 35 seconds in; the song hit #22 on the Billboard charts and, while all of the success can’t be attributed to Mrs. Donna Jean’s backing vocals, I think most of it can.

Gone Readin’

There is a new post up on Lost Live Dead. I’ll be back in an hour. (I’m a quick reader, but a distractable man.)

Chick Vocals

There is more reading to do today, Enthusiasts, but you will snarf up these words with dispatch and joy: a new post by my friend and yours Corry over on Lost Live Dead. This issue from the previously-unplumbed depths of Dead history concerns Mrs. Donna Jean. It starts with her precocious (a theme today, it seems) and serendipitous beginnings and her illustrious career in the Muscle Shoals studio scene (singing on two number one hits) and then pivots to ask a good question about the so-called “magical” way that Keith and Mrs. Donna Jean became Grateful Deads. (Spoiler: Garcia was trying to get laid.)

Anything else I wrote would just keep you from it: go read.

Unsettled List

TotD will always link to a new post on Hooterollin’, which equals and occasionally surpasses its brother site, Lost Live Dead; each new entry a weird and illustrative dive into the history of rock music–and America–in the post-war years. If you’re coming here and haven’t been there, I say: Wha? Huh? How you? Why that? Go, do, look. LOOOOOOK.

Stop that.

This post is a part of a running series pinpointing the Dead’s location during the years when people weren’t writing things down quite as much as we do today. The author (Corry342 from the Comment Section: you know him) covers July through December of 1966 in this latest installment, and I hate to call out a fellow Dead Scholar–

You are not any sort of scholar: you make things up.

–but there are significant gaps in this timeline. Why is this information being kept from us? My God! Has Corry342 been gotten to? Paid off by Big Dead? Did David Lamieuxnovermiami set him up for blackmail like in Godfather II?

I hate to do this, but–

Please don’t accuse people.


Please don’t do that to French, and don’t do it at all.

It’s the only explanation for this new evidence I’ve acquired. There were many more Dead dates during the period and the only reason Corry342 would leave this out is if he were now under the control of the Billuminati.


Maybe the Philluminati. Never can tell with secret societies.

I hate you.

Anyway, at great risk to life and limb, TotD presents THE REAL Grateful Dead Performance List July-December ’66:

July 4 – Barbecue, 710 Ashbury Street, CA Very little is known about this gig, or whether it should even be called a gig. There were acoustic guitars and singing, but then Garcia ate too many hot dogs and threw up on a cat and the cat lost its shit and went claws-first for Phil’s face and Bobby started crying and the afternoon was ruined.

August 8 – Foreign Legion Hall, Tuscadero, CA 18 people attended this show, and five of those people were dogs. Nevertheless, Billy managed to start a fight with a guy in a wheelchair, but he was a retired Marine in a wheelchair so he put up a pretty good fight. It was an even match-up, at least until the Marine’s non-wheelchair buddies saw what was happening and whipped Billy’s ass.

Also, Garcia contracted Foreign Legionnaires Disease and that is so much worse than the regular kind.

September 15 – Peckerwood Acres Country Club, Money Point, CA While we know about the gig Bobby played for his sister’s coming-out party (before Wendy Weir started talking to the ghosts of guitarists and dogs, she was very fancy), but little is known about this show played at the party for Bobby’s cousin, Poopsy Weir.

Poopsy was into the debutante thing: she loved horses and dresses and not having to look at poor people, but the thing she loved most of all was Phil’s dong. Now: Poopsy did not know that before laying eyes on the scruffy bassist that September evening, but once she realized, it became the truest thing she knew: she had to have it.

And, you know: she was cute, so Phil boffed her. Everything would have been fine had not Billy come through the banquet hall on a stolen golf cart, knocking down the temporary wall that made up the dressing room for the band. Phil was in a chair and Poopsy was seated atop him: they were pantless and boffing.

“Don’t stop boffing, Phil!” Poopsu said.

And Phil–who was facing the crowd that included the entirety of Poopsy’s family–said, “We should, though. We should stop boffing.”

And Poopsy said, “Dammit, man! Boff!”

The band did not get paid.

October 3 – Faculty Parking Lot, San Luis Obispo Community College (w/ Bay Area Blues Borrowers, Pantheotic Orkestra of Europa, Detroit Jeffy Jefferson, Radioactive Panther) This was an all-day gig featuring a lot of acts now lost to time. A couple of them were good bands, but one was a front for orangutans trained to steal jewels. See if you can spot which one!

The Bay Area Blues Borrowers made a fine sound to drink beer to, and they knew their limits. Their drummer, Johnny Mussolini, was a solid player despite his unfortunate name, and when he was drafted into the army, the band broke up. On the bright side, Johnny killed a shit-ton of Viet Cong.

The Pantheotic Orkestra of Europa was basically one guy who called himself Blueberry Ho-Tep and whoever would play with him this week. Blueberry Ho-Tep was the kind of musical genius that comes along once a decade, but he was an asshole who smelled like clams left out in the sun, plus he didn’t like paying people. Also, if you let him corner you with his cosmic religion nonsense, you could be there a while. Guy could play the fuck out of anything you put in his hands, but he was probably going to throw the instrument at a child afterwards.

Blueberry became addicted to drugs and shitting in mailboxes; the law locked him up for both, and in 1971–homeless–he was devoured by a pack of orangutans.

Detroit Jeffy Jefferson was actually named Franky Franklin, and he was from Houston. Sang real well, though. Also eaten by orangutans.

Radioactive Panther were a suspiciously hairy–even by hippie standards–group with murky origins. Their manager, Dr. Monkeybreaker, was a shadowy man given to quoting from the Necronomicon and challenged sanity to fistfights. Also, they could not play very well and were always mysteriously missing when jewels would disappear. Plus, they ate Blueberry and Detroit Jeffy.

They put out a couple of singles and then ate Dr. Monkeybreaker.

November 21 – Sausalito Heliport This unlikely venue for rock and roll was used by bands as a practice space and for a few shows until this one with the Dead put an end to that: Bear stole a helicopter. He only got it a couple of feet off the ground, but that’s enough to do some good damage.

December 13 – Fisherman’s Hall, Scuba del Vista, CA (Bill Graham’s Hanukkah Hoopla) No one remembers anything.

Found In The West

A terrifying moment earlier in the evening, Enthusiasts: informed of a new post on Lost Live Dead, this one about Philadelphia and its crucial but overlooked role in the Dead’s success, I sprinted (in an internet sense: I actually moved a finger slightly) to the site only to find it temporarily down!

Gratefully, it has been restored and we can all enjoy it; I have not read it for fear of becoming obsessed with Philadelphia before getting the Japan thing fully out of my system. I can now share with you Similarities Between Japan And Philadelphia:

  • You can get Japanese food in both places.
  • There are movie theaters.
  • Most people sleep at night, but some people do not because of work or other reasons.
  • There is rain.
  • Other times, it is bright and clear.
  • They take sports seriously.
  • Ninjas are feared.
  • A touch of psychopathy and a deep loathing of their neighbors.
  • If you get hit by a car hard enough, you will die.
  • Although, you probably got hit intentionally if it was Philly.
  • You angered one of them, I don’t know, why’d you go to Philly if you didn’t want to be hit by a car?
  • Doodies are made in both places, but in very different ways; the Japanese are beating us in the Toilet Race.
  • My fellow Americans, there is a Tushee Gap.
  • You ever used a Japanese toilet?
  • It’s like checking your asshole into the Four Seasons.
  • iToilet.
  • BOOM: billion dollar idea; I just disrupted pooping; where’s my start-up money?
  • Plus the iToilet weighs and analyzes your leavings and tells you just how healthy and special you are: every yuppie asshole in the country would buy one, especially when they hear that it syncs to your phone and fitness tracker, and is a WiFi hotspot.
  • Japan and Philadelphia enjoy many varied pornographies.
  • Never won the Super Bowl.

Once Was Lost

Though I’m not finished with it and therefore cannot attest to its excellence, I think by now we can all assume that every post from Lost Live Dead is to be read at least twice: first, voraciously, and then with care later.

This new one is about an obscure music biz sharpie named Brevetz I’d never heard of but, as always, it’s the singer not the song. Go there and read that.

(Fun fact: the old LA rock club “Thee Experience” was a half-mile from my apartment on Gardner Street.)

Horn Of Plenty

So, that’s what Eyes of the World¬†has been missing: noodly jazz horns. I’ve always felt that the song most prone to endless jamming would be improved by adding two more guys playing.

Apparently, the Dead took a horn section out with them in Fall of ’73 for ten shows or so. They did this because the Wall of Sound wasn’t finished yet, so the drugs said they had to spend money on something else absurd. Except it wasn’t absurd: the horns were great. Listen to the Weather Report Suite from the same show: after the lyrics end, they all–all SEVEN of them–split instantly in different musical directions, like kids scattering after the baseball breaks a window, but it holds together, still (Thanks, Billy!) and turns into the jazz that the Dead used to lie to themselves about being able to play. Hell, forget about what the actual horn players are doing, and just listen to the rest of the guys, who seem to be more excited than a dog in one of those Soldier Returns Home videos.

So there you go: September 15th, 1973. That’s your Rick’s Pick volume 1: a weird show of a forgotten tour featuring an experiment that all involved say didn’t work out. How am I not employed by this band?

PS: If you want actual information and, you know, facts about these shows, check out this article from the AWESOME website Lost Live Dead.

PPS: This show also contains one of only a handful of performances of Let Me Sing Your Blues Away. After you hear it, you will be wondering, “Why a handful? How could they ever do this again?” LMSYBA (never thought you’d see that acronym, did you?) should have been treated like an accidentally-killed hobo: you bury him, you have a longish talk with yourself about going back to work for your father, and you never go back to Dallas again. You don’t do it the next weekend at the College of William & Mary.

PPPS: Actually, check out the Truckin’ from 9/17 from Onondaga in upstate NY. They’ve had some time to work on the new horn arrangement and they’re just blasting ass, just blasting ass all over the assy plains, man. It’s not a totally new song, though: Bobby still fucks up at least half of the lines.

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