Dozin’ At The Knick: Times Union Center, Albany, NY, April 17, 2009 Part I

Writer’s Note: It has been four long years since the remaining members of the Grateful Dead reunited to serve up their diverse, intricate style of improvisational music that fueled a culture and ideology of life during the 1960s. While the world has changed drastically since the cultural revolution of the 60s. The spirit of the scene driven by the music of the counter-cultural rock n roll band can still be seen living on in the hearts of Dead Heads everywhere. This could best be seen in April, when the band, now known as The Dead, reunited for the first time since 2004. I had the good fortune to catch  four shows during the band’s month-long reunion tour, and I hope that through my own experiences, people will be able to see why there is nothing like a Grateful Dead concert.

The streets are flooded with a colorful array of hipsters and the strong stench of body-odor, patchouli oil, and marijuana, as my friends Sampson, Delilah, and I make our way into downtown Albany.

The reason for all the excitement: The Dead have returned to the city that was one of the band’s favorite stops during the late 80s and early 90s, due to its acceptance of the band and their fans during a period when other cities were trying to shut them out. It appears things have not changed much in 15 years, as the city is keeping its tradition of honoring the band and its fans alive by closing down the streets in front of the Times Union Center (previously the Pepsi Arena and better known to Dead Heads as the Knickerbocker Arena).

The energy is high all around us, as beer-guzzling, drug-consuming freaks of all ages pre-game along Shakedown Street located in a parking lot just a few blocks from the arena. The show is the band’s fourth on their re-union tour that will eventually culminate in 22 shows played in 17 U.S. cities ending in May. While Sampson, Delilah, and I were lucky enough to have caught a performance by the band during a concert to support then presidential candidate Barack Obama at State College, Pennsylvania in October 2008, this is the first time since that historic show we’ve had the opportunity to see the band and be a part of the unique scene that helped turn a small-time group of misfits from San Francisco into a national phenomenon that still alive today.

Yes, the spirit of The Dead community is alive and well here in Albany, as we spend the majority of our pre-show partying at a nearby bar appropriately named Franklin’s Tower. Aside from the annoying hiss of nitrous tanks and a wealth of drugs at our finger tips, the scene in the bar is not much different than that of the one along Shakedown. A range of cross generational Heads have convened here before they make the short walk to the arena to arrive in time for the show’s 7:30 p.m. start time.

We throw back a few tasty brews and enjoy an acoustic duo that is performing a mixture of dead-esque tunes in a small alleyway next to the bar. The atmosphere outside is exciting, as we shake around the bar’s patio trying to bottle up our high spirits, The booze starts to imprison our minds, and the excitement consumes our bodies.

A few heady beers, a half-pack of cigarettes, and couple joints later, we stumble up to the front of the arena bobbing and weaving around clusters of freaks that have poured off Shakedown and onto the city’s streets.

After a lengthy battle through the vibrant mob, we reach the stairway to the arena and slowly begin to ascend the steep steps to its entrance. The elevated view reveals the intense party. People stretch for as far as the eye can see. While most will be entering the show just as we are now, there is no doubt that many others have decided to pass on the $100 ticket and instead chose to join the infamous traveling party that has helped define the band and its scene as much as their music has over the past four decades.

As I stand in line taking in the crowd that rages like a wildfire below, I can’t help but think how good it is to finally be back with family. My thoughts are reinforced by an older Head in front of me who turns to his teenage son saying, “Your mother would never believe this.” And I am sure in many ways his son could not believe it either. Aside from the fact that the kid had no idea what possessed the people and the scene below, he is being ushered into what could almost be looked at as a secret society. A society that will desperately need to rely on future generations, like the kid, and present generations, like the father, to ensure the spirit of the scene never dies.

The maddening sights and sounds below quickly fade. We find our way through the sprawling lines and into the arena with enough time to grab a couple of beers and our seats before the first notes of the Grateful Dead classic, “Casey Jones” come booming out of the sound system.

The opening set is mostly made up of songs from the 1960s. The band performs two of their early favorites, “Cold Rain and Snow” and, “New Minglewood Blues.” Then Warren Haynes, the band’s current guitar player, skillfully squeezes in a surprising rendition of Van Morrison’s, “Into the Mystic”, which sparks a little eye-brow raising over the nature of performing such a song for fans who have paid a record amount of money despite tough economic times to see the Dead. However, any questions of doubt are quickly washed away by Warren’s bluesy vocals, as he soothes our souls with the legendary melody.

Finally the boys get back on track jumping ahead a decade to include what could have been the highlight of the show in terms of song selection, performing a rendition of Garcia’s drug fueled, “West L.A. Fadeaway”. They eventually find their way into, “Brown Eyed Women” and close the first set with an electric, “Cumberland Blues” that sparks a raucous dance frenzy throughout the entire audience into.

In between sets we find ourselves out in the concession area guzzling beers, dashing outside to enjoy a variety of smoke, and mingling with friends whom we had missed prior to the show. I run into my friends, Rosalie and Delia, along the way, and they convince me to sneak onto the floor with them.

The three of us cautiously creep down one of the stairwells and past a few unsuspecting security guards before hopping over the wall divider and onto the floor. We zigzag through the dense crowd eventually finding a small opening where we wedge ourselves between a cluster of Heads. We smoke joint after joint, while the band rips through its second set opener, “Viola Lee Blues”. After some intense jamming, which was a diversion from the first set that was predominantly made up of straight songs, the band finds its way into the always beautiful, “Sugaree” and then back into an intense version of the Neal Cassidy inspired, “The Other One”.

The boys eventually reach a point where they open up the set to the band’s legendary drum duo, Mickey Hart and Bill Kretzman, who take the crowd on a rhythmic flight through their famed, “Drums/Space”. The tune

sends shivers down our spines. The two veteran percussionists take us on a wayward journey through a song that has haunted our dreams ever since we had a bad experience during a performance by the Dark Star Orchestra involving an intense acid trip and an array of uppers and downers that had been consumed for close to a day straight.

At this point the alcohol has caught up with me, and while I can remember the songs that came after, “Drums/Space”, “Comes a Time”, “Unbroken Chain”, “Throwing Stones”, and an encore of, “Not Fade Away”, it is hard for me to keep my head straight through the remainder of the set. My brain starts to shut down turning my once intense dance step into something of a slow-motion wobble.

Outside the party is just getting started. The sharp hissing of nitrous tanks can be heard echoing throughout the city streets. Cops sit perched on horseback watching. The delicately balanced scene could blow at any moment if one of them is to act on their power. But there is nothing to worry about. I can tell they understand the influence their authority could have on the volatile scene.

I eventually find Sampson and Delilah somewhere amidst the madness, and we make our way onto Shakedown just as the party starts to kick into high gear. I attempt to enjoy the scene, but there is no way to avoid the fact that I am drunk, stoned, and tired. I pull myself together just enough to force my way through the dense crowd pushing fellow Heads while snarling, “Get out of my way, you bastards.” We poke around the various vendors and nitrous tanks still operating in the lot.

We eventually escape the crowd and find ourselves in the streets just in time to hear the thundering sounds of hooves pounding against the pavement. As the police slowly ascend on Shakedown, the sharp wheeze of the nitrous tanks come to a halt, while hoards of Heads scatter through the streets, and disappear into the darkness. There is not a trace of their existence, except for the blanket of balloons that litter the street and its sidewalks.

As we start to make our way back to the car, our emotions and excitement over the show continue to run high. We rap about the events of the night. It is always a sad moment when you realize the show is over, the party has ended, and your family has all gone home. But while most of us will just have the memories and good times of the night to talk about tomorrow, others will have the good fortune to keep on keeping on to the next show and the show after that. See you down the road.