I went to my first Dead show December 2nd 2016 at the House of Blues, Boston. Well, I guess I cannot say that it was a Dead show if it was Joe Russo’s Almost Dead covering songs from The Grateful Dead, but still I hope that a cover band can still be considered as seeing them live, even some have left us a long time ago. Still I would be lying if for at least the slightest split of a second, I got a glimpse of a time where music, peace and love reined the airwaves for thousands of Deadheads.
I had never heard of the Grateful Dead, at least not until a friend of mine showed them to me when I visited his pad for the first time. I had recognized the skull with the lighting bolt from many stickers, but I had never seen actual tapestries covered with them or having a giant one right in the middle. I guess I always thought it was a clothing brand or some sort of metal band, but as soon as I sat down on the couch and popped a beer I started jamming to whatever had been playing before we had even come into the room. Groovy tunes, my foot starts tapping away, hips start to sway, and head keeps bobbing to the music. I ask my friend what the tapestry with the huge skull is for because I’ve seen it around here and there. “It’s the Dead man. It’s what were listening to…”. Happily surprised, I take a swig of my beer and keep on listening to the sounds emanating from the speakers.
I enjoyed that day very much. No idea how long I spent in that room, but one thing was certain, the Grateful Dead were something to tap into for sure when I got back to the dorm. I won’t lie, it took me about a week to get to it, but as soon as I saw my friend come into class one day I was reminded of the fact, and went straight away to downloading the album “The Very Best of The Grateful Dead”, you know, give me a nice starting point before diving into previous albums. I still hadn’t known how I felt about songs that were longer than ten minutes, so it was nice that this particular collection of songs were relatively short. This perception of songs would change drastically over the upcoming months.
Fast forward to this semester and I had already collected a couple of albums on the way, listening to absolute savagery on drums, guitars, bass, you name it. It was amazing; it was music I had never experienced before. Here was a band chanting about stories, fantastical places, other than just sex, drugs and rock & roll. Great descriptions of beautiful landscapes, and simple ways of enjoying life for the common man filled the catalog of what I would listen to almost constantly. One day, a different friend of mine suggested watching a really good documentary he had seen on Netflix so we decided to put it on and go through it.
“The Other One: The Long Strange Trip of Bob Weir”. Film starts at someone’s house covered in very strange decorations. Elephant heads popping out of the wall, and a grand mess of things in every room. The man describing this house was telling the audience how he purchased it in the 70s after his first record deal went down, or something along those lines. He talks about how he won all of the awards on his desk, even one of them missing a part which did not seem to bother him at all, even though it was for the Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame. He begins to show us how his children were born in front of his fireplace as he tells us how he owns over 100 guitars. He grabs one and tells us how even though it is his favorite one and tries not to travel with it, he can’t seem to help it. “I think I must’ve played this about five to six years with The Grateful Dead”. I was stunned, I had not caught on that the man there, was Bob Weir, one of the founders of The Grateful Dead, and my attention was instantly focused on the movie and nothing else. If you have a chance to watch this movie do, because holy shit is it a good movie, and furthermore, it is pretty safe to say I fell in love with the band right then and there. I became obsessed, especially with the fact that that man, Bob Weir, started this band when he was 16 years of age, and had probably one of the best times any of us could ever had. I am telling you, the title is spot on because boy, has his life been a long, strange trip.
Now I was in trouble. Every other week I was rummaging the iTunes store in search for new albums. Live ones, studio ones, collection ones, anything I could get my hands on. Well, anything my bank account let me get my hands on. There was so much to listen to, there are more than 400 songs on the store alone, and the band played around three to four thousand shows. Anyways, during my education of becoming a Deadhead, my friend who had shown me the band informs me of how there will be a show from this cover band that he has seen and said that they were the best at covering the songs, and that it would be in two weeks time. I get the tickets as fast as possible and ensure him that I will be going. My heart pounding every day it got closer, unable to wait patiently for this, it takes over every aspect at internship, commuting, school, gym. I can’t stop thinking about how great the show will be, and how ready I was to try and imagine myself being back in the 60s and 70s going to my first Dead show.
Sadly, the people I went with were not familiar with the venue and did not heed my warning about how bad the line gets at a place like The House of Blues, so unfortunately we missed the first couple of songs and got in at around twenty minutes past the start of the show. Furthermore, because of it selling out and how late I had gotten my tickets, we weren’t in my usual preferred spot, general admission standing. Yes, I was pissed about it, especially since we were behind a bunch of people on the second floor of the building, unable to see any member of the band. Strangely, as I walked and realized how screwed we were, my girlfriend reminded me how I just needed to close my eyes and let the music flow. This is the only place I have ever texted during a concert because she was far away and understands how easily I let things get to me, so I followed her advice and closed my eyes. I want to thank her, because that changed everything for me.
I knew it wasn’t The Dead. I knew it wasn’t Weir and Garcia up front, with Lesh on bass, or Pigpen or Kreutzman on drums. I knew it wasn’t any of them. But it did not matter. The music started taking over me, and I started dancing. I’m not used to being able to dance at concerts because I am usually drowned in the middle of a sea of people trying to get as close to the stage as possible, me included. Up here however, I had a good amount of space to dance and move around. The way that these people would play set a fire ablaze in me. I danced like I had never danced before.
It is weird to explain, but weirdly I had never danced for myself. It was always with someone, or a group of people, worrying about how I looked or something dumb like that. Here that was not the case. Everyone around me was moving in their own way, in their own world. Some with their friends, others with complete strangers. So I close my eyes and let the music invade my body. Like I said, I started moving like I had never before. I could feel every inch of me energized, every joint move, ever muscle expand or retract as I moved. The band was playing so incredibly loud and fast, all I could imagine is their finger tips ripping space and time as they shredded on the guitar strings, light emanating from their fingertips, sparks flying everywhere. Music so loud and pure, pouring out of their instruments, filling the room with color and life. I would jump, spin, play the air guitar. I would feel my hair hitting my face as I moved my head round and round, trying to keep up with the rhythm.
In the middle of all of that chaos, I forgot what year it was. I forgot where I was. The second I closed my eyes I forgot how close to people I was, or what direction the band was. All I could feel is the music come into me and take over my body. Here and there I would see a glimpse of the band. Images I had remembered from reading about The Dead, and watching shows of them live way back then. I felt like a hippie among those crowds. Unclothing myself and just moving every inch of me to the beat. I understood why they were so big back then. I was incredibly happy, full of joy and laughing whenever they would hit a particular note that would stand out in their songs. I would lose track of how long they had been playing a certain song, or part of a song.
I understand now why music was what it was back then. Songs as long as ten minutes, up to about half an hour. Losing oneself in music so pure, so incredible, you can feel it touch your soul and give it just a tiny jolt. I still enjoy most music genres. Rap, Hip Hop, Pop, some Electronic, but now I can safely say I am enslaved to Rock and R&B Funk. I can’t explain it other than it’s the only music I feel like comes alive. Keeps those who have passed around, listening to them pour themselves into their work, making music with their own two hands that seems impossible for me to achieve. If time travel was real, I think I would use it entirely for music purposes only. Go to every show within my reach. I want to be able to experience a life where there were no cellphones, no bullshit filling your mind at a concert with how many likes you will get for putting that up on Instagram, or making sure you record every second of a show. I want to go and give myself entirely to the music being played in front of hundreds, thousands of people all sharing a common goal of experiencing something amazing.
I will never be able to call myself a true Deadhead, and I will never be able to see the band I have come to love. But still it feels as if they have changed me. I am prone to repetition, but it is hard to explain what happens within me when I find music that just connects at such a deep level, that it seems like they were right there with you, no matter how long ago they passed away. At least I can say I have been able to go to a venue and listen to some Dead really, really fucking loud, and boy was it truly amazing. Do yourself a favor, and jump back in time for a bit here and there with some good old Rock. I surely thank those who have set me on the path, and especially thank the Gods that normal people became at the expense of a need for beautiful music in a world that sometimes seems too cruel. ~ad astra ultraque