... And Remembering The Grateful Dead's

Phil Lesh ( 1940 - 2024)

(skull courtesy Archive.org)

My first Dead show was at The Capitol in Passaic, NJ. It was the first time I ever saw dread locks on a white guy - they were down to his ankles like a sadhu's. It was the first time it felt cool enough to dance. I was right up front, in The Capitol's particular brand of controlled mayhem... I was 18 years old and got the tickets via The Dead Heads in San Raphael, CA. They were gold with red lettering and cost about six bucks, maybe seven, seven fifty.

I saw Phil and Friends (on a whim) at The Greek Theater in Berkeley in July 2001, in the midst of a very sad relationship, the kind you'd rather forget. I was amazed at how good it all sounded, it was so close to the sound of The Dead, I was blown away and had a great time dancing down front of the stage.  At some point I left my post to wander a hillside where I saw people gently swaying to the sound. During a particularly spacey jam I noticed a sunset of red, gold and violet, all the Bay Area Bridges in silhouette. And in that solitary moment I felt safe, blessed and privy to a moment of true musical communion.

"Let there be songs to fill the air" - Robert Hunter

 

Indian Summer