It wasn’t your typical night at Boston's Symphony Hall. Last evening, beneath the elegantly vaulted ceilings and behind those plush velvet curtains, the Boston Pops Orchestra joined forces with a hand-picked crew of musical veterans, weaving a kaleidoscopic journey through the songbook of Jerry Garcia. Imagine the refined atmosphere, suddenly inhabited by the wandering ghosts of the Haight, conjured masterfully by the dexterous fingers of Tom Hamilton, gripping Jerry's own Travis Bean TB500 guitar (#11, no less).
They kicked off with "Cats Down Under the Stars," and immediately you felt the orchestral richness mingle with Melvin Seals' signature Hammond B3, a smooth, soulful alchemy brewing right before your ears. Oteil Burbridge’s bass pulsed steady and reassuring, providing the sturdy bridge over which John Morgan Kimock’s rhythms skipped and danced.
Then came "The Wheel," majestic as always, lifted higher by Lady Chi and Jacklyn LaBranch's vocal harmonies, swirling like incense through the hall. "Bird Song" followed, its spacious melancholy given new wings by Keith Lockhart’s graceful conducting. Each note from Hamilton’s guitar felt like a whisper from Garcia himself, nuanced and nostalgic yet profoundly fresh.
The unmistakable bounce of "China Cat Sunflower" brought smiles and bobbing heads, while the gritty funk of "West L.A. Fadeaway" was reimagined with orchestral flourishes that elevated its smoky allure. When "Deal" hit, the room brimmed with exuberance, a vibrant musical handshake between the classical and the cosmic.
After intermission, "Rubin and Cherise" returned the hall to dreamy landscapes, with Seals' keyboard explorations laying lush textures beneath the sweeping orchestral backdrop. "Shakedown Street" charged forth, infectious grooves dancing around ornate string arrangements, a sparkling collaboration that defied genres.
"Morning Dew" was breathtakingly somber; Hamilton’s playing was poignant and restrained, gently supported by the orchestra's elegant melancholy. It was clear we were witnessing something special—sorrow turned to celebration in the most tender ways.
"Run for the Roses" galloped next, playful yet poignant, anchored by Burbridge's steady pulse and lifted by the buoyant voices of LaBranch and Chi. And then there was "Terrapin Station," grandiose and expansive, building to peaks of swirling strings and horns, a journey deep into the heart of Garcia's musical vision.
"Touch of Grey" closed the second set, a jubilant sing-along that united every soul present in a communal affirmation of resilience and joy.
An encore of "Lay Down Sally" sent everyone home with hips swaying, heads full of melodies, and hearts heavy with gratitude. It wasn’t merely nostalgia—it was an evening where timelessness took the stage, a dance where classical grace embraced the psychedelic spirit, and the music of Jerry Garcia proved, once again, beautifully immortal.
