They’re not all great but when they’re great they’re fuckin GRATE! Dead & Company scorched the air people attempted to breathe last night as our favorite musicians hit us with so many powerful moments it felt like a centipede was kicking our asses. Special thanks go out to the people running Bonaroo and Redbull TV for the amazing and high-quality free stream! Finally, chattering was silenced and the music could be experienced completely and fully. There’s absolutely no reason why streams shouldn’t be available for every show of the tour. Everybody would make more money and most of US would be buyers. Bands with far fewer resources than Dead & Co offer streams of every show on their tours. The current management groups need to get informed and up to date on how shit works nowadays. They’re already running the video to feed the screens, it’s not a big leap to get that from there to the atmosphere and into our homes. Unfortunately, the current groups that run things are accustomed to representing artists that play the same show every night which would make streaming their tour unprofitable and relatively useless. If the band and management companies want to pull in an extra couple of million on tours, with relatively little effort, they should stream the shows.

On with the show! After a jam that resembled a poor stretching exercise, the opening notes of Truckin got things underway. You got the sense immediately that there was something in the coffee pot. There was an inward intensity that was visible, audible and in the process of becoming expressed outwardly. The required tension that exists in between the notes and in the open spaces that surround the environment were well developed and capable of feeding upon themselves. Human effort alone doesn’t make that possible, the invisible ingredient that’s not always available is required. Spoonful and Smokestack Lightning have always been welcomed attachments to Truckin and Smokestack came out of Truckin this time. It was clear that Weir was well rested and in top form. Mayer’s licks decorated the backdrop of the tune with a tastefulness that didn’t attempt to force any more notes than were required. On a sweltering night in Tennesee, what better thing for John to have on his head than a hat made of fuckin corduroy.

Bertha emerged seamlessly out of Smokestack and holy shit balls of fire, out comes Donna! Another flare that was sent up to the heavens to bring down the glory of the Lord in Grateful Dead & Company Land! As Bertha began to ascend, I couldn’t stop smiling if I tried. Even though I was totally sober, the carpet in my living room began growing grass under my feet and I was dancing like I was gonna mat that shit down in a hurry! Oteil hittin the fat strings, Mayer tearing it up and building the vibration as he merged energies alongside Donna, Billy chewing on invisible gum, Weir’s hair growing from second to second, Jeff’s B3 sending perfect puffs of radiant joy into the air! Shit was gettin serious in a hurry and it was clear that everyone was getting pulled into the vortex that can only be created in Grateful Dead Land.

Playin’ had that immediate bounce that didn’t have to get stirred up or provoked in order to gain momentum. The momentum was already inherent in the moment and the band wasn’t trying to make it happen as much as it was all happening through them. Donna was placed properly in the mix and didn’t scream like her foot was caught in a bear trap. Her voice was soothing and adding a color to the mix that was balanced and fulfilling. John’s wah wah jams were outstanding and each moment fed the next moment with an energy that refused to be diminished or exhausted but continuously gained strength. Birdsong came right out of Playin without separation and was fantastic. Shit was just melting together like psychedelic dominos falling one after the other. Then something happened that those of US that have been around the scene for a long time have experienced hundreds of times. Mayer’s range, that has been limited since undergoing vocal cord surgery, got instantaneously healed and made whole. He went high falsetto reaching for a note during Birdsong and it was tremendous. Part of me became a little nervous wondering if the adrenaline might’ve pushed him into that. I was eagerly waiting for his next vocal to see whether he blew up his voicebox or not. Thankfully, it was a genuine healing like someone might experience at a Holy Ghost filled Church. John stretched his vocals all night and it made his sound infinitely better. It’s not that it was perfect everywhere he went, it’s that he was going there regardless. In Grateful Dead Land, we’d rather see you reach for the gold ring and miss than not try at all. I’m extremely happy he’s pushing himself vocally and will continue to send good vibes to his vocal cords along with cases of manuka honey.

Tennesee Jed fell right out of the middle of Birdsong and Weir exercised the inverse styling of lagging back to rush the moment by utilizing his opposing style of singing slightly ahead of the moment and letting the song catch up to him. When it’s working out right, it’s all just working right the fuck out! Shakedown kept pulling water and energy into the ever increasing wave causing it to swell more and more. Then came the reappearance of one of my favorite surprises during FTW last year, Passenger! It’s gonna need a little work but it was great to hear, particularly with Donna who by all means should’ve been part of the 50th celebration. The lyrics that were previously left out on the studio version, as well as most, if not all other versions I’ve heard, were added this time around. I can clearly see why they were previously omitted. That’s all I’m gonna say about that… Birdsong came back to be finished as John picked up his Gibson SG that must be a 1963 model or thereabouts based on the Gibson Maestro Vibrato with the long metal medallion that stretches from the end of the vibrato to the tailpiece. I’m no Rick Harrison from Pawn Stars or anything but the tone of that SG is SWEET! Closing out the first set with Casey Jones completed the best first set that I’ve heard Dead & Company play since their start.

After the shortest intermission in the history of the band, They picked up right where they left off as the opening chords of Help On The Way let us all know that there was no letting up on this night. The jams were coming out from the band infused with the magic that caused all of US to quit our jobs and follow the feeling for the past five decades. While people will discuss the various incarnations of our favorite musicians since the anointed one left us, this group of players have a chemistry between them that dwarfs anything that has happened since. John is comfortable with his place and is stepping up to lead some of the jams without trepidation. It’s as if he’s no longer seeking permission internally from the rest of the band to let it go. John’s internal beacon just outshines most of his predecessors. He’s off the leash that he may have created for himself or felt compelled to stay tethered to out of respect for the process and the material. It’s a much more free and uninhibited expression of his gifts. When things are going that way, you feel like you can grab the tail of the magic dragon. There are moments where he might realize he can’t quite grab it just yet but they will always be overlooked and forgotten in favor of the times he’s able to take hold of the prize.

Slipknot gave way to Scarlet somewhat awkwardly because Franklin’s belongs there. In all of our minds, we already have the pace stepped out in our dance routines for the onset of Franklin’s. Our mind is already at the opening riffs when something else ends up there. It’s like when you expect juice in your cup and then get water. Water isn’t bad, but your expectations definitely alter the sensation. This was a moment where the tail of the magic dragon wasn’t quite captured but was quickly forgotten once everybody caught up to each other about midway through the first set of lyrics. The cameras panned the crowd that displayed the Mayer Influence. It was full of young people having their molecules transformed as the smell of armpits and patchouli gave way to a new generation scented by Axe body spray and Taylor Swift’s line of perfume. We can only hope the scene doesn’t give way to the fraternity assholes of 93 to 95. Fire kept us burning and came to a fairly abrupt end kind of like rear ending someone in your car at slow speed. They’re not quite sure how to end that one anymore. The opening notes of Terrapin will always bring about a deep cleansing to my soul. My heart opens wide and voluntarily gives itself to the process of growth and change and compassionate human development. It’s the anthem of our entire movement to my physiology. It’s like a slow, steady and certain march into the deep waters of my being. A place where darkness is commanded to the light and where wayward and aberrated thoughts are exposed and forced to leave my heart and my mind.

Before that happens completely, I’m gonna say this… Mickey is back there beating on shit constantly. His hands never stop moving. He reminds me of the guy you work with that makes himself look busy as shit but gets just about nothing accomplished. I haven’t heard a thing he’s played outside of the drums segment since the Summer of 95. If you were at a show and you were blind, you’d probably ask your neighbor what happened to Mickey. You could hear a mouse pissing on a cotton ball better than you could hear a thing Mickey is doing during the show. Every time the camera was on him he was just beating away. Even in the spaces between songs… Couldn’t hear a damn thing. If I was his drum tech, I’d accept being fired and for one night take all of his mallets and kitchen utensils and put nothing but sticks with his gear. Imagine for a moment what this band might sound like if Mickey didn’t completely remove himself from the auditory component by being completely silent. I understand he’s the Magical Maestro of all percussive things and shit like that but he’s completely a non-factor during the music. It’s like a fabulous opera singer choosing to have laryngitis. Not only that… He can stop eating that fuckin beam any time now… I wanna see Mickey lick the beam like I wanna lose a testicle to a gardening accident. I totally love him forever but I had to get that out of my system.

On with the cleansing… Terrapin would have benefitted from extending the vicious jam at the end but that’s like looking for fly shit in pepper. The Other One was filled with all of the confusion required to make it just right. To me, it’s like a Washing Machine on the cycle that just blasts all of the unwanted particles off of your clothing. It turns and twists and pulls your shit into the center only to be spit out along the periphery to be sucked back through the center again and again. Oteil at one point was screwing molecules in the air as he aggressively kept the machine on its proper course. Then in a moment that was akin to Weir giving me the proverbial “Go Fuck Yourself!” after my review of his singing Garcia’s tunes, sung Wharf Rat as good as I’ve ever heard him sing a Garcia Ballad. It was truly his best take on a Jerry tune I may have ever heard. He didn’t lag behind the lyric to be forced into rushing the words and delivered every lyric with the intensity that exists innately in each and every one of them. It was as outstanding as it could have been. Hats off to you Bob! I’ll just go fuck myself now…

Then drop the damn Franklin’s to finish off a stellar night of music and probably the best that I’ve heard from Dead & Company to date. They tried to fuck up Franklin’s by adding spaces that shouldn’t exist between the verses but by that point, we didn’t give a shit. We were all totally spun the fuck out and sitting together in the giant Washer of Life, in the rinse cycle. It was complete before it was completed. Touch was a great way to send us home. Whatever it is we’re going through on this fucked up rock traveling through space, somehow, WE WILL GET BY! They haven’t figured out how to end that one real good yet either. It kinda ends like sex you thought would last a little longer… We’re done? Ok… Doesn’t matter… This was one of those nights that the music was so good that once it’s over the experience made you completely sober and intensely aware of the transformation that took place deep within you. For many, that’s so intense of an experience they have to immediately head for more drugs. Becoming completely awake can be a motherfucker. Some can deal, some can’t… Some rise, some fall… I exited the night a far better human being than I entered. The day was filled with sorrow following the senseless events in Orlando. We all needed a place to be to exhale for a moment. Throughout the course of my life, music has been the only way I’ve been able to begin healing from the various scars associated with life on this planet. My thoughts and prayers are always with those who struggle, mourn are hurting and/or lost. I’m so grateful to have this community to go through all of it with. When you get pulled through the machine that Grateful Dead Music creates, your soul comes out on the other side totally different than it went in. THAT is precisely why this community will live through every cell of my body until I die. At that point, since Energy can’t be created or destroyed, only changed from one form to another according to The Laws of Physics and Nature, I’ll be the breeze you feel during Franklin’s or the chills you get during a Morning Dew. My energy will be propelled forward with this music as its guide like it has been for over 30 years of my life. I Love y’all forever and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it! Thanks for all of it!

Dead To The Core,

Dean Sottile (pronounced So Tilly)
The Official Home of Unofficial Grateful Dead and Music News & Grateful Dean on Facebook
@gd50th on Twitter