I 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
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