The last time I camped while touring was at Alpine Valley in 89. As soon as the first We Bid You Goodnight since the closing of Winterland, 12-31-1978, began, I felt like I was struck by lightning. With every verse Garcia sang, electricity blasted through my body sending shockwaves to every hair follicle I possessed. Everybody’s nipples were instantly the same size as their pupils. I’ll never forget that full body sonic orgasm as long as I live. My mind was so blown, I don’t think I had any recollection of the Johnny B Goode encore that followed for several years. I’m not even sure whether or not many tapers captured it. We were all too busy hugging each other. As I’ve been so often throughout the years, I was a Lone Wolf that night. I wandered off spending the show with just about any and all groups of people that seemed to really “Get IT” and gave off a welcoming vibe. I made thousands of acquaintances but always preferred never being too attached to any one group of folks. Summer of 89 was really the ultimate adventure for me since I left home with a backpack, a few bucks, and a confidence that the rest would somehow work out. We had no way to get in touch with each other back then, no cell phones, no pagers… If I lost the folks I showed up with, I just sat at the lot exit with my thumb in the air and hitched a ride to the next show. The rains that ensued following that night turned euphoria into youfuckedia. When I finally remembered where my campsite was and got a ride there around sunrise, there were ducks in my tent. The ducks were diving for the fish that were in the deep end of the tent. I slept in water that morning… Too tired to care. I wasn’t completely dry until a week or two later. I made so many friends that Summer that touring would no longer be as renegade as that again. 89 will always be the most adventurous Summer of my life. Maybe more on that tomorrow. By 90, I had learned how to work the road well enough that I usually stayed where the band stayed or in accommodations that were similar.

Back to Alpine Valley… There was always something about that piece of land in the middle of nowhere that causes something otherworldly to come forth. That shed has been home to some incredible moments for US and for whatever reason, it brings out the finest our favorite musicians have to offer. When the band takes the stage, If someone screams “CASSIDY” you would typically assume they don’t know what the hell they’re talking about. Last night, the guy that screamed that and you thought didn’t know shit, got it right. The force was clearly at work from the get go and Cassidy came out of the free form jam that got the whole thing started. Brown Eyed Women showed John’s confidence was high and his playing was creative, aggressive and completely front and center. If you think you could be that confident wearing a shirt you bought at a Welcome Center while crossing the state line into Florida, just try it! Then, as every other time Dead & Company has played I Need a Miracle, Weir couldn’t even get himself to sing the words. A song he has sung thousands of times through the years totally eludes him now. I would have to imagine it’s because the opening line makes him think to himself, “No fuckin way twice my age”. By the time he got around to singing about the woman twice his weight, he realized the woman would be much bigger than the ones he made reference to decades ago but seemed to have an easier time accepting that as the lyrics made their way back to him. Either way, the jams in between were fantastic and the boulder was rolling downhill early. Dire Wolf made its debut to the delight of most of US and sounded excellent. The first few runs through some of the tunes can be rocky but not Dire Wolf. It seemed tight and well played throughout. Ramble On Rose was fun and I’m starting to warm up a little to Weir singing some of Garcia’s tunes. When he’s not to Weiry on them, I can dig em. Ramble on Rose had the bounce it has always had and continued the party with a hundred verses in ragtime taking us to the leader of the band. It gives me pains to say that Dead & Co’s Box Of Rain may be an improvement over the Boxes of the past but, if there’s a song that I can say that about, it’s Box Of Rain. I don’t like saying it at all but I’m being honest with myself and with you. The tune has found some really cool spots that are new to my ears and completely acceptable. The set closed with The Music Never Stopped and nothing could be more true. The songs seemed to flow to and from each other with relative ease and little time between them to think about too much. It was great to see Weir just let go and not really try to direct too much traffic. He just let the music travel wherever it decided to go and gave it as long as it took to get there.

The second set opened with Deal and this group can play the hell out of it. The band was having moments throughout the night that you could tell they were completely going off the radar for minutes at a time. Those moments you completely disappear as a human being in the flesh and become a cosmic smear of energy that paints the universe with the trail you leave as you fly through. Eyes has always provided those kind of moments for people like US and the experience was left intact last night. The music that weaved its way in and out the cosmos was brightly colored and filled with electrical energy. Oteil’s solo that has become a trademark of Dead & Co’s take on the tune gives you a look inside of his soul. Incredible complexities along with moments of tension that push against the surrounding resistance and are ultimately overcome by the strength that’s been created by overcoming the opposing external forces the world has applied over the years. St. Stephen comes flying out of that with a purifying fire that was consuming all of the inhabitants of Grateful Dead Land. There were no gaps in the action and it seemed like each moment existed to provide another step on the ladder for all space travelers to continue climbing upwards. All parts of the song were extended to maximize impact as brains were expanding and contracting at record rates. As if all that wasn’t enough, we get thrown in the cosmic laundry machine as Oteil blasted the opening notes of The Other One with the kind of low-end power that can knock freckles off of a redhead. I’ve seen that shit happen… The tempo didn’t suffer as much as it can at times even with Weir putting space that doesn’t really belong between vocal verses. I understand that when I’m writing, there are times that a sentence should end and a new one should begin. If the experience is too intense to cause a break in the action, I’m gonna leave out the period every time. When the singer in my head arrives at a lyric and it hasn’t arrived yet, it causes me to go backward instead of moving ahead. Maybe I’ll just have to adapt to that shit and get on with it.

The Drums was great as usual and one of the only times you can hear what the hardest working drummer that usually can’t be heard is doing. Mickey is a little easier to hear through an HD Stream due to the clarity of the mix but from the shows I’ve attended, I can’t hear what he’s doing at all. I know he’s probably doing a lot of cool shit but between Mickey and the inability to keep Jeff’s volume where it should be, we’re missing out on a lot of potential energy that isn’t being properly expressed. One song Jeff is loud and clear and moments later he’s completely muted. Jeff has A LOT of fans out here and we would LOVE to hear him properly. This has been an issue since FTW and at times has gotten better but is completely inconsistent. I’ve heard from people that it’s easier to hear Mickey and Jeff in certain locations of the venues but I don’t understand why their volumes in the mix should be location dependent. Maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about… That’s always a possibility… When I listen to the 24-bit recordings of Spring 90 or the Betty Boards from the 70s, or I reflect on my own 300 plus shows I attended, there’s a world of difference. The keys were always prominent and powerful. Mickey and Jeff probably don’t care and might not even notice it from the in ear and stage monitors but I know there’s a lot of US that do. TURN UP MICKEY AND JEFF! End of rant…

The Hard Rain that came out of Space was menacing. The music created tense spaces between notes and conveyed the mood of the song brilliantly. One of those moments that you almost have to put your arms around yourself to make sure you keep your molecules together. Weir did a great job of transferring the feelings that reside within the words. It was a fabulous moment that made me perfectly uncomfortable inside. Then the opening chords of Help On The Way. It’s like being harnessed on a rocket that will be taking off shortly. The impending commitment to taking the trip creates internal sensations that ultimately come face to face with the reality of the trip itself. Paradise Waits! No more perfect an opening line has ever been created to fit the tune that’s unfolding. I’ve now listened to the Help-> Slip-> Frank 3 times in order to confirm the accuracy of my initial assessment. Help On The Way benefits from John’s singing much moreso than Bob’s. The solos between verses contained elements of the Slipknot without revealing too much almost like watching a shadowed silhouette of a woman undressing. Provocative and able to stimulate thought and creativity without being overdone or giving too much too soon. The Slipknot was the most technically complete one that this group of musicians has assembled to date. EVERYBODY was moving spiritually in the same direction… All twists and turns were made in a completely congruent way. It couldn’t be added to or subtracted from in order to make it more than it was. The note that you hoped would be there when you arrived always was and the space you hoped would be absent was absent. When a gap opened, John or Oteil’s licks were right there providing the protection required to prevent you from being sucked into orbit forever. As it all continued to wind up against itself before expanding to release itself, it did so according to the natural rhythm of the planetary breath as well as the rhythm that pulsated throughout time and space for that moment… Only in Grateful Dead Land… Nowhere else… Then came the payoff as John calls it, Franklin’s. Even Weir’s awkward approach to the vocals couldn’t hold back the momentum that was moving forward regardless. The precision and improvisational colors that blasted the night sky with transformational tunes had people from all over the world being set free from the turmoil of daily struggles and life that exists outside of our community. While tumbling wildly inside of Franklin’s the injustices of a fallen world are forced to flee from US as we join in an experience that’s devoid of race or religion. Political differences are replaced by the intense revelations of our deep and soulful similarities. In that moment, nobody is different than anybody and everybody is just like anybody else. I love the false ending in Franklin’s that they’re doing. Just when ya think it’s over, NOPE, back around the block again! What a great touch to that one! Then in keeping with the long-standing tradition, one more Saturday night gets closed out with One More Saturday Night! It was Rockin and hard and fast like having sex in a 100-degree tent. The tune revolved around the entire hub that created the magic for the evening. As it spun around it was wildly decorated by the notes that were flying at it from every instrument. EVERYBODY WAS ALL IN!!! Billy laying down the heat that fired below the pistons to keep em moving, Jeff making the Jeff face while sliding feverishly up and down the ivories, Mickey basting Chicken like a mad BBQ Master, John looking like a chicken pecking food off of a wall, Oteil covering the final stretch of the 10 miles he marched in place throughout the evening, Weir throwing chords up to the heavens and reaching down deep for a falsetto moment at the end that he ABSOLUTELY hit! 100%! What a moment! What a night!

After we all marinated in the brilliance that just took place, the band returned at approximately the same time that Garcia would play his final encore with The Grateful Dead exactly 21 years ago this night. While many, including one of the literary legends of Grateful Dead Land, Blair Jackson, find my opinion on BMR inaccurate and reprehensible, my take on Knockin may be met with some opposition as well. I always LOVED Knockin and many a splendid night in our lives ended with this Dylan gem delivered by Garcia with the kind of Soul that ONLY Garcia could put to it. That being said, John Mayer delivered Dead & Co’s first Knockin On Heaven’s Door with the passion and feeling and depth that was well able to bring tears to the toughest of his critics. His liberties on the tune resonated deeply within me as new life was breathed wholeheartedly into an old favorite. Some felt that it was a painful look toward current events while others a form of salute to Garcia. For me, it was as rich with meaning as it has ever been following a week that has seen those wearing badges being blasted as well as those wearing badges blast a brother. Take this badge off of me, put my guns in the ground… Imagine a world where everybody came to the same conclusion. I can’t shoot them anymore… As Mayer revealed the contents of his internal markings throughout the solos following each verse, I believe he showed more of his heart and soul than we’ve ever seen to this point. His runs lagged slightly behind the moment beautifully at times keeping the moment from getting too far out in front. He used other moments to race ahead and clear a path for the song to develop more completely. When those moments arrived, brilliant and emotive bursts of compassion erupted forth in waves and were joined appropriately by the rest of the band as the congregation just knodded in agreement. If John has had a moment on stage that has caused me to further appreciate his internal components, last night’s Knockin was a highlight for me. While most of US have had moments through the music of literally Knockin On Heaven’s Door, If Garcia was Knockin On Heaven’s Door nowadays, he’d be doing so from the inside trying to get out for a few more runs. He’s a well-established resident for over 20 years now. It’s moments like these when you realize you got as close to the Promised Land as one can probably get while still being alive and had a moment to Knock On The Door. Just as Weir was able to let the moments happen all night without feeling the need to direct traffic, John became a little too confident in his attempt to lead the traffic himself. As Weir attempted to bring the moment home with the “Just like so many times before” line that seems to bring it all to a perfect close, John wasn’t yielded to the direction of the wise elder and kind of shit in pants in a little. I’m sure he thought it was just a fart at first… The end fell apart at that point which gave Weir the opportunity to say, “Just exactly like a Swiss watch” before heading off the stage. When the tear-filled experience ended, the door had disappeared… For a moment we sat on the precipice of entering that sacred place yet the lights were turned back on firmly planting our feet to the earth that we spent the last 4 or 5 hours completely detached from.

“Never Miss a Sunday Show” mantra is in full force… With this bunch of musicians, you really never want to miss a show PERIOD! Too time-consuming for me to proofread right now, sorry about typos, errors and omissions… Love You Long Time and Forever and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!

Dead To The Core,

Dean Sottile (pronounced So Tilly)