Monday, July 1, 2013

Waking up Dead


I've tried many a time, but I just can't seem to get into the Dead.  I've got several of their albums, including so-called "essentials" as American Beauty and Workingman's Dead, and, while they are certainly not bad, they leave me with a profound feeling of "meh."  I've also tried several different variations on their "greatest hits" collections, and still can't see what the big deal is.

It fascinates me, particularly being such a fan of music in general, and rock and roll in particular, that I just don't understand the utter commitment many, if not most of the Dead's fans had made to the group.  Following the band on their tours, swapping and collecting literally hundreds, if not thousands of legal bootlegs, knowing what songs were played when and where, and then also knowing which versions were the best; it's just mind boggling.

I do understand fanaticism, I have that with The Beatles and PJ Harvey, among others.

(There is really no reason to post a photo of PJ.
But there's also no reason not to.)

But I just don't get the Dead.  And that's why it's particularly odd that the Dead make my Earworm playlist with some regularity.  Over night, briefly waking to accommodate my cat Nick's insistence on getting under the covers, the Dead were front and center and the tune, or rather the phrase, was there, still, when I got up this morning.  Why this song?  Why this phrase?  Why am I washing the cereal bowl while singing and doing the Hustle?

"Well, well, well, you can never tell…"

It's Disco Dead...





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