• https://www.dead.net/features/blair-jackson/blairs-golden-road-blog-super-bowl-fantasy
    Blair's Golden Road Blog - Super Bowl Fantasy

    As I watched Madonna’s dumb, hopelessly over-the-top, obviously lip-synched performance during halftime of the Super Bowl, I wondered what the Grateful Dead might have done if they’d stuck around this long and were asked to play at that outsized and cartoonish extravaganza. (OK, we’re in Fantasyland here: Jerry is still alive and somehow Dead Heads in the corporate wing of the NFL convinced their bosses and the network carrying the Super Bowl that the “legendary” Grateful Dead would be perfect to fill that 17-minute slot between the 12th Bud Light commercial and this year’s shameful sex tease from GoDaddy.com. After all, The Who and Paul McCartney had done it, and Led Zep still wasn’t interested.)

    The promos the network ran for the Dead’s halftime appearance in the weeks leading up to the Super Bowl looked promising. There they were, happy and smiling, belting out the triumphal closing chorus of “Touch of Grey”—“We will survive!”—for a stadium full of tie-dye-clad revelers singing along on a sunny summer afternoon. Quick cut to hippies dancing in Golden Gate Park, 1967, then to a brief glimpse of Kesey’s bus, then back to the Dead show, where the band and crowd are loudly crooning, “What a lonnnnnng strange trip it’s been!” Fade in Grateful Dead “Stealie” logo” over cheering fans and… fade to black. Dynamite!

    From Someecards.com

    The on-field rehearsal the night before went well. The band had worked up a snappy jam-free medley of a truncated “Truckin’” (minus the “Livin’ on reds, vitamin C and cocaine” verse and the second “Sometimes the light’s all shining on me” bridge); “Touch of Grey” (pruned by two verses and a bridge); “Sugar Magnolia” (during which 500 clean-cut local teenagers decked out in matching tie-dye shirts and pressed jeans, each carrying a single plastic daisy, charged onto the field in front of the band’s peace-symbol-shaped stage and imitated frantic hippie dancing to simulate a Dead Head crowd); and a feel-good finale of “Not Fade Away” (which ended with the kids moving into formation to spell the word “LOVE.” Awww, how sweet! Jerry was laughing as he left the stage; Phil scowled and shook his head. In the video truck parked outside the stadium, everyone looked pleased and satisfied.

    The next day—Super Bowl Sunday—everything seemed to be going beautifully with the telecast. The game was exciting—how ’bout that play right before halftime where the quarterback tried to hide the ball under his shirt; that never works! The commercials were incredible—remember the one with the biker, the nun in a bikini and a dead koala bear? LOL! Before the teams had even made it into their locker rooms, the halftime stage crew swarmed onto the field and worked like ants on steroids rolling the many enormous pieces of the stage into place. The stadium was buzzing with excitement as the house lights were extinguished, multicolored spotlights began moving over the crowd in fast sweeps, and the voice of none other than Morgan Freeman solemnly intoned over the P.A.: “Ladies and gentlemen … direct from Haight-Ashbury in San Francisco … the last survivors of the turned-on ’60s … the Grateful Dead!”

    There was a deafening roar from the crowd, the lights that had been flashing and flying over every inch of the cavernous stadium’s three decks suddenly came together at once in a single giant beam of rainbow light that drenched the stage in color, and fireworks behind the band platform exploded into the night sky. Incredible! And then…

    Well…nothing. Mickey hit his snare a couple of times, checking to see if it was properly tuned. Jerry stood facing his stack of amps, casually lighting a cigarette and joking with Steve Parish. Bob was kneeling intently in front of his effects setup, twisting knobs and flicking switches, trying out a MIDI sound that was like a burp mixed with an oboe. Phil warmed up with a dissonant Schoenbergian 12-tone row on his bass, while Billy played the “Alley Cat” rhythm with brushes on his hi-hat. And guest pianist Elton John, who had worn a jewel-encrusted Day-glo jump suit at rehearsal, was nowhere to be seen.

    After 45 seconds of this, the director in the video truck was in full freak-out mode, letting out strange squeals and screams and attempting to tear out at what little hair he had left. “It’s cool,” Dead manager Danny Rifkin, who had been lured out of retirement for the Super Bowl gig, casually told the director. “Sometimes they can be a little slow getting into it.” Right at that moment, Garcia put down his ciggie, turned to the other players, Sir Elton arrived at his bench to ecstatic cheers, and the Dead charged into…. Ba-da-da-duh, ba-da-da-dah… “Dark Star”!

    “WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?” the red-faced director shrieked in Rifkin’s direction, except he didn’t say “hell.”

    “That’s ‘Dark Star,’ man. What a treat for the Dead Heads. They never open with that!”

    “But … but … what about ‘Truckin’’?” the apoplectic director sputtered, his eyes bulging.

    “I guess it didn’t feel right,” Rifkin said. “Or maybe they’ll play it later. Don’t worry, they’ve got a clock.”

    Indeed, a bright digital clock tucked below Bobby’s front monitor speaker gave a read-out of how much of the band’s 17-minute allotment was left. After just a minute and half of “Dark Star” craziness—surely the shortest version ever—the group lurched into the elephantine lumber of “Victim or the Crime” and Bob came to the mike and shouted: “Patience runs out on the junkie / The dark side hires another soul…” By this point the director was speechless, staring at Rifkin with a wide-eyed, panicked look.

    “It’s very topical,” Rifkin said calmly with a smile. “The line about ‘the dark side’ will grab all those kids who are into vampires. You know, the Twilight crowd.”

    The band mercifully played just a single verse and then shifted gears again. All right—there’s a riff everyone knows! Garcia came up to the mike: “DRIVING THAT TRAIN, HIGH ON CO-CAINE!”

    Over the director’s intercom in the truck came the voice of the network president: “NO! NO! NO! NO! FIX THIS … NOW!”

    But the Dead were already onto the next part of their medley, a furious plunge into “The Other One” that so disoriented one of the cameramen onstage that he fell backward onto a female sideline reporter who had been watching the show with a look of disgust on her face. Elton kicked his bench behind him, hitting another cameraman, and pounded the keys with his elbows. In the truck, the director was alternately blubbering and taking deep breaths, calling out random camera numbers without even looking at the shots on his monitor wall. It looked very trippy at home!

    As “The Other One” gave way to the opening strains of “Truckin’”—finally!—the director gathered himself together enough to instruct over an intercom, “OK, let’s get those kids out there!” And right as Bobby was staring heavenward, in vain, for the lyrics to the first verse, that sheepish, confused look on his face, hundreds of people poured out from one of the tunnels leading to the field and filled up the area in front of the stage. But wait—these weren’t the kids from the previous day’s rehearsals. These were real Dead Heads!

    “We figured it would be better to have some of our fans out there,” Rifkin offered before the stupefied director could even ask. “It’s more authentic, dontcha think?”

    The cameramen around the stadium instinctively started to zoom in on the dancing hippies, and that’s when America really got an eyeful: There was a guy selling veggie burritos out of a knapsack, two scraggly bandana-wearing dogs chasing each other through the crowd, a woman dressed in Guatemalan togs and straw hat holding a sign that read “NEED A RIDE TO DENVER,” a row of tapers who jockeyed and jostled for the best position exactly 28 feet in front of the stage, a naked dude who rolled around on the NFL logo at the 50 yard line, rail rats and hallway twirlers, little kids wandering around blowing bubbles and even Wavy Gravy walking his ubiquitous rubber fish on a leash. A shirtless long-hair wearing leather pants but no shoes somehow wandered onto the stage, and with his right finger in the air, appeared to ask Jerry if he had an extra ticket. Garcia chuckled and looked away as Kidd Candelario tackled the clearly disoriented lad and “eased” him from the stage.

    With just two minutes left on the clock, the group abruptly abandoned “Truckin’” as only the Grateful Dead could—bass notes flopped awkwardly over guitar clams, cymbals crashed and Elton smashed his forehead onto his keyboard so hard his enormous pink plastic flamingo sunglasses went flying onto Billy’s floor tom. Out of that cacophony came the unmistakable beat of “Not Fade Away.” In the truck, Rifkin laughed and said to the director, “See? Just like a Swiss watch! You gotta have faith.”

    The crowd was way into it, too, and clapped along loudly. It had taken a while—16 minutes—but the band had hit its stride at last! The director even smiled slightly as he instructed Camera 4 to shoot a pair of very drunk-looking women in crop tops singing along and boogieing in their very expensive seats.

    “Look, they’re going to do the ‘LOVE’ spell-out!” the director said excitedly as he saw members of the crowd starting to arrange themselves in front of the stage. As the band came to their mikes for the last unison a cappella lines—“Know our love will not fade away…” the director barked into his headset, “Cameras, 2, 5, 6 and 8—get on that crowd!”

    The hippies miraculously formed into a perfect “L,” and the director giggled. Then the next bunch assembled into an “S.” All of a sudden the director blanched. He looked over to Rifkin with a puzzled look, but the manager was gone; the door to the truck was already swinging closed. The director muttered under his breath. “L … S …” and he cocked his head at one of the monitors to see what letter was coming next.

    “Oh, my GOD!” he shouted, “CUT TO COMMERCIAL! CUT TO COMMERCIAL!”

    Only the 80,000 on hand in the stadium got to see the third letter. Oh, and the millions who saw it on the Internet the next day.

    Once the game was over, the director drove himself to a nearby asylum. Jerry cheerfully signed autographs outside the winning team’s locker room. On the field, still covered with victorious players and hundreds of members of the press, Bill Walton blithely walked between the MVP quarterback and dozens of press interrogators, leaned his head down next to the quarterback’s, and, grinning, loudly proclaimed into a sea of cameras: “Best … Super Bowl … halftime … EVER!” and flashed the peace sign.

    *        *       *

    For each of my February blogs, I’m highlighting five entrants from the Dead Covers Project that have particularly caught my eyes and ears. Here are this week’s Fab Five:

    Kacey Cubero:“Stella Blue.” According to a note under the video, Cubero was nine months pregnant when she cut this wonderful version of “Stella” in mid-January—so maybe there will be a little Cubero crying in the background of her next video. She does a fine job with a tough song, and the five-piece band that backs her up—acoustic guitar, hollow-body electric, standup bass, dobro, fiddle—colors the song beautifully. I’d love to hear more from them.

    Nathan David:“Eyes of the World.” An exceptional guitarist who lives in Australia, David plays this fantastic version of “Eyes” solo with live loops. It's hard to keep the momentum of a tune like this going for 12 minutes, but he makes it look easy, unleashing fluid leads that vary in tone and attack. Make sure you stick around until the end to hear his coda, with electronics and moody bottleneck. (Turn it up!)

    D-Madness: “Shakedown Street.” I’ve always wondered what “Shakedown” might sound like performed by an African American funk band. Well, here it is, courtesy of Austin multi-instrumentalist D-Madness. It’s got the silky vocals, the thumping bass, the smooth guitars; very cool. The video is just still photos of the musicians, but it’s worth checking out for the audio track.

    Von Johin: “Visions of Johanna.” This may be the strangest conceptual video we’ve received, but it’s also one of the most evocative. As singer/acoustic guitarist Johin lays down a moving, terrifically rendered version of the Dylan classic, the visual (created by Bryan Oh) is a slow journey through some sort of surrealist videogame landscape still-life, with a solitary woman standing amidst dusty books, an old fashioned bicycle, a bird skeleton, a weathered upright piano and various other unusual objects. Dylan would be proud; so would Jerry.

    Mark Muller and the Dead-On Choir: “Attics of My Life.” Captured at the Count Basie Theater in NJ, this is a striking note-for-note version of “Attics” with spare instrumentation and just about perfect vocals. This is an extremely difficult song to pull off this well—just ask the Grateful Dead!

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  • Default Avatar
    _
    8 years 1 month ago
    @lip sync.....
    agreed mkav, but Beyoncé and Bobby would make a cute couple....
  • mkav
    8 years 1 month ago
    Dead halftime
    We were just discussing this! Can't see GD lip-syncing. The choreography would be a hoot
  • Default Avatar
    deadheadben
    8 years 1 month ago
    Always good for a laugh
    Well today is the super bowl and I reread this and it is one of the funniest things ever. I almost get a tear every time I read it. Thanks for this awesome bit of fiction Blair!
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14 years 11 months

As I watched Madonna’s dumb, hopelessly over-the-top, obviously lip-synched performance during halftime of the Super Bowl, I wondered what the Grateful Dead might have done if they’d stuck around this long and were asked to play at that outsized and cartoonish extravaganza. (OK, we’re in Fantasyland here: Jerry is still alive and somehow Dead Heads in the corporate wing of the NFL convinced their bosses and the network carrying the Super Bowl that the “legendary” Grateful Dead would be perfect to fill that 17-minute slot between the 12th Bud Light commercial and this year’s shameful sex tease from GoDaddy.com. After all, The Who and Paul McCartney had done it, and Led Zep still wasn’t interested.)

The promos the network ran for the Dead’s halftime appearance in the weeks leading up to the Super Bowl looked promising. There they were, happy and smiling, belting out the triumphal closing chorus of “Touch of Grey”—“We will survive!”—for a stadium full of tie-dye-clad revelers singing along on a sunny summer afternoon. Quick cut to hippies dancing in Golden Gate Park, 1967, then to a brief glimpse of Kesey’s bus, then back to the Dead show, where the band and crowd are loudly crooning, “What a lonnnnnng strange trip it’s been!” Fade in Grateful Dead “Stealie” logo” over cheering fans and… fade to black. Dynamite!

From Someecards.com

The on-field rehearsal the night before went well. The band had worked up a snappy jam-free medley of a truncated “Truckin’” (minus the “Livin’ on reds, vitamin C and cocaine” verse and the second “Sometimes the light’s all shining on me” bridge); “Touch of Grey” (pruned by two verses and a bridge); “Sugar Magnolia” (during which 500 clean-cut local teenagers decked out in matching tie-dye shirts and pressed jeans, each carrying a single plastic daisy, charged onto the field in front of the band’s peace-symbol-shaped stage and imitated frantic hippie dancing to simulate a Dead Head crowd); and a feel-good finale of “Not Fade Away” (which ended with the kids moving into formation to spell the word “LOVE.” Awww, how sweet! Jerry was laughing as he left the stage; Phil scowled and shook his head. In the video truck parked outside the stadium, everyone looked pleased and satisfied.

The next day—Super Bowl Sunday—everything seemed to be going beautifully with the telecast. The game was exciting—how ’bout that play right before halftime where the quarterback tried to hide the ball under his shirt; that never works! The commercials were incredible—remember the one with the biker, the nun in a bikini and a dead koala bear? LOL! Before the teams had even made it into their locker rooms, the halftime stage crew swarmed onto the field and worked like ants on steroids rolling the many enormous pieces of the stage into place. The stadium was buzzing with excitement as the house lights were extinguished, multicolored spotlights began moving over the crowd in fast sweeps, and the voice of none other than Morgan Freeman solemnly intoned over the P.A.: “Ladies and gentlemen … direct from Haight-Ashbury in San Francisco … the last survivors of the turned-on ’60s … the Grateful Dead!”

There was a deafening roar from the crowd, the lights that had been flashing and flying over every inch of the cavernous stadium’s three decks suddenly came together at once in a single giant beam of rainbow light that drenched the stage in color, and fireworks behind the band platform exploded into the night sky. Incredible! And then…

Well…nothing. Mickey hit his snare a couple of times, checking to see if it was properly tuned. Jerry stood facing his stack of amps, casually lighting a cigarette and joking with Steve Parish. Bob was kneeling intently in front of his effects setup, twisting knobs and flicking switches, trying out a MIDI sound that was like a burp mixed with an oboe. Phil warmed up with a dissonant Schoenbergian 12-tone row on his bass, while Billy played the “Alley Cat” rhythm with brushes on his hi-hat. And guest pianist Elton John, who had worn a jewel-encrusted Day-glo jump suit at rehearsal, was nowhere to be seen.

After 45 seconds of this, the director in the video truck was in full freak-out mode, letting out strange squeals and screams and attempting to tear out at what little hair he had left. “It’s cool,” Dead manager Danny Rifkin, who had been lured out of retirement for the Super Bowl gig, casually told the director. “Sometimes they can be a little slow getting into it.” Right at that moment, Garcia put down his ciggie, turned to the other players, Sir Elton arrived at his bench to ecstatic cheers, and the Dead charged into…. Ba-da-da-duh, ba-da-da-dah… “Dark Star”!

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?” the red-faced director shrieked in Rifkin’s direction, except he didn’t say “hell.”

“That’s ‘Dark Star,’ man. What a treat for the Dead Heads. They never open with that!”

“But … but … what about ‘Truckin’’?” the apoplectic director sputtered, his eyes bulging.

“I guess it didn’t feel right,” Rifkin said. “Or maybe they’ll play it later. Don’t worry, they’ve got a clock.”

Indeed, a bright digital clock tucked below Bobby’s front monitor speaker gave a read-out of how much of the band’s 17-minute allotment was left. After just a minute and half of “Dark Star” craziness—surely the shortest version ever—the group lurched into the elephantine lumber of “Victim or the Crime” and Bob came to the mike and shouted: “Patience runs out on the junkie / The dark side hires another soul…” By this point the director was speechless, staring at Rifkin with a wide-eyed, panicked look.

“It’s very topical,” Rifkin said calmly with a smile. “The line about ‘the dark side’ will grab all those kids who are into vampires. You know, the Twilight crowd.”

The band mercifully played just a single verse and then shifted gears again. All right—there’s a riff everyone knows! Garcia came up to the mike: “DRIVING THAT TRAIN, HIGH ON CO-CAINE!”

Over the director’s intercom in the truck came the voice of the network president: “NO! NO! NO! NO! FIX THIS … NOW!”

But the Dead were already onto the next part of their medley, a furious plunge into “The Other One” that so disoriented one of the cameramen onstage that he fell backward onto a female sideline reporter who had been watching the show with a look of disgust on her face. Elton kicked his bench behind him, hitting another cameraman, and pounded the keys with his elbows. In the truck, the director was alternately blubbering and taking deep breaths, calling out random camera numbers without even looking at the shots on his monitor wall. It looked very trippy at home!

As “The Other One” gave way to the opening strains of “Truckin’”—finally!—the director gathered himself together enough to instruct over an intercom, “OK, let’s get those kids out there!” And right as Bobby was staring heavenward, in vain, for the lyrics to the first verse, that sheepish, confused look on his face, hundreds of people poured out from one of the tunnels leading to the field and filled up the area in front of the stage. But wait—these weren’t the kids from the previous day’s rehearsals. These were real Dead Heads!

“We figured it would be better to have some of our fans out there,” Rifkin offered before the stupefied director could even ask. “It’s more authentic, dontcha think?”

The cameramen around the stadium instinctively started to zoom in on the dancing hippies, and that’s when America really got an eyeful: There was a guy selling veggie burritos out of a knapsack, two scraggly bandana-wearing dogs chasing each other through the crowd, a woman dressed in Guatemalan togs and straw hat holding a sign that read “NEED A RIDE TO DENVER,” a row of tapers who jockeyed and jostled for the best position exactly 28 feet in front of the stage, a naked dude who rolled around on the NFL logo at the 50 yard line, rail rats and hallway twirlers, little kids wandering around blowing bubbles and even Wavy Gravy walking his ubiquitous rubber fish on a leash. A shirtless long-hair wearing leather pants but no shoes somehow wandered onto the stage, and with his right finger in the air, appeared to ask Jerry if he had an extra ticket. Garcia chuckled and looked away as Kidd Candelario tackled the clearly disoriented lad and “eased” him from the stage.

With just two minutes left on the clock, the group abruptly abandoned “Truckin’” as only the Grateful Dead could—bass notes flopped awkwardly over guitar clams, cymbals crashed and Elton smashed his forehead onto his keyboard so hard his enormous pink plastic flamingo sunglasses went flying onto Billy’s floor tom. Out of that cacophony came the unmistakable beat of “Not Fade Away.” In the truck, Rifkin laughed and said to the director, “See? Just like a Swiss watch! You gotta have faith.”

The crowd was way into it, too, and clapped along loudly. It had taken a while—16 minutes—but the band had hit its stride at last! The director even smiled slightly as he instructed Camera 4 to shoot a pair of very drunk-looking women in crop tops singing along and boogieing in their very expensive seats.

“Look, they’re going to do the ‘LOVE’ spell-out!” the director said excitedly as he saw members of the crowd starting to arrange themselves in front of the stage. As the band came to their mikes for the last unison a cappella lines—“Know our love will not fade away…” the director barked into his headset, “Cameras, 2, 5, 6 and 8—get on that crowd!”

The hippies miraculously formed into a perfect “L,” and the director giggled. Then the next bunch assembled into an “S.” All of a sudden the director blanched. He looked over to Rifkin with a puzzled look, but the manager was gone; the door to the truck was already swinging closed. The director muttered under his breath. “L … S …” and he cocked his head at one of the monitors to see what letter was coming next.

“Oh, my GOD!” he shouted, “CUT TO COMMERCIAL! CUT TO COMMERCIAL!”

Only the 80,000 on hand in the stadium got to see the third letter. Oh, and the millions who saw it on the Internet the next day.

Once the game was over, the director drove himself to a nearby asylum. Jerry cheerfully signed autographs outside the winning team’s locker room. On the field, still covered with victorious players and hundreds of members of the press, Bill Walton blithely walked between the MVP quarterback and dozens of press interrogators, leaned his head down next to the quarterback’s, and, grinning, loudly proclaimed into a sea of cameras: “Best … Super Bowl … halftime … EVER!” and flashed the peace sign.

*        *       *

For each of my February blogs, I’m highlighting five entrants from the Dead Covers Project that have particularly caught my eyes and ears. Here are this week’s Fab Five:

Kacey Cubero:“Stella Blue.” According to a note under the video, Cubero was nine months pregnant when she cut this wonderful version of “Stella” in mid-January—so maybe there will be a little Cubero crying in the background of her next video. She does a fine job with a tough song, and the five-piece band that backs her up—acoustic guitar, hollow-body electric, standup bass, dobro, fiddle—colors the song beautifully. I’d love to hear more from them.

Nathan David:“Eyes of the World.” An exceptional guitarist who lives in Australia, David plays this fantastic version of “Eyes” solo with live loops. It's hard to keep the momentum of a tune like this going for 12 minutes, but he makes it look easy, unleashing fluid leads that vary in tone and attack. Make sure you stick around until the end to hear his coda, with electronics and moody bottleneck. (Turn it up!)

D-Madness: “Shakedown Street.” I’ve always wondered what “Shakedown” might sound like performed by an African American funk band. Well, here it is, courtesy of Austin multi-instrumentalist D-Madness. It’s got the silky vocals, the thumping bass, the smooth guitars; very cool. The video is just still photos of the musicians, but it’s worth checking out for the audio track.

Von Johin: “Visions of Johanna.” This may be the strangest conceptual video we’ve received, but it’s also one of the most evocative. As singer/acoustic guitarist Johin lays down a moving, terrifically rendered version of the Dylan classic, the visual (created by Bryan Oh) is a slow journey through some sort of surrealist videogame landscape still-life, with a solitary woman standing amidst dusty books, an old fashioned bicycle, a bird skeleton, a weathered upright piano and various other unusual objects. Dylan would be proud; so would Jerry.

Mark Muller and the Dead-On Choir: “Attics of My Life.” Captured at the Count Basie Theater in NJ, this is a striking note-for-note version of “Attics” with spare instrumentation and just about perfect vocals. This is an extremely difficult song to pull off this well—just ask the Grateful Dead!

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As I watched Madonna’s dumb, hopelessly over-the-top, obviously lip-synched performance during halftime of the Super Bowl, I wondered what the Grateful Dead might have done if they’d stuck around this long and were asked to play at that outsized and cartoonish extravaganza. (OK, we’re in Fantasyland here: Jerry is still alive and somehow Dead Heads in the corporate wing of the NFL convinced their bosses and the network carrying the Super Bowl that the “legendary” Grateful Dead would be perfect to fill that 17-minute slot between the 12th Bud Light commercial and this year’s shameful sex tease from GoDaddy.com. After all, The Who and Paul McCartney had done it, and Led Zep still wasn’t interested.)

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I remember watching the super bowl a few years when the Rolling Stones played. OMG! They were worse than Madonna and just embarrassed themselves. Also, they looked like wrinkled prunes (Keith Richards). What kind of voo-doo do they do to keep themselves alive? If the Grateful Dead played with Jerry, since it's Sunday they would do Sampson>Shakedown>Promised & encore with Mighty Quinn
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This entertaining article reminds me to share how it really went down: After a fair first half of Football, the Band took the stage and launched into a scorching Cryptical. The grandstands emptied as the crowd flooded the floor. The football players, enthralled with the spectacle, drank the magic fruit punch ushered in at the start of the show. The rest is history- The second half was never played, and for the next 2 hours a landmark set was performed. Super Bowl XXX is now commonly referred to as Dave's Picks 11. It's also the only Grateful Dead show with a "Rocket Man" Encore.
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... to putting a punch/Kool-aid mass dosing in there. That's hilarious, Zuck. I just read it to my wife and she cracked up! As for the Stones, Ms Anna, at least they played live (as did The Who and McCartney). Madonna did not look comfortable doing those aided somersaults or cartwheels or whatever. She ain't 28 any more, but apparently didn't get the memo.
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Thanks Blair, that's the truest thing I've ever seen you write!!
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"Dark Star > Victim" to open the halftime show. TOTAL COMEDY! I can totally see that happening and eliciting a mixture of silent disbelief and boos from the meatheads in the stands.
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Elvis Costello playing the unscripted "Radio Radio" on Saturday Night Live and subsequently being banned from the show for 12 yrs...the "L...S...??" would probably have gotten the Dead banned from playing sporting events forever (no "Jerry Day?" Say it ain't so!). Question is, would the moment have finally eclipsed the Janet Jackson wardrobe malfunction in Super Bowl infamy? Given that Doc Ellis purportedly pitched a no-hitter on LSD, I've very much like to see where your fantasy would have taken the game itself if the teams' Gatorade had been dosed. But I guess that's a different tale altogether. Thanks, Blair, I'll be smiling all day after this one.
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wow, talk about deja vu, we had this exact same discussion during halftime, but if you are gonna bring back Jerry, bring back Bear too and let him mix up the most colorful batch of punch he had ever made, freeze dried for quick dispursement, and enclosed in a hugh mirror ball, as the first refrains of Dark Star are played,a thousand lights of all colors hit the ball, the ball explodes and doses everyone within a quarter mile area, everyone is dancing, cops on pogo sticks, acrobatic tiedied ladies spinning and flipping thru the crowd and the entire crowd shaking and trailing multi colored glow sticks given out at the beginning of the game. The entire band on fire, extended 3 hour set that seems to go on forever with the best fantasy set list you can think of. Of course, by this time, the director has also been overcome by the dosage and is in the corner talking to his ego. It's a wonder full day on the green and the following film wins "best documentary" oscar. Of course, Jerry doesn't attend the oscar ceremony but sends along some of the same product that was in the ball for all to sample, you know, keeping it real, but that's another story....
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That was hilarious. Although in keeping with tradition when playing on the highest profile gigs, they would have been disatisified with the performance. The planned DVD/live album joint release with the NFL would not come to fruition, and the replay would never be shown again on NFL films..
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For a wonderful column - hysterical, I was laughing out loud - what a great way to start the weekend. On my facebook status I recently posted 'what would the Dead have played at the Superbowl" - lots of great responses, including 'it takes them 15 minutes just to tune up.' My vote: Shakedown > Jack Straw
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effing brilliant, Blair! Totally had me laughing. I made it a point to not bother watching Mundana because, well, she just doesn't do anything for me and never has. So halftime was a perfect opportunity to head out for a smoke break. Now if they had booked say, Furthur for the show...
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I wasn't too interested or pleased with the Madonna half time show. Of course I wasn't, since I'm not a fan!! Yes, I can admit it here! I can also admit, I'm blissfully ignorant of almost ALL of today's rap, pop, dance and adult contemporary music. I didn't know (and didn't care) who "MIA" was, or any other "artist" who happened to be onstage with Madonna. I couldn't name a single song by "Beyonce", or "JayZ" or "Britney Spears" or that bratty Canadian singer with the initials "JB" ( I won't dare to spell it out here!). All I listen to is classic rock, and 90% of the Dead/Jerry. No other kind of music seems to matter to me. Am I closed minded? Perhaps, but I don't care. I'm not sure if I would have wanted the Grateful Dead to perform a half time show, but I definitely would have tuned in!!
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12 years 6 months
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Its funny because its true!
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16 years 7 months
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...good ol' Golden Road humor! I miss the hilarious fake ads you used to put in the magazine. Marketing Jerry T's and wasn't there also one about a floating Dead cruise? Well, there is jam cruise now...Thanks for the laugh to end a loooong strange week at work.
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Don't forget about the delay switch malfunction during the UJB encore so "goddamn" slipped out into the vast wasteland and NBC and the NFL had to apologize. Thanks Blair for a really funny piece. *** Meet you some morning in the sweet bye and bye...
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14 years 4 months
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...for brightening my Friday! Superb composition that reminds me how blessed and fortunate I am to be one those folks who "gets" the Dead. Well done!!
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14 years 10 months
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Nice article Blair. I can see and hear Bobby pulling the classic buzz kill with Victim after a brief Dark Star tease. Hilarious. A little controlled chaos would do the Super Bowl some good. My buddies and I are still convinced that Tom Petty put on the best halftime show ever!
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12 years 1 month
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Nice fantasy Blair, but we all know what "really" would have happened. First, there would have been some problem with the sound. Jerry smoking and noodling, Phil boomb-boombing around and Bobby kneeling over his amp gesticulating and hitting the top of it while some screechy-scratchy noise blew out televisions all over middle America. After about 4 minutes of this, a half-hearted Truckin' attempt would have ensued, Bobby forgetting the words and Jerry somewhat out of tune, trying to cure that with The Other One may have worked, but Phil's bass lines would have been too much for the stadium sound system, which would have started crackling and buzzing again. Although indoors, a steady rain would have found a way in anyway with pools of water collecting in the carpets and Bobby mumbling some joke about disappearing in a shower of sparks. Finally, they would have broken out Touch of Grey for sure, but being over the 17 minutes no one would have viewed the offering. When asked after what happened, Garcia would have shrugged, smoked, smiled and said, "nothing." We all would have then talked about how it always happens they don't come up too big in the "big situations." Personally, I wouldn't have it any other way.
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did I laugh, I cried. A sob and a painful tug at my sides; the resultant sucking breath making my upper lip quiver. I hate getting sentimental but Blair masterfully brought me right there...thank you my friend
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16 years 9 months
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they didn't do those kinds of things then, but the Dead at the '72 Super Bowl may have been a hit.
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16 years 9 months
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Those guys were professionals. They'd of pulled it off no problem. I remember watching a montage of opening day baseball highlights that began and ended with shots of Jerry, Bob and Vince, with their superb Star Spangled Banner as the soundtrack.How many people thought a Grateful Dead national anthem would be a joke? (Shame on you for not including that on a box set) NFA verse or 2>Truckin' verse or 2>Lovelight verse or 2>Drums(2.5 minutes)>space(27 seconds)>China Doll(slight instrumental)>The Eleven Jam>Touch of Grey>Lovelight verse or 2>Sometimes the lights are all shining...>NFA Throw in some teases, it'd be great. The crowd wouldn't stop the NFA chanting and clapping till halfway through the third quarter. Seriously though, Roger Waters? Have you seen The Wall?
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16 years 9 months
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Yeah Yeah Yeah ~ that's the ticket ~ very cool fantasy The Super Bowl Half time show has never really come together oh sure, there have been moments U2 and the list Paul and all Prince in The FUCKIN' RAIN and still my favorite performance Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers as close as any show has come to being in the moment with a true star next year Bonnie Raitt with Bela Fleck, Steve Douglas, Chick Corea and Stanley Clarke and the Dirty Dozen Brass Band. Ozzy does the Nat'l Anthrum
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16 years 9 months
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It doesn't seem that out of the realm of possibilities that the Dead could have played a Super Bowl. The Rolling Stones and ZZ Top both performed at the Super Bowl. Phil lip synching Wave to the Wind might not have flown over so well, but a good Stranger>Half Step would have been cool to see while the Detroit Lions go on to beat the 49ers. ;)
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13 years 4 months
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i dont think it would have gone down like that. not even close. remember, they played Al Gores inaugural ball, and even let Tipper Gore (of the PMRC music censorship fame) sit in on drums. same guys that also played a benefit concert for Obama. the one thing you got right, was Bill Walton thinking he's super epic because he's a dead head
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14 years 7 months
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To bad it will never happen. Elton on piano, would of been sweet. FFAF>Truckin>LLB>NFA.....if only.
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...IS super epic IMHO. Takes courage to be the weird guy in the uptight and straight sports world. I love that he's always waved his freak flag. he's been mocked relentlessly for being a Dead Head, but has never backed down! His vibes are most excellent, too!
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12 years 1 month
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Thank you Von Johin for letting me put an image to your wonderful music and I am looking forward to doing more....
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16 years 9 months
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Evidently not a fan of mine, nor I of him... we'll call it even... ;-)
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16 years 3 months
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Dunno why this didn't occur to me before, but Indy? Isn't that Jim Irsay's house? The same guy who was Financial Contributor-In-Chief to the Doug Irwin Retirement Fund? And no, I'm not trying to start that fire again, so not the point. The point is here we have in the pantheon of NFL Ownership someone who clearly has reverence (or arguably lack thereof) for the band who might be prevailed upon to promote amongst the Club Membership either Furthur or a reformed Dead/Other Ones (provided they were all interested/agreeable) for a SB halftime show. Just a thought, albeit a ticklishly delightful one.
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It would be crazy indeed for the boys to play halftime, but after seeing the Beach Boys and McCartney at the Grammy's the other night - this might be one fantasy better off left as that.
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16 years 9 months
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The Beach Boys managed to sound good because they had 40 musicians up there playing every part needed for "Good Vibrations." Brian and Mike Love looked bored compared to the cats from Foster the People and Maroon 5. And dear Paulie is finally starting to look and sound his age. I still love the guy, though. That closing version of "The End" was pretty hot, thanks to Bruce and Joe Walsh, etc. Paul needed some reverb on his voice, or something. Furthur's version from 3/15/11 was better IMO, though notably lacking a real Beatle!
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12 years 4 months
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Thanks for the kind words on my Eyes video. Loved the Super Bowl blog. Had me rollin' several times.
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to play the Super Bowl halftime during the height of their Touch commercial popularity.It would have been a natural. Let's see, a brief three-song set for the masses, many of whom would he hearing and seeing the Dead for the first time, huh? Truckin>Touch>Johnnie B. Goode would have worked very nicely, thank you. Btw, Blair, I LOVED Madonna's halftime show. The girl still has it at 50. Over the top spectacle? Well, what else would you expect? Hardly "serious" music, but big fun nonetheless. .
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15 years 4 months
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this sort of sounds like what happened at willie nelson's 4th of july party in 78. even though the dead are on a time limit they would still play a 17 minute drum solo. god I love this band.
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Well today is the super bowl and I reread this and it is one of the funniest things ever. I almost get a tear every time I read it. Thanks for this awesome bit of fiction Blair!
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16 years 8 months
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We were just discussing this! Can't see GD lip-syncing. The choreography would be a hoot
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13 years 1 month
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agreed mkav, but Beyoncé and Bobby would make a cute couple....