(Backstory: For a while now, I have been writing, what I call Dead Friday, every Friday morning and sending it out to a growing distibution list. It serves as a little writing therapy for me, and The Butter Room has asked me to start posting them on Sunday as part of the Dead posts. I hope you like. They get a little personal sometimes. Welcome to my world.)

Morning, Freaks!!

Sorry for the long one today.

I was introduced to the Grateful Dead during my Freshman year of college by two brothers, Matt and Gerry Reid, from Enon, VA( backwards it spells none). You  see the story goes like this…Matt and Gerry were in college with me at VCU and owned a little commercial cleaning business, and I worked for them as “the trash guy”. My job description was as follows…Get Stoned in the car on the way to the office building, put a tape in my walkman, and haul ass through a maze of cubicles dumping little trash cans into a big trash can, all while trying to avoid the overachieving office workers that stayed past 5 pm to get extra points with their boss. It was kind of like a little sporting event. Seemed like the higher I was, the faster I moved. Why was time of the essence? Because I got paid by the job, not the hour. The sooner we got done, the sooner we got out of there. Anyway, Gerry, was a pretty avid tape collector at the time and always had something new for the walkman (and for me to copy on my new age dual cassette deck).  I would wear an XL – II tape so thin from listens that eventually it would just give up on me and fall apart from use. I will forever be thankful to the Reid brothers for introducing me to the band that became a lifestyle for me. It was something that those two brothers shared with each other and then with me. For the record, Matt also took me to my first Dead show.

The theme of brotherhood runs deep with the Grateful Dead. You know Jerry’s missing middle finger that he’s so famous for? A lot of folks don’t know the story. I think it goes a little something like this. Jerry’s parents had taken  Jerry (probably 5 or 6 years old at the time) and his older brother Tiff on a family vacation up to the mountains. When they got there, their parents sent them out to chop and gather wood for the fire. It was Tiff’s job to chop the wood and Jerry’s to position it and stack it in a pile. While Tiff was swinging the axe, Jerry was setting a piece…the axe came down and the finger came off. His dad rushed him to the hospital, but it couldn’t be saved.

Later, I would find incredible pleasure in introducing “my band and newfound lifestyle” to my own brother. I was going through a really rebellious time and Lil Bro and I had not been really tight for a while. This musical introduction is probably one of the things that drew us back together. You see, we always had a strong and broad musical foundation. Our parents would take us to see cultural events like the big band jazz shows, concert bands, the symphony and operettas at Dogwood Dell (a small grassy outdoor amphitheater in Richmond). Little did I know how much I’d appreciate them now, when I was seeing them then.

I can’t really recall where Lil Bro and my first live Grateful Dead experience occurred, but I do remember little snippets from along the way. I think the closest I ever got to Jerry was with him. There was an RFK show where the clouds broke loose in an awesome downpour. Lil Bro and I snuck down onto the field from our seats, and posted up about 10 rows back  in front of the fat man. In our state, it probably took us about a half hour of discussion on how we were going to sneak down there past the security guard. Honestly, there probably wasn’t even a security guard there, but we were a little challenged at the time. I vividly remember us being all smiles, dancing in the rain in front of Jerry, like we had just accomplished climbing Mt. Everest, or something.  There was also that time when Matt and I ventured up through the great blizzard to Ohio to see some shows, and the time at RFK when we ate our acid a little too early and started peaking before the band came on. I remember sitting in our seats side by side, just looking out over the crowd, and giggling to ourselves every time we’d lock in on the same freaky scene. We couldn’t really hold down a conversation, but we didn’t really need to. Why? ‘Cause he is my people.

Then, there was the time that I remember, like it was yesterday. Lil Bro had his own group of friends that he had started traveling around to shows with. People that know me, know that at shows my protocol is that I’m a little bit of a wanderer. Inside the arena is kind of my safe, happy place. Everybody has one, that happens to be mine. I know it scares some of you, but not to worry, I always come back, whether you like it or not. I just have people to see and things to do. I like being up in the mix, and on the edge of uncomfortability (new word – some of you might prefer to replace with discomfort). Just remember, I always come back, and I will find you. My “show brother” Esquire can certainly account for this. Hell, I was a boy scout. I drop these little bread crumbs that nobody else can see to mark my path…I always find my way back, whatever the state of consciousness. Well, I remember one of these little walkabouts at a JGB show at the Hampton Coliseum. It was either ’91 or ’93. I’m walking around the floor and  I remember someone saying, ”Hey, Don’t step on me.” Wait a minute, I know that voice. Boom, Lil Bro….eyes closed in a fully reclined position.  You see, Lil Bro had worn himself out during the art of the dance and decided he needed a little setbreak nappy time on the dirty-assed floor of “the spaceship”. It seems he had been on the same prescription that I was that night. We traded some salutations and a hug or two, then went about finishing out our personal trips. I’m not even sure I knew he was going to be there that night.

Our musical journey has continued avidly over the years. It’s hard for me to put a number on the amount of shows we’ve seen together, maybe 50, maybe 100. Everything from Top 40 country, like Chesney, Sugarland, and Little Big Town, to Phish, Panic, Indecision, and the Dead to symphonies, ballets, and operas. Lil Bro and I have crisscrossed this country together, and met a lot of other really great  brothers along the way and shared musical experiences with them. Hearing Phish play “Brother” with two other sets of brothers on Father’s Day  at Alpine Valley this year was one of them that will always remain in my memory bank.

I picked today’s show because Matt and I used to hit all the RFK Summer Tour Shows. It was in our backyard growing up.

You can listen to same thing Lil Bro, me, and Al and Tipper Gore listened to that beautiful starry night in our nation’s capital right here:

Show notes:

1^st set: Let me preface by saying that this may have been one of the hottest outdoors shows I’ve ever been to. It was like 100 degrees in D.C. that night. First set is pretty generic for this era of dead. Bruce, please put down the accordion. Love you, you’re an incredibly talented musician, but the thing sounds like a friggin’ toy squeezebox, and it potentially ruins a good little Maggie’s Farm.

2^nd set:  A Corinna opener is the suck (it’s a dumb song), although this one is ok and is played into one of the best Crazy Fingers I ever experienced. This is where things started to get a little weird. Post drums is one of my most memorable live Dead experiences ever. During drums, all of sudden out of nowhere came this tremendous train airhorn strapped to Mickey (I think). The blast literally sent shivers down my spine and scared the living shit out of me. I remember thinking to  myself, “Wow, that was a little weird.” Little did I know that it was a foreshadowing of what was to come. As drums was wrapping up we flowed into possibly the most melodic space in dead history with Jerry delicately playing Shenandoah…..and then….AND THEN…the return of CASEY JONES!!!! I remembering being on the upper deck and it shaking so hard with everybody dancing in unison, that I thought we were going to have one of the European soccer stadium disasters where we fall on the people below us. One of my most memorable dead experiences. It still gives me the chills 17 years later. > A great Throwing Stones (always took on a new meaning in the nation’s capital)>One More Saturday Night (w/Steve Miller). Steve Miller was a classic rock icon to me. I cannot even count how many times I listened to Steve Miller Band’s Greatest Hits over the years. You know the one, with the horse head on the cover. It’s a banging album start to finish. Then to finish it out, pure stadium rock. They never quite captured the power of The Who, but I’ll always remember the sing along to the Teenage Wasteland part and the “spacey-ness” in the segue to Tomorrow Never Knows.

You can listen to same thing Lil Bro, me, and Al and Tipper Gore listened to that beautiful starry night in our nation’s capital right here:

06-20-92 Robert F. Kennedy Stadium, Washington, D.C. (Sat)

1: Cold Rain, Wang Dang Doodle, FOTD, Mexicali> Maggie’s Farm, Row Jimmy, Picasso Moon, Tennessee Jed> Promised

2: Corinna> Crazy Fingers> Playin> Uncle John> Drumz> Casey Jones> Throwing Stones> Saturday Night* E: Baba O’Riley*> TNK*

*with Steve Miller with Bruce Hornsby on accordion - Steve Miller opened - locomotive airhorn during “Drumz,” also to begin “Casey Jones”- “Shenandoah” theme during “Space” - last “Casey Jones”: 11-02-84 [549] - sound check: “Baba O’Riley”> “TNK,” “Casey Jones,” “Way To Go”

I never really valued family until about the last 10 years or so. Tell them you love and appreciate them, especially your siblings. They may not be perfect, but neither am I.

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-