Aug 292008

When I was young, before Jerry Garcia had touch of gray and Jam Band Culture errupted, I used to count on something in my dealings with Deadheads I called the Grateful Dead Package Deal. I was never a Deadhead or anything close to it, but their culture, shall we say, had a few features that I found stimulating.

The Grateful Dead Package Deal was my way of determining how I might navigate any musical discussions with Deadheads, particularly attractive Deadhead women and Deadheads who were “holding” at the present time, which was all the time. In these cases, I didn’t want to be the guy who lashed out with one of those “I hate the Dead!” tirades that Angry, Young Mr. Moderator may have had on his mind. I could always say I liked “Bertha”, and after having seen the band live, I gained an appreciation for Phil Lesh’s bass playing. That was about all I could hang onto the night I saw them in 1981 or 1982.

Certain patterns in the tastes of Deadheads, beyond their 257 bootleg Dead tapes from Red Rocks, emerged, some of which I could use to make me seem a little more sympathetic should a music conversation arise. They seemed to like The Band, for starters, which was a godsend. I can’t tell you how many cultural transactions took place over a brief discussion on The Band. Deadheads may have only liked them for the sloppy, contented values of “Up on Cripple Creek”, which they may not have distinguished it from Neil Young‘s “Cripple Creek Ferry”, but at least my end of the discussion was sincere.

After that I had to stretch. Subscription to the Grateful Dead Package Deal came with a copy of Bob Marley‘s Greatest Hit. At the time I didn’t appreciate Marley, and I resented the fact that he was the token black artist (not including the rocking Jimi Hendrix) that so many numbskull white rock fans professed to love in the ’70s. I had to hold my tongue when that hits album was thrown on the platter at a Deadhead gathering. I could enjoy “No Woman, No Cry” to the point that I could block out visions of grinning Deadheads hugging and doing that Dead Dance while Bob sang out the chorus.

Little Feat came with the package. Although I was never a fan of Little Feat, I secretly admired their anal, overly thought arrangements. Although admired by Deadheads, the members of Little Feat didn’t strike me as grinning, hugging in the parking lot types. They had big beards and guts, which probably attracted Deadheads to them, but they struck me as being more like Steely Dan than the Dead. Maybe our Little Feat fans can better fill me on on what the heck that band was all about. Nevertheless, their music made sense to me, which enabled me to converse on their merits, if not sincerely, rationally.

Some Deadheads liked Traffic. The coolest of Deadheads knew the full scope of the band’s work, which I’ve always liked, but even when faced with those Deadheads who only knew “Feelin’ Alright” and “Glad”, I could converse with sincerity.

Jerry and the other Dead musicians did their share of offshoot collaborations, but Angry, Young Mr. Moderator could never process that David guy who played mandolin, Merle Saunders, and the like. Bob Weir was my least favorite member of the Dead, so his ’80s collaborations with the bassist who played with Lou Reed did nothing for me as well. Beside, by that point the band had that touch of gray, and I’d moved beyond having any need for a insincere talking points regarding the Dead.

In the days before Phish and their subsequent spawn of jam bands to fill the great void of the Dead, do you recall being faced with Grateful Dead Package Deal issues? Am I missing any bands that might have come with a subscription? Are there other bands with associated cultures for whom you’ve had to rely on a package deal?


  29 Responses to “The Grateful Dead Package Deal”

  1. I’m gonna have to refrain from “going there” in this thread, but I’ll just throw in the suggestion that Bob Marley’s Greatest Hits be banned completely from the universe. Really, enough already.

  2. I think Little Feat are included because their albums with Lowell George are very stoner friendly. Lots of inside jokes about drugs and hippies, lots of references to being on the road, and lots of steady grooves.

  3. Mr. Moderator

    Come on, eh, at Rock Town Hall it’s all about going there! I’ve gone there – I’m there already. Meet me. We’ll talk in private:)

  4. Mr. Moderator

    True about the Lowell George stuff, but wasn’t he gone by the time of Waiting for Columbus? I think that’s the album that was provided with initial subscription to the Package.

  5. In a funny way, banning Marley’s Greatest is pretty much a cut to the core of the Dead Package. That anybody would consider the repetition of favorites to be a bad thing is completely anathema to the Dead Philosophy. Heck, (most of) the entire fan base is/was geared toward hoping they would play your favorite this time, especially that one song they haven’t played in a long time but you keep playing it over and over in your boombox from an orange TDK C-60 that was the only thing you had on hand at the time but that’s OK because you got the bit where they do Sugar Mag before St. Stephen! I know, me too!

    On the plus side, The Dead were an umbrella. The bands mentioned above are popular for only two reasons: 1) They sound similar to the Dead; or 2) The Dead sounds similar to them. That is, they are either influences on or influenced by The Dead. The benefit of this is that people get exposed to a lot more music due to the eclecticism of the Band, which you don’t see too much in the context of, say, Rage Against The Machine. I likely would not have ever discovered country and bluegrass had it not been for the influence of my Deadhead brother, so the Dead Package Deal works transitively as well!

  6. oops, that should be “…eclecticism of The Dead.” Feel free to edit that and delete this, or just leave me hanging out here with my choady correction. 😉

  7. During college, I had a very serious relationship with a real sweetheart, whose only real flaw was a taste for the Grateful Dead – always a sign that something’s just not right. One of her continual goals was to get me to go to one of their shows. I skillfully avoided seeing them for about a year but finally caved in for reasons respected by men of all races, creeds, and colors.

    I finally went to a show, with all of her dead buddies in their VW van (there’s always one nitwit in the gang who drinks ALL the Kool Aid), and it was everything I thought it would be: a crowd filled with clueless people with no natural dance ability, who took drugs not as an aid in the foolish but enjoyable search for truth or beauty, but to escape their centerless lives; a band that sucked beyond belief (with the exception of Phil Lesh -who, truth be told is more of a mathmetician than a musician) never once providing anything that came close to hitting the entertainment dartboard; and worst of all, Bob Dylan who wholeheartedy allowed that pack of slugs to fuck up a bunch of his once very tasty chestnuts.

    After the show, we hopped in the van for the ride home and predictable commentary was served up: “Brett never sung Little Red Rooster like that!”, “No, I missed space. I got sick and had to go throw up.”, “Yeah, I got sick too.”, etc. After 10 minutes or so, all talk ceased, and I was asked what I thought about the show.

    Tough one. There were a few things to consider, and much soul searching was necessary to arrive at an acceptable response: 1) This particular sweetheart and I were beginning to have a lot of great sexual escapades, and I certainly didn’t want that to end. 2) Some of the stuff we were attempting in the sack would most probably be considered bizarre to say the least, but that didn’t stop me from pushing the envelope farther and farther with a partner who was more than happy to explore more unchartered territory. 3) I’d never EVER been with a woman who could work a tongue quite like her.

    Asked once again what I thought of the show, I said, “It was hands down the worst fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

    The two year relationship was over about a week after the show.

    I really believe the almighty was looking out for me that day, especially when I take a good look at my ball and chain of 20+ years, and the two daughters we’ve managed to produce. I am indeed a total loser, but no one can deny the magic that emanates from those three females. I like to think I made at least some small contribtion to their magnificence.

    To put it bluntly, there is always something socially, emotionally, philisophically, theolgically, pscychologically, ethically, morally askew with anyone who enjoys The Dead. The almighty knows this, and he rewards those who have performed well for him (clearly, I must have done some little thing right) by clearing a chosen one’s area of Jerry and his kids.

    God bless,
    E. Pluribus

  8. Mr. Moderator

    eh, you have come through with FLYING COLORS! Thanks for going there! What you say makes a lot of sense and makes me feel a lot better about this package I once grappled with.

  9. Mr. Moderator

    EPG might have come in with a late Comment of the Month entry. Well done! Touching!

  10. no kiddin. AMEN.

    Little Feat came with the package.

    That’s some slim pickins. I hate that fuckin shit. And I LIKE Steely Dan, even though I know they’re awful.

    The Flying Burrito Brothers also come with the package. They too blow.

    That’s the worst band name ever.
    I don’t care if that guy’s a genius.
    He shoulda known better.

  11. Thanks Mr. Mod! Hopefully, my perspective remains that Marley’s Greatest is a greater scourge than The Dead.

  12. In various degrees (The Band, Marley, Little Feat, excellent, Traffic some good moments), I’m a fan of every one of these bands mentioned as part of the Dead package deal, but the Dead I can’t get over to, not then, not now. I believe Geo suggested a 3-CD set that would change my mind, were I to have a mind, but I don’t remember what that set was.

  13. BigSteve

    I’m going to have to disqualify myself from this discussion, since I’m more or less the object of all this derision. I used to be a Deadhead, and I pretty much still am. The only difference between me and the stereotype that is the object of all this fear and loathing is that I had (and have) all of Little Feat’s and Bob Marley’s albums, not just Waiting for Columbus (recorded when Lowell was still alive, Mr. Mod) and Legend.

    In my defense I will say that I saw the Dead play live in January 1970 and October 1977, i.e., before their long decline, unlike those of you who have related your experiences here. Let me also say that I’m very happy on those two nights that we didn’t have somebody like epg along for the ride bumming everybody out.

    Back to escaping my centerless life….

  14. Good Lord!

    That’s something you don’t see everyday Chauncey!

  15. BigSteve

    Wow, Lowell even had dialogue. Actually the reissue of that pre-Little Feat material by The Factory (Lightning Rod Man) is fascinating. Occasionally silly, but closer Beefheart than to El Lay.

  16. I’ll ‘fess up. I just read the Phil Lesh autobiography. I like the first turn toward Americana, Workingman’s Dead, but then they kinda trail off for me. They’ll never be respected on RTH because, and I’ll admit this freely, THEY DON”T ROCK! But they did have some things going for them, particularly in my mind from ’67 through ’71, when they were really consciously pushing the envelope. You’ve heard my previous praise for Baxter’s and the Dead’s corresponding album, Anthem of the Sun, is hands down my favorite studio album of theirs. They took multiple live performances, some early prog epics, endless double drum paradiddling, modern classical tricks like perpared piano and collaged it into a singularly unique psychedelic tableau. It’s pretentious and goofy, sure, but it really is a more potent dose than, say, Strawberry Alarm Clock or even UmmaGumma era Pink Floyd. And yes, Phil Lesh really has some great moments and a particularly nice bass lead in to whatever the second half of Anthem’s first side is called. Again though, Lesh really doesn’t rock. On one of Bob weirs Chuck Berry pastiches called One More Saturday Night, Lesh is endlesslty inventive underneath, but it doesn’t advance the song whatsoever; it can only be appreciated if you focus on it to the total exclusion of what the band is trying to do on that number. For that reason, I think they were generally better when they were futurists rather than traditionalists. I also disagee with the claims that Garcia was an endless noodler. He was generally incapable of executing a gripping short rock solo, but I think his long solos had a coherence and a dynamic that is very uncommon in the rock arena.

    Plurbie can bad rap the Dead based on their Dylan and the Dead tour, but I’ve heard that and it’s awful. I don’t really think that he would appreciate their good stuff either, but that is like calling out the Clash for Cut the Crap.

  17. I dislike the Dead. Their music does nothing for me. But, I’ll defend an aspect of the culture.

    I’ve never been honest or rude enough to say, “the Dead suck”, when asked if I like them. Always a weaker, “they’re not my bag.” I’ve never been excluded from the gang after saying that. Deadheads assume that you just haven’t had the proper spirit-guide to hand you the ultimate Schenectady, NY bootleg that will allow you to hear the light. They are completely evangelical and open that way.

    Tell a punk rocker you don’t like his batch of bands, and you are outside the circle as uncool. You’re either with the program or an asshole.

    Deadheads seem to legitimately want you to get and enjoy what they do. Always willing to expand the circle rather than snobbishly look down on an outsider who doesn’t “get it”. I like that part of the culture. And the no bra look.

  18. Mr. Moderator

    Good points, Chickenfrank, Geo, and BigSteve. I would think that older Deadheads have a better perspective/are less in the bullseye of what the likes of Plurbs and I have to say. It’s those late-70s Deadheads with whom we take issue. Geo and BigSteve, did the young turks in the parking lot bum you out a little bit?:)

  19. Yeah, I am by no means going to say that the GD were not a vital band that contributed to the landscape of “good music,” but for me the concept of the Package Deal is an outgrowth of their fans, a community that has constructed for itself a canon. My point, if I did have one (I’d have to scroll up to remember), was that since the Dead were such a musical vortex none of these other bands really matter in a GD context, because – like The Beatles in modern Pop music – it’s already in there. OK, that was a lot of commas and parentheticals, but hopefully you get me. The Dead Canon is purely social due to its redundancy on the band itself.

    And you know what? Now I’m curious to hear “Anthem Of The Sun!”

  20. When it comes to the Grateful Dead, I never got the whole “you gotta see ’em live” thing and saw them twice. I only went as I was under the spell of some hot hippie chick.

    Yet, I don’t dislike the Dead at all. I actually like the recorded works up to around 1972. I will say that they did create a substantial alternative culture around them. Unfortunately it was not a particularly viable one, and not one that many of us would care to join as echoed by the late Greg Shaw in his essay Revolution Now.

    In terms of the package deal, I have an appreciation for the bands mentioned. I recall a time when people would look at you odd for playing “Babylon By The Bus” in your dorm room and question what the fuck was up with that shit. Sadly, the Marley icon status has been smoked to death and now all that is left is stems and seeds. Much of my dislike of the whole “jam band” scene is it seems to be “dress up” and almost cartoonish.

  21. Hey George,

    Just for the record, the Dead has no “good stuff”. I’ve listened to “Anthem of the Sun”, and those of us who aren’t in need of serious psychiatric help agree that it is a hodgepodge of sounds that don’t work together. It’s the aural equivalent of what you see in the toilet after eating bad seafood and ice cream washed down with orange juice.

    The Dead’s best efforts are collected on “Skeletons from the Closet”, which is where they should have been left, with the door krazy glued shut. Those efforts are at best C+ attempts at the 3 best Band tracks, which are also the only 3 listenable Band numbers: “The Weight”, “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down”, and “Up on Cripple Creek.”

    That old Dead sweetheart of mine was always trying to push my buttons. Right before we decided to become an item, I made it clear that I hated the Dead, and she was just going to have to accept that along with my pair of old Levi’s sta-prest mustard colored shorts that I wore until the ass became too threadbare for public consumption. She was fine with all that but continually tried to bring me out of the darkness as far as my distaste for the Dead was concerned. Case in point was a comp tape she made for me featuring the song “Box of Rain.” She threw it in with a bunch of other stuff that she knew I liked a lot: “Disguises” and “I Can’t Reach You” by the Who, “Waterloo Sunset” by the Kinks. . . . stuff that’s objectively great. Always a good trick when you’re trying to turn on a buddy to something you consider special (and I gotta give credit where credit is due -the Moderator is a master when it comesto the comp tape). Anyway, this song came on that had great steel guitar work and lyrics sung by someone who was sincerely going through serious pain. Great track. I called up my deadhead sweetheart and asked her about it (smart chick. She never ever gave me an insert with song titles and artist names). She laughed and told me the song was “Box of Rain” by . . . .”

    This was not good. A taste for the Dead would surely lead to other crutches: jewelry, tattoos, and worst of all, the earring -all major signs of weakness, at least as far as my father was concerned. I had to get this whole thing figured out as quickly as possible.

    One of my roomates was the ultimate dead bozo who had a strong attraction to others who mirrored his dubious artistic talents: David Bromberg, Manassas, Crosby-Nash, Stills-Young, Crosby-Stills (you may find this hard to believe, but he actually preferred those combinations over CSN/CSNY). If anyone would know the story behind “Box of Rain”, it was him: “Oh, yeah, man. Phil was in a lot of fucking pain when he wrote that thing. It’s about his old man dyin’ with cancer. Some pretty intense shit. Phil’s singin’, but he’s not the bass player on it. Some dude named Dave Tolbert’s playing. And this is a trip too -David Nelson, fucking Ricky Nelson’s brother, is the guy you hear on the steel guitar. Jerry got schlepped to the piano. Do you fucking believe that shit??!!”

    God was indeed good, very good. All was well again on Planet Earth.

    “Box of Rain” is hands down “good stuff” -good because it’s a well written song that’s sincerely performed. There’s a little bit of fat hanging on it, but that can be excused because pain tends to hamper one’s ability to communicate clearly and concisely. My take is that Lesh is a cut way above the other sloths in the Dead, and he wasn’t about to have them fuck up something near and dear to his heart. In other words, “Box of Rain” is a Phil Lesh number, not a Dead track, and because of that, my take that the Dead has no “good stuff” still stands with no problems whatsoever.

    I gotta give it to you though. Your tolerance for 100 percent pure shit is admirable for Ripley like reasons. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see your picture in one of those Ripley volumes, presented in the following fashion: the mid 60s WB record label is used as a backdrop. With shit eating grin, you’ve got your ass planted firmly on that dusty Burbank road, arms clutched around your knees, those palm trees saluting you for having the worst taste known to man, surrounded by all that swill you celebrate: “Anthem of the Sun”, “Baxter’s”, “Sailin’ Shoes”, “Astral Weeks”. . .all those awful Mo Ostin tax write offs that any sane human being would frisbee into a dumpster.

    Whatever. Kudos for standing tall and proud behind that massive pile of garbage. Somebody’s gotta do it, no matter how little sense it makes to do so.

    Yours in JC,
    E. Pluribus

    P.S. At your convenience, I’d like another copy of the Knife and Fork Band EP with “KFB Rip”. My wife took it to work one day and can’t seem to figure out what the hell happened to it. My address is still the same.

  22. BigSteve

    Wow the artistic value of a band’s music can be determined by epg’s sexual history. Who knew? And the fact that he has daughters acts as divine validation of his artistic judgment. No one could possibly argue with that. It gets better. A song’s merit can be measured by whether the guy singing it is in “sincerely going through serious pain.” That’s certainly helpful, because now I can ignore music by any singer experiencing only mild discomfort.

    Faced with such insight, it seems petty to pull out a pince nez or two, but here goes. Phil Lesh wrote only the music to Box of Rain. The lyrics are by Dead lyricist Robert Hunter. A google search did not reveal how much pain he was in while writing those lyrics. In any case the idea that BoR is “a Phil Lesh number, not a Dead track” is questionable.

    Also, the David Nelson who played on that song was the guitarist in the New Riders of the Purple Sage. He is not Rick Nelson’s brother. And Box of Rain does not feature “great steel guitar work.” Nelson plays a B-Bender Telecaster on it. Garcia plays piano.

    I think I should go record some vocals right now, because I’m in some serious fucking pain due to the mental image I’m getting of a young epg in mustard-colored sta-prest threadbare-assed shorts.

  23. Eh said:

    “And you know what? Now I’m curious to hear “Anthem Of The Sun!”

    It’s certainly worth a listen. The first Dead album is nearly a complete failure, nervous one dimensional jamming on blues numbers.. But the sheer audacity of Anthem is pretty stunning. It’s like they went from 0 to 60 in about 3 seconds. It’s circumstantial evidence that the Acid Tests were really some sort of wild, outward bound journey.

  24. geo says:
    The first Dead album is nearly a complete failure, nervous one dimensional jamming on blues numbers

    I says:
    So is the 1st Aerosmith record, but i like it just fine.

    This has been an amazing thread!

  25. Shawn,

    Yes, but from a band that DOESN’T ROCK, an album like that really won’t have much to recommend it. I’m certainly no big Aerosmith fan, but I’d say the definitely can rock..

  26. 2000 Man

    What a great thread. E Plurby has totally validated my dislike of the GD. I hate being the one that never “gets it” in those circles and the one time I went to see that band I did so with an open mind and even brought my own party favors to share. 18 hours after the show was over and I was finally able to fall asleep I remember thinking it would have been a great night if the band wasn’t so boring.

  27. Blammo,

    Thanks for the thumbs up. Sometimes I feel like Yossarian up here. It’s good to know that there are other like minded souls who aren’t afraid to come out and tell it like it is, i.e. that The Dead is a a thoroughly undigestable shit sandwich.

    One more story about my dead sweetheart. Hard to believe, but she was really nuts about me. Matter of fact, she bought me a bass one year with funds she scraped together while she was working as a waitress at a Woolworth’s lunch counter (yeah, this was some time ago). It was my 20th birthday, and she gave me this present that was obviously a guitar or a bass, wrapped up in two trash bags taped together. Whatever I’d done during my first 20 years to be worthy of such a female was beyond my powers of comprehension, and I felt like I was going to cry or throw up. Further fucking up my psychological garbage bag was the sickness I felt after ripping the bag apart: it was a bass, but one of those Ibanez/Yamaha blonde wood long scale Pastoriuslike monstrosities favored by all those Guitar Player bassist of the month peckerheads who specialize in nothing but boring people to death. How well did she really know me? Didn’t she understand that this piece of shit was more or less a perfect crystalization of every artistic no no I bitched and complained about relentlessly for the last seven or eight months? Like I said earlier, she was a deadhead, and when that’s the case, something’s always a little off kilter.

    To take my mind ANYWHERE away from that superbly crafted turd that was longer than a fucking diving board, I was desperate to get high, even though it was against principle #1 regarding dope smoking: toke for purposes of enlightenment only, which was usually a solitary activity, just me, my headphones, and whatever LP I was revisiting at the time, and that was probably “Flowers” by The Rolling Stones -thrown together without the Stones stamp of approval, but it’s one of the ultimate folk rock LPs.

    Simply put, there isn’t a deadhead alive that needs to be talked into getting high. The rest of the afternoon and evening was salvaged, and I remember it being not unlike an econobuy Two Virgins sort of thing, Pretty neat stuff. That night solidified our thang, which gave me the stregnth, after a week or so, to return the bass for a Squier Precision: cheap, effective, and even more importantly, it looked great, just like the one Brian Wilson played on The TAMI show. I told her I didn’t have the reach to play the diving board with any sort of finesse. She bought all that hook, line, and sinker. Everyting was still cool, and more Two Virgins evenings were to follow.

    Back in those days, I got along with everybody. I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true, which also meant I’d play with anyone as well. Truth be told, nobody at my college liked anything I was into. It was all Bruce, the Dead, 70s and 80s Who, Huey Lewis and the News. . . .you were lucky if you found one guy with a Romantics album in his collection. Honestly, it was that bad. I allowed taste to take a back seat and sought out people that were fairly bright and funny, especially funny. A rotten record collection was easily overlooked if someone was able to get a good chuckle out of me. Some of those people turned out to be Jerry disciples, and I would frequently bring my bass over to their jam sessions. “Fire on the Mountain” was always their quintessential jam number.

    What follows was my introduction to the jam:

    “Alright, we’re gonna do this Dead thing called “Fire on the Mountain”. It’s cool because there’s plenty of space for improvisation and shit. You’re looking at two chords: B and A. Just keep going back and forth. You wanna just play the rude notes? That’s cool. You wanna do some shit that sounds like scales? That cool too. Anything’s cool as long as you’re cool with whatever vibe is happening. Is that cool with you? No pressure.”

    To make a long story short, I wound up playing “Fire on the Mountain” at least 20 different times at various get togethers and nothing interesting or memorable happened at any of those occasions. And that’s more or less how I see the Dead’s philosophy of art: structure is evil, skill as a necessity is overrated, and freedom is the ultimate goal at the expense of everything else. When one chooses to adopt these playing and listening philosophies, anything’s a strong possibility -even something as uniquely awful as Jefferson Airplane’s “After Bathing at Baxter’s.”

    Blammo, I’ve been listening to nothing but the Stones “Let it Bleed” this week. It makes a discussion of the Dead’s merits impossible. It is, perhaps, the ultimate rock and roll masterpiece: craft, emotion, skill, and the psychologically bizzare melded perfectly together. When the bar is set that high, it makes an act like the Dead totally intolerable.

    At this stage of the game, I’m objectively an old fart. That said, I still love all this nonsense almost as much as my wife and kids. It’s sacred, which is why I have so much hatred for the Dead, and the way they fuck up the young and inexperienced for the rest of their musical lives. The whole thing is sorta like Guyana Tragedy, but a hell of a lot worse.

    Do me a favor, revisit “Let It Bleed” this week. Put the headphones on, and crank the motherfucker. Unlike the drivel served up on Europe ’72 and the other 150 Dead platters that should be mailed out to skeet shooting ranges thoughout the country, “Let it Bleed” ’tis pure truth and beauty, and that is all one really needs to know.

    Hope all is well,
    E. Pluribus

  28. Mr. Moderator

    Telewacker, that Bedbugs’ clip was promising. Reminded me a bit of that first Dead album, which Geo and other Dead fans diss. I recall that thing having moments corny fuzz appeal to them.

    I don’t know that I’ve ever heard Anthem of the Sun. I’ve got to hear that album sometime soon. A few years ago Geo turned me onto one of the Jefferson Airplane albums us non-JA fans joke about. I by no means love the album, but there are some segments I can enjoy as background music/building blocks worth ripping off for real songs. Some Paul song called “Let it Ride” or something like that is a standout among that “worth ripping off the good parts” category.

  29. junkintheyard

    As a newcomer, I am catching up as much as I can. And in my studies (i.e. old posts, glossary and crimes) I came across this one. Interesting to say the least. Furious debate and some serious hate! So I will come at this objectively as the youngster who was in grade school when Jerry died and have no swaying feelings for or against the Dead.

    Scrolling through the thread, trying to make sense of why EP is so vociferously against the band, thinking “did he really waste his energy and time regaling us with stories of his soured relationships to convince us that his taste is better, cause that is what it looks like. What is the underlying current?” It wasn’t the stoner ex, or the tearing apart of a past-their-prime music act. What the hell is this guy’s hang up? Then at the end of his final tirade, his true colors shine- Let it Bleed. Only a guy who worships a bloated album like that can really be so bitter about an ex girlfriend and concert experience 20 some odd years down the line that he has sucked even me into an angry tirade. I guess I’m still learning.

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