Jam Bands - Don't You Love 'Em?

Spent the last few hours cranking out a few reviews for Classic Rock. As much fun as this undoubtedly is, there are times - such as today when presented with a Phil Lesh live DVD - that you want to cry or become a dustman. Without doubt, this is the worst abortion of a live show I have ever been asked to review. It was so bad, I actually began to resent having to conjure up 120 words on it or waste seconds of my life watching it. The thought also crossed my mind that it didn't deserve 120 words, and that 118 of these words were superfluous to requirements. "Fucking awful" would have done. I do not care this man was the bassist in the Grateful Dead. The man can't sing. His backing band are only happy when they wander off into "jazz jam" mode and noodle away for 15 minutes. And we all know "jazz jam" is a euphemism for five talentless blokes playing random notes and time signatures under the inaccurate guise that it's somehow artistic. But the reality is that like a Jackson Pollock painting, it's ultimately pretentious bollocks. I need a drink . . .