A Krissmus Tale
Posted: Mon Dec 24, 2007 5:37 pm
Ho, ho, ho, h-ack-hack-cough-cough.....
<Wheeze>
Sorry about that.
Anyway, it's that time of year again. A time for traditions and tellings. That's right kids; it's time for the old guy to pull out that hoary old chestnut of a holiday tale. I know some of you have heard this before (more than once), but there's always a chance that we have some new young'uns who've never dreamt of these particular sugar plums. So gather 'round the hearth, snuggle up close, and let your imaginations carry you off to far away lands and distant times for:
<cue John Williams soundtrack>
The Legend of Murray Krissmuss
There's lots of famous people we talk about during the holiday season. There's Dancer and Prancer and Donner and OJ and Brittney and Brangelina and lots of others. But some of us holda special place in our hearts for Murray Krissmuss. I hear some of you asking "Who is this Murray Krissmuss?"
Well, I'll tell ya.
He's the guy who invented ">" on setlists. Before he came along, setlists would include the phrase "and then they went into" written in between song titles. Needless to say, setlists were always several pages long and zipped out heads would have all kinds of trouble writing down that long phrase over and over again when all their energies were being channeled into trying to keep their arms from melting.
Legend has it that Murray was at the Fillmore one night (many think it was 5/5/67, although this date is uncertain) and was having a positively COSMIC time thanks to the pitcher of KoolAid he drank on the way into the show.
At one point during a particuarly powerful "New Potato", his ears noticed something happening off to his right that his frontal lobes thought his eyes might be interested in. But his eyes were not interested since they were completely focused on the words "New Potato" written on his setlist, discovering the secrets of creation within the juxtaposition of vowels and consonants.
In an attempt to convince his eyes to turn, his brain had his hands draw an arrow on the setlist, pointing in the desired direction. The arrow happened to land on the page just to the right of the words "New Potato". And, in one of those cosmic Dead coincidences, just as Murray's hand drew the arrow, the band slid into a positively mind-shattering, hip-twitching, Pig-Pen-fest of an "Alligator".
Murray was absolutely convinced that his action had caused the band to transition into the new tune. Wouldn't you be? Now, before stumbling into a little gathering at Big Nig's while on vacation, Murray had been a research scientist at Los Alamos. So the scientific method was deeply ingrained. In an effort to duplicate his findings, Murray tried to convince everyone around him at subsequent shows to all try and draw arrows at the same time in an effort to steer setlists. Of course, his efforts were hampered by people's conflicting setlist desires and by the fact that most people forgot how to use writing implements by the start of the second tune.
But people did find the ">" to be an easy to use, healthful, and nutritious substitute for "and then they went into", and to this day, Murray's discovery benefits tourheads everywhere.
Murray's last shows were in December of '71 (he still thinks he's resposible for the first ever "Run Rudolph Run" and the "Other One>Mexicali" at the Felt Forum). That's the last time anyone saw him in his usual place, down near the stage, deep in the Phil Zone, concentrating intently and at particular moments writing feverishly in his small notebook of setlists. He vanished not long after that. Some think he's living on an island somewhere; others believe he's entered a completely different plane of existence. Still others swear they bought a kind veggie burrito from him at one of the last Phish shows.
In any event, to commemorate his final shows and his contribution to tourhead culture, people all around the world call out the name of Murray Krissmuss during the last month of each year.
That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.
Peace on Earth and Enlightenment for All.
hoby
<Wheeze>
Sorry about that.
Anyway, it's that time of year again. A time for traditions and tellings. That's right kids; it's time for the old guy to pull out that hoary old chestnut of a holiday tale. I know some of you have heard this before (more than once), but there's always a chance that we have some new young'uns who've never dreamt of these particular sugar plums. So gather 'round the hearth, snuggle up close, and let your imaginations carry you off to far away lands and distant times for:
<cue John Williams soundtrack>
The Legend of Murray Krissmuss
There's lots of famous people we talk about during the holiday season. There's Dancer and Prancer and Donner and OJ and Brittney and Brangelina and lots of others. But some of us holda special place in our hearts for Murray Krissmuss. I hear some of you asking "Who is this Murray Krissmuss?"
Well, I'll tell ya.
He's the guy who invented ">" on setlists. Before he came along, setlists would include the phrase "and then they went into" written in between song titles. Needless to say, setlists were always several pages long and zipped out heads would have all kinds of trouble writing down that long phrase over and over again when all their energies were being channeled into trying to keep their arms from melting.
Legend has it that Murray was at the Fillmore one night (many think it was 5/5/67, although this date is uncertain) and was having a positively COSMIC time thanks to the pitcher of KoolAid he drank on the way into the show.
At one point during a particuarly powerful "New Potato", his ears noticed something happening off to his right that his frontal lobes thought his eyes might be interested in. But his eyes were not interested since they were completely focused on the words "New Potato" written on his setlist, discovering the secrets of creation within the juxtaposition of vowels and consonants.
In an attempt to convince his eyes to turn, his brain had his hands draw an arrow on the setlist, pointing in the desired direction. The arrow happened to land on the page just to the right of the words "New Potato". And, in one of those cosmic Dead coincidences, just as Murray's hand drew the arrow, the band slid into a positively mind-shattering, hip-twitching, Pig-Pen-fest of an "Alligator".
Murray was absolutely convinced that his action had caused the band to transition into the new tune. Wouldn't you be? Now, before stumbling into a little gathering at Big Nig's while on vacation, Murray had been a research scientist at Los Alamos. So the scientific method was deeply ingrained. In an effort to duplicate his findings, Murray tried to convince everyone around him at subsequent shows to all try and draw arrows at the same time in an effort to steer setlists. Of course, his efforts were hampered by people's conflicting setlist desires and by the fact that most people forgot how to use writing implements by the start of the second tune.
But people did find the ">" to be an easy to use, healthful, and nutritious substitute for "and then they went into", and to this day, Murray's discovery benefits tourheads everywhere.
Murray's last shows were in December of '71 (he still thinks he's resposible for the first ever "Run Rudolph Run" and the "Other One>Mexicali" at the Felt Forum). That's the last time anyone saw him in his usual place, down near the stage, deep in the Phil Zone, concentrating intently and at particular moments writing feverishly in his small notebook of setlists. He vanished not long after that. Some think he's living on an island somewhere; others believe he's entered a completely different plane of existence. Still others swear they bought a kind veggie burrito from him at one of the last Phish shows.
In any event, to commemorate his final shows and his contribution to tourhead culture, people all around the world call out the name of Murray Krissmuss during the last month of each year.
That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.
Peace on Earth and Enlightenment for All.
hoby