I don’t know about you, but whenever I hear the word River or Bend, my first thought is instantly 6-24-85. I listened to that show so much as a kid, I kept 3 copies of it just in case something happened to the other 2. The first set was 8 songs. They were good. The second set was the kind of stuff that made the Dead and all of US Grateful. From the Iko and Weir’s “Why Chompa Chula go on Chomp Chomp Chomp” line to the U.S. Blues encore, that night was wrapped in stardust. I still laugh every time I hear Weir sing that line! It’s like theme music for a TV show called, “When Improv Goes Wrong”. Like most of those moments in GD Land, they’re part of our emotional and psychological treasure forever. That second set was a special one. The He’s Gone that melts into Smokestack with perfection, The Cryptical Sandwich that includes Comes a Time as its primary source of meat. Any night you got Comes a Time was a GRATE night regardless of what preceded or followed. The Summer of 85 was Garcia’s out of the Black and into the Red Tour in more ways than one. I don’t know if he had a bunch of red shirts or just stayed high long enough that year not to sleep or change clothes. Maybe 1985 was really just one long day for Garcia. Those gray corduroys probably walked away by themselves after Garcia finally got out of em. The year that celebrated the 20th Anniversary of our favorite band was a year jam-packed with special shows and magical moments. It was the year I got sucked into the vortex forever and it has been the most dominant and continuous thread in the fabric of my existence ever since. Little did we know, Garcia was slowly heading into a major speed bump in his life and one of the most dreadful times in our band’s history. None of that was readily apparent to US on the outside that year because the music was reaching new levels of expression and discovery. Songs were finding new lives and their delivery was growing and changing. Set lists were being shuffled around and some of the most mind-bending music was being played with incredible consistancy. Those were the days…
Fast forward 31 years and we find a lot of similarities. 3 of the original cats along with 3 new ones took the stage in Riverbend last night. The first set was 8 songs. They were good. The second set was the kind of stuff that’s bringing the magic back to the musical landscape of our present. I’m not the biggest fan of Phil’s singing, but Box of Rain is one of those tunes that I always love hearing him sing. I’d LOVE to hear Oteil get a few tunes to sing but after the 50th Anniversary Shows, I think the band just has a phobia about letting a bass player sing for a while. Regardless, Box Of Rain was great and the Psychedelic Stew started brewing as early as the song’s first solo. John bent it out of shape a little and let it wander almost as if it was losing its way along with everyone else before the shapeless took shape once again. His vocals along with everyone else’s did the tune justice. The harmonies are improving nightly as is Jeff’s volume. Then came the Viola Lee Blues, and shit starting getting funky spiritual. A song whose lyrics could fit on the back of a business card yet just as incredible of a creation as the masterpieces penned by Hunter and Barlow. The song began and slowly the jams got packing, left home, got married, got divorced, had a couple of kids in between and came back just in time for another brief verse. I began flashing back to those moments seeing the Dead when the jams started getting so far out there and bending so hard that I’d begin to wonder if the band forgot what they were playing only to realize at the same time that I forgot what the fuck they were playing to begin with… While my mental groundedness has improved considerably since then, the potential for those moments to be experienced were readily available last night.
Uncle John’s made its way through the melted down quagmire that Viola Lee left behind while roaming into outer space and sent everybody continuing happily along the road of intense character development. I really was digging the reggae segments that found their way into a couple of tunes last fall and hope they find their way back. The first notes of Chinacat have a way of instantly removing any inhibition or struggle being experienced and it always feels like a magical door of life is opened before me. I pass through it utilizing some of my happiest dance moves that work themselves out from the center of my soul without any effort of my own. As that tune advances through it’s progressing intensity, our smiles advance accordingly. In the midst of the jams between verses, I begin to feel like I’m just observing my flailing body and smiling with unspeakable joy as I make brief moments of eye contact with those around me, as well as those in the distance, that are going through the same fuckin thing! The jams seem to venture far out into the distance before rapidly returning to land right in front of my face over and over again. That’s a wild ride each and every time and that combo of tunes has never disappointed. The pinnacle of that jam was most definitely nailed last night before exhaling powerfully into The Rider. The solos that ensued after the opening verse were highlighted by Jeff wrapping the ivories around my brain. The Piano was loud and crystal clear with Chimenti being given the increasing volume he deserves. Garcia’s line has become a sing along because it typically takes more than 3 people to attempt to fill the gap he left in the music when he exited the planet. Even then, it comes up a little shy of the well-remembered mark but was outstanding none the less.
Coming out of Space, Viola Lee finally made it back home to finish what seemed to begin an eternity ago. Viola finally finished wandering and lay down to rest at the opening notes of Stella Blue. A song that like so many, has an immensely deep meaning within it that seems to get progressively more relevant as every day goes by in this life. Words that so many of us can reverberate with over the years. It all rolled into one and by now we all understand the price to be paid for taking the ride. Nothing has come for free… There’s nothing we can hold… For very long… As I listen, the price that has been paid with my own efforts and my own life takes center stage. The victories versus the setbacks… The completeness of it all constantly at war with the brokeness often found along the way. The internal gratitude that fights to arise from the depths of some of life’s deepest despair… The moments when the circus seemed to move on without me and there was nothing but pavement left… And broken dreams… Then you hear that song… Come crying like the wind… Maybe all this life really is just a dream…
Sugar Mags closed it out with the strength, hope and joy that helps to brush off the challenges experienced during Stella replacing them with the jubilation of a night that gave US all a few more hours to live inside of the controlled musico-emotional realm that’s been created by our favorite musicians. Weir gaining strength after a few days to rest following Bonaroo and obviously feeling up to the task at hand. As the music rolls on it’s beginning to form a distinctive character with a signature that doesn’t mimick The Grateful Dead but holds true to its foundations while growing in a very exciting and spiritually pleasing direction. The chords that get slammed to finish Sugar Mags and lead into the Sunshine Daydream were a springboard into the powerful finish that left everybody with an impression that this thing is growing day to day and show to show. Bob ferociously finishing the night with a few howls that may not be as high pitched as in days gone by but with enough enthusiasm to keep US plenty juiced about the days ahead!
Just like that day back in 1985, U.S. Blues was the encore. You remember Garcia when he would be all amped up at the end and shout out a bunch of “My My My My Oh My Oh MY OH MY MY MY!!!!!!” That shit didn’t happen but the tune that pays homage to all things American and Summertime through the eyes of The Grateful Dead experience was a pleasing way to staple this one into the scrapbook of our lives.
As we roll toward Indy and Deer Creek, it will be interesting to see if John or Bob chooses to play Tiger. It was sent out to visit the band by Jim Irsay, its current owner. He sent it in hopes of hearing it played while attending the shows there. In my opinion, John has nothing to gain by playing the guitar. Weir could play it but it wouldn’t be heard at all like we remembered hearing it. Maybe find out before too long… Enjoy and I Love y’all!
Dead To The Core,
Dean Sottile (pronounced So Tilly)
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