Article Contributed by Ginger West
Published on 2026-05-05
Dead Floyd | Peoria, IL | May 2nd, 2026 - photos by Ginger West
Some shows you watch. Others you fall into. Saturday night in Peoria was the latter — the kind of night where the room shifts a little and you’re suddenly somewhere else entirely.
From the moment you walked into Kenny’s Westside Pub, the air felt thick with nostalgia, a hazy blend of incense and something a little more familiar for a night like this. It had that loose, unfiltered energy where you could tell the night was going to unfold on its own terms.
Dead Floyd doesn’t just play songs — they build an atmosphere. The current lineup — Charlie Humphreys (guitar, vocals), Dana Giove (bass), Stu Crair (drums, vocals), Laniece Schleicher (vocals), and Matt Goldberg (keys, synth) — leans fully into that approach, blending the catalogs of the Grateful Dead and Pink Floyd into one flowing, improvisational experience. That spirit was there from the jump, as “Shakedown Street” stretched out and melted into “Fearless,” setting the tone for a night that refused to stay in one lane.
Before a single note started, the scene was already set. Flowing clothes, worn-in band tees, long hair moving with the rhythm even before the music kicked in — it all felt natural, like nobody was trying too hard. There was a sense of community in the room, something old school and familiar, like stepping back into a different time. It wasn’t just a concert crowd. It felt like a whole culture showing up.
Then the music started.
From the first notes, the sound didn’t sit in front of you — it filled the space. Humphreys’ guitar work stretched out in long, open phrases, sometimes clean and melodic, other times drifting into something darker, like the turn into “Sorrow” or the tension that crept through “Pigs (Three Different Ones).” Giove’s bass kept everything grounded while still moving freely underneath it all, locking in tightly with Crair’s drums, which pushed and pulled the dynamics without ever feeling forced.
Goldberg’s keys and synth textures sat underneath and around everything, shaping the sound as much as supporting it. Swells would rise and fade like tides, especially during the drift out of “Row Jimmy,” subtly steering the direction without ever taking over. It all felt instinctual — less like a band following a setlist and more like five musicians reacting in real time.
And then there were the vocals. Laniece Schleicher brought a presence that lifted the whole sound, adding depth and soul without overplaying it. The harmonies — shared across the band — weren’t polished to perfection, and that’s exactly why they worked. They sat right in the pocket, blending so closely into the instruments at times that everything became one continuous sound.
There were stretches where songs stopped feeling like songs and started feeling like one long current. You could hear it as “Feel Like a Stranger” slipped into “Happiest Days of Our Lives,” then surged into “Another Brick in the Wall Pt. 2,” the transition happening almost before you realized it. Ideas melted into each other without warning, and suddenly you weren’t tracking where one ended and the next began.
The room moved with it. People weren’t just standing there listening — they were swaying, dancing, getting pulled into the same rhythm without thinking about it. There was a point where everything felt in sync, like the whole place was breathing at the same pace.
That feeling really hit when they locked into “Another Brick in the Wall.” People recognized it instantly, and the energy in the room snapped into something louder and more unified. The crowd came in strong on the chorus, not just singing along but fully taking it over. Voices stacked on top of the band until it wasn’t clear who was leading anymore. It filled the room from every direction, turning the whole space into one shared sound.
For a few minutes, it didn’t feel like a band playing to a crowd. It felt like the room itself was part of the performance.
Later in the night, the mood shifted again — the slow, emotional pull of “Morning Dew” gave way to the mechanical pulse of “Welcome to the Machine,” before the band brought things back into the light with “Touch of Grey” and a rowdy “One More Saturday Night.” By the time they closed with “Brokedown Palace,” the room felt quieter, connected in a different way — less about energy, more about release.
What stood out most wasn’t any single moment, but the way everything stayed connected. Even when things got quiet or minimal, there was always a sense that it could turn at any second. Nothing ever felt like filler. It all felt alive.
And that’s the thing about a show like this. Even after you leave, it stays with you. It’s not just about what was played — it’s about what it felt like to be there.
For one night in Peoria, inside Kenny’s Westside Pub, time bent a little. The music stretched, the crowd connected, and for a while, everything else fell away.
