Old Deadhead/New Technology

 

I just got myself an HDMI cable so I could use my son’s Amazon Prime account to stream season one of Mr. Robot. Which was amazing. Now I can’t wait for season 2 which starts this week.

That reminded me that I am continually amazed at how many ways there are to access old Dead content (and content in general). Having just figured out how to stream YouTube through my TV, I just watched a 1974 show from Winterland courtesy of Voodoonola, and watched a brain altering jam during The Other One. Now I’ve been to a lot of Dead shows but what you don’t see unless you’re super close up I suppose, is the interactions. The look Jerry has when he’s in the zone, or when he’s watching someone else play. Or watching them laugh at each other when they mess up a lyric or come in too soon. And watching Jerry’s masterful playing is mesmerizing. I suppose my only critique is that some of the close-ups are extreme close-ups. Like count Jerry’s nose hairs kind of close.

But I don’t mind the close-ups of Jerry’s fingers all over the frets. Or watching two little blond kids at the very front of the stage dancing to the beginning of China Cat. Jerry looks young, fit, and happy. And to be able to see him like that means everything.

Donna made an appearance a few songs in during Scarlet Begonias. I know we love Donna and all, and she’s been doing some shows with Dead and Co, but oh my God. Please stop. I mean, there’s a nice long jam and she won’t stop caterwallin. On the other hand, she is wearing a skull and roses tank top.

And watching the intro of Weather Report where Bobby is playing with just Phil. And then Keith comes in playing just the right hand but watching Bobby and Phil really intently. The visuals are sometimes really intense because they were really intense. You can watch them bend, twist, and create new notes and new sounds. It’s magical, spiritual, and emotional.

So I feel like I just got the keys to the kingdom. I can sit in my bedroom watching not just this show, but an an almost unlimited amount of content without leaving the house. Heck, I love the Relisten app, which lets me listen to live shows on my commute to work. And I often tune into Soundcloud at work to listen to Phil shows from Terrapin Crossroads.

I know a lot of you have grown up with this type of technology, but I was around for black and white TV, 8-track tapes, rotary phones, beepers, and answering machines. So yeah. I’m kind of old(ish). But not too old to appreciate and enjoy the giant leaps in technology that have unfolded before my eyes. We used to say that we’d see even more shows if they’d only play in our backyard. So while I do appreciate a live show, and am looking forward to two shows here at Fenway Park, I kind of got my wish.

See you in Boston!

Love,

Meri (rhymes with Jerry)

Love will see you through

As I probably mentioned here a while ago, there’s be some significant upheaval in my life. Ultimately for the better, but difficult nonetheless. I find myself living alone for the first time in, well, maybe ever.

But what’s carried me through these tough few months is listening to the Dead. It’s comfort food with a twist. It’s familiar but not always the same. It can break my heart or make me dance with abandon. And having the ability to listen to virtually any live show in history blows my mind.

I can go back and listen to the Pigpen years, which were a bit before my time. I can pick and choose some of the well-known great, hot shows. I can listen to the closing of Winterland. I can listen to some of the amazing college shows they played over the years. I can listen to shows that I was at, but have been long forgotten. And I can listen to the shows that Billy talks about in his book, “Deal,” which I recommend you all read if you haven’t already.

Heck, I’ve driven back from Phil and Friends shows listening to the previous night’s show on Soundcloud. What was once fleeting can now be recaptured or discovered. I know a lot of you have grown up with this technology, but I have not and it blows my mind all the time. Thank you internet.

So I sometimes come home from work after a long day, after a sometimes shitty commute, crack open a cold beer, smoke a little weed, crank up the Dead and dance. It’s in those moments that I am truly, deeply happy.

It’s not that I’m always unhappy, or there aren’t moments during the day that make me happy. I mean, I like when the bus and trains are on time. I like when there’s leftover food in the conference room on days I don’t have a lunch. And I love that this is a three-paycheck month. I mean, I really love that.

But those are temporary. I love discovering a really good Phil mix, or a kick-ass Scarlet Begonias. Or Pigpen raving on Good Lovin.  Or a soulful, aching Morning Dew. Those touch me more deeply than I could have imagined. During those times I forget my troubles, which are more than a few, and I just try to stay in the moment (not always easy for me).

Listening to live Dead shows is like a virtual connection to the Dead community. Those shared experiences are impossible to recreate by listening to a record. Billy talks about that in his book too … the often joyless experience of making studio records (although there are few more perfect albums than American Beauty).

So here I am at work, listening to the Dead in the background, wondering why the boys stopped playing “When Push Comes to Shove,” and writing this while I should really be working.

Maybe I’ll see you at Tanglewood with Warren, or Dead & Co at Fenway. But for now, peace brothers and sisters.

Love,

Meri (rhymes with Jerry)

Been a long time-o

There’s been a lot going on in my non-Dead-related life that has kept me away from my blog. It’s been hard to write anything without my brain taking an unscheduled, unannounced, and unwelcome detour in the process.

I’ve been thinking off and on about the Dead & Co. show in Woostah. And wondering why the hell they couldn’t drive 45 minutes further and play the Boston Garden. The upside is we found a bar near the venue selling Second Fiddle from Fiddlehead brewery. Not sure how they managed that, since we never see that beer outside of VT.

Shakedown was crazy. Clearly the cops got the message loud and clear to stay the fuck away. People were selling nitrous balloons everywhere. Cool people were selling very cool-looking pipes. Guys were selling mixed drinks out of large coolers. And my daughter bought a Heady Topper from a guy who, as it turns out, she knew from Burlington, VT where they went to school. Which is cool, because he sold it to her for $5 instead of $10. Whaaaat…? And we shared a yummy plate of homemade mac and cheese, which was lucky, because there was no edible food at the show.

And the show was great. While I’m not a John Mayer fan in general, I thought he was really good. Sugaree was crazy good. And clearly, Bobby has decided that he gives not one fuck whether women still find him attractive, what with his capris and sandals. I love you Bobby, but still …

As anyone who has been shows at venues large and small, I know you’ve been surrounded by cool people, straight people, drunk people, stoned/tripping people, loud talkers, loud singers, moms, dads, grandparents. Doctors, lawyers, and accountants. Babies and dogs.

But this night, I sat next to the worst guy. I almost felt bad for him, although he was so unbelievably, incredibly, insufferably irritating. He might have been on a first date, but whoever she was, she clearly had never seen the Dead, let alone ever listened to their music. And he felt he had to a)explain the meaning of every song, b)sing/say the lyrics to her before they were sung, c)explain the prevailing logic of what the band plays at various points in the show.

But it was during Peggy-O, one of my all-time favorite songs, that I really had to control myself. I love that song. I loved it when Jerry played it, when Phil & Friends, Ratdog play it. And when I heard Bobby sing it at Lockn. But NEVER have I heard someone dissect it, saying things like “O. Everything ends in an O. William-O. Soldiers-O. ” And on and on and on. He didn’t stop talking for the entire song.

I really wanted to tell him to chill out and let her listen to the music and come to her own conclusions about whether she liked it or not. I know how it is when we want people to like what we like, especially when we’re passionate about something. But she looked so irritated. Not sure if it was him or the show in general, but she wanted out. She was miserable. I really kept hoping she would make him leave. And he kept saying they’d leave after “the next song,” but they didn’t, because the next song was always killer. So they left with like one song left in the show. Which means they left before the Ripple encore, which was awesome.

So neither one of them got to enjoy the show, and that’s really unfortunate. But, more importantly, since this is my blog and my opinion, they irritated the fucking hell out of me.

But … there’s always next time. We’re seeing both Phil shows at the Cap in March. Just hope that crazy, tripped-out, sweaty Asian dude hangs out on the other side of the venue this time. 🙂

Peace.

Love,

Meri (rhymes with Jerry)

 

Fare thee What? Who?

I understand that many of us have long-term memory issues, but I was somewhat surprised at the short-term memory loss that many in our extended family seem to have. But then again, maybe I’ve got that backward. Some old Heads can remember the first song of the second set played at some civic center in East Podunk back in ’72, but we seem to forget the lessons of one month ago.

Yes, folks, just one month ago we convened in what seemed to me like the largest gathering of singular intent – to share the music we love with the people we love. We were all family, whether we knew each other or not.

I know every family has the crazy uncle who gets drunk at every gathering and waxes political using the saltiest language even in front of Nana, or the annoying bratty cousin, who rats you out for smoking a joint while walking the dog, but we are family nonetheless.

Today we were introduced to Dead and Company. Yay! Some of our favorite musicians playing our favorite tunes at one of our favorite venues! What could bad about that? Oh. Phil’s not there because he’s an indentured servant to Peter Shapiro at the Cap. Oh. Phil can’t sing. Oh. John Mayer sucks. Oh. They should never use the name Dead because Jerry is, well, dead.

So I was wondering. If we, as a community, are OK with bands like DSO, JRAD, Golden Gate Wingmen, even (or especially) Phil and Friends, why are people freaking out? Again? Did we learn nothing from Trey at Fare Thee Well? Don’t we know that the music plays the band? That talented musicians playing the music we love is an experience worth having?

But most importantly, where is the love? Where is the feeling that we took from Chicago? I love that we all have different ideas and different opinions. But let’s be kind. Mickey implored us to do so, but that’s not why. We need to be kind because that’s who we are.

My daughter and I are headed to where-the-hell-is-Arrington, VA to go to Lockn next month. The lineup of musicians is unbelievable and we cannot wait. And then you’ll find me at the Cap for Halloween and Phil. We are all blessed beyond belief that we can still hear this music performed by the boys who have been playing for us for 50 years. Honestly. What is there to complain about? Enjoy the ride folks!

Peace.

Love,

Meri (rhymes with Jerry)

Being Dead, Giving Life

It’s hard to count the number of times I’ve heard Phil’s “donor rap.” But this last time in Chicago was different. Without Phil, there’s no Fare Thee Well. Without Phil, there are no “and Friends” to see at Lockn’ or at the Cap a few times a year. Without Phil, there is no heartbeat, no lifeline connecting the players on stage. And as Dean Sottile noted in a recent blog post, has there ever been anyone as grateful to their organ donor as Phil Lesh?

So last week, when I was online renewing my driver’s license, I finally checked the organ donor box. I’ve had my license longer than some of you reading this have been alive. So what changed?

I thought about the many, perhaps countless people who need an organ transplant or they will die. They are each somebody’s parent, child, sibling, best friend, or other loved one. One of them might cure cancer someday. One of them might play music to hundreds of thousands of loving fans. Or one of them might just need to punch the time clock in order to put food on the table. They are each worthy and each deserves a chance to live a full life.

When Mickey urged us all to be kind, and take the feelings we had from Chicago and keep them with us, I figured this was a pretty easy and painless way to do that. So when I’m dead, perhaps someone will have the heart of the Dead beating in their chest. Peace.

Love,

Meri (rhymes with Jerry)

Fare Thee Well My Honey – Is it Really Over?

It’s been a few days since Chicago, and I’m still trying to get my sea legs back. I can’t quite get back into my “before” head space, and frankly, I’m not sure I want to.

I’ve been around the block more than a few times, and saw the Dead and various Jerry iterations on just about every tour starting in 1977. I didn’t follow them to every show, but made sure I saw them when they came east. So why do I feel so different now, 20 years after they last performed together? As others have written (quite profoundly, I must say), it definitely wasn’t just the music. In fact, maybe the music, as good as it was, was tangential to the rest of the experience.

I really can’t put my finger on it (is it the “x” factor Jerry used to talk about?). What I do know, and what Dean Sottile has articulated so well, is that the Chicago shows were profound in ways that I don’t think even the band could have predicted.

(By the way, I’m a writer/marketing/communications professional in my real life, yet Dr. Dean has been able to put everything into words way better than I ever could. Kudos, my friend.)

Quite literally, there were strangers stopping strangers just to shake their hand. People were kind and generous of spirit, and we existed on a plane not of this earth. Cab drivers and hotel workers told us how Deadheads were the best visitors and guests. And I have to believe it’s not just because we tip well. It’s got to be our collective karma. 100,000 Deadheads can’t be wrong.

I’m honored that I was able to experience this with my 23-year-old daughter. Having her with me was intensely deep and meaningful. Back in the 70s and 80s, when my best friend Ellen and I dreamed that someday we would take our kids to see the Dead, I could never have imagined this. Unfortunately, Jerry died when my daughter was just 3, but we have been to Lockn, to the Cap and Central Park to see Phil, and now Chicago for Fare Thee Well.

At Saturday’s show (the only one we could attend), we met Billy’s Airbnb winners in the CID lounge and we became fast friends with Charles and Beth, a mom and her 19-year-old son from Lake Tahoe  (this is them from Relix). On the field, we met a beautiful, spiritual, yoga mama who was painting beautiful designs on faces, backs, and arms. She existed in a place of joy and peace that I can only aspire to. At David Grisman the next day, we met Reed, a kid from Michigan who, God bless him, hung out sweltering in a blue bear suit. We met fellow ‘heads from Atlanta, Alabama, Texas, California, and more. It was one, giant family reunion. Only this family included folks you actually wanted to hang out with.

We tried to get tickets to Sunday’s show, but it wasn’t meant to be. We really didn’t want the experience to be over, but it isn’t. It’s inside us now. The lesson has been taught. We are to love each other. We have to be kind, as Mickey implored us.

We are all truly blessed. This was an experience I’ll never forget.

On the road again

As I start to think about next week’s pilgrimage to the Dead equivalent of Mecca, I can’t help but think about a road trip I made to see the Dead at Manor Downs in Austin, Texas, also on the 4^th day of July.

While this year’s trip includes round trip airfare, a room at the Hilton, and VIP passes, the last trip – made 34 years ago when I was a fresh-faced college graduate – included an old car that broke down long before we got to Texas, hitching a ride with strange folks in a van that had caged hamsters (I hope they were hamsters), a chance meeting with Dan Rather at a car-rental counter, and an old drunk named Jazzem, who was actually one of my traveling companions.

My other two traveling companions were my college roommate and still-best-friend Ellen and her then-boyfriend Russell. We met Russell and Jazzem in a very local, very townie bar in Allston. That’s another blog post entirely. But I will say that this bar, Riley’s Pub, was where I first learned of the “shitfaced pool player” phenomenon. I have vivid memories of Jazzem and Russell barely able to stand up straight yet running the table. But I digress.

I remember how ridiculously massive (and flat) Texas is. When you live in Boston, and can cross the entire state in just over two hours, Texas might as well be the surface of Jupiter. It goes on forever. I remember driving into a rainstorm, except that you could see it coming from a zillion miles away. But when it rained, well, we learned that everything really is bigger in Texas.

In any case, somewhere along the line, after Jazz wrote in our travel diary that “Hot Springs sucks,” we had to rent a car. But given our very limited means, and an “emergency only” credit card, we had to return the car to the airport in Austin. That’s where Ellen and I saw Dan Rather. We were probably pretty smelly and dirty, so I’m not sure he was nearly as amused as we were.

Eventually we ended up in the parking lot at Manor Downs without a car. So we spread out our blankets and hung out in our car-less spot. After that, my memory gets a bit fuzzy. I do remember a guy looking everywhere for his “pimphole,” which we didn’t understand and were very curious about. Until we learned that he was actually looking for his pit bull. Oh. North/South language barrier.

I remember hearing Jack Straw (leaving Texas, 4^th day of July …), but don’t remember much else. I also knew that I couldn’t go back to Boston the way I came (sort of like Dorothy). After the show, I walked around asking for a ride to the airport. My plan was to camp there overnight and figure out a flight home in the morning. I think even my mother would have agreed that this constituted an “emergency” use of her credit card.

But something pretty cool happened. A young girl, a student at UT I think, offered me her couch for the night. I was a strange, young hippie girl who was probably pretty unkempt by that point. But she let me stay overnight in her air conditioned apartment (priceless … remember this was Texas in July), where she let me (probably urged me to) take a shower. She seemed more entertained and amused by this strange, “Yankee” hippie girl than anything. And I was just thankful for her hospitality.

So the next morning, I called the airline, and after trying to clarify “Austin to Boston” about 10 times (Austin to Austin ma’am? No. Austin to Boston), I was ready to roll.

My young hostess wasn’t into the Dead, and probably just went to the show out of curiosity, but I’ll never forget her act of kindness.

A lifetime or two has passed since then. This time, my traveling companion is my 23-year-old daughter, who is not much older than the young girl I met in Texas. We’ll be creating new memories of what I hope will be an incredible experience in Chicago. I hope to see you all there. Peace.

-Meri (rhymes with Jerry)

Are You Kind?

After all the hype, hand-wringing, and hullabaloo, I can’t believe the Chicago shows are less than one month away. Good luck if you’re trying to score tickets today! But as think back to some Facebook comments and a new comment received here just this morning, I can’t help but feel like Rodney King when I say, “Can’t we all just get along?”

There are Trey haters. Phish-lovers haters. Haters of us old Deadheads and haters of young Deadheads. Personally, I think the haters are just generally misguided. I know in my heart that true Deadheads, of any age, aren’t haters of any kind. Do I wish Jerry was still around? Of course. I know the younger Heads wish they could have seen him, and for good reason. But it wasn’t meant to be.

But instead of name-calling and nastiness, how great would it be if the younger Heads didn’t disparage the older Heads for talking about our experiences, and the older folks were loving and accepting of younger Heads, even if they never saw the actual Grateful Dead. I’m hopeful that it can be done.

In addition to the music, and my 23-year-old daughter, this community keeps me going.  I know that true Deadheads are generous of spirit and soul (and various consumables), and they rise above the noise. True Deadheads are respectful, which is why it’s so disheartening to read some of the hateful things some younger Deadheads have written to me. I will never publish them, as I won’t be a forum for haters. Disagree all you want, but do so respectfully. [and yes … I know they’re younger when they call me old. Us older folks know better than to call anyone old!]

Nobody needs to justify or quantify their love for the Dead. But what each of needs to do is follow one simple rule: be kind. That’s pretty much the price of admission to this large, disparate, crazy community.

If you’re headed to Chicago, I hope it’s in the spirit of our Deadhead foremothers and forefathers. They created something real, something different, and something extraordinary that was born from the music but soars high above it as well.

Until next time, I’ll be searching for the sound.

-Meri (rhymes with Jerry)

Unapologetic Phil Fan

I saw the Dead for many years, most of which were Phil-less when it came to vocals. That always bummed me out a little, because songs like “Box of Rain” and “Unbroken Chain” are two of my favorite songs in the world.

But that’s not to say that Phil was just standing there plucking his bass. One of the best parts of Dead shows was the interplay between Phil and Jerry. To me, if Jerry was the soul of the Dead, Phil was its beating, thumping heart. They stood on opposite sides of the stage but were so musically connected to each other. They were so much fun to watch, especially during their red hot jams. But even in some of their spaciest moments, Phil would keep the melody alive. You could hear bits and pieces of it rumbling through the undercurrents.

But after Jerry died, I had zero interest in seeing Dead/not Dead bands. I couldn’t fathom how I could hear the music but not hear it with Jerry. I saw tons of shows in their heyday, their music is readily available online, and so seeing Dead/not Dead was not a priority for me.

But my daughter convinced me to go to Gathering of the Vibes in 2012. It happened to be a miserable, rainy July day, but there was some really good music. Billy Kreutzman’s band at the time was 7 Walkers, and they did a smoking, New Orleans-inspired version of Sugaree that had me on my feet like the old days. Suddenly, my long-dormant interest in live Dead music woke up.

But the best part was Phil and Friends. I couldn’t tell you who the “friends” were at the time, but I was a convert. The music sounded fresh. The band was tight. The singing and the harmonies were on key. It was like Dead 2.0. And even though the weather was off-and-on sucky, those of us who stuck it out were treated to two incredible sets of music. Everyone was there because they loved the Dead. Everyone was singing, dancing, and sharing the experience as the community I remembered. We were right up close and saw Phil grinning through two full set of great music.

Do I care that Box of Rain doesn’t sound like the record? Or that he doesn’t hit the high notes? Or that he’s changed the key he sings it in? Absolutely not. If I want to hear a pristine version of that song I’ll listen to American Beauty. Phil could sing the alphabet song and I’d stand and applaud.

When we saw him at Lockn last fall, my daughter quite literally jumped out of her seat when she heard the opening notes of Unbroken Chain. Was it perfect? Depends on how you define it. To me, it was. In all the years I saw the Dead I never heard them play it live. So hearing it then was almost cathartic.

To those critical of Phil’s singing, that’s your prerogative. For me, I’m just happy that, at the age of 75, he’s still doing what he does best, and he’s clearly still enjoying it. And as long as he’s doing it, I’ll gladly make the not-too-difficult trip from Boston to NY to see him at the Cap a couple of times a year. And if there are complaints about ticket prices, venue, crowd size, song choice, band members, or anything else along those lines, they won’t be coming from me. I’m just happy to be there.

JRAD, My Bad? Nah.

Wow. I really struck a nerve with my post about JRAD. It’s funny how angry and defensive people get when you express an opinion in opposition to something they feel strongly about. Us Deadheads are nothing if not opinionated!

Although I didn’t offer a music review, I was told I had no business ever reviewing music (why? because I disagreed about a band?) I also received the unintelligible comment, “whatever know nothing in boston your a brainwash city.” I have no idea what this means (Boston is a brainwash city?) In fact, I’m less offended by the negative sentiment than I am the poor grammar.

It was also interesting that someone went to a lot of effort to send me links to JRAD stuff. A really nice gesture and greatly appreciated. But you know what? Not necessary. I saw the band. I get that they are well-liked. I love that they are spreading the gospel of the Dead … especially for some that never had a chance to see the Grateful Dead. I appreciate what they’re doing. I just didn’t enjoy them. But Joe Russo ought to be thrilled that he and his band have so many passionate fans.

It’s kind of like what Jerry used to say: “We’re like licorice. Not everybody likes licorice, but the people who like licorice really like licorice.” For me, that’s JRAD.  You can show me all the wonderful things about licorice, you can tell me all the different ways to enjoy it, but I don’t have to like it. You like it? Wonderful. Enjoy.

Enough about this topic. Next post we’re moving on to some good old Dead memories. My Dead experiences started in the 70s, so while I’ve probably forgotten more than I remember, there are some treasured nuggets still lodged in my head. I’ll try to extricate them for next time. Until then, peace brothers and sisters.

-Meri (rhymes with Jerry)