Like many of us of a certain age, I first heard of the Grateful Dead in the late 1960’s. Wasn’t a fan at the time – I was more into the evolution of British Blues, whatever band Eric Clapton was playing – The Yardbirds, John Mayall, Cream, Blind Faith, Jethro Tull was on my playlist – Aqualung, The Stones, of course, some Beatles even whilst they were breaking up, Santana, Joplin, C,S,N,&Y, Quicksilver, Leon Russell, Ten Years After, and more. But the Dead only played occasionally and peripherally in my soundtrack.
Until my first year at college. One of my dorm mates was a diminutive fellow from Hawaii named Lou and Lou loved the Grateful Dead. Many was the night we would find Lou in the 8th floor stairwell strumming and singing Dead tunes, un-amped but with vigor. And he was good. His impromptu sessions gave many of us a deeper appreciation of this different and stranger sound emanating from the Bay area. A deeper dive introduced us to the culture, authors like Tom Wolfe and his Electric Kool-Acid Test, Ken Kesey, and Jack Kerouac, as well as characters like Neal Cassady, Timothy Leary and Owsley Stanley. Being on our own for the first time in our lives and growing our hair out for probably the first time as well, the identity of these musicians and vagabonds appealed to something deep in us. They were cool, they were doing things differently, they dressed and acted groovy, and we liked it. As Wolfe admonished us, ‘you were either on the bus or you were off it’, and we wanted on.
Most of us saw the Dead for the first time in late 1971 or 1972 (my memory is fuzzy on that for some reason). It was the original group – Jerry Garcia, Bobby Weir, Phil Lesh, Bill Kreutzmann, and ‘Pigpen’ McKernan. A bunch of us trouped down to Denver for the show – tickets were probably $6 or $7 bucks, a not insubstantial sum for broke college kids, but there was always a buck or two available for a good show. They did long sets and looooong jam songs at a time when most groups were pretty tight and compact. With the exception of In A Gadda Da Vida and Layla, most songs ran for 3 or 4 minutes, maybe 6 or 7 at most. Dead songs might jam for 20-30 minutes or more, but they were out-of-sight. We were hooked.
Over the years, the band notched many memorable occasions like being the top grossing touring band in the country for decades, for being the only band to encourage their ‘Deadheads’ to record live concerts, and for holding the record for attendance at a ticketed show in the U.S. since 1977 with 107,000 folks. George Strait just broke that 47 year old record a month ago with 110,000! They were also the first to establish a ‘corporate’ structure with employees that were paid even when the band didn’t travel, and health insurance, and family support. At one time during their ‘wall-of-sound’ days, they required 4 semis and a crew of 21 just to transport and set-up the 70 ton, 3 story high, 100’ wide speaker system!
There were other less fortunate but memorable occasions as well: their involvement with the 1969 Altamont Festival during which an 18 year old was stabbed to death by the Hells Angels security team while the Rolling Stones were playing, and their 1970 New Orleans drug bust that resulted in 19 arrests, dismissal of all charges except for Owsley, and two songs about it. But perhaps most unfortunate was their well-chronicled misadventures into drugs resulting in the death of several members and staff, including founding members McKernan and Garcia, longtime keyboardist Brent Mydland, and more. Virtually non-stop touring for 50 years with a massive entourage can exact a toll.
In 1987 the Dead played a two-day show in my hometown of Telluride. Impresario and long-time promoter Bil Graham owned a home in Telluride and took advantage of a brief downtime after a Red Rocks show to schedule the band in for little R&R&R&R. The town was about 500 folks at the time and an estimated 15,000 Deadheads descended on us. Campgrounds were full, cow pastures were packed, Bluebird buses were SRO, but in the end, they left only footprints. And memories. Tickets went on sale to locals first and my Mom, in her 70’s at the time, stood in line for the passes ($15), making many new friends along the way.
The weekend coincided with the Harmonic Convergence and Telluride was one of the few spots on the globe where all the planets were said to be in alignment. Trust me when I say that attendees of the Convergence made Deadheads look like Mormon missionaries. Well, kind of, anyway. It was an awesome experience in our little town happening just a few blocks from my house, attending with my good friend and inveterate Deadhead, Richie, who trekked all the way out from Long Island for the event. My son, who was 8 at the time, and my Mom and Aunt went up the Tomboy Road to better hear the music, and Mom decided they sounded pretty good.
After Garcia’s death in 1995, the band formed and reformed, taking on new members, shedding old. My daughter recently treated me to a show at The Sphere in Las Vegas with Dead & Company and I’ve got to tell you, the band is still great. Oh the purists will decry the absence of Garcia and the addition of John Mayer, and for sure he is no Garcia. But he brings his own deft guitar licks and strong vocals to the traditional tunes. Phil Lesh and Bill Kretzmann have also departed after their most recent live tour but Mickey Hart is back wailing on the skins. The incredible graphics in the Sphere would drive those early acid-heads to rapturous ecstasy.
Over the decades Dead tunes have moved me through some dark times and made the good ones brighter. If you get a chance to join the happy family at the Sphere, you will not be disappointed either by the band or the light show. It’s worth it. After all, “Once in awhile you get shown the light in the strangest of places if you look at it right”. Or perhaps more apropos of our current political landscape, “I may be going to hell in a bucket, but at least I’m enjoying the ride”. “I will get by”.
