Thoughts On The Dead

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

The Least They Could Do

Perhaps as usual I’ve stumbled onto a theme for the evening: the rank unprofessionalism of the past. All of this–every single part of it–is unacceptable in today’s shiny and buffed branding exercise of a culture: the duct tape all over the piano, the circus tent, the plywood the plywood the plywood holy shit the plywood. No one even thought to order some tie-dyed curtains from Nighthawk to drape over the backdrop which, as I have mentioned, is just naked plywood.

So much unused space to announce corporate partnerships.

OR

Precarious?

“Yo.”

What are you doing?

“Checking the stage to make sure it won’t collapse.”

You think maybe you should’ve done that before the band got on it?

“Things get gotten to when I get to them.”

Okay.

“You all right?”

Took me a second to parse that sentence.

“You knew what I meant.”

I truly didn’t.

2 Comments

  1. Just behold how many knobs are on Phils Bass.

  2. OK, you dropped in another pic of Bobby with a Maestro sideways Vibrola just to fuck with me.

    Must’ve been a ’73 thing.

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