Thoughts On The Dead

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

Winter Is Going

A detailed analysis of minutes 11.45-40.30 of The Closing of Winterland (See previous post). We’ll talk about Bobby’s glasses later, I assure you.

11.45  What the fuck, Phil?

12.33  Donna thought it was the Halloween gig and came dressed as a woman ripped to the gills in an awful dress.

13.15  LISTEN TO FUCKING DONNA: SHE HAS THE VOICE OF AN ANGEL.

14.20  …but she should probably knock it off kinda soon.

16.00  What the sweet potato pie is Garcia doing? Oh my god, I’ve seen that before: that’s MOVING. GARCIA IS FUCKING MOVING. He is no longer in precisely the same spot Parrish duct-taped him to an hour earlier.

17.25, Oh, Mickey, why?

18.50  Garcia is two seconds away from twirling the guitar around his body while Angus Younging across the stage to emotionally bully Bobby. There is only one word, fellow Enthusiasts, for what is going on right now: rock star. Shut up. 

21.40  Mickey is wearing a Dead shirt because of course he is.

22.26  Mickey is just terrifying.

22.48  Mickey just drum-fucked us all with his eyes and mustache, but mostly mustache. 

23.29  We will get to the glasses, Bobby.

24.00  We’re all thinking the same thing, but let’s have some respect, ok.

24.30  Except i cant stop looking at them–oh, thank god, a wide shot.

26.30  Garcia has gone loopy. Now, I know he’s Jerry Fucking Garcia, man…but isn’t anyone else in this band? A certain dickpunching manager of the caddies at Bushwood? Mm, Danny? (You just read that in his voice, didn’t you? Predictable.)

13.05  There he is! Hey, Billy! What’s with the hair, Billy?

32.50  Bill Graham! 

33.15  Sometimes i like it when Bobby talks. Sometimes.

37.10  There’s Phil aaaaaand no more Phil. 

37.44  Keith exists!

40.30  I’ve decided I don’t want to discuss Bobby’s glasses.

 

2 Comments

  1. 11:14 Garcia: “WTF just came out of my guitar?”

    But seriously, forget YouTube and buy the DVDs. It’s worth it to get this concert in full fidelity.

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