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A Phan Looks at Phifty
It was 19 years ago when I entered college. I was young, impressionable and open to a world of musical discovery. My musical tastes had already gone from new wave 80’s to hair band to punk to pre-grunge alternative to The Dead and classic rock staples. I always felt like my mind was open and I still had love for everything I had discovered to date.
On my first day in the dorms in ’91 I bumped into an old friend from middle school and he said you really should check out this new band and he handed me Nirvanna’s “Nevermind.” With that, the grunge period began and basically captured the entire town of Blacksburg, VA and the rest of the world for that matter. We were immediately surrounded by flannel and teen angst and aggression.
About a month later, I followed my Dead roots and fell into a group of friends that represented the other side of college in the early-90’s. The peaceful, antithesis of the ever-present grunge era. They were still seeing the Dead, going up to the mountains of Southwest VA to have parties and lose their shit and exploring music in a different away but being fully influenced by the aggression around them. I met a guy named Dave that was a friend of a high school buddy’s girlfriend. Several folks actually called him Dave Weed for some obvious reasons. Dave was a smart, likable, funny dude who loved to party and explore music and his mind. I remember the day clearly when I was over at his dorm room doing what Dave “Weed” and I would do and he said, “check out this tape dude…it is this sick band from Vermont that’s playing up in Charlottesville at Trax in a few weeks.” It was some horrible-sounding late 80’s audience recording Phish that had songs like Contact, Fee, Alumni Blues, Ride Captain Ride and others on it. I struggled with it at first but I couldn’t put it down. It was so Goddamn weird but so new and such amazing playing from the unit. It captured the heart of what I grew up listening to…the Zeppelin mixed in with the Dead and the Alternative and 80’s influences that had shaped my tastes…but it also spoke to my inner-dork. That piece of you that played video games, watched Star Wars movies and checked out untouchable, hot sorority girls on campus from afar.
I didn’t make it to that Trax show in November of ‘91 show but I continued to listen and explore the band the rest of the school year and finally saw them for the first time in my home town of Richmond, VA during the Summer break between my Freshman and Sophomore year of college. The band had just gotten off of the innaugural H.O.R.D.E Tour and in a couple of days they would begin touring the US with Santana. I remember the venue being packed and it was the Cleary brothers from High School and my own brother, Martin, and myself. We were there on time but the line was down the street. The show was sold to capacity and fans were clamoring to get in to see “What this band would do next!”
We got in midway through the first song and settled into the balcony. The Flood Zone down by the canal was this old warehouse that set up like the ThunderDome in Mad Max. The entertainment happened on the stage but the band was surrounded by people in front to the side and above. It was a closeness that is hard to describe in words. We were directly above the band and the visual of the whole thing was as crazy as what they were playing. Dwarf drummer at the front of the stage in goggles and a dress, the tall head of hair bouncin’ to the sounds of his pounding bass lines, the mad scientist on the keys and ever-present vocal frontman that wailed on guitar and made the strangest faces as he floored you with his powerful sound. It was like nothing I had ever seen before. I knew the songs from the tapes I had listened to all year but I had never actually seen the mayhem that produced it. The internet was in its infancy. The only picture of the band I had seen was this random article in the “Too New to be Known” section of Relix. But to see them live and in their element was different. The band gave it to the crowd and the crowd fed the band. It was an incredible experience to watch the symphony all happen from that railing. There were moments where you ran yourself ragged dancing with all your might and other moments that you just stared stunned with complete sensory overload and at times you just laughed at the spectacle.
This was not the Dead…the Dead let you relax in the groove, close your eyes and feel the music. This was visual. It was active. It was intense. It took your breath away at times and you didn’t want to leave your seat. I remember very few pee songs in that show. We didn’t want to walk away because we had no clue what would occur next and we couldn’t miss a moment. And every night in those days something inevitably would happen. It was as much improvisational theater as it was a musical performance. These guys were caricatures. You would inevitably get a treat each night that made your experience unique. Sometimes they worked. Other times they failed miserably but ultimately you never forgot the experience. Our treat that evening was Trey somehow figured out the Linda Rondstadt song, Blue Bayou, during one of the 2nd set jams and worked it in nicely. As Page was getting ready to roll off with The Squirming Coil encore, Trey kept interrupting with his newly discovered song like a little annoying 4 year old. It was fun and loose and all happening in real time and both the band and crowd were enjoying the candid moment.
This week I saw my 50th show in 18 years. I do not claim to be the biggest fan, the guy that has seen the most shows or has listened to the most tapes. Hell, I’ve never even heard the show that I detail here…nor do I really care to. I like to remember it as a moment in time in my life that captured my sense of discovery. The band has grown as have the venues and the experiences have had their peaks and valleys. I forget sometimes what it is like to feel a crowd and this band that we love work together in unison…the same way they did that summer night in Shockoe Bottom Richmond.
Thanks again, Dave Weed.
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Phish - Tweezer Reprise
6.25.10 - Merriweather Post Pavilion, Columbia, MDI just can’t get enough Tweeprise this summer, and this is probably my favorite to date given the completely evil bassline Gordo lays down on this. Strap in for the end of tour phanners, it’s gonna be the southern heat!
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Dead Therapy - the last RFK
Morning, Freaks!
Aloha, Shalom, Cheers and all that good shit! It’s been a long time since we’ve talked, huh? I hope you’re well. Quite sincerely, I do. Just took some time off and kind of forgot about the world for a few minutes, caught up in my own life, some new friends, one of them a very close one, and life’s roller coaster of twists and turns. Been spending most of my time just working, gardening and basking in the sunlight that is a South Carolina summer. Honestly, it’s hot as fuck down here. When you go outside, it feels like you threw a wet blanket on your back. Well a bunch of you are on the road at present. Both the Phish and the Panic are off and running. WSP is burning down Red Rocks this weekend and the Phish are beating up the Northeast, slowly making their way south and leaving a bloody pulp of smiles and awe in their wake. I can tell you that I haven’t been this excited about a Phish tour in many, many, many years…. the tapes don’t lie…I’m expecting straight heat by the time those fools get to Charlotte. They’re connecting….not ’97 connecting, but Trey’s good health and fervor are leading the way to great things. The Panic has been on a short Spring break, but they should bring the fire to The Rocks this weekend. They, too, are a brand new invigorated pack of wolves, with a new album taboot…that ain’t half bad. With every tour, Father Time (Jimmy Herring) melds more and more, taking the band to new places. I won’t say new heights, but I will say new places. So to y’all, that are out on the road like a caravan of vagabond gypsies with the same common interest of sweet summer sunshine, good times and the chase for that rare musical epicness, please be careful. Don’t hesitate to enjoy yourselves…you deserve it. Text me setlists and pictures of your dilapidated smiling asses from near and far, and whatever you do, don’t call me for bail.
A bunch of you know I grew up in the metropolis of Chester, VA. Most of you know it because it is located right beside Enon…another metropolis, and absolute braintrust of intellectuals. I sense sarcasm. Correct. Enon and Chester have never really been know for kicking out rocket surgeons into society, or been a real hotbed for world leaders, generous philanthropists, world renowned artists and thinktank of academics, and the sort, but worry not, one thing we do know is that the twin cities know how to party, possibly like nowhere else I’ve ever been and know great music. Ne’er a day passed when I wouldn’t leave my j.o.b. at the local Subway sandwich shop (I was a sandwich artist, you know), take a bong hit out of the V05 shampoo bottle bong that we hid on the top shelf over the slicer near the three compartment sink, blow the smoke into the walk in freezer, get in my beat up 280zx and head off to the park to a virtual rodeo of camaros and mustangs, 4 wheel drives and girls showing a lot of skin, joints, brown liquor, and Milwaukee’s Best flying around the circle so fast, it didn’t matter if you caught it this round, because there was certain to be another directly behind it. If you needed a break for a minute, you took a break. Nobody scoffed. There were cool kids, cheerleaders and football players, band geeks and german club presidents, squares, sluts, heads, future lawyers and future prisoners all in one place at one time, partying and enjoying each other’s company. There was safety in numbers and this park was off the beaten track, down a twist and turn of roads that I couldn’t find now if my life depended on it. Shit, I could barely find it then. Car Stereos cranking Zep, the Sabbath, Halen, the Floyd, and our beloved Grateful Dead. You ever see the movie Dazed and Confused? Yeah?….well that movie was based on Enon. The foosball parlor? Chester….Party at the Moontower? Enon. Marijuana on One, Reefer on Two…and all that good shit. I wouldn’t change a thing. The only time the park really shut down its party was when the Dead came to town. Chee-non is in kind of a central location for the Dead concert season….easy to hit RFK, Jerryweather, and Cap Center to the North, The Spaceship to the East, Carter Finley and Raleighwood to the South. So, when they were in town, the party moved.
Well today marks the anniversary of another special show I attended with someone who is very dear to me…my lil bro. Kid has been a rock for me over the years. When I need someone to lean on, he’s not far away. At least, I’m pretty sure I attended it with him. That decade is a little foggy for me. I can’t imagine why. Typically, ‘90’s shows weren’t a whole lot to write home about. Mostly junk…midi and teleprompters, with an occasional spark of inspiration and genius. Bobby pushed hard on the band as its makeshift engineer in Jerry’s mental absence and drug haze, but couldn’t be the engine for his road weary aging teammates in his Op shorts and tanktop uniforms, and at this time, core with some subs (they tried real hard, but didn’t quite have the allotted play time needed to connect to the real vibe of what had made this band greatness. They couldn’t quite find the heart. It wasn’t their fault, though. It was timing.) I remember when we first heard the rumor from the road that Vince was going to be the new “keys guy”. First, were like who the fuck is that? Is that guy from the “She’s a Beauty” band? Anyway, cool video. You remember…the creepy fun house video. ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mQ_k_VG6Syc ) Lots of nip slips in that thing, huh? YAAAYYYYYY, MTV!! So, anyway Vince turned out to be a really cool guy and fit in well with the family, like when your sister brings her new boyfriend to his first family reunion at your parents house and he’s the one that pulls you aside and asks you if you want to smoke a joint. He brought wonderful new jazzy harmonies to the band and some unique tune penning. His addition is clear in the following show with its double jointed second set opener of BOX>RAIN, then SAMBA later in the set.
This show wasn’t brilliant by any means…but, it was better than ok. Little did we know, it would the last time the Dead would play RFK. A stadium that historically they had completely destroyed. See 6/9/73 and 6/20/92. Tell me what band can do a stadium tour every year and sell out two nights in a row…..that’s right, you can’t name one. The ’92 Shenandoah space quite possibly may have been the most beautiful pieces of art I ever heard the Dead play live, especially when the train airhorn blasted and banged into a phenomenally rare 90’s St. Steve. It was always scorching at the summer RFK shows. The lot felt like home to me, the thick hot smell of patchouli, kind bud and B.O., naked sundrenched bodies taking showers in the lot at the provided makeshift showers, the colorful sea of tents, VW buses, smiles, lots of smiles, and the drum circles under the bridge will forever be etched in the attics of my mind. At points, they were magical. If you were there, you know what I’m talking about. There was something about the echo and reverb of the drums bouncing off the cool steel of the bridge, while we stood on the big round rocks of the river in the cool shade. There was none of this puppy pulling, nitrous mafia, flat brimmed bullshit there is today. Sometimes I just want to kick those dumbasses right in the face. Maybe I just need to shake them and say “Don’t you get it?” Maybe I just need to love them, like my yoga practice would dictate. I know…Whatever, Hippy. The scene was centered around the music, not the drugs, and it was good. On this night, we were expecting rain…and rain it did. It thundered, it lighteninged, it poured….and we boogied our asses off, me and Mattu. Rain or shine…we dance. The band rewarded us with the rain theme in the second set. They let us know that they were thankful for our devotion. It was BIG and it was GRAND and it HAPPENED and we were THERE.
I’m not gonna hit you with a bunch of show notes today. Well, only one…I think Jerry’s voice is super cool on Rollin’ & Tumblin’…and it’s a rare tune. Also check out the jazz/midi horn parts in the Shakedown opener. It’s fabulous!
Get yourself a tea and cop a squat. Plug ‘n play here:
http://www.archive.org/details/gd95-06-25.sbd.2236.sbefail.shnf
06-25-95 Robert F. Kennedy Stadium, Washington, D.C. (Sun)
1: Shakedown, Wang Dang Doodle, Jack A Roe*, Mama Tried@*> Mexicali@*, Loose Lucy, Picasso Moon*
2: Box Of Rain, Rain, Samson, Ship Of Fools*, Truckin> Rollin & Tumblin*> Samba> Drumz> Wharf Rat*> NFA E: Brokedown*
*final version with Bruce Hornsby on grand piano - Bob Dylan opened - soundcheck: “St. Stephen” - Jerry Garcia played on “Train To Cry” and “Rainy Day Women” of Bob Dylan’s set
See you all at the Phish in the ATL on JULY 4th…AMERICA, FUCK, YEAH!!!
You guys mean everything to me. Wherever this weekend finds you, may it be safe and exactly what you were looking for.
Enjoy! And thanks for coming with me to therapy today.
m-
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