Poll: Furthur named best Dead-oriented band by Dead Beat readers

After a month long poll that asked Dead Beat readers to name the "best Dead-oriented band today," the Heads have spoken, naming Furthur as the top act.

Seventy-two Heads cast votes in the poll, and of those voters, 57 (79 percent) chose Bob Weir and Phil Lesh's band Furthur as their top choice. The Dead, a Grateful Dead spin-off band that includes all five remaining members of the legendary jam band, finished second with eight votes (11 percent), Phil Lesh and Friends received four votes (5 percent) and Bob Weir and Ratdog rounded out the poll with a lackluster three votes (4 percent).

It was not surprising to see Furthur finish as the clear winner, considering all the excitement that has surrounded the band since its recent tour. I was, however, surprised that The Dead did not fair as well, considering the band does consist of all five remaining members and they did put on one hell of a tour last spring. Phil Lesh and Friends and Bob Weir and Ratdog's recent hiatus, due to Bobby and Phil's obligations with Furthur, might have contributed to the two band's low vote count.

Thanks to everyone who participated in Dead Beat's first ever poll. I look forward to getting your feedback on many other Dead-related issues in the near future. Thanks for reading along.

Review: Furthur Live @ Hammerstein Ballroom, New York, NY 12-8-2009

The bright lights of the New York City skyline hover overhead as I stand outside the Hammerstein Ballroom on West 34th Street in Manhattan. It's early December in the Big Apple, which means the Holiday season is in full swing as my friends Hawaii and Dave and I stand outside the old opera house hoping to get an early present from the new Grateful Dead-oriented jam band, Furthur.

Taking their name from the technicolored 1939 International Harvester school bus that carted Ken Kesey and his band of Merry Pranksters across the country's vast landscape high on LSD, the new band of pranksters formed by Grateful Dead guitarist, Bob Weir, and bassist, Phil Lesh, includes Ratdog organist, Jeff Chimenti and drummer, Jay Lane; Benvento-Russo Duo drummer Joe Russo; and recent ex-Dark Star Orchestra guitarist John Kadlecik.

Outside, the air is brisk as I mingle with the familiar faces from tours past, while I suck down a few pre-show cigarettes before entering the 3,400 capacity venue that would play host to our first experience, and the East Coast's first experience for that matter, with what we hoped would be the newest Dead-oriented band to have Heads emptying their wallets for years to come.

Upon entrance, Hawaii and I find ourselves on the first of the two-tired balconies that stand unusually close to the slanting floor, which is designed to give us folks in the balcony a good view of the stage. At this point, we have separated from Dave, who took off to meet up with another friend in order to head down to the floor where their tickets are located. The venue is starting to fill in as we sip on our overpriced alcoholic beverages and rap about what song the band will open the show with.

At one point, I hear a familiar voice call my name from across the room. I look around to find my old friend Billy hobbling toward me on one crutch. I had forgotten that he had told me at the Dark Star Orchestra show in Albany a month back that he intended to hop on the band's five show East Coast tour starting in New York. 

"What's new man?" he says approaching me with a big grin. "I thought that was you!"

"What the hell happened to you?!" I ask.

"Oh I took a fall and fucked my ankle up," he says with a grimace on his face. "My girl is actually outside right now trying to sell our tickets to tomorrow night's show. I don't even know if we are going to be able to go to the Ashbury (Park) shows."

"Wow that really blows, but I guess on the brightside you will at least get to see them," I say.

"Yeah I know, but it's just been a bad year for me and The Dead," he responds. "Remember how I saw you at The Dead show in Albany during the spring tour. Well I had tickets to like six other shows, but couldn't make it because I became deathly-ill and spent the remainder of the next month in and out of the hospital."

I introduce Billy to Hawaii and we continue on with our conversation before Billy excuses himself to take a phone call. Meanwhile, I notice Hawaii ferociously patting his pockets as if he has misplaced a ten-strip of Owsley's famous "White Lightning" acid or some other important item.

"Fuck!," he crys out.

"What's wrong?" I mumble.

"I forgot my rolling papers in the car," he says.

"Well if there is a time to have forgotten your rolling papers this is it," I say. "I'm sure we will have no problem finding one."

"I know!" he says with a hint of annoyance in his voice. "I just hate going through the process of finding one, when already had them. And then you know you have to smoke with the freaks that give them to you. It's just a whole process I was hoping to avoid."

Bill returns from his phone conversation and informs us that his girlfriend is going to watch the show from the floor since that is where their seats are located, but he was going to remain in the balcony with us so he could rest his busted foot.

"Nice! Should be a good show" I say. "You don't happen to have any papers do you?"

"Sure do," he replies with a wide-eyed grin.

The show is about to begin, so Hawaii and I leave Bill sitting at the top of the balcony where he will have more space to rest his broken foot, while we venture down to the seats we have reserved to roll a joint for the three of us to smoke. We squeeze ourselves into the seats with no help from the bastards sitting in front of us. I break up the necessary amount of bud to fill the EZ Wide Double Wide rolling paper Billy had given me and start to pack it into the over sized paper, just as the band takes the stage and kicks into The Dead's timeless classic "Truckin". I struggle rolling the joint in the dimly lit, tightly packed space as freaks dance around me jabbing the back of the theater's chairs into my legs and pinning me virtually motionless except the use of my arms. In the midst of struggling with the darkness, limited space and my own desire to jump-up and dance, I am finally able to finish rolling the joint and Hawaii signals Billy to come down and join us in what we consider to be a more inconspicuous location.

Bill squeezes in between Hawaii and I just as the band jams out of "Truckin" and into the classic sing along "Dire Wolf". It is the first time I have heard the band perform and the first time I have witnessed former Dark Star Orchestra guitarist, John, or fake Jerry as Hawaii and I like to call him, belting out his best impersination of Jerry Garcia's creaky, vocal lines alongside two of the group's founding members. I did not perceive John's addition to the band necessarily as trying to replace Jerry Garcia, but I did fear hearing him with Bobby and Phil would freak me out.

I spark the joint as we groove and sing along to the set that includes early Dead classics such as "Doin' that Rag" "Ramble on Rose" and "Cosmic Charlie" (set closer). The boys also find time to squeeze in the Bobby staple "Looks Like Rain" and the Jerry Garcia Band classic "Reuben and Cerise," which leaves us with the belief that no matter what else happens during the show we are going to walk away satisfied.

We grab a couple beers at set break and settle in at the top of the balcony, where Billy was originally sitting. While it is impossible to see the stage unless you are seated, I do not mind our new location because we have plenty of leg space and apparently no worries about smoking grass in the open as the place had turned into a free for all with freaks standing around consuming mass amounts of alcohol, puffing on joints and sucking down cigarettes as if they are at a house party instead of a public theatre - finally, it is starting to feel like a Dead show.

"So much for this place having tight security," I lean over and comment to Hawaii.

"This place?" Billy asks. "I have never had a problem hear before. I remember like five years ago I was on the floor at a Mule show, when some freak approached me and dusted me with LSD. Man was I fucked up, hardest I ever tripped in my life."

The group opens the second set with the band's two drummers, Lane and Russo, delivering a "Drumz" before they kick it into the classic jam, "King Solomon's Marbles". "He's Gone" follows and then Phil spices in a little of his own signature vocals to the show with "New Potato Caboose". I groove among the silhouetted figures, while the band kicks it into high-gear as I can hear "The Other One" creeping through the high-energy jam that is developing on stage.

At this point, Hawaii and I don't realize it, but while we are enjoying another joint in our spacious seats at the top of the balcony, Dave and his friend are having a terrible time below. The floor area is sweltering hot and dance space is limited as people are basically packed on top of one another like buds in a freshly packed bowl. To make matters worse, some woman, who is most likely strung out on a multitude of uppers and downers, has begun to harass Dave's friend to a point where she hits a tipping point and begins to frantically attack him, leaving Dave to find a security guard to subdue the crazed woman as she beats his poor friend like a red headed step-child. 

Prior to the show we had been jealous of their floor tickets, and while we didn't exactly know it at the moment, we are having a much easier go of it puffing on headie nuggs and enjoying the show in a frenzied sort of peace that is taking place in the balcony. At this point, we are seated as Bobby and John take us through the mystical "Days Between". While John performs the majority of Garcia songs throughout the night, he and Bobby also perform many of the songs as a duet, which some people might complain about (of course most of these people are the types that just don't like Bobby and like the Republicans with Obama, would hate him no matter what he did), but I thought it was great that they shared the load, because while I respect John and his ability to recreate Garcia and his sound, it is not as if the man is actually Jerry Garcia. On the other hand, Bob Weir is Bob Weir, and I appreciate the opportunity to listen to both of their voices cut through the air and give the old songs new life.

After the slow, yet beautiful "Days Between" the band brings the crowd back to their feet with a classic Dead combination "Scarlet Begonias>Fire on the Mountain" and closes with one of the band's early classics "Cold Rain and Snow". While there have been a few flaws in the performance, like any show, the only truly disappointing moment was the encore "Touch of Grey". Not that I don't love the only tune the pioneers of jam ever wrote that reached number one on the Billboard charts, but after hearing it as the encore for a number of shows on Dead tour in the spring, not to mention at Dark Star's recent show in Albany, it was a disappointing end to what has otherwise been a great show.

We say our goodbyes to Billy and his girlfriend outside before they disappear into the Manhattan night. We find Dave and start to rap about how great of a show we had just witnessed and even more importantly how the band lived up to every thing we had imagined it would be when they first announced the formation of the group a few months back.

"It just could be this band is here to stay," I prophesize. "Now we just need to land tickets to the winter tour!" 

Setlist

Set 1:
Truckin'>
Dire Wolf
Doin' That Rag
Ramble On Rose
Reuben & Cerise>
Looks Like Rain
Cosmic Charlie

Set 2:
Drums>
King Solomon's Marbles>
He's Gone> New Potato Caboose>
The Other One> Days Between>
Scarlet Begonias>
Fire On The Mountain
Cold Rain and Snow

E: Touch of Grey

Tear This Old Building Down: Spectrum, Philadelphia, PA, May 5, 2009 Part IV

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. 

Rosalie comes screeching into my driveway around 11 a.m. beeping and yelling for me to get in. She is close to an hour late picking me up, and we have less than eight hours until The Dead hit the stage at the Spectrum in Philadelphia with an ETA of five hours until our destination.

“Don’t forget the cooler,” Rosalie yells, as I stumble out of the

house.

I grab the cooler, where she intends to store 30 mushroom chocolates to deliver to our friends, Peter and Cassidy, who are already in Philadelphia.

We throw the chocolates in the cooler and jump in the car speeding off to pick up Lee, before we head to the city of brotherly love.

“By the way Rosalie, I know nothing about those,” I say in connection to the mushroom chocolates.

“I know you don’t. But you do know it says your last name on the cooler,” she responds with a chuckle.

The ride is as smooth as one could be, considering we are one mistake from being arrested on felony drug charges. We arrive in Philadelphia around 4 p.m. meeting Peter and Cassidy at the hotel room they have rented a few miles south of the Spectrum.

Before we know it, we are bouncing around Shakedown drinking beer, mingling with the weird, and unenthusiastically signaling for extra tickets amongst the hundreds of other Heads looking to score the same miracle. Peter and Cassidy run around with the mission of trying to sell enough of the chocolates to afford tickets into the show. Yes, spirits are high in the Dead community. Heads prepare to see the final show the band will ever perform at the arena that is scheduled to be torn down in the near future.

While we are getting our kicks along Shakedown, time is running out for us to find a ticket. I point this out to Rosalie and suggest we head to the front of the venue to give ourselves a better chance at catching some Head with extras walking in. We stand in front of the box office that reads, “sold-out,” having no luck finding tickets, except for a couple of vultures who mock us over our intent to get one at face value ($100). For the first time the notion that we might not find tickets becomes a reality

“Fuck that!” Rosalie says, “I ain’t buying a ticket off one of them mother fuckers. They aren’t family.

They’re just some fucks trying to make money!”

We eventually find our way into a parking lot, where it is hard to hear over the roar from fans at them Phillies game taking place at the stadium across the lot. Our arms start growing weary and our minds pessimistic over our mission to find three tickets as show time quickly approaches. We have all but given up at this point. Rosalie points out to me that if she does not spend the $100 she has on a ticket then it is going towards drugs, and I was going to have to do them whether I liked it or not.

We all but accept defeat and begin to make our way back over to Shakedown. Just then a man passes by signaling to us that he has tickets. We dash over to him finding he has two for sale. The only problem is another Head got to him first and has already taken one of the tickets. Rosalie informs me to take the ticket, which the man then sells to me for $50.

“Consider this your miracle,” he says with a smile.

While I can’t believe my eyes as I stare at the ticket sitting in my hand, another Head approaches us asking if we are in need of extras. Rosalie and Lee quickly jump at the offer and after a few moments of bold dickering, they are able to get both tickets for $180. We are in!

It is hard to contain our excitement over our luck. We rush back to the car to drop off a few things before we head in. On our way in we run into Peter and Cassidy, who are still looking for tickets. Even worse, the two are in a heated fight over something that Peter had done earlier that according to Cassidy could have lead to their arrest. I wasn’t really paying attention.

While Rosalie insists on making sure the two of them are ok before we go in, the band has already started their first set. I later find out they had kicked off the set by opening with, “One More Saturday Night” and following it with a, “Brown Eyed Women” and, “Good Morning Little School Girl”.

We arrive inside just as Warren sets off on a rendition of, “Althea”, which Rosalie’s ear keenly tunes in to. We grab a drink and quickly groove our way down to the floor in time to catch the final notes of the crowd favorite. After a few moments of trying to blend into the seats along the isle, a guy asks Rosalie if we would like to squeeze into two seats that no one was sitting in next to him. We dance furiously along to the remainder of the set that includes two of the band’s early classics, “Uncle John’s Band” and “Mason’s Children”.

During the second set the band pulls out all the stops as they open with, “Good Lovin” and eventually find their way into a. “Morning Dew”, “St. Stephen”, a cover of the Beatles, “Revolution”, and close with a classic Dead pairing of, “Help on the Way” into, "Slip Knot” into, “Franklin’s Tower”.

The energy in the building is so intense there are moments where it really does feel like the old building was going to fall down. Then the boys give the venue, where they played a record 48 shows throughout their career, an appropriate goodbye via an electric encore of, “Samson and Delilah”.

After the show we find ourselves back on Shakedown. Nitrous tanks hiss all around us. We decide to kill a few brain cells while we look for Peter and Cassidy. The energy that we all felt inside has now poured out into the parking lot, and the police who were passive toward the drug-fueled crowd earlier in the day are now starting to grow aggressive toward many of the vendors and Heads along Shakedown. One cop becomes so annoyed, he throws over one of the vendor tables, causing the mood in the lot to escalate into anger and fear between both forces. We eventually run into Peter and Cassidy, and they are furious over what has just happened. Supposedly the vendor who got violated by the police is a friend of theirs. On top of that, they are bummed over not getting into the show that was the last stop on their month-long tour. On the bright side, whatever it is they were fighting about before the show has passed.

The police, fed up with the scene in the lot, eventually start announcing over loud speakers that the lot is closed, and we are all to evacuate the premise. As we pull out of the venue, stoned and tired, it is sad to think this is the last show we will see on the tour and possibly the last time we would ever see the band perform as one again. While we all know this realization is a good possibility, it is nice to know that while the movement’s spiritual leader, Jerry Garcia, has been gone from this world for more than a decade, and the scene, like the times, may have changed, the music and spirit of the scene continues to live on with the help of both old and new generations of Heads like ourselves that refuse to let it die.

I Need A Miracle Everyday: Madison Square Garden, New York, NY, April 25, 2009 Part III

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. 

It’s a 45-minute train ride into Manhattan the next day. Hawaii left for Ohio earlier that morning, and I was preparing to meet Rosalie and few other friends in the city before the boys took the stage at the world’s most famous arena, Madison Square Garden. There would be no backstage pass tonight and possibly no ticket at all, if I am not able to scalp one to the sold out show.

I arrive around 4:30 p.m. quickly finding my way onto the bustling city streets. My phone dies on the train, so I have no way of contacting Rosalie to find out where she and the others are located. I walk around the front of the venue signaling for a ticket, which entails holding one finger up to let people with extras know that you are looking for a ticket, while I keep my eye out for Rosalie.

After one failed attempt at buying a ticket off some shady characters, I finally run into my friends, Trey and Lee. They inform me that Rosalie is somewhere looking for tickets, and soon she appears out of the crowd with a surprised look on her face to see that I had found them amidst the chaotic crowd.

I find that only Trey has managed to scrounge up an extra, leaving us less than three hours to find three tickets amongst thousands of others Heads, who are also on a mission to obtain the same right of entry. Yes, we were certainly going to need a miracle, if we were going to pull this one off. We walk the perimeter of the building, where hippies litter the Manhattan streets figuring our best chance to achieve our miracle is to catch someone walking in.

A stocky middle aged man with slick, greased back hair, pink pants, and a shiny shirt (I am thinking this was his first Dead show), asks Rosalie if she needs a ticket. She jumps at the offer, purchasing it off him at face value, $100. After, we don’t know whether to laugh at the guy or praise him. We hear his daughter ask him if he is actually wearing the outfit to the show. Either way, it is certainly a sign that Jerry is looking down on us tonight.

With two tickets down and two to go, we walk around the streets, eventually meeting up with some of our friends from back home who are also looking for tickets. I decide that if for some reason I am not able to get in, I could at least rest easy knowing that the experience I had the previous night topped any other experience I would ever have. Or at least that is the impression I am under.

After two hours of roaming around the streets outside MSG, we have failed to get any closer to our goal of finding the coveted tickets. The streets become more and more hectic, as Heads make their way out of the pubs and over to the arena. We decide to try our luck across the street, where the Heads are entering from hoping that one of them will hold our miracle. We cut down a busy side street, fingers waving high. A middle aged man yells out to me, “How much is a ticket worth to you?” I say, “$100.” He agrees to my offer, and just like that I am in!

While I now have my ticket grasped firmly in hand, Lee is still the only one without a ticket. Rosalie and I are getting antsy. Show time approaches, and the prospect that Lee isn’t going to find a ticket starts to become more of a reality.

Showtime is nearly 10 minutes away when we finally decide to head in after deliberate buying two tickets off some shady character and selling the other. Just as we step into the street to cross over to the arena, a man appears beside us asking Lee if he needs a ticket.

“How much,” Lee asks.

“$100,” the man answers.

“Sold!” he says.

And just like that we’re in!

Showtime is quickly approaching so we hustle over to the arena’s entrance, hitting a wall of Heads harder to penetrate than the Gates of Hell. We eventually make it through the crowd, flashing our tickets, dashing up the a few flights of stairs, grabbing fistfulls of beers, and making our way into the arena just before the band launches into its opener, “Cosmic Charlie”.

We find four seats tosgether, which lasts through the opener before their owners appear to claim them. Finding ourselves forced into the stairway, we head down to the rail along the isle where a row of other Heads have congregated. It is interesting to me, because I have always heard how strict MSG shows are, but there doesn’t seem to be any order on this night. The only event staff present are the ones serving beer.

We dance along the isle for the remainder of the first set. The band drives through such Garcia classics as, “China Cat Sunflower”, “Shakedown Street”, and “Ship of Fools” and, “He’s Gone” before capping-off the first set with, “Cassidy” and, “Sugaree.”

As the set comes to a close, we exit back into the arena’s winding corridor searching for our friends from home, who have congregated at the Wharf Rat (a group of Heads that travel to concerts and choose to live their life’s drug free) booth. We watch our friend, Sam, who is recovering from heroin addiction, take part in one of the group’s rituals that involves passing a yellow balloon around to each Head who then announces how many days they have been sober.

Sam announces his more than one year of sobriety to the crowd, and we start hooting and hollering in support of our clean friend. While the scene can more often than not be a beautiful, loving collection of souls, we often forget the repercussions that drugs and alcohol can have on some of our brothers and sisters. We, of course, are far from model citizens, as we stand there high as kites. But it is nice to know that for our friends who have not been so lucky to escape the prison of addiction have a place to turn for support.

Our group has now swelled to more than 10 people, so we decide to head up the mezzanine to see if we can all find seats together. We settle on a spot directly behind the stage. I am skeptical at first, even though I have read that over the years some Heads believe the best spot to hear the music is from behind the stage.

The set is a powerful collection of Dead classics that include, “The Other One”, “Born Cross-Eyed”, “St. Stephen” into, “The Eleven” and, “Uncle John’s Band”.

While the set list is everything we could asked for, what may have made the experience of seeing a Dead show at MSG even more exciting than just being there had to be the energy that coursed through the venue. Jerry always said there was no place like MSG in terms of energy, and boy is he proven right. The lights cascade over the crowd revealing a sea of bodies flailing below, as the band charges out of, “Unbroken Chain” and into the Rolling Stone classic, “Give me Shelter”.

The band closes the show with an electric, “One More Saturday Night” that almost brings the building down and encores with the beautiful, “Broken Down Palace”.

We exit our seats in sheer disbelief over the show.

“Man I wish it didn’t have to end!” Rosalie screeches in excitement.

Outside, the energy from the crowd spills over into the streets of New York. We mingle below the towering sky line above meeting with friends and rapping about the unforgettable show.

We spend sometime huffing nitrous balloons in a parking garage, before we are cut off by a security guard who kicks out the dealer, who had only paid him off until midnight. Back outside MSG, the police have had enough of the colorful crowd and begin to force us off the arena’s concourse. I say farewell to my friends and make my way into Penn Station to catch the train back to Long Island.

The day has worn me down. I fight to stay awake on the 45 minute train ride back to my friend’s house. Heads of all ages are strewn about the rickety cable car. Some are talking, some are sleeping, and some are just plain passed out. While those of us aboard the train patiently await the arrival back to our ordinary, everyday lives, all of us share one common bond that brought us together on this night, the music of the Grateful Dead.

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.