The Last Half-Step

by thoughtsonthedead

img_3303Garcia, lemme ask you a question.

“Shoot.”

Why weren’t you guys at the Last Waltz?

“Weren’t asked.”

Okay.

“Didn’t wanna.”

Sure.

“Whole thing was kinda jive, anyway.”

People have many opinions on that evening.

“Also, they couldn’t meet our price.”

There ya go.

“And, you know: come up and play one song. Not our thing. We weren’t real tight with The Band, anyway, man. Danko was great fun, real solid cat, and Levon was always a hoot. Loved their records, but you know: we didn’t hang out with ’em.”

You were on the road.

“Right, man. Barely got time for your rhythm section, let alone another band. Played with ’em at Watkins Glen, but they weren’t really jammers, y’know? They just played their songs real good, which is just as valid as our way, I suppose.”

You’re a reasonable man.

“I’m dead: it’s easy.”

Sure.

“Although, they used to wear those little suits, right? Remember Big Pink? Those suits? They used to wear ’em onstage. Looked like fancylads.”

They weren’t manly suits, no.

“Plus, you know…promise you won’t tell anybody I said this?”

Sure. Why not.

“We were better than everybody there.”

Neil Young, Dylan, Muddy Waters?

“Maybe not Muddy, but: yeah.”

Better than Van Morrison?

“In so many ways.”

Yeah, I guess.

“You see what I’m saying.”

I do.

“Also, when we played Winterland, we took up all the dressing rooms; they wanted to give us one dressing room for everybody.”

That wouldn’t work.

“Yeah, man. Dead rolls deep.”

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