Monthly Archives: January 2015

Memories of Orlando

imageI made some sugar cubes at the hotel before heading over to the venue. Probably enough for 5 or 6 folks. Either it was too much liquid on the cubes, too much humidity in Florida or stashing the bag to get through security but all I’m left with is a bag of intensely concentrated and highly electrical granulated sugar. When I tilted the bag back to get a little into my open mouth, tapping the bag with my fingers, nothing was coming out. Then, all of a sudden, like ice breaking from a drink, the entire contents of the bag are emptied into my mouth. Oh fuck. My mouth fills with the taste of electricity. This might get a little stranger than usual.

Seems like everybody in this place met Garcia at Disney World today. I’ve heard countless people talking about it. As I’m talking to some folks by the concession stand the sounds of their voices begin to sound like everyone is talking into a soup can with a string that is attached directly to my brain. I better get to my seat. Where the hell is my crew? When did I separate from everybody? Did I come in with them to begin with? When did I get lost? Am I Lost? Or are they? Where was I going? Is it intermission? Oh yeah, my seats.

I might be in a little bit of trouble tonight. I just saw the air bending. Super cute blonde in pigtails next to me. That’s great, I tried to say something to her and what came out of my mouth sounded like a deaf person trying to sing the national anthem. Not as great, I guess talking is outta the question for a while.

I’m really holding on to this chair. I gotta admit, I’m a little scared. I feel afraid but I don’t know why I do. Far out, I just had a premonition. Rubin and Cherise. I’m intensely connected to something far beyond myself. I need music man. Please, lights go out! Lights go out, please lights go out, please lights go out. Lights finally go out!

I wonder if I had something to do with that?

Holy Shit things are getting strange in here. Stage lights seem to be putting a layer of indescribable and colorful gel across my eyes. Not too much time spent tuning. I love Jack Straw. Sounds like there’s a fish bowl over the band. Is it my ears?

Hornsby is really loud. Can somebody turn him down a little? He just got here. I love him and he’s fine, aside from that haircut. He’s got no business being that loud.

This place is brand spanking new. What a beautiful venue. I ate a ton of acid. Hope I’m gonna make it.  FOCUS DEAN!!!! THE MUSIC!!! FOCUS!!!!

Weir rushes the mic with authority, head back and chest proud “Ain’t no bed can give us rest now, you keep us on the ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!”

My viewpoint seems to come into focus, as if from a mile away and instantaneously, the band and the lights combine into a tremendous swell that rushes towards the stage and comes crashing together. It’s punctuated by Phil dropping a bomb that seems to instantly cause every mic of LSD to rush to my brain at once and explode into a full blown, full body high … HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!!!! That just fuckin happened!!!!

I try to say something to the girl next to me but when I attempt to speak the only thing that comes out is “Garcia taco thunder then had to meyer carrot.”

What the hell caused that? My mind and physiology gets sucked back to the stage by an unseen force as Garcia starts shredding through the lead in Jack Straw. As he rips through his runs, it’s as if he throws a note in the air and the rest of the band repetitively goes after it with everything they’ve got. Bill’s head turned all the way to the right as he thunders across his kit chewing the hell out of something. Mickey is coming over the top and lookin’ out over everybody with that face on. Yeah, that one. Weir is rushing to the front of stage and showering the place with all kinds of chords. Throwing ’em everywhere. It’s as if every note is knocking out a piece a glass from the fishbowl that was covering the band. With every intense blast of music another hole gets blown out of the bowl as the sound makes its way out of this shell that was covering the band.

In much the same way, my soul is emerging through it’s shell like a psychedelic bird pecking its way out of an egg. As the sound begins to break free with brand new and incredible clarity and power I notice that my body has started dancing frantically and without any effort on my part. My legs are total gummy worms. Phil is playing a lot of notes and they all seem so . . . relevant.

Forward. Prominent. They seem to come from deep within the music and are projected out with an otherworldly force as he stands fairly still, looking like a high school science teacher. The gravitational pull of Garcia always causes Phil to lean in Jerry’s direction just as a plant grows towards the sun. As the room swells into a monumental peak for an opening tune, the band draws all the energy back into themselves as it closes down into a few notes and final statement.

“We can share the women we can share the wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine!”

With zero hesitation or time to spend guessing what’s next the opening notes of Sugaree come across my shaky and somewhat startled soul bringing a feeling of profound internal comfort.  This night is gonna get way out there but there’s an inner knowing that as twisted as all my facilities are increasingly becoming, somehow I’ll make it through.

I’m currently writing a book detailing my experiences in my life’s most wonderful and musical chemistry experiment. Stay tuned.

Gratefully Yours,
Dean Sottile (pronounced So Tilly)

Facebook: Grateful Dean
Facebook Group: The Official Home of Unofficial Grateful Dead News

Mail Order Mayhem Breaks Out from Sea to Shining Sea

imageDean Sottile (pronounced So Tilly) here, officially reporting from Stinson Beach, California by way of the Internet. Die hard fans of rock and roll hall Of famers, the Grateful Dead, have singlehandedly solved the economic crisis that crippled the United States just yesterday. The US Postal Service became profitable for the first time since 1995 as Dead Heads flooded the country’s offices mail ordering requests at a chance of scoring tickets to the 4th of July event in Chicago.

The Grateful Dead, whose mail order process has been updated about as often as their followers’ clothing, still requires fans to send individual postal money orders for every show they plan to attend plus individual money orders for separate shipping charges when applicable. One of the bigger problems facing those who choose to mail order their requests was figuring out how to fit a #10 sized envelope into another #10 sized envelope.

People who couldn’t afford dental work or diapers last week, have now floated $7,000 into the mail system for an undetermined amount of time hoping to secure the magic tickets. Some fans simply chose to put stamps on their self addressed envelopes because after purchasing $7,000 worth of tickets, $20 is too much to pay for shipping. When asked about the activity of the past day, Vern, a postal employee from Macon, Georgia said, “We dun run flat outta dem dar muney erders!”  Vern said he didn’t know anything about Dead Heads but was familiar with crack heads who typically pay their past due electric and water bills with money orders.

Many fans channeled their inner Picasso decorating their requests in hopes of being noticed far more than those who obviously can’t draw worth a shit. Social Networking sites posted pictures of elaborate fan art as it became obvious that many people spent more time on this envelope than the typical rock star spends with their children during the course of a year. People with far less artistic ability, once seeing these posts, began signing up for a chance at the Internet pre sale immediately. They’re clearly screwed like a tied up goat on the hills of Greece.

The Grateful Dead ticket office, in Stinson Beach, California, is getting more action this week than Bob Weir on the Europe ’72 Tour. The last time this many requests came in fans were chanting, “Let Phil Sing!” a chant that hasn’t been heard since 1995 but in recent years has left fans wondering, “What the hell were we thinking?”

Message boards continue to be filled by posts ranging from the Grateful to the Hateful. When asked about the current chatter, Jeff Chimenti, who will be manning the keyboards for the historic event said, “I’m just glad all those bitches have left me out of the conversation like a one legged man at an ass kicking contest!” Interestingly enough, when Trey Anastasio was asked about the multitudes of opinions coming in from Grateful Dead Land he said, “I feel like the only ass that showed up for the ass kicking competition.”

The answers given on interviews clearly show that this group of musicians are on the same page and are already showing signs of creative chemistry. You can be sure of one thing, They both will be there and they both will make it apparent, early and often, why they were chosen. It’s well known that Trey has made having red hair cool for the first time in history. As a Phish fan with over 200 Shows under my belt since 1991, I couldn’t be happier with the selection.

Wrapping up this mail order edition of the official source of unofficial anniversary news, I leave you with this: it’s a big ass stadium. There’s a HUGE heap of tickets. If you don’t buy them from scalpers, scalpers can’t sell them. When scalpers are holding thousands of dollars of tickets that aren’t selling on the secondary market, they begin to shit all over themselves like their assholes blew out. When that happens they begin to sell tickets like deck furniture on their sinking Titanic that was built from unrealized hopes and dreams of riches. They begin taking anything they can get in order to escape from under their botched delusions of grandeur. Do everybody a favor and do your part as well in assisting a scalper to eventually shit himself. Keep that in mind please and until next time, stay grateful my friends!

Gratefully Yours,
Dean Sottile (pronounced So Tilly)

Facebook: Grateful Dean
Facebook Group: The Official Home of Unofficial Grateful Dead News