Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: trey anastasio (page 3 of 9)

Worlds Collide (In HQ)

Here’s something else that has nothing, nothing at all, to do with the flaming wreckage of a failed experiment our republic and culture has become: Phil and some very special Phriends from the Warfield in SanFrancisco on 4/15/99. Trapqueen Applefucker and Page from The Phishes joined Phil, along with Steve Kimock and John Molo, and the whole thing kicks ass, starting with the half-hour Viola Lee. Grateful Deads are playing Phosh music, Phishes are playing choogly tunes: mass hysteria.

And, for your convenience, below is the set list and you can just click on whichever time code you want. I do things for you people.

Set 1 0:00 Viola Lee Blues 33:58 Big Railroad Blues 44:02 Jack-A-Roe 50:00 Cosmic Charlie 1:02:42 Wolfman’s Brother 1:16:50 Uncle John’s Band

Set 2 1:41:43 Alabama Getaway 1:50:33 Sugaree 2:12:59 Like a Rolling Stone 2:23:50 I Know You Rider 2:37:50 Row Jimmy 2:47:23 Shakedown Street 3:06:38 The Wheel 3:15:54 Not Fade Away
Encore 3:30:35 Donor Rap & Band Intros 3:33:45 Mr Tambourine Man

Why You Gotta Be So Ween?

trey backstage lockn

Hey, Trey. Whatcha doing?

“Watching Ween.”


“I’m polite. And bored.”

You guys were great tonight.

“Thanks. Nice of you.”

Have you guys been practicing since the summer tour?

Did you have a meeting or something, and decide to play well?

Was it the internet? You should never go on there: it’s mean.

“Y’know, I’m not in the Grateful Dead any more, and I don’t have to put up with you.”

Yeah, no: you leave the Grateful Dead when I say you do.

“What? No. That’s not how it works.”

Sure it does. I slapped the Franchise tag on you in Chicago, Trance.

“You’re worse than the Phish Phans.”


“Yeah, okay: no one’s worse than Phish Phans.”


“Listen, just between you and me? This Ween guy is making intolerable faces. I make fucked-up faces, but this guy is putting me off my feed. ”

The fat one or the ugly one?

“The ugly one.”

This face?

ween face

“Yeah. He won’t stop making it. I think someone slapped him on the back years ago while he was doing it.”

Mom was right.

“It froze like that.”

Norm MacDonald having an allergic reaction to scallops.

“If there was a corpse in an elevator, and the corpse farted, and then you got on the elevator? That would be the face you made.”


Playing In His Band

trey marimba

Hey, Tripura Atharamura. Whatcha doing?

“Enjoying myself!”

Is it because this summer isn’t being spent in between Billy and Phil?

“I didn’t say that.”

Did you mean it?

“Little bit.”

You guys are killing it.

“You bought the webcast?”

I didn’t say that.

And Let’s Hear No More Of It

trey phil bobby

As you know, TotD has eyes, ears, and genitals everywhere, especially the Foot Locker. (It’s been a while since I recommended taking your dick out at the Foot Locker, and that’s a sad oversight: you totally should. You feel better afterwards.) Pictures, gossip, popular opinion: all of these flow inwards and flood Fillmore South in a sad, weird, and lonely Grateful Dead juice.

And it is one of these popular opinions that I must refute, this idea that Young John Mayer is more suited to the Dead’s music than Tralfamadore Abilene. I have seen more than one person say that they were “gay for Trey, but gayer for Mayer.” And while all things that rhyme are true, this one is also false, and for one reason.

The last three Dead (Or What’s Left Of ‘Em) shows that TotD attended, Tripoli Ardennes was the guitarist. Therefore, he is better. Now, if Josh Meyers wants to swing down here on the way to Colorado and pick me up (I will not chip in for gas) and make me his tour buddy for the rest of the summer, then he would be better than Tr@y.

I hope that settles things.

(Also: in the background of the photo is longtime Dead photog Jay Blakesberg, and now I can’t get the image of him and Jeff Kravitz doing an Enemy at the Gates thing with each other.)

Ginger, Ruby

trey daughters

Happy Father’s Day, Trump.

“Wow, that one’s not funny any more.”

Yeah, I apologize.

“It’s just–”

I totally get it. Wrong of me.

“Cool. One other thing.”

Sure. Cute kids, by the way.

“Thanks. Um…why am I included in this?”

Because at 41% of the Dead shows I attended, you were the Garcia. So, you know: you’re in.


I gotta say that John Mayer is a lot easier to work with.

“So go bother him.”

Actually: you wanna see something funny?

“Quickly, but yeah.”

Okay. Trey, have you heard about the new Greubel Forsey Double Tourbillon 30° Technique?

The Double Tourbillon 30°

It’s cut from a single sapphire crystal and contains no metal except for the winding pin, and retails for $1.3 million.

“Why would I care about that ridiculous piece of sh–”





“Oh, hey, Trey.  Cute kids. Tell me more about the watch.”

“Does he always do this?”

Yeah. It’s like saying “Beetlejuice” three times.

Don’t Cross The Revenue Streams

You’ll excuse me, Enthusiasts, if I repeat myself, but this question has been fingering my mind’s butthole all evening.


Shut up, you. Anyway, to recap:

billboard money

WHAT THE FUCK DOES “FAN DEMAND” MEAN? That phrase refers–and this is the closest I can get to a precise definition–to an assumption based on an aggregate sample of emotions. You send up a publicity trial balloon and then read the response: this gives you an idea of what “fan demand” is. It’s not an actual financial metric.

It’s like McDonald’s reporting their earnings as being higher because of “customer demand” (“Those folks were really hungry, so we figured that was worth a few hundred million dollars.”)

It makes no sense: I thought at first that “fan demand” referred to the projected earnings (the estimated profit) and that the Dead had shattered those projections, but that can’t be right: the Dead knew how much they’d make just as anyone with the ability to do basic math did. (Number of seats x price of ticket) + (Number of seats x average merch purchase) + non-attendee merch + sale of access to the band + webcasts. Hell, I did the math. Peter Shapiro sure as shit did the math.

So: what can it mean? Was there some sort of Kickstarter I wasn’t aware of that raised the initial funds necessary just to get everyone in the same room? A petition written down on $10 million in small, non-sequential bills? I don’t know, and the article does not explain it.

I am genuinely stymied and would like someone to tell me what is happening, please.

There are also many missing revenue sources in this graph, some more legitimate than others. Spies in the Dead’s accountant’s office have slipped me the full story; TotD can now present Additional Incomes From The Farewell Shoes:

  • Since around ’89, Billy has employed a team of orphans as pickpockets; they made a bundle in Chicago.
  • Kickbacks from the taco truck.
  • Ad deal with DirecTV for the blimp.
  • Bribes from Creepy Ernie to wear his clothes.
  • Several thoroughly-insured guitars got “stolen.”
  • Mickey’s mallet endorsement.
  • Payment from artificial rainbow company to advertise their product (Santa Clara only).
  • 20% cut of all sanctioned Three Card Monty games in the stadium. (There were a suspicious amount of Three card Monty games going on in Chicago. Ask anyone who was there. Martin and I had figured out the game and were about to win us some money when Chris–whose brilliant book Paradise Now can be purchased by clicking here–stopped us, as he was raised in New York City, and is therefore street-smart. A very nice street, but still: very smart.)
  • If you gave Peter Shapiro five grand in cash, he would let you watch the spy cams he had installed in the band’s dressing room for a couple minutes.
  • Jeff Chimenti and Bruce Hornsby broke into the 49ers locker room and stole a bunch of shit.
  • Jeff Chimenti and Bruce Hornsby broke into the Field Museum and stole the T-Rex skull and sold it on Ebay.
  • Trey made Mike Gordon pay for his ticket.

No Fuego

trey sombrero

Trey, you have to go home.


Knock if off. Go home.

“It’s cold there.”


I Thought I Did

I no longer understand America.

Here is a picture of a quokka:

And this is a picture that, briefly, was on Trismagistus Alfalfa’s Wikipedia page:


Exit Interview

His Wikipedia page attests to his success and brilliance, but fuck me if I could make it thirty seconds into this without wanting to punch the interviewer right in his hair.

Anyway: Train Alpharetta talks about the Farewell Shoes. Enjoy it or don’t.

Little Red Harry Hood
My, Tristramshandy Anorexianervosa, what big jams you have.

“All the better to rock you, my man.”

And, Tropicana Anaconda, what red hair you have.

“All the better to grey gracefully along my manly jawline, my dude.”

And, Trustafarian Anabaptist, what long solos you take.

“You going anywhere with this, or did you just want to make up silly names for me?”

The second thing.

“Great. Can I get back to my job, please?”


“I do other things.”

Everything that you do that isn’t a solo is just killing time until the next solo.

“Not true.”

Gonna call you Hope.

Know why your new name’s Hope?

Wanna know why?

“Why am I–”


“–named Hope? Okay, we’re done.”

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