A quarter of a century between. I realize that twenty-five years is a relative drop in the bucket of eternity, but it seems like another lifetime ago now. As I sit making logistical plans for tomorrow nights sojourn to the Gorge Amphitheater for see Dead & Co.
Should you not know, and yes I really that there remains a few who don’t, Dead & Company is the latest mashup of three of the four surviving members of the Grateful Dead, Bob Weir, and drummers Billy Kruetzmann and Mickey Hart. Bassist Phil Lesh is doing his own gigs and for reasons that I don’t completely understand not playing with this ensemble. Rounding out the Company is keyboardist Jeff Chimenti, bassist Oteil Burbridge and the man tasked, like it or not, to fill Jerry’s shoes, John Mayer. Consider the awesome responsibility here, a mountain not even the phenomenal Trey Anastasio could successfully scale. I have seen enough video of this band to make the critical assessment, along with the fact that I have never seen a show at the Gorge, a sin right up there with not having claimed Rainier, yet, either, so this one was easy. And its tomorrow night.
For full disclosure, I have been a Dead Head since 1971. My sister and her boyfriend at the time turned me on and that love light has been shinning ever since. It didn’t take much. There was something in there above and beyond the music, combining magic, mayhem and mystery. The beat got me, ripping a whole in my consciousness and filling it with a sort of cosmic insight, as Jerry tossed fireworks and lasers into my brain. I remember listening on headphones late one night, critiquing side one of a four disk album (Skull & Roses) with a single word, a bomb in the key of F.
I have said on many an occasion that several of my life’s top ten moments have come in the audience as the Dead searched, explored, jammed, shared, led, and pointed to places we might go and experience together. Sometimes those places required patience, sometimes the face value of the groove was enough, but there was always the sheer joy of the artist becoming one with the audience that truly captured my open and yearning soul.
The last time I saw the Dead was 1993 at Seattle’s Memorial Coliseum. The three times before that were down in Eugene at Autzen Stadium. By that time I had evolved into a happy shiny fanboy just moving unabashedly to the wall of sound. It was an easy script to follow, dance for set one, go pee and hang for twenty, dance for set two and encore. Peace, freedom, joy, a complete release from the petty issues of the day. It was always like being liberated, with doors opening and possibilities, potentials and dreams right around the corner, waiting to meet up in tie-dye togetherness.
It's a two hour drive over, not including ferry ride, and the best I can determine is that the parking opens two hours before the 7pm start. I’ll go early, take the GoPro and my fixie, cruise and grab some b-roll footage. There will be a full Strawberry moonrise around 10 and weather calls for sunny and 81. The only down side is that I could’t find a sub for my Saturday spin class, so I need to be on the 0600 boat the next morning. Game plan is to exit venue late Friday night and catch some nappy Zs in one of the two rest areas en route home.
Cowboy Neal will be at the wheel. And those 25 years will seem like a dream. A broken angel sings from a guitar. Gimme five I’m still alive.
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