Funny how this world can trap itself within it’s own demise. We piddle and paddle over the fine points, hoping that the “others” will concede. When was the last time any of us did something for our fellow man without the conceit of investment return? I don’t mean the government or welfare or education or donations or the gristle cutting from the steak served just rare enough. I mean really, REALLY, doing something for people we see and people we know.
We all have our prejudices and our attempts at out pouring. All of our wallets vary. I don’t need an insurance commercial to tell me that I should be cool and help out my fellow man.
The concept of giving and helping as been so abused within this last century that almost none of us actually can take a bite from that hoagie. Can you remember the last time you smiled at a stranger and not walked by, head down in a grimace, with fists a clenched in defense?
It is easier to laugh and poke fun and thank our “lucky stars” that we are not one of those people walking around with a cowlick and their fly down. Kindness and good spirit can transcend all party lines and all cultures and societies if we allow our ingrained rubbish to be burned at the incinerator and not think it will destroy the world because of CO2. We all carry around too much rubbish.
I am not walking, skipping, traipsing, jogging, or running down any path that is not already part of who I am. I am not changing my affiliation. I am not going to go and rally for welfare. I am playing hopscotch with the soul of man. Chalk out the boxes mama and let me skip the stone.
“Rat in a drain ditch, caught on a limb, you know better but I know him. Like I told you, what I said, Steal your face right off your head.” Did the Dead know me better than anyone else? Could the infection of the Dead with all of their grateful servitude to humanity’s pauses actually play a role in what is going down? I am the rat. I won’t let the deal go down. Notice the Dead never, ever grazed in the proverbial green grass pastures of politics. Frank, yes. Jerry and the boys, no.
As I jot down this little scribed ditty of caring’s banter, a little black spider crawled upon my desk. I hold the power of Caesar in my hand. Thumb’s up? Thumb’s down? I’ll keep it in the middle till the end and see where the little black guy goes. He ain’t killin’ me or my ashtray.
Let’s examine a few Deadheads beyond my favorite three Deadheads ( 610 Jones, James, and Tim).
Any basketball fan will remember the heyday of the Boston Celtics and Bill Walton’s dedication to the shows as well as his own personal trip to the Mecca: the Egypt Shows, where the Dead played the pyramids. We can also jam our way through the cortex of sports and find ex-New England Patriot coach and current Trojan’s coach Pete Carroll. He is more than a fan of the Dead. We can also chalk up PGA player Brian Bateman. All loving the Dead. Think back to the sway of Walton’s afro. One of the last great basketball players before the game went to shit. I hope he is still seeing shows in between calling games.
On the fabulous left we find many, many heads but the most notable in politics today would be Patrick Leahy. Yes, a head in and out and I’m quite sure he gives a bit too. This leads me to the other side of politics that has lathered up and buttered the brain to a few Dead shows in the past.
Recently (June 5th, 2006) Time Magazine ran a little byte in the Notebook section called “These Songs Rock Their Worlds”. They took a peak into the sets and play lists of Condoleeza Rice, Madeleine Albright, Warren Christopher, James Baker III, and George Schultz and sadly to say none of them had the Dead listed. Condi, however, did have “Rocket Man” and “Sunshine of Your Love” listed as two of her favorites. Over to the conservative Deadhead side of the fence: breathe deep Darth Vader: CONSERVATIVE DEADHEADS! Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!
Among the mental floss liberators are such hated and vile names as: Ann Coulter, Tucker Carlson, and Deroy Murdoch (of National Review fame). Can you just imagine Tucker’s bow tie spinning around to “China Cat“? Or Ann chomping on her Nicorette during a lightening rendition of “Big Boss Man”? Seems a bit scary doesn’t it? To me it does not. These are real people with real feelings that have grasped the world by all of it’s straws and hoped that Jack did not pop up or cut his buddy down.
The quotes come from an article called "Jerry Garcia's Conservative Children" published on Real Clear Politics by John Avlon.
Two good points made in this article were from Tucker Carlson and Deroy Murdoch:
Tucker said that Jerry Garcia seemed to be standing tall and saying, “’We’re just musicians. We’re not here to tell you what to do or how to think’ He was totally opposed to lectures - giving them or receiving them. He was the opposite of the self-righteous liberals who ran the schools I went to.”
Murdoch contributed with, “My two favorite definitions of libertarianism come from P.J. O’Rourke and Jerry Garcia. As P.J. put it, ‘Make a right at taxes. Make a left at sex. And straight ahead is paradise.’ When Garcia was asked how Deadheads should behave at the band’s concerts, he said, ‘Do what you want, man. Just don’t stand on anybody’s head.’ This just happens to parallel the Golden Rule, ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’”
Does any of this make sense? Are you able to apply it? Can you comprehend the words that I am telling you?
Some of you may hate the current and recent affection that I have found to sharing song lyrics with you in order to stress my points and show you what can be found between the lines of the lines we all have been reading, and some of us snorting. Tsk, tsk! But here are two that you would enjoy regardless of the lines drawn between class, religion, culture, or politics.
PLEASE READ THESE WITH NO PREJUDICE AND APPLY THEM:
**~~**
“The Greatest Story Ever Told”
Moses come ridin' up on a quasar
His spurs were jingling, the door was ajar
His buckle was silver, his manner was bold
And I asked him to come in out of the cold.
His brain was boiling, his reason was spent
Nothing is borrowed, nothing is lent
I asked him for mercy, He gave he gave me a gun.
Now and again these things just got to be done.
Abraham and Isaac sitting on a fence
You'd get right to work if you had any sense
You know the one thing we need is a left-hand monkey wrench.
Gideon come up with his eyes on the floor
Said "You ain't got a hinge, you can't close the door."
Moses stood up a full six foot ten
Said "You can't close the door when the wall's caved in."
Ask him for water, he poured me some wine
We finished the bottle and broke into mine.
You get what you come for, ya ready to go
Well, it's one in ten thousand that come for the show.
Abraham and Isaac diggin' on a well
Mama came quick with the water witch spell
Well cool clear water well you can't ever tell.
Abraham and Isaac sitting on a fence
You'd get right to work if you had any sense
You know the one thing we need is a left-hand monkey wrench.
~~~*** And the other tune of prophecy in tonight’s Friday of freedom:
“He’s Gone”
Rat in a drain ditch, caught on a limb, you know better but I know him.
Like I told you, what I said, Steal your face right off your head.
Now he's gone, now he's gone, Lord he's gone, he's gone.
Like a steam locomotive, rollin' down the track
He's gone, gone, nothin's gonna bring him back...He's gone.
Nine mile skid on a ten mile ride, hot as a pistol but cool inside.
Cat on a tin roof, dogs in a pile,
Nothin' left to do but smile, smile, smile!!!!
Now he's gone, now he's gone Lord he's gone, he's gone.
Like a steam locomotive, rollin' down the track
He's gone, gone, nothin's gonna bring him back...He's gone.
Goin' where the wind don't blow so strange,
Maybe off on some high cold mountain chain.
Lost one round but the price wasn't anything,
A knife in the back and more of the same.
Same old, rat in a drain ditch, caught on a limb,
You know better but I know him.
Like I told you, what I said,
Steal your face right off your head.
Now he's gone, now he's gone Lord he's gone, he's gone.
Like a steam locomotive, rollin' down the track
He's gone, gone, nothin's gonna bring him back...He's gone.
Ooh, nothin's gonna bring him back.
**~~**
Can you taste and chomp on all of that? Probably not.
You are all thinking about how ridiculous it all is. The points made, the Dead references, the time spent and wasted writing about something so silly and detached from all of us. Shame on you. And they say I judge!?!?!
I bet the people that are reading this and denouncing my legitimacy based on a counter culture band reference and the “lack of significance” did not read the lyrics or just skimmed and did not think. Go back and read you silly ass skeptics and really digest what is up there on the page. You will never see the world or the light if you can not apply these two sets of lyrics to now, you, me, and how we all spiritually fit into reality with the verve and vigor that we all seem to want to.
I wish I had the time and effort to pour into the infamous Ventura shows in the early ‘80’s, with all of the looney bin non sense and mayhem.
I wish I could donate and designate a whole piece to Owsley Stanley and his wall of sound and technical contributions not just the LSD making that Zappa found so joyful to poke fun at.
To dedicate a whole piece to how Phil Lesh, the bass player of the band, was one of the original pioneer’s of electronica back in the early 60’s.
How Ron “Pigpen” McKernon dies at 28 of cirrhosis. Sir Osis of Liver. Ahhh, Such royalty.
How Donna Godcheaux used to sing back up for Elvis and got a bum rap as the screaming banshee for the Dead because she didn’t have a stage monitor.
The story of how people would visit Jerry when he was doing lots of heroin in the late ‘80’s and eating pint after pint of Ben and Jerry’s and not showering. People would come in and say that he stunk and that he needed to shower. He would scoff at them and tell them to use more cologne so they couldn’t smell him.
I could get into David Grisman.
I want to revel in the stories of “Capt’n Neal at the wheel” and their run in’s with all of the beats - Ginsburg, Burroughs, Kesey, Kerouac, Wavy Gravy - and their adventures on their naked lands of lust and lewd love and loquacious longevity that always has cursed them and danced between the inevitable and unexpected.
The keyboard curse.
Jerry’s days playing with his own band and also with Bill Monroe.
New Rider’s of the Purple Sage.
Song’s written with John Phillips.
Rat Dog.
Bless them all and I hope Jerry looks down with his wreath of roses, hair flamed out like in the ‘70’s and laughing with Pigpen and Keith, hoping that they could all rock out “Bertha” one more time.
It isn’t about peace and hippies and drugs and lack of bathing. It is about love, hope, and a time that is long before even the Dead … The Grateful Dead.
The definition from Germanic lore is as such:
“The motif of a cycle of folk tales which begins with the hero’s coming upon a group of people ill-treating or refusing to bury the corpse of a man who had died without paying his debts. He gives his last penny, either to pay a man’s debts or to give him a decent burial. Within a few hours he meets with a traveling companion who aids him in some impossible task, gets him a fortune, saves his life, etc. The story ends with the companion’s disclosing himself as the man whose corpse the other had befriended.”
The little black spider is gone and better off for the traffic and ease of travel. A pardon has been had by all eight of his legs.
It is about being cool and the stories held within.
“Try to see what’s goin’ down. Try to read between the lines” …
Until Monday, be happy that it is Friday …