Dark Star Orchestra crashed into Eugene’s McDonald Theatre last Saturday night and poured their brilliant light into ashes of moments, shows and tours past. 

They resurrected a spry Dead set from early ’87—April 7, Brendan Byrne Arena (NJ)—that  again moved a crowd of hopeful dreamers and warmed yearning hearts with smiles, smiles, smiles.

“A recreation of the Grateful Dead experience,” DSO poses burning questions for the uninitiated, like “Will it happen;” or an even more fundamental, “Why?” 

There’s a point in the Grateful Dead Movie when a knowing head tries to crystallize exactly what all of the hullabaloo is about.  “There’s nothing like a Grateful Dead concert,” he simply and assuredly explains.  While slightly overstated, “nothing like it” remains a sentiment most tour veterans can readily understand, which begs a query.  Why even attempt to recreate the Dead experience?

DSO’s McDonald Theatre show offered, not so much an answer, but a hint of understanding gleaned from rekindled sparks of an inextinguishable flame. 

1987 was a watershed year for the Grateful Dead. Jerry had narrowly escaped death the year before, and the boys returned to the road in ’87, livelier and healthier than any of them had looked in quite some time.  They recorded and released their 12^th studio album, “In the Dark.”  Propelled by the success of the Top 10 single, “Touch of Grey” and its accompanying Gary Gutierrez-directed video, the album attained double-platinum certification in the U.S.  They also performed a handful of historic, summer stadium shows with Bob Dylan.  They were as visible and vital as at any time in their storied career; and, this was the year thousands of new converts climbed on the bus as the trip grew larger and stranger still.

Striking synchronicities started to occur on Saturday as DSO’s reconstruction began to take shape.  I didn’t have to wait long for telling insights to appear.  I caught my first dose of live Dead at Alpine Valley (WI) just a couple of months after GD played this Brendan Byrne gig.  Now I was reliving the moment at my first DSO show. 

Saturday night’s proceedings (re)commenced with a rousing, well-received Touch of Grey that immediately hit the proverbial spot.  I was longing for reassurance—“We will survive!” 

A thumping Minglewood Blues quickly followed, engaging both band and brethren in a sweaty boogie.  Keyboardist Rob Barraco’s Hammond strutted as singer/guitarist Rob Eaton growled.  I puffed out my chest and contemplated the bravado of “stealing women from their other men,” when the guy standing next to me offered his hand and simply asked, “How you doing, man?” 

Warmth and recognition washed over me.  My face cracked into a mile-wide smile and I happily embraced the whole damn thing—Strangers stopping strangers, just to shake their hands.

I was returning, not (exactly) time-traveling to Spring Tour ’87, but returning to something inside myself. 

A sparkling, leisurely paced Friend of the Devil unfurled after Minglewood and my restless uncertainty was put at ease.  I was among friends.  Beat It on down the Line upped the tempo again, and it was at this stage of the show where DSO started to distinguish itself (for me). 

The Dead were decidedly perky in the spring of ’87, but my first exclusively DSO impression was, “these guys are tight!”  The rhythm section in particular (Dino English and Rob Koritz, drums/percussion; Skip Vangelas, bass) were dropping a taut groove.  Lysergic considerations aside, time and tempo in the Dead could (at times) become very loose.  This was not always an unpleasant occurrence, yet on Saturday, I found myself really appreciating DSO’s solid rhythmic base.

Stagger Lee, a Hunter/Garcia original thick with ancient folk/blues connotations, stepped-up next and underlined the realization that great songs outlive their authors.  As singer/guitarist Jeff Mattson poignantly rendered Billy and Delilah’s sad tale with all of its requisite heartache and humor, I finally decided the complexity of emotion packed within this ballad’s narrative is timeless and extends beyond the ownership of any individual performer.  These songs can belong to anyone who dares to hear or sing them.

DSO quickly reminded me of this again with two twangy, country classics, Mama Tried (Merle Haggard) and Big River (Johnny Cash).  Whipping the crowd into a full gallop, while covering the Dead’s covers, Mattson and Eaton traded licks and finger-picks until the floor was duly lathered.  We were all singing along.

The rest of the first set—West L.A. Fadeaway, Hell in a Bucket, Don’t Ease Me In—continued to welcome me back to a forgotten but familiar place.

The second set was an equally fun-loving swinger that largely featured DSO’s newest member, bassist Vangelas.  He took to the “Phil Night” joyfully, lending full voice to the opening Box of Rain and the later Gimme Some Lovin’, while also shredding stompers like I Need a Miracle, Bertha and Man Smart, Women Smarter with his Alembic vibrations. 

Throughout the show I was struck by DSO’s unified presence.  Each member could be heard fully committed to the task at hand.  Members of the Dead were known to have lapses when their creative energy seemed to abandon the cause, leaving it the others to carry the load.  While Vangelas’ performance stood-out, he was in no way covering for deficiencies elsewhere.  It could have been another feature of the recreation, as ’87 found the Dead firing on all cylinders, but I sense this pleasing dynamic is routine with DSO.  Why reconstruct a disjointed show?

The Dead’s original set-closing crescendo—Morning Dew, Throwing Stones, Not Fade Away—combined equal parts of defiance and hope typical of the early ’87 tour.  They were sending a strong message—“A love for real, not fade away!” 

DSO’s recreation echoed a similar refrain.  This inexplicable thing didn’t end when Jerry died and it didn’t start with the Warlocks (or even Mother McCree’s Uptown Jug Champions).  This spiritual tribe of outlaws, honky-tonk angels and circus clowns is bound together by energy even larger than the Dead.  And, these amazing songs, the lifeblood of the union—they’re alive and well too, in some pretty good hands.

After a jubilant Mighty Quinn encore there was time for one more exclusively DSO experience—“You walked right into my life/and told me love would find a way/to keep on growing!”  Amen fellas, and see you at the next show!

Check out more photos from the show.

Master magician, Steve Martin performed a neat trick Friday night at Eugene’s Hult Center for the Performing Arts—he twisted a blazing-hot bluegrass band (Steep Canyon Rangers), a “notorious” singer/songwriter (Edie Brickell) and his own show-biz savoir-faire into an entertaining, vaudevillian blend of musicianship and comedy.

Martin’s current act evokes a nostalgic, medicine show quality with its catch-all, “cure-what-ails-you” elixir of humor, poetry and song. 

Friday’s concert began cordially with Katie Mae’s inviting proposal to ”go down to the church and make it real.”  The Steep Canyon Rangers’ considerable contributions were immediately apparent in the cool, Appalachian textures of their three-part, vocal harmony, and the striding, confident tempo of their four-five-six-and-eight- string prowess.  SCR is a traveling band of professionals whose business is bluegrass, and from the show’s outset, they earnestly went to work.

After this bright, encouraging start, Martin unpacked his first joke of the evening (he is Steve Martin, after all): “This next song is a sing-a-long, but—it has no lyrics, so … good luck with that.”

While Martin has taken his show-business career in a number of interesting directions over the past 40-odd years, he’ll never fully escape being recognized as that “Wild and Crazy” comic who said “Excuuuuuuse meeeee!”  He certainly understands this, and now at least partially, embraces the part, offering small flashes of Stand-up Steve between his musical bits—“People are always asking me … ‘Steve, how can I get into the music business?’  And I tell them … ‘Start by … already being famous.’” 

These amusing asides softened the audience, assured them they were in the right place, and suitably prepared them for something new.  The (comic) material was not “fresh” but rather familiar, satisfying the crowd’s expectant curiosity for the “real” Steve (an intriguing notion that would be transformed over the course of the evening).

Martin seemed to acknowledge his awareness of audience entitlement in another quip delivered later—“This next one is a new song.  Whenever I hear that, I think … ‘Oh, no … please don’t … just stick to the hits.’” 

The real, engaging art of Martin’s existing project appears in his original songs, a diverse collection of insights and sensations ranging from poignant to witty to hand-clapping, congregational “Amen!” 

Martin’s music is a lot like Martin himself, a mixture of parody and sincerity; silliness and intelligence; sharpness and sentiment.  The show’s third tune, Jubilation Day, duly demonstrated it all.

A lilting, dance-through-the-meadow lick skipped along cheerfully as Martin spoke-sung snarky, yet universal lyrics about escaping a bad relationship:

I'm walking away
Like Dear Abby told me
I'm walking away
My shrink gave his O.K.
I'm walking away
The self help book implored me
I'm walking away
Jubilation Day

The instrumental, title track from their Grammy award-winning album, The Crow, followed and underlined Martin and the Rangers’ capacity for rendering authentic High Lonesome with a fresh Sound.

The Rangers’ fiddler, Nicky Sanders, mandolinist, Mike Guggino, and banjo player, Graham Sharp all took raucous turns on The Crow, but Martin was also really good. He's been playing banjo for 50 years, and Friday night he demonstrated an easy mastery over the instrument, performing both Scruggs (three-finger) and claw hammer styles. Martin's technique is smooth and clean; perhaps lacking some scruffy, backwoods flavor, but smart, tastefully concise and meticulously executed.

The introduction of Edie Brickell catapulted the show in a decidedly dreamier, less sarcastic direction.  Her first interjection was the pastoral, country porch-song, Get Along Stray Dog.  Its snapshot narrative turns around a home-prepared meal that can’t be missed by neighbors or strangers, far and wide, to the annoyance of its matriarchal cook.  Brickell’s own subtle sense of humor reveals itself in the vividly imagined characters of her not-so-tall-tale rather unlike Martin’s more-pronounced reflective musings.  Her creative presence balances and stretches Martin’s artistic vision, elevating the show to inspired, pleasing, new heights.

Brickell’s gentle longing in When You Get to Asheville countered the celebratory escape of Martin’s earlier Jubilation Day.  Her stark imagery—“everything’s the same here/we had to sew up Goldie’s ear”—resolves under softer illuminations of still resonant truths—“Oh, you can turn around/and come on back to me.” 

These co-written compositions, largely from Martin and Brickell’s 2013 release, Love Has Come for You, were augmented by keyboard, percussion and electric guitar (seamlessly provided by the accommodating Rangers).  This added lushness pushed the music beyond a constricting “bluegrass” categorization toward something more fluid and contemporary.  Brickell’s distinctive voice and poetic sensibilities add significantly to Martin’s musical ideas, and these soulful collaborations provided the creative peak of Friday’s concert.

Another beautiful story-song, Sara Jane and the Iron Mountain Baby, and the Grammy award-winning title-track from Love Has Come for You completed Brickell’s first sparkling interlude as she and Martin briefly departed to appreciative applause.   

The Rangers ripped-off a couple of more finger-picking dandies before Martin returned for his godless gospel tune, Atheists Don’t Have No Songs.  “Christians have such beautiful songs and art,” Martin explained, “and atheists … well, we have nothing … until NOW!” 

The musical virtuosity continued to assert itself relentlessly as the show unfolded, and Stand-Up Steve became a less necessary component of the act's appeal. Martin's familiar, comedic postures eventually morphed into something like an interloping impresario—"They're not my band. I'm their celebrity." The waves and gestures to his comic reputation became rightfully supplanted by the business at hand, the real reason for coming—wonderful, heartfelt music. A not- entirely surprising revelation took shape—Martin writes songs and plays banjo as good, or even better than he tells jokes.

Martin, Brickell and the Rangers produced several more quality moments including Dance at the Wedding, Brickell’s stirring Fighter, the “new, murder ballad,” Pretty Little One and the set-closing epic, Auden’s Train. 

Enough has not been said here about the Steep Canyon Rangers who rightfully deserve their own top-billing.  But, as Martin himself might say, “They’re not Steve Martin.”  Nevertheless, their talent demands the highest recommendation, and they should be sought-out, listened to and monetarily rewarded for their sterling efforts.  This show simply would not have been as enjoyable without their first-rate accompaniment. 

Steve Martin has, throughout his successful career, largely compensated for a self-professed fear of being talentless by acquiring and masterfully demonstrating a dizzying array of diverse talents.  His current package show doesn’t disappoint as he continues to explore new ways to cleverly astound.  Martin, Edie Brickell and the Steep Canyon Rangers are not to be missed.

Check out more photos from the show.

Slightly Stoopid kick-started their Summer Sessions tour July 9 at Eugene's Cuthbert Amphitheater with a skanking, Rastafied set of dub-infected fusion.  The open-air venue, tucked along the banks of Oregon's Willamette River, provided a sparkling setting for a sun-splashed evening of righteous rhythms and knowing grins.

G. Love and Special Sauce dropped the needle on their first groove with the summer sun still high in the sky and party guests just arriving.  Unfazed by the hot, bright light or the casually gathering (but lively) weeknight crowd, this Philly-based trio hit the stage swinging like a long-armed monkey on a jungle gym.  Providing a pitch-perfect opening to the evening’s festivities, GLSS immediately invited all comers with a warm and welcoming house-party vibe—“Cause it’s some hot cookin’ that’s going on tonight!”

Celebrating the 20^thanniversary of their self-titled debut and supporting a brand new release (Sugar), all three original GLSS members (Jeffrey “Houseman” Clemens, drums; Jimmy “Jazz” Prescott, stand-up bass; Garrett “G. Love” Dutton, guitar/vocals/harmonica) are reuniting for the first time in eight years.  Last Wednesday’s brisk, high-energy set featured old favorites (Cold Beverage, This Ain’t Living, Baby’s Got Sauce) alongside equally satisfying, new joints (Nothing Quite like Home, Weekend Dance).

Slapping the F-U-N with a healthy dab of K-Y, G. Love and Special Sauce know how to make it funky.  Clemens and Prescott laid down a loose, slinky beat that stretched and snapped back while G. Love’s gutbucket guitar flourishes and hype harp trills punctuated the spaces in between.  Both connoisseurs and creators of tasty, rump-shaking grooves, G. Love and Special Sauce dished-out more funky, Philly flavor at the Cuthbert than Fat Albert’s Junkyard Band.

Stephen Marley strode to the mike next and delivered a well-received set of classic, roots-style reggae.  Never straying far from his iconic father’s formula, Marley masterfully rendered a collection of pulsating, chalice-burning rockers that unified the Cuthbert crowd into a swaying throng of glistening, blissful believers, all singing praises to Jah. 

What Marley may lack in originality, he more than compensates with authenticity.  Familiar Jamaican “riddims” shook the hillside amphitheater as echoes of Papa Nesta reverberated from popular hymns—Is this Love?, Buffalo Soldier and Could You Be Loved.  Stephen is a five-time Grammy winner himself and his own songs played quite nicely next to his father’s classics.  The Marley band was on point and lively throughout.  Their moving, skillfully executed “catch a fire” set pleasantly segued into the evening’s headlining act.

With daylight still setting beneath the Cuthbert’s rim, Slightly Stoopid took the stage, tossed-out a “What’s up Eugene!?” and starting working an old-school, horn-blazed, rough-n-tough riff that wrapped itself around the crowd and gently rocked—Don’t Stop. 

In an instant they revealed not an influence but an understanding of what the whole thing was about.  Their shit was real.  This was not a tribute, but a revival. 

Fronted by two white guys from Oceanside, Calif. (multi-instrumentalists Kyle McDonald and Miles Doughty), Slightly Stoopid seem an unlikely source for crucial, ranking reggae, but they truly do play the “blue-eyed riddim.” 

In spite of their well-deserved reputation for “genre-blending,” Slightly Stoopid consistently and right from the start of last week’s show, displayed their reggae roots.  There were forays into funk, punk, jazz, soul and hip-hop, yet nearly everything they did at the Cuthbert was infused with sponji reggae. 

The roots-heavy, Rasta chant, Anywhere I Go, featured oscillating rhythmic interplay between percussionist Oguer Ocon, keyboardist Paul Wolstencroft and guitarist (on this track) McDonald.  The hypnotic vibrations evoked a “climb aboard,” Burning Spear quality, suggesting a shared journey—over the hills and far away.

Doughty grabbed the guitar and took over on vocals for ‘Till It Gets Wet, a springy, Yellowman/Eek-A-Mouse-styled, deejay toast that had the crowd bouncing.  Spiraling, jazzy horn solos from C-Money (trumpet), Dela (sax) and the incomparable Karl Denson (sax) highlighted the skanking, dubbed-up jam. 

Denson (Greyboy All-Stars, Tiny Universe) collaborated with Slightly Stoopid on their 2012 Top of the World release, and will be sitting-in with the group for the entire summer tour.  He adds another mind-blowing dimension to Stoopid’s sick sound system, and supplies a powerful source of creative energy.  The laid-back, space rocker, Closer to the Sun, offered Denson another chance to open his toolbox and really go to work. 

It’s rare to see acts touring with horn sections anymore, but Slightly Stoopid’s crew (C-Money, Dela and Denson) were indispensible in Eugene; again, for their fluid interjections of creative energy.  The heightened emotional impact of live horns simply has no electronic equivalent. 

The same could be said for real, live drummers.  Ryan Moran and percussionist Ocon are equally essential to Stoopid’s rich, textured sound.  They combined intuitively at the Cuthbert, building a dynamic, rhythmic foundation while effortlessly negotiating a ridiculous range of styles.

The title track from Top of the World explored a relaxed, chill groove bubbling with electronica-laced effects and Wolstencroft’s understated organ touches.  McDonald worked a lean, strutting bass line, and both he and Doughty took turns on the mike.

Fruits brought back the bouncing ska beat, rippling with kaleidoscopic dub treatments, and emphasized the spectacular instrumental interplay between these top-shelf musicians.

“A Quarter Pound of I’cense” clouded the front of the stage as Eugene’s famed medicinals began to circulate freely.  Well-known advocates for legalization, Slightly Stoopid enthusiastically accommodated the abundant number of local herbalists with burning numbers like Fat Spliffs and the sweet, back-porch strummer, Collie Man.

The show reached an energetic high-point with Stoopid’s terrific version of Delroy Wilson’s I’m in a Dancing Mood; a delicious, beautifully soft rocker that lifts and lightens with a touch of soul.  Stoopid made it extra sponji in Eugene, tightly weaving tasty, instrumental flourishes between the shuffling beat, the strolling bass and the echo-enhanced rhythm.  The appreciative Eugene crowd collectively nodded and grooved, as the choice cut effortlessly transported everyone to their desired “happy place.”

Stoopid also dropped their sweet cover of Express Yourself, the funky Charles Wright riff sampled by N.W.A.  An unmistakable bass hook, punctuated with blasts of brass soul and a filthy, jangly rhythm, Express Yourself hit like an iced beverage of choice, quenching a spiritual thirst.  The tune also nicely summarized the main points of Stoopid’s mission statement—“Whatever you do, do it good!”

Using their comprehensive understanding of reggae traditions as a springboard for adventurous cross-pollination experiments, Slightly Stoopid made like mad scientists and delivered a monster set in Eugene.  They’re a tight, mature, road-tested unit, currently enjoying top form and they shouldn’t be missed.  Future dates will also be featuring NOFX and Cypress Hill.  The Summer Sessions Tour is officially smoking.

Check out more photos from the show.

“Music has always been a matter of Energy to me, a question of Fuel. Sentimental people call it Inspiration, but what they really mean is Fuel. I have always needed Fuel. I am a serious consumer.”

 Hunter S. Thompson.

After a twenty-year absence, Phish returned to Eugene (OR) on October 17th with some much needed Fuel for famished local fans ravenous for replenishment.  The legendary quartet did not disappoint, reintroducing a sophisticated, highly refined Phish 3.0 to a crowd who largely missed 2.0 altogether.  Masterfully unfurling two fairly orchestrated sets featuring both old favorites and newer songs, Phish delivered a simultaneously fresh and familiar show.

The Matthew Knight Arena concert was the first in a series of west coast engagements and continued the band’s support of its most recent studio effort, Fuego.  The venue offered a surprisingly nice balance between convenience, spaciousness and intimacy.

A crowd of approximately 12,000 eased into position (Oregonians aren’t often hurried), and the band appeared roughly thirty minutes (and two decades) late.  They began quietly, but appropriately given the circumstances, with Waiting All Night from their latest release.  A lushly textured, soulful expression of yearning for something lost, this interesting new track grooved weightlessly, invoking aural flashes of an intergalactic space lounge, and immediately acquainted the audience with fresh Phish—a highly evolved species.

It is cliché and perhaps obvious to state, but no other term better describes how existing Phish compares to mythical Phish of the past than “maturity.”  Undoubtedly, some of the frenetic, madcap energy of the early-mid 90’s period is gone, replaced instead with a polished, more discerning and complex brilliance. 

The first set continued with a bright, bubbly Free.  Vintage Phish lunacy abounds in this pleasant meditation on murdering one’s spouse while cruising at sea, but added emotional complexity is evoked by the sincerity with which the band expresses a universal longing to be free.  The selection immediately invited Eugene’s expectant crowd to “feel the feeling (they) forgot.”

When a striding, self-assured Poor Heart (“Remember this?) galloped out next, it was hard not to wonder if someone was going through a breakup.   Perhaps the extended lyrical themes—loss, abandonment, perseverance—were intended for local fans surviving on Phish fumes still circulating their synapses from ancient burns.  In any case, the anthemic Sample in a Jar quickly followed and all was forgiven.  Phish ended the introductory, “let’s get reacquainted” section of the show with a celestial Strange Design—“Can I bring a few companions on this ride?”

The energy generated from these opening songs was promising, if slightly muted.  All four members of the group were clearly present and each was contributing to a tight sonic weave.  Keyboardist, Page McConnell, was everywhere—organ, piano, synthesizer, vocals—often in the same song.  He was working well with guitarist, Trey Anastasio, and their instrumental interplay was complimentary, rather than competitive.  Phish 3.0 sounded like a more democratic union.  Page’s parts were seamlessly integrated into the mix, and while oftentimes subtle, his increased and clearly defined role contributed exponentially to the sophistication of Phish’s improved package.

There was, at this point, a distinct sense of having not yet arrived.  The expedition was safely and thoroughly underway, yet the destination remained teasingly evasive.  Bassist, Mike Gordon interjected one of his new songs, a crisp, chill blast of cosmic funkiness, 555.  This tune, while still gaining its footing in the Phish rotation, is already highly developed.  It doesn’t yet feature a lift-off jam (though departure points exist), but Phish songs no longer require epic jams to be great.  The Triple Nickel was still a locomotive, churning on only six minutes of track. Gordon’s popping bass-line, McConnell’s filthy Hammond, drummer Jon Fishman’s shuffling strut, sensational backing vocals by all of them, and Trey’s sinister guitar-gasm made for a hell of a ride.

Bouncing around the Room initially sounded hollow after the richly textured propulsion of 555, yet by the time the round started, shivers of nostalgia were rippling through the crowd and sparkling, musical droplets were starting to fall from Trey’s fingertips, then Reba appeared.

Any initial, first-show-of-the-tour hesitance was now replaced with determination as the band swiftly sped through the opening verses of this classic Phish vehicle and meticulously rendered a stupefying middle section before finally arriving at the show’s first real, improvisational jam.  It began with McConnell and Anastasio reaching and encouraging, before Gordon got a hold of something and was equally heard.  All four converged into a floating, whimsical, ocean breeze kind of vibe, suggesting more pleasant moments ahead.  After a relatively abbreviated foray into the stratosphere, Phish returned to Reba, whistling and triumphantly singing the haunting refrain—“Bag it, tag it, sell it to the butcher in the store!”

Both performers and patrons appeared to be feeling good about things and one of the concert’s better stretches continued with a luminescent Roggae.  A loping, mystical masterpiece, and one of Phish’s more Grateful Dead-like compositions, Roggae swirled wonderfully, uplifting and profound—“If life were easy/and not so fast/I wouldn’t think about the past.” 

The six-stringed strut of Simple reiterated the timeless, unadorned essence of Phish—“We’ve got it simple/because we’ve got a band.”  The show was still climbing and building, but both audience and performers were now suitably primed with premium, high-test Fuel.  Inspired instrumental interplay from all four members ushered Simple through its climactic ascension and quietly out of the building before leaving the crowd to contemplate the ominous, otherworldly throbbing of the impending Maze.

Maze is one of those touchstone Phish songs that can deepen the lasting impression of a typical show.  It’s equally mammoth and succinct.  It’s a transcendent, psychedelic rabbit-hole of a song.  It creates a complex aural architecture, subterranean passages, alley-ways and avenues paradoxically leading both inward and out, until—“You’ve lost it!  You’ll never get out of this maze!  Never get out of this maze. Never get out of this maze.”  Eugene’s compact yet daunting Maze featured sick, Jimmy Smith-style organ from McConnell punctuated by Trey’s clamorous slashes, strange rumblings from Gordon’s basement, and Fishman’s persistent tap, tap, tapping; before it was gone, replaced by the ironically lingering, Squirming Coil. 

Page contributed mightily throughout the first set, and the closing Coil was his reward.  It was classic Phish, satisfyingly familiar, yet fluid, ungraspable and oblique.  Gordon’s bass work stood-out, lending a vibrant pulse to the lilting melody, and amply assisting McConnell’s launch into the piano-sphere.  The set concluded with the spotlight focused solely on the band’s keyboardist, who thanked the fans and acknowledged the long absence before indicating a return, at least for a second set. 

Most patrons were hoping for more improvisational jamming in the second set as Phish primarily allowed their songs to speak for themselves during the solidly played opening segment.  They hadn’t really needed to “make the jump to light speed;” the ship was steadily cruising.  Now, customarily, the fans prepared for deeper waters.

After a reasonable break, Phish reappeared with Carini, a dependable second-set fire-starter, and began exploring a less charted section of the map.  They set sail in earnest, eventually locating a vaguely middle eastern port, augmented by whining, synthesized reeds, and then they tacked again, liquefying into Plasma.  Not surprisingly, this high-energy TAB thriller presented an opportunity for the guitarist to stretch.  Soaring away from atmospheric space jazz, Anastasio invoked rock-star fireworks to bemuse and delight the Eugene crowd.  Another opening appeared, coursing with electricity.  Gordon’s bass was sneaking springs beneath the floor and bouncing, while Fishman’s percussion percolated tribal earthiness.  McConnell again squeezed all manner of electronic weirdness into the fray and a fair amount of hot piano as Trey simply ripped what remained into shreds.  It was surprisingly Phish’s first live performance of Plasma, though it certainly didn’t sound like it.

The ensuing Farmhouse demonstrated the band’s increased ability to maintain high energy even at a slower tempo.  They played the song lovingly, coaxing an effervescence that sustained high spirits while still easing things down.  This comforting calm set the stage for McConnell’s fascinating new track, Halfway to the Moon.  Another tune that swings and swirls more than it rocks, Halfway is a stylish, modern pop song, not terribly unlike something you might hear from Ben Folds.  Trey still seemed to be figuring out what to do in this one, and his contributions pushed the song from a dreamy, lonely nightclub number toward a more traditional space launch.  Another intriguing new composition, Halfway to the Moon is rife with interesting possibilities.  For Eugene, it was just a strategic pause before the show’s climactic denouement.

It began with a sizzling, crackling Twist.  Trey would have his way and Phish would start to employ their interstellar overdrive as Twist oozed into a smoking, Latin, low-rider groove, culminating in the familiar Oye Como Va tease, before returning to Twist again.   

After a brief contemplative pause, Phish furiously started chewing on the maniacal Talking Heads track, Cross-eyed and Painless.  Cover songs are always a consideration at Phish concerts and this was a top-shelf offering.  Fishman provided a quite serviceable account of the lead vocals and the band did not stray too far from the original structure of the tune.  Instead, they worked it—up, down and sideways—using it to flaunt their virtuosic layering of sounds.  Cross-eyed created the Vulcan mind meld, locking each member of the band and audience into a tight, psychic grip.  Phish first established a pulsating, sticky, thick funk before drifting toward the ceiling, peeling back the roof and casting Close Encounters-like messages toward the stars.  Screaming whale songs and fragments of Tomorrow Never Knows jubilantly circled the refrain—“still waiting”—and then there was Hood.

Harry Hood, a cornerstone of the Phish catalog, has served as the springboard for countless legendary Phish jams.  It is a perennial crowd favorite.  The well-received version performed for Eugene was beautifully crisp, powerful and crystalline, as though Phish were rendering a constellation inside the arena rather than simply rocketing us to the stars—“You can feel good (feel good) about Hood!”  A dependably rollicking Rocky Top crowned the peak proper, and Phish exited the stage.

They returned for a three-song encore, starting with another new track from Fuego, a stirring, languidly paced, Wingsuit.  The song’s soft emotional tone stunned the celebratory crowd somewhat, but it was played elegantly, and respectfully, if not emphatically, received.  Next, Page became the focal point yet again when Trey introduced Sleeping Monkey by saying “not many people know this” but Monkey is McConnell’s “favorite song.”   To which Page responded, “I didn’t know that.”  Anastasio added, “I would say we’re playing this song for you (Eugene), but we’re not playing it for you, we’re playing it for Page.”  The adlibbed stage banter contributed to the friendly intimacy of the performance and suggested Phish had missed Eugene too.   The hilarity continued throughout the loose Monkey, and the enthusiastic crowd even contributed a verse in fine voice, “for Page.”  At last, the Mighty Quinn arrived, to lead one final frolic before sending the juiced, buzzing pilgrims on to their next adventure.  

Phish are clearly not standing still.  They are continuing to evolve.  The long drought between Eugene performances only emphasized this realization.  Their new songs are exceptionally evocative, engaging and deliciously fresh.  Phish appeared energized in Eugene.  It is impossible to distinguish the quality of any individual member because they collectively played so well.  The show may have lacked the spontaneity and sustained, exuberant lunacy of past Phish concerts, but it still packed a punch.  The performance was structurally solid and covered a complex spectrum of material.  The band effortlessly produced a super-concentrated, epoch-spanning, sleek and vibrant Phish.  Looking and sounding inspired, Phish 3.0 have reloaded, refueled and embarked on another trip.

Check out more photos from the show.

“Do your work, but do your thing,” Ralph Waldo Emerson.

The String Cheese Incident concluded a two-night stand at Eugene’s McDonald Theatre (Jan. 19), leaving little doubt about whether they had done their work, but had they done their thing?

It’s an unenviable task for any “jam-band” still crisscrossing the country in a tie-dyed convoy of magic-buses to distinguish itself from snide yet on target quips about surfing the wake of the skeleton-steered, psychedelic flag-ship—the S.S. Grateful Dead.  Yet, inquiring minds want to know, what separates the “String Cheesers” (as the Intrepid One, Ken Babbs, once humorously introduced them) from the myriad of similarly styled troubadours still playing “The Pied Piper” for beatified fans?

A Colorado band, bred and branded in the Rocky Mountains, SCI strikes a cool, relaxed posture in stark contrast to the Dead’s rogue-pirate vibe and Phish’s weird, nerdy mania.  Their music is primarily bright, celebratory and danceable with a chill, “peaceful, easy feeling” kind of shine.  They’re also a nimble, highly-proficient live act capable of scintillating ensemble play. 

They opened with “Close Your Eyes,” which started as a fairly underwhelming country-rock effort not entirely dissimilar from the Charlie Daniels Band, before it shifted abruptly into a spacey, “Playing in the Band”-style jam featuring some inspired acoustic guitar-work from Bill Nershi. 

Throughout the evening, String Cheese repeatedly punctuated their songs with parenthetic musical excursions, often executing stop-on-a-dime changes in tone, tempo and feel.  The “Close Your Eyes” jam immediately illustrated SCI’s inclination for supple variations.  The other five band-members soon gathered Nershi and mounted an increasingly ascendant groove that proved far more exciting than the initial verse/chorus section of the tune.

At the McDonald, String Cheese were at their blazing best when pushing their songs from one familiar place toward somewhere else entirely.  They showed a real knack for transforming pleasant, straight-forward rock songs into something decidedly more strange and compelling.  Their most engaging musical moments frequently occurred during these transitions, when they left the grid and explored.  Unfortunately, these eclectic, instrumental launches were at times more creative than their starting places.

“Valley of the Jig,” from SCI’s landmark, 2003 studio release, Untying the Not, gave the first hint of the techno element that distinguishes String Cheese in the “jam-band community.”   It kicked as a knee-slapping, Irish Jig furiously fiddled by multi-instrumentalist, Michael Kang, until Michael Travis (drummer), Jason Hann (percussionist) and Kyle Hollingsworth (keyboardist) started to invoke the pulsating, glittery presence of a vibrant rave.  Throbbing Jungle rhythms and swirling electronic effects transported Kang’s violin to a funky global-village where all of the world’s sounds seemed to converge in a strobe-lit folk-song.

SCI’s 21st century upgrade of the “jam-band” model is largely a welcome innovation.  The incorporation of various electronic-music styles offers String Cheese a fresh prismatic lens to refract their existing influences.  African, Middle Eastern, world-beat, Latin and reggae sounds all integrate agreeably with trance, down-beat and techno.  When organically evoked, rather than consciously applied, the club deejay aesthetic heightens the creative potency of the Cheese.  However, it was not a direction SCI pursued consistently in Eugene, and its periodic presence seemed at odds with some of their more traditional rock material. 

They followed the vibrating “Valley” with a cheerful “Smile,” which again highlighted Nershi’s terrific acoustic guitar playing.  A bubbly, African-infused track reminiscent of Paul Simon’s Graceland, “Smile” also demonstrated the polyrhythmic capabilities of Travis and Hann.  Kang took a few turns with his effects-laden fiddle, threatening another experimental mutation, but it never quite broke and the song held its familiar shape.

The carnival of cascading musical genres continued with “I’m Still Here,” a fascinating, newer song that suggested George Harrison’s mystical influence.  The heavy, contemplative tone and slower tempo conspired to put the sell-out crowd back on their heels momentarily; but “I’m Still Here” continued to unfurl in kaleidoscopic waves of increasing intensity.  Kang, now playing his customized, five-string “Kangolin,” took flight from the crest of one of these swells and led a spirited climb.  Initially lacking vocal punch and obviously still gaining its footing in SCI’s live-set, this promising tune nevertheless produced a stirring, emotionally charged climax rippling with psychedelic energy.    

String Cheese marched-out and duly ripped a dizzying array of musical styles during the first set of Eugene’s second show, yet the overall effect of this impressive display was still somewhat disjointed.  The set lacked elements of danger and curiosity.  The material was not predictable, but not altogether surprising either. Unquestionable masters of multiple genres, String Cheese often adhered too closely to existing musical templates without fully realizing their own creative vision.  “Originality,” Ben Franklin famously quipped, “is concealing your sources.”   Without clever blending, the effect of SCI’s eclectic influences was derivative rather than inspired.

The second set was largely more of the same, though there were strong indications of how potent SCI’s musical elixir could be when they got their portions right.

A weightless, softy focused “Jellyfish” oozed out of the Cheese as the party reconvened. A classic cut from SCI’s 1996 debut, Born on the Wrong Planet, “Jellyfish” lyrically crosses Arlo Guthrie and John Prine into a cautionary, hippie-folk-tale about best laid plans going awry.  Musically, the song evokes the unsteadiness that accompanies a typical “morning after.” 

In Eugene, “Jellyfish” wobbled with lysergic energy, enhanced by Hollingsworth’s aquatic, electronic treatments, and gently suggested LSD may have been the culprit, rather than tequila, on the notorious night before.  In any case, at the McDonald, String Cheese managed to make a hangover sound strangely sublime.

“Desert Dawn” provided a well-received upturn in electricity with its tearing-down-the-highway tempo which immediately sent the packed crowd into a near-hysterical series of shucks and jives. 

Co-written by Kang and Bob Weir-collaborator, John Barlow, “Desert Dawn” gave fans of improvisational, instrumental interplay exactly what they’d expect from a “jam-band” still burning the torch for a scene first popularized by the Grateful Dead. 

The song is a get-on-your-feet, feel-good rocker and full of familiar, inspirational, lyrical themes.  Images of dawn, water, twilight and flowers allude to spiritual awakening and enable a revelatory instant of self-empowerment—“Touch the stars with your own hands.”

The instrumental jam in “Desert Dawn” was something else entirely.  Once again String Cheese executed a sudden shift, leaving the “desert” and embarking for the “dawn.”  They climbed the striding fingers of five-string bassist, Keith Moseley, until they were off the ground, then they slingshot themselves into another space.  This sojourn was a lengthy, transformative affair, shimmering with cosmic discoveries.  All six members of String Cheese threw in their own flavorful ingredients and collectively, they cooked.

Jam-band veteran, Scott Law joined SCI for a rollicking cover of “The Glendale Train,” a New Riders of the Purple Sage tune.  Law contributed a couple of hot choruses of honky-tonk guitar and the whole countrified diversion proved satisfyingly refreshing.

“Sirens,” written and sung by Moseley, encapsulated both the strengths and deficiencies of SCI’s Eugene performance.  Initially, the song unwrapped a slinky, dub-infused, reggae vibe, bubbling with funky organ flourishes from Hollingsworth, and driven by a mountain-grown, Jamaican rhythm from Travis and Hann.  Guitarists Nershi and Kang intertwined alternating sequences of scrubs, chops and spooky, distorted stabs.  “Sirens” glowed with creative energy, but became abruptly muted by a tacked-on, pop-rock—“I just want to say I love you”—chorus.  The sudden shift from ominous to sweet and back again produced a jarring contrast that undermined the track’s impact.  In this sense, “Sirens” mirrored the uneven quality intermittently present throughout the evening—brilliant flashes of fireworks interrupted by less sparkling puffs of smoke. 

“Sirens” lit up again with an exploratory jam that leaned more heavily toward the brooding dub aura rather than cloying, Toto-esque pop.  String Cheese consistently hit their creative stride during these unrestrained instrumental passages.  SCI’s songs often lacked a dynamic vocal component in Eugene.  None of the band’s featured singers offered much range or emotional intensity, but there was no denying their genuine artistry when they stopped singing their songs and simply played.

 “Shantytown” gave the McDonald Theatre crowd another taste of the well-blended Cheese.  A simmering, bob-and-weave reggae song set sail and drifted once again toward an intriguing, intergalactic lounge.  Throughout the show, SCI repeatedly demonstrated a keen aptitude for employing the sonic overdrive.  “Shantytown” illustrated how good String Cheese could be when their material matched their musicianship. 

Herman Melville determined, “It is better to fail in originality that to succeed in imitation;” yet Ezra Pound astutely observed, “Utter originality is out of the question.”  String Cheese Incident sounded as though they are still trying to reconcile their adherence or resemblance to an existing template with an artistic impulse to invent something wholly unique.

A fundamental feature of the jam-band ethos is a fearless sense of adventure and a Beat-bred commitment to the unending road.  It is encouraging to find String Cheese stretching, reaching and continuing to refine their sound, even if the results are sometimes uneven.  This traveling circus of misfits and freaks does not abide dead-ends; they’re for jumping fences and making pathways of their own.

Check out more photos from the shows | 1/18/15 | 1/19/15

The Wood Brothers brought their traveling, musical tent show to Eugene’s McDonald Theatre (Jan. 21) and held a genuine revival meeting, awakening the yearning spirits of the devout, as well as the newly converted.

They strolled amiably onto a stage decorated by a strip of barnyard fence and a quaint, nostalgic table-lamp.  Adorned in modest, Nashville thrift-shop apparel and encouraged by the stark, Dust Bowl aura of their set-design, the brothers Wood appeared strangely akin to Grant Wood’s iconic, 1930 painting, American Gothic.

The still timelessness of the image suddenly caught fire, kindled by the trio’s first hot stomp, “Stumbled In.”  Chris Wood took the cap off the bottle, bowing his upright bass in an eerie soundtrack of creaks and groans until Oliver Wood gently poured the swaying lick—“You give me chills/when you sing so sweet.”

The tune, from the Wood Brothers third album, Smoke, Ring, Halo, crosses a church-house with a roadhouse and immediately baptized the McDonald  in the band’s own boozy blend of wickedness and redemption—“I’m in the shadow of your snow-white wings/this must be heaven I’ve stumbled in.”

Chris and Oliver Wood come more from the mountain-top (Boulder, Co.) than the bible-belt.  Their tale unfolds like a warbling, cosmic-cowboy ballad Gram Parsons may have sung—raised in the Rockies by a molecular biologist with a penchant for campfire guitar, a poet mother’s ear and several crates of sensational records; they chased divergent paths; Chris anchored the modern jazz trio, Medeski, Martin and Wood, while Oliver toured with bluesman, Tinsley Ellis and fronted his own band, King Johnson; then they circled back to shared blood; crafting songs together, in Nashville, Tennessee.  These narrative elements resonate in the Wood Brothers’ intimate, allegorical and unmistakably American art.

“Wasting My Mind,” from the band’s most recent release, The Muse, slithered through the crowd with a sinister, speculative groove first fingered by bassist, Chris Wood.  Multi-instrumental accomplice, Jano Rix kicked at a stripped-down skin-set while Oliver Wood carved a few lean slices of vintage guitar.

The stoked rapture—“you make me feel it”—of “Stumbled” became suggestively complicated by inverse stipulations of longing and regret.  A heaven-sent shot of Bill Monroe’s “high lonesome” pierced the space between past and present with a remorseful, Appalachian whine—“Wishing my heart would have thought things through/wasting my mind on you.”

The acoustics of the historic McDonald Theatre highlighted the Wood Brothers’ fantastic vocals throughout the evening and this was the first striking instance of their heartfelt, bluegrass harmonizing.   A funky, Leon Russell shuffle sauntered in on the wings of the soaring chorus and the spotlight shined on Oliver’s own incredibly visceral voice.

He’s got bayou, Mississippi delta, west Texas, and a whiff of the Rockies flavoring a Piedmont twang.  His style, like Russell’s, is saturated with strong essences of both country and street, capturing the conversational quality of a hobo prophet, short on circumstance yet glowing with hard-earned truth.

The next track, “Who the Devil?” lent full throat to the question merely whispered in the prior lament—“Do you have to be lost to be found?”   This time, however, the Brothers snapped-off an insistent, scuffling gait, brimming with defiance rather than desolation.  An irresistible funkiness permeated the theatre and affected an “Ah, well” acceptance of flickering Fate—“Well it is what it is and it isn’t what it ain’t/Doesn’t matter what it was ‘cause you know it’s gonna keep on.”

“Blue and Green,” from Smoke, Ring, Halo, continued to explore shrouded pathways between the ordinary and the sublime.  A spell-binding piece of Townes Van Zandt-style poetry, “Blue and Green” largely featured Oliver, finger-picking his own acoustic accompaniment, only delicately accented by Rix and brother, Chris.  The song opened swinging doors between this life and the next, hauntingly connecting living souls with others since past—“She was once just like me/now she’s gone into the blue and green.” 

“Keep Me Around” loped like a hound fetching a stick.  Rix thumped and padded his street-savvy “Shuitar,” a “shitty” acoustic guitar modified with tin cans and finger cymbals.  Chris eagerly plucked an endearing pattern on his upright bass.  Oliver tenderly scratched at the sweet scruffy tune, and ribbons of warm light danced with creek water as the trio harmonized another ethereal prayer.

The Wood Brothers appeared to astonish the mature, mostly seated and coupled crowd throughout their gripping performance. 

The bedroom vignette, “Mary Anna” channeled the best of Kris Kristofferson, roughly tender, sensual and sincere—“Oh won’t you cut on the lights Mary Anna/cut on the midnight sun/cut on the lights, Mary Anna/I can’t wait for the morning, the morning to come.”

Oliver christened a new, “locally blown glass” slide on “Shoofly Pie,” and coaxed some house-rockin’ Hound Dog Taylor from his screaming strings—“You know how bad I need some of that!”

“When I Was Young” also got heads nodding approvingly.  Chris lit a brush-fire of low-end fury that threatened to incinerate the song, as well as the theatre.  Oliver crept in and cooled things to a skin-tanning sizzle.  The emphatic tempo raced like time.  They ghosted again—hints of Dan Hicks’ Hot Licks; a whiff of Mose Allison.  Crackling energy surged through the seated patrons, sparking all manner of unrestrained thigh-slaps, toe-taps and dancing knees. 

“When I Was Young” played like the Wood Brothers’ anthem, underlining where they’re at by confessing where they’ve been—“When I was young I used to say my prayers without the feelin’/I didn’t worry about things I couldn’t understand/I didn’t know anything about hurtin’ and healin’/I didn’t believe I could ever be a man.”

At one point, the trio amplified the intimacy of their amazing set with an antique microphone, “Big Mike,” which enabled quiet echoes of “radio days.”  The Brothers huddled around “Big Mike” and cunningly drew the crowd even closer. 

Chris released his pure, light, gentle voice on “Don’t Look Back,” another heart-aching song that brought listeners to the place where life (and love) fatefully passes—“When I put your hand in mine/I feel you slipping away from me/and there’s nothing that can hold you now.”  The theatrical employment of “Big Mike” intensified the song’s palpable considerations of transience and loss.

Next, the Woods graciously invited their opening-act,  bluegrass duo Mandolin Orange, to squeeze up next to “Big Mike” and join them for (what Oliver called) the” foxiest bluegrass fantasy.”  The traditional “Fox on the Run” offered a wholesome, randy romp that recalled the home-style merrymaking of the Grand Ol’ Opry.  Spry instrumental interplay and pitch-perfect harmonies were the course of the rambunctious “Run.”

The Wood Brothers continued to demonstrate their versatility with a clever mash-up of the Beatles’ “Fixing a Hole” versus “Hole in My Life,” from the Police.  Even on these “songs the Wood Brothers didn’t write,” as Chris described them, their own creative energy presided.

They concluded their captivating sermon with double-fisted slugs from “Honey Jar” and “Atlas.”  Mystic revelations—“there’s a spoonful of honey where your heart should be”—were punctuated with a righteous, soul-rattling clamor.  The crowd rolled in the holy ruckus and jubilantly remained—“It’s no accident I landed here/eyes wide open and seeing clear/I have come a long, long way.”

Make no mistake—the Wood Brothers are out to save souls (starting with their own).  They’re not duplicating inert forms.  They’re going beyond adulation.  They haven’t simply embraced America’s rich musical heritage; they’ve absorbed it, and infused it with their own immediate perspective.  They’ve discovered a musical power separate from sound; a force felt as much as it’s heard.  It is what connects, moves, comforts and (“Hell, yeah!”) inspires.  The Wood Brothers have somehow tapped this transcendent quality (spiritual conductivity), and whether acquired at the crossroads or from the Holy Ghost, they’re joyfully invoking it with startling success.

The Infamous Stringdusters put the spurs to their spring tour with a fret-blazing, shape-shifting show featuring special guest Keller Williams at Eugene’s McDonald Theatre (March 5^th).   The ‘Dusters delivered a convincing account of their distinctive “high country” sound while Williams complimented nicely, both with an impressive opening set and later, playing alongside the headliners.  The pairing made for an entertaining combination of Nashville polish and free-spirited, festival charm.

Williams took the stage without introduction and quietly went to work.  His unannounced presence melted into the vibrant pre-show buzz, shifting the mulling patrons’ attentions and coaxing them toward his increasingly enveloping song.

KW satisfied right from the start, producing an opening suite of songs that included the rhythmic pluck and strum of “Thin Mint” followed by a riveting, Indian-flavored, Beatlesque trip-out, “Breathe,” and then the angular, thumping strut of “Cadillac.”

The latter tune, recorded with Bob Weir for Williams’ album Dream (2007), conveyed the unmistakably crooked gait of a “Bobby song.”  A highway spiritual (of sorts) with a funky, churning rhythm, “Cadillac” had the crowd gently cruising.

Proficient on multiple instruments, Williams is primarily a guitarist who makes significant use of a technique invented (or at least popularized) by Les Paul—phase looping.  Williams plays, captures and loops musical lines, essentially recreating multi-track recording capabilities in a live setting.  This enables him to (no pun intended) play with himself.  These layers of musical ideas form a kind of psychedelic, folk-rock sound system. 

Williams’ meaty (hour plus) set was full of enjoyable highlights.  His comical, reefer folk-tale, “Doobie in My Pocket,” was unsurprisingly well-received by the enthusiastic Eugene crowd.  He turned his Virginia drawl loose on a beautiful cover of Mandolin Orange’s “Waltz about Whiskey.”  But, the powerhouse (20+ minute) combination of “Best Feeling>Song for Fela” really put some kick in the kettle. 

Williams made great use of the phase looping effect on “Best Feeling,” mixing a bouncy, calypso guitar riff, a bumping bass line and an electronic drum-beat into a breezy, Jack Johnson-style jam.  The song stretched as Williams improvised effects-laden flourishes over the repeating patterns, and eventually found “Fela.” 

A tribute to the “Godfather of Afrobeat,” Fela Kuti, “Song for Fela” is a fierce polyrhythmic cook-out that tested the known limits of sound produced by a single human being.  The thick, double-wide groove culminated with KW duplicating and stacking his own chanting voice into a strange, clone choir.  The pulsating rhythmic intensity suggested another of Kuti’s disciples, Talking Heads, as well as the track’s Nigerian namesake.  

KW’s congenial hippie vibe was infectious and his outstanding opening set had everyone feeling groovy.  Williams has elevated the practice of busking on Dead tours to an engaging, entertaining art-form.  His symphonic, one-man, minstrel act provided the perfect stage-setter for the Infamous Stringdusters’ dynamic ensemble play.

The ‘Dusters energetically strode to the stage looking well-rested and excited to be playing in front of people again.  They immediately slid into a sweet, slippery instrumental breakdown that served as the introduction to a jubilant, “Mountain Town.” 

A stunning demonstration of the band’s mastery of synchronized tempo, “Mountain Town” climbed steadily, coasted for a bit, and then throttled all engines furiously ahead.  Showing no signs of rust, the Infamous Stringdusters instead gave straight-forward notice—this “New Grass,” country outfit can rock a little too.

Right from the outset, the ‘Dusters asserted their “expansionist” take on bluegrass and country traditions.  “Peace of Mind,” from the band’s most recent release, Let It Go, had a swampy, backwoods quality, punctuated effectively by fiddle player Jeremy Garrett.  It sounded almost country, yet owed just as much to folk and Southern rock influences.

A rip-roaring cover of John Hartford’s “Steam Powered Aeroplane” was cooler than a high mountain stream.  While ringing with traditional country overtones, “Aeroplane” sailed with a buoyant energy that defied any categorization beyond “real hoot.”  The song featured some fine Dobro work from Andy Hall, and was carried over the top by upright bassist Travis Book’s exceptionally colorful vocal turn. 

After this piping hot, three-song “How Do You Do?” the band paused to warmly acknowledge the appreciative Eugene audience, as well as “the Master of Ceremonies,” Keller Williams, and to dedicate the ensuing song, “The Hitchhiker,” to those thumbing their way to the next show.

“The Hitchhiker” is one of the ‘Dusters signature tunes, showcasing their ability to reconfigure traditional musical styles and infuse them with fresh, uniquely characteristic ideas of their own.  At the McDonald, the song jangled and whined at first, like an eerie, bluegrass death dirge.  More defiant than sorrowful, it leapt off and glowed; an echo of an original template consumed and resurrected with new, multi-faceted significance.

The Stringdusters executed a classic jam-band curve, transforming “The Hitchhiker” from something recognizable—a Jim Lauderdale-style, bluegrass boogie—into something infinitely more difficult to define.  The band’s newest member, guitarist Andy Falco, enthusiastically explored this added dimension in an amazingly fluid solo coursing with cosmic assertions.  

The ‘Dusters offer a modern take on the traditional bluegrass “breakdown,” incorporating improvisational jazz and the Grateful Dead.  “The Hitchhiker” typified the band’s reputation as “expansionists.”

The sprawling, feature-length, Western gunslinger, “Tragic Life” further illustrated the ‘Dusters propensity for stretching out.  The epic outlaw tale featured terrific instrumental turns from Garrett, Hall and Falco, but banjo-player Chris Pandolfi’s meandering stroll on the prairie was particularly gripping.

Pandolfi has fashioned a unique style which admirably doesn’t sound anything like the giant of bluegrass banjo, Earl Scruggs.  His technique is more deliberately paced and favors lingering a little over individual notes rather than rapid, Scruggsian rolls.  A former student at Berklee College of Music, Pandolfi’s learned vocabulary enables him to convey a wide spectrum of ideas.  His creative approach sounds less “hillbilly” and more “Music Appreciation.”  Panda’s inventive banjo is a fundamental element of the band’s appeal, and his contributions in Eugene greatly enhanced songs like “Tragic Life,” “High Country Funk,” and the beautifully rendered “Machines.”

“Machines” was a masterpiece of instrumental interplay weaving intense, individual strands of ingenuity into an exquisite tapestry of a song.  Each member led captivating excursions to the “high country,” freely chasing variations from the hollows to the hills.

The Stringdusters eventually got back to basics with a series of choice covers.  Restating the central pervasive core of their musical vision, they first performed a heartwarming version of Lester Flatt’s “Head over Heels.”  Next, they slipped into the old-time murder ballad, “Frankie and Johnny,” with an arrangement that recalled the “Singing Brakeman,” Jimmie Rodgers.  Their “Travelin’ Teardrop Blues” fell somewhere between Shawn Camp’s Nashville yearning and Del McCoury’s “High Lonesome” howl.  The ‘Dusters embraced the song’s restless lyric and knowingly captured both the anguish and the enlightenment of the road. 

Shifting positions onstage in a succession of quick moves, showcasing various combinations of slick picking, fiddling and harmonizing, the Infamous Stringdusters reestablished their barnstorming bluegrass roots.

They concluded their exceptionally well-played, highly entertaining set by inviting Keller Williams to join them for the last few songs.  “There is a Mountain” was the shiny nugget of this final sequence.  Easing in on Garrett’s fiddle and Book’s bass, the song found a folksy, vaguely spiritual voice that beautifully expressed the band’s transformative nature—“The caterpillar sheds its skin/to find the butterfly within.”

Keller’s song, “Gallivanting” celebrated weirdness and oozed an electric Kool-aid, Prankster vibe.  A few of the ‘Dusters dove into the deep water and stroked, but Pandolfi plucked a jazz dripping solo on his banjo that simply walked to the other side.  Throughout the set, Panda demonstrated remarkable range and originality on this fairly type-cast instrument.

An exuberant “Scarlet Begonias” provided a fitting end.  The Grateful Dead didn’t invent the “Doors of Perception,” but they introduced them to a lot of people in the room.  They also gave these artists ideas about how to activate them within their music.  In many ways, both patrons and performers resembled “Jerry’s kids,” singing a tireless song—“Everybody’s playing in the heart of gold band.”

The Infamous Stringdusters come from a different place than Bill Monroe or the Stanley Brothers, and you can undoubtedly hear that distinction in their sound.  The specific, shared sense of (spiritual) place and experience found in traditional bluegrass is harder to locate in the Stringdusters’ songs.  (Ironically, someone in the crowd held up a sign at one point that said, “Play more Gospel.”)  The ‘Dusters seem to be constructing their own myths.  They are performing many generations removed from the height of “High Lonesome.”  They utilize traditional instrumentation, but their intelligent arrangements place these signature tropes in unconventional contexts.  The Infamous Stringdusters are making new use of bluegrass music, rather than simply recreating it. The result at the McDonald was inspired, appealing and a first-rate blast.

There was a decidedly day-glo hue to the bluegrass played at this year’s Northwest String Summit (July 16-19). Many of the musical merry-makers, and deadicated patrons alike, appeared to still be basking in the warm fluorescent after-light of the “Fare Thee Well” experience.  The haunting presence of the now officially departed Dead continues to populate and positively inform a new generation of musical/spiritual adventurers.

The four-day music festival was celebrating its 14^th consecutive summer at Horning’s Hideout, a sensational outdoor venue situated near a small lake, in a fir-lined canyon just west of Portland (North Plains, Ore.). The lineup largely featured groups associated with Yonder Mountain String Band’s ever-growing circle of bluegrass expansionists.  Yonder has been the musical hosts of this event since its inception, and while they are not the originators of (what I call) the “blown-grass” movement, they are firmly situated at its forefront.

Joining YMSB at this year’s String Summit were fellow blown-grass brethren Greensky Bluegrass, the Infamous Stringdusters, and Keller Williams’ Grateful Grass.  Crisscrossing the country and appearing at well-received festivals and packed theatres for several seasons, this small but increasingly visible collection of like-minded groups has developed a following that recalls the rise of the H.O.R.D.E. bands in the early nineties.

H.O.R.D.E. Unplugged tries, like its predecessor, to replicate the sense of musical adventure and the shared, communal experience so thematically prevalent in the Grateful Dead.  Both the sense of belonging and a promise of something surprising appear integral to establishing the ravenous fan-base these acts enjoy.

Yonder played six satisfying sets over three days (all on the Main Stage) filled with surprise guests, choice covers, a few old favorites and every song on their recently released studio recording, Black Sheep.

The very polished, clean sounding, new album contains several outstanding songs that should garner attention from industry awards.  Yonder appears to have regained much of the footing lost after the sudden departure (in 2014) of founding member Jeff Austin.  The group’s fresh hands, mandolin player Jake Joliff and fiddle player Allie Kral, each play prominently on the new record, adding pleasant possibilities to the band’s latest material.

There were, however, moments onstage at this year’s Summit when YMSB appeared to miss Austin’s dynamic stage presence.  Austin was essentially Yonder’s front-man for 15+ years and the current lineup is still searching for a way to adequately replace his considerable energy.  The remaining original members, banjo player Dave Johnston, guitarist Adam Aijala and bassist Ben Kaufmann are all gifted musicians and capable singers, yet they each project a significantly softer stage presence than Austin.

Kral seemed the more likely of the two newer members to provide some embraceable energy.  She was everywhere at the String Summit, playing with Yonder, Crow and the Canyon, Grateful Grass and festival super-group—Sideboob (featuring Kral, the Shook Twins, Fruition’s Mimi Naja, Jenny Keel, Kat Fountain and Gipsy Moon’s Mackenzie Page).  Her infectious enthusiasm brightened the impact of her heartfelt, hot-ass fiddle playing; and she sang really well too.

Joliff offered award-winning, virtuosic mandolin in a style very different from the self-taught Austin.  Joliff adds an ornate complexity to Yonder’s sound, and he played well at the Summit, but remained slightly withdrawn onstage as though he wasn’t yet entirely accustomed to his new surroundings.

Yonder may have appeared a little hollow at times during the String Summit, but they still produced several memorable moments of startling musicianship and gently stoked the festival’s fire.

They dropped a sizzling “All the Time” early in their first set on Friday.  Primarily a pop-song filtered through a bluegrass combo, “All the Time” seemed to thematically suggest Yonder’s openness to change—“Not that I know where to go/not that I am running away/I just know that I can’t stay.” Guitarist Aijala’s usually lightweight vocals found a stronger, Michael Stipe-like drawl in places, and the song sparkled and spit like countrified college radio.

The good-natured camaraderie between the festival’s acts also became quickly apparent during YMSB’s opening set on Friday night.  Members of Greensky Bluegrass, (Paul Hoffman, Mike Devol, and Anders Beck) as well as Ronnie McCoury lent their talents to the title track of Black Sheep and two spot-on covers—Bill Monroe’s “Kentucky Mandolin” and Townes Van Zandt’s “White Freightliner Blues.”  The new song, “Black Sheep,” was a genuine hoot, bubbling with a psychotic energy somewhat akin to the Violent Femmes.

Friday’s second set included Yonder’s cover of the Buzzcocks’ “Ever Fallen in Love,” which also appears on Black Sheep.  Another (more obvious) attempt to channel the group’s inner 80’s through traditional bluegrass instruments, “Ever Fallen in Love” didn’t really excite in practice as much as it might seem on paper.

Y

onder did unleash a riveting climax to Friday’s show with a spine-tingling rendition of their “Angel>Robots>Angel” combination followed by an equally stirring encore of Pink Floyd’s “Goodbye Blue Sky.”  Johnston’s “Angel” is easily one of YMSB’s greatest songs.  The eerie, old-time murder ballad seethed with damn-near cartoonish intensity and each soloist took expressive turns wrestling with the agony of every love that ever went wrong.  As the song transformed into “Robots” the band made like Mary Shelley and breathed life into a marauding bluegrass monster.  When the haunting “Goodbye Blue Sky” finished, there was little to be said but, “Whoa!”

After Yonder closed the Main Stage on Friday, Greensky Bluegrass lit a fire for a 1 a.m. gig in the Revival Tent.  Music festival junkies all say the magic happens at the side-stages and often late at night.  This year’s Northwest String Summit proved the adage true with three wonderfully intimate and unique scenes offset from the main stage.  There was very little overlap and the timing of performances seemed to guide festival patrons naturally from stage to stage.  The Revival Tent was reserved for afternoon workshops and after-hours burn sessions.

Greensky Bluegrass took their turn in the tent early Saturday morning and cooked at a rapid, rolling boil.  Among the blown-grass contingent at this year’s Summit, Greensky sounded the most musically taut and muscular.  They’ve released two consecutive albums of masterful songs (2011’s Handguns and 2014’s If Sorrows Swim), not wholly original, yet intriguingly conversational with what has gone before.  Multiple generations of influences press and inform each other inside their songs.  “No Depression”-era indie groups can be heard clamoring beside hillbilly ghosts.  The strength of Greensky’s original material and the scope of their creative vision surpass categorization.   They don’t transform traditional bluegrass so much as they make use of it, fusing its timeless, ethereal quality to everything else they know.  It resides beside and within, but not only.

Greensky’s performances at this year’s NW String Summit (they also played the main stage on Thursday) suggested a confident group clearly hitting its stride.  Great songs like “The Four” and “Demons” reached out and enveloped the crowd with warm familiarity.  “Burn Them” predictably smoldered and sparked tingling sensations of torn photographs and unfulfilled dreams.  “Handguns” nearly sounded like a dusty Uncle Tupelo in a Bakersfield saloon.  Their well-received cover of “Steam-Powered Aeroplane” threatened to defy gravity, and “Don’t Lie” dripped nostalgic notes that coaxed a tender yearning for right now.  Song after song went down like cold beers on a hot afternoon.

Guitarist Dave Bruzza played in a rich, moody style rippling with connotations of cowboy cantinas, truck-stops and mountain jams.  The affable Anders Beck thrilled festival-goers with his expressive, energetic dobro playing, snapping-off solos that screamed and spun like lured lines cast for deep water.  Primary vocalist and mandolin player Paul Hoffman sang powerfully, confidently matching the instrumental intensity of Greensky’s performances.  His passionate growl carried anthems like “Windshield” to near arena-rock proportions.  Banjo artist Michael Arlen Bont was the steady-handed craftsman, sculpting intriguing figures, tastefully accenting and at times raising the skeletal framework for Greensky’s ambitious architecture.  Mike Devol kept the floor popping with his vibrant upright bass and gave the entire outfit a measure of reliable punch.

This group effectively reexamines the parameters of traditional bluegrass instrumentation, and they’re blending a potent brew of classic/southern/indie/prog rock to compliment their jam-grass roots.  Their secret weapon is their songwriting which defies their current status as a niche band (catering to Deadheads).  Greensky’s stand-out sets at the String Summit hinted at a future breakthrough.

A short saunter over to the Cascadia stage, situated in a wooded nook at the bottom of a small hill, found Portland Phish phanatics Shafty concluding their enthusiastically received electric show with a grooving “David Bowie.”  When notified of a seven minute limit for their 3 a.m-ish encore, Shafty’s singer/guitarist Rob Sipsky quipped, “This song is a little longer than that, but it’ll be worth it.”  It was—a fitting end to Friday night/Saturday morning’s festival fare.

Saturday proper was largely about legends, both living and Dead.  There were some pleasant diversions, but the festival primarily belonged to the Hall-of-Fame talent of Del McCoury and the ubiquitous influence of the Grateful Dead.

One of the unexpected surprises of the early afternoon was the main stage appearance of Nicki Bluhm and the Gramblers.  Perfectly set against a sunlit azure sky, Bluhm and her bandmates played an easy-going set of dreamy country-rock songs spiked with barroom R&B.  Bluhm’s alluring voice danced across a collection of solidly crafted, intoxicating tunes, often reminding of a Bohemian-era Edie Brickell flavored with soft hints of Emmylou Harris.  Simultaneously bright and soulful, the Gramblers displayed a healthy balance between old and new; rowdy and refined.  Terrific songs like “Keep it Loose,” “Till I’m Blue” and “Jetplane” left an indelible impression.

Keller Williams’ side-project, Grateful Grass, got the party started in earnest.  Grateful Grass is a revolving door of guest musicians collaborating with Williams on bluegrass versions of Dead classics.  The version of the group heard at Saturday’s String Summit featured the Infamous Stringdusters’ Andy Hall (dobro), Chris Pandolfi (banjo) and Andy Falco (guitar), along with Yonder’s Allie Kral (fiddle) behind the ever jovial Williams.

Their set delighted festival goers with a jam-grass jukebox full of skeletons and roses.  The highly capable ‘Dusters plus Kral dutifully went to work and the dance-pit became littered with “piles of smoking leather.”  Both artists and audience embraced the familiar material with unashamed enthusiasm.  The band played fast and loose and were there to have fun.  Williams good-natured giddiness bordered on parody at times, interjecting a “George of the Jungle” rap after the “run smack into a tree” line in “Bertha;” and later half-mocking Weir’s “Rock-star Bobby” persona with a “make it sexy” plea during the typically falsetto fadeout in “Feel Like a Stranger.”   It was all entertaining and as relaxed as a parking-lot jam.  Nicki Bluhm joined the group for a few hot numbers including a rubbery “Women are Smarter” that wriggled and stomped.  The ‘Dusters’ Andy Hall took a nice vocal turn on “Mr. Charlie” which rambled off deliriously before snapping back to kick again.  Kral’s freight-train fiddle was a constant highlight.  The whole free-wheeling shindig was a high-grade gas, lifting the Summit’s spirits.

An amazingly spry, 76-year-old Del McCoury flat-out killed it.  Equipped with a razor-sharp outfit that included his two sons, Ronnie McCoury on mandolin and Rob McCoury on banjo, Del captivated the crowd with natural greatness.   He matter-of-factly demonstrated the very tradition from which “traditional bluegrass” music was born.  His absolutely essential set provided the ideal counterpoint and context to the younger blown-grass bands on the Northwest String Summit’s bill.

Del’s pitch-perfect voice is an encyclopedia of hillbilly nuance—spine-tingling emotion seasoned with country charm.  His singing alone on stand-out songs like “Dry My Tears and Move On” or “Nothing Special” was worth the price of a festival ticket.  The group’s “high lonesome” harmonizing produced spell-binding accents and gut-gripping climbs.  Their instrumental interplay shined.  Del’s rock-solid rhythm work was coursing and true.  Their polished, antique treasures infused the String Summit with immediate, authentic ambiance.

McCoury and his band demonstrated first-rate, professional showmanship on engaging songs like “Nashville Cats.”  They amusingly delivered a compendium of vintage tropes so easily it appeared as though they themselves had developed them.  “Nashville Cats” combined presence and performance for remarkable effect.  The Del McCoury Band doesn’t simply play traditional music, they bring it to life.

McCoury’s vibrant personality took hold of Delbert McClinton’s “Same Kind of Crazy as Me” and squeezed it for everything it was worth.  The entire group applied entertaining embellishments, and the song supplied a satisfying conclusion to McCoury’s exceptional set.  Del’s top-shelf brand of barrel-aged bluegrass brought the Summit to its knees.

McCoury and his band were flying so high after their exhilarating set they joined YMSB for a couple of songs at the start of Yonder’s show.  The groups combined on two bluegrass standards, “My Walkin’ Shoes” and “Pain in My Heart.”  McCoury graciously shared his considerable talents and once again sent the crowd into fits with his genuine, Grand Ol’ Opry act.  His up-close, in-person execution of unfiltered source material offered an informative context for the new-grass expansionists on hand.

After the McCoury Band departed, YMSB proceeded with a supple sequence of “On the Run > Pass this Way > EMD > Pass This Way > On the Run.”  Throughout Yonder’s three shows, bass-player Ben Kaufmann made his ample presence known.  It’s hard to overstate the importance of a bass-player in a “dance-band” without a drummer.  Kaufmann continually kept things snapping and popping.  His relaxed, amiable stage presence was, if not riveting, quietly endearing.  He also delivered Yonder’s most consistently satisfying vocals, an area greatly affected by the loss of Jeff Austin.  The group is still searching for a strong vocal presence to reliably match their instrumental intensity.  Kaufman’s straightforward singing doesn’t provide much ambient color, but his voice filled a nice spot in songs like “On the Run.”

Banjo man Johnston’s “Pass this Way” was an ambling, sepia-toned snapshot of something beautifully undone.  Johnston avoided the colorful, “Mountain Man” persona he invoked earlier on songs like “Black Sheep” and “Angel,” instead offering a dusty, bloodshot drawl on “Pass this Way.”  His fragile, understated vocals suited the song’s wistful energy.

Johnston’s inventive banjo is easily one of Yonder’s most entertaining qualities.  His unique style suggests a stimulating conversation between old and new.  He embraces his instrument’s rustic associations, using its inherently evocative sound as a subtext for his own creative impulses.  He can be focused and deliberate, as well as lyrical and free-flowing.  His contrasting elements add an angular, energetic friction to YMSB’s music.  One of the negative by-products of Yonder’s new, five-piece line-up is less space for Johnston’s spotlighted genius.  His fantastic songs and furious, five-string picking should continue to feature in the reformed group.

YMSB concluded their first set on Saturday by inviting the Infamous Stringdusters to join them on their epic, “Traffic Jam.”  Solidly sung by Kaufmann, “Traffic Jam” stretched-out and again seemed to challenge conventional understanding of the bluegrass tradition.  The idea of a song or any idea really, being taken to the next level, beyond measurement or categorization can be connected to the Grateful Dead.  While the Dead certainly didn’t invent the concepts of unlimited, unfiltered creative expression or mind-melting jams, they undoubtedly popularized them for a certain segment of American culture.  “Traffic Jam” successfully produced the adventurous, experimental essence of this tradition.  YMSB are primarily about applying this expansive, psychedelic element to the alternating pathos and jocularity of hillbilly music.

Yonder’s second set on Saturday was rich with interesting covers.  Right out of the gate, Billy Joel’s “Travelin’ Prayer” was pleasantly rendered by Allie Kral.  A song that has long lent itself to bluegrass arrangements (covered by both Earl Scruggs and Dolly Parton), “Travelin’ Prayer” proved a perfect vehicle for Kral’s considerable vocal charms.

Later, Kaufmann took a turn on Bruce Springsteen’s “It’s Hard to Be a Saint in the City.”  Another song with a brisk tempo that suits a bluegrass treatment, “Saint” bristled with promise at the start but lost some of its enthusiasm and didn’t quite excite throughout.

Near the end of their set, YMSB dropped the manic Talking Heads’ track “Girlfriend Is Better.”  Long a favorite of their live performances, this song again filtered their contemporary sensibilities through their traditional instrumentation with satisfying results.

Larry Keel joined Yonder for their encore and contributed mightily to a raucous, half-bent sequence of “Winds of Wyoming > Culpepper Woodchuck > Winds of Wyoming” which only sent the festival careening on toward more high jinks.

Situated on top of the hill, at the back of the Main Stage area was the second Merry Prankster bus, Further/Furthur.  Acts played on top of the bus at the completion of each Main Stage performance.  A wonderfully organic, street-musician vibe infused with Prankster energy collected wandering patrons as they circulated the festival.  All day long, top-notch outfits like the Good Time Travelers, The Hill Dogs, and Crow & the Canyon fashioned a lively racket on top of the Magic Bus.  As the crowd turned away from YMSB’s set, the Henhouse Prowlers unhinged a screaming “One More Saturday Night,” and an everlasting sentiment echoed through the trees.

Greyboy All-Stars closed the Main Stage on Saturday with a ridiculously efficient exploration of the funk/jazz genre.  Offering a somewhat shocking departure from the rest of the Summit’s string-based acts, the All-Stars, led by the amazing Karl Denson, kept everyone comfortably strapped to a solid groove with plenty of tilt and glide.  Heady, trance-inducing tracks turned the crowd into Joker-faced, booty-shaking zombies.  The All-Stars’ intelligent, freakishly played show convinced—hot jams come in all flavors.

Another late-night meeting in the Revival Tent provided the signature highlight of this year’s Northwest String Summit.  If you haven’t yet caught the Infamous Stringdusters in action, you’re missing something special.  They are enjoying a rich vein of form.  Their tent show at the Summit shook the crowd and carried them over to the other side.  Their spiritually charged music genuinely moved people.  They offered a religious experience.

The Dusters’ outwardly unassuming presence disguises their creative intensity.  They play a multi-layered style of bluegrass boogie, with feel-good familiarity on top and explosive rocket fuel underneath.  Their first song, “Light & Love” bounded like an unbroken colt, and its reaffirming chorus—“Cause your light burns hotter than the sun/and your love is here for everyone”—immediately found a sweet spot with the crowd.

Among the jam-grass circle, the Stringdusters make the most effective use of the Grateful Dead’s musical model.  Lots of bands attempt to take songs to another level with their instrumental interplay, but few can actually push them over the “ordinary” threshold and into the surprisingly oblique.

The “Light & Love” jam tore off on a rising trajectory that never really returned.  Guitarist Andy Falco was the initial thrust.  Using his strings as a staircase, Falco climbed.  The rest of the boys chased him and the whole tent started to float.  Swirling teases of “China Cat Sunflower” lifted the crowd onto a carnival ride that lasted the length of the show.

Every song seemed to psychically slap hands with the audience.  Satisfying covers like the Band’s “Up on Cripple Creek” and the sparkling, Phish favorite, “Free” celebrated shared cultural connections.

All of the Stringdusters simply sounded great, but Chris Pandolfi deserves special mention for his brilliant banjo.  Pandolfi twisted compelling insinuations throughout the Dusters’ songs, alternating from backwoods to jazz club and beyond.  He inhabited the Stringdusters’ songs as much as he played them, appearing in open windows and doors.  He sparred thrillingly with fiddle player Jeremy Garrett on “No More to Leave You Behind,” as each man leaped right off the other’s licks and kept swinging.  Pandolfi continues to surprise and excite, distinguishing himself, even among a current crop of gifted banjo artists.

The Infamous Stringdusters performed so spectacularly the fully juiced patrons refused to turn away.  Time was irrelevant.  There had to be more.  The people screamed for it.  At three-something a.m., curfew cut the power but no one was finished.  The Stringdusters simply unplugged and waded into the audience for a few more, truly acoustic, tunes.  As they were quickly surrounded, you could sense their “what have we gotten ourselves into” consideration, but they shrugged and sailed with it.  “Deep Elem Blues” had everyone singing and giggling like kids at the sheer craziness of it all.  “Sitting on Top of the World” capped the evening appropriately.

The festival’s final day was like a long, bleary-eyed encore.  Three nights of “primitive” camping and blistering, after-hours shows left many spectators in a mostly spent but contemplative hang.  Classic American music continued to roll from the Summit’s stages.  Reactions were sincere but slightly muted.

Bay-area troubadours, the California Honeydrops impressed with an uncomplicated set of vintage R&B.  They managed to stir Sunday’s languid crowd with stylish keyboards, funky horns and really fine singing.  Mixing classic soul and electric blues with a busking jug-band vibe, the Honeydrops hosted an enjoyable afternoon party.  Their heartfelt “Lovelight” struck a familiar chord.

Del McCoury was back again on Sunday, this time with the equally renown David Grisman on mandolin.  Affectionately called “Dawg” by friends and fans, Grisman is widely known for his collaborations with the late Jerry Garcia.  He also owns the patent on his own blown blend of folk, bluegrass and everything else, appropriately called “Dawg music.”  He is easily one of the most entertaining mandolin players on the planet.  His encyclopedic understanding of conventional traditions and masterful technique only tell the half of it.

Del and Dawg gave a fascinating demonstration.  They were instructive and engaging.  Their material often spotlighted specific styles or techniques like “G Run Blues” featuring McCoury’s trademark rhythm work.  They swapped stories about themselves and their songs, relating details like Del starting on banjo before being moved to guitar and vocals by Bill Monroe.  McCoury’s singing on the superlative “Toy Heart” underlined Monroe’s obvious eye for talent.  Dawg’s expressive mandolin provided gracious accompaniment.  Grisman comfortably recalled existing traditions imbued with suggestive subtext applied by his own distinctive touch and temperament.  His influential presence at the String Summit connected the blueprint to the contemporary alteration.  Del and Dawg’s back-porch, bluegrass history lesson was a top-choice, close-to-the-bone cut of pure genius.

Yonder Mountain String Band finished their run at the NW String Summit focusing on newer material.  Songs like “Landfall” and the wonderful “Annalee” gave strong indications YMSB remain a vital act on the jam-grass circuit.  Their re-formed lineup is still getting acquainted.  Any perceived shortcomings can likely be attributed to a necessary adjustment phase for both the band and their following.  They aren’t the same group anymore, yet they still possess the ingredients for a lip-smacking jam, and they throw a hell of a party.

Yonder expanded beyond the Black Sheep material as their show on Sunday proceeded, and there were several high-points, but one well-called cover crystallized the mood of the festival at this advanced stage—“Torn and Frayed”—“Just as long as the guitar plays/let it steal your heart away.”

This year’s Northwest String Summit delivered a solid sample of blown-grass bands balanced with just enough loosely related side-shows to keep things interesting.  The overriding message was clear—people are still doing it.  Inspired by the social and cultural models of the Grateful Dead, as much as their music, new groups continue to play the pied piper for “freaks” jumping over the wall.  There is an innate human impulse to escape the construct and discover heightened forms of experience.  An overly processed and digitized culture is naturally being drawn to more organic outlets of expression. Roots-based music offers an invigorating alternative to the soul-less corporate drone.  The Northwest String Summit reiterated the immediacy of a timeless tradition.

The Nashville-based Wood Brothers fashioned an alternatively raucous and introspective set last month (1/29) at the McDonald Theatre (Eugene, OR), displaying both their folksy, acoustic-blues roots and some expansive new growth. 

The Wood Brothers have developed a reputation for purveying a high-proof blend of primarily acoustic, American folk sounds.  Their best songs radiate the same emotional intensity as the best traditional blues.  In Eugene, the trio (guitar, stand-up bass and drums) produced an enticing, spiritually-charged brand of bar-room boogie; but they also added more classic rock, funk and soul to the vintage mix, giving strong indications of their widening reach.

The group opened with a slinky cover of the blues standard “Trouble in Mind.”  Oliver Wood’s vocal intimated a road-worn weariness in quiet harmony with the song’s haunting lyric—“I’m gonna lay my head/on some lonesome railroad line/and let the two-nineteen train/ease my trouble in mind.” 

The immediacy of this threadbare emotion riveted the audience into a contemplative stillness.  Bassist Chris Wood coaxed an otherworldly whine with his bow, and a shuffling concession—the struggle is real—set the show in thoughtful motion.

The Wood Brothers appear to be gaining momentum.  The crowd in Eugene was noticeably larger than at the previous year’s show, and while still mostly gray or graying, there were an increased number of vocal youths.  The Woods’ latest recording, Paradise (2015), also represents a noticeable progression.  They’ve been experimenting with horns and keyboards since Smoke, Ring, Halo (2011), but the effect on Paradise is even more pronounced and comprehensive.  Studio brass, woodwinds, electric bass, and keys add a texture to the band’s stripped-down core that intensifies their already evocative energy. 

Touring without additional musicians, the trio relied heavily on multi-instrumentalist/drummer Jano Rix to furnish the necessary accents for the group’s new songs.  On “River of Sin,” Rix’s electric piano provided a quaint, honky-tonk cantina nuance as Oliver’s swaying vocal swept the room in a shared conceit—“I’ll paddle up this river of sin/I’ll send up a broken amen/I’ll swallow some pride but I won’t be denied/’cause I’ll try again and again.”

The soulfully brooding “Never and Always” suggested wavering faith and intoned a somber admission—“Sometimes it feels like/I’m never and always, alone.”

An endearing “Heartbreak Lullaby” trembled lightly between yearning and regret.  Rix offered soft hints of bayou, mimicking an accordion with his keys (or maybe a melodica).  The sweet, nostalgic air tempted warm remembrance, yet shivered with vulnerability—“You’re bound to wake up crying.”

Whether it was the thoughtful tone of the material, the rigors of the tour or simply the Wood Brothers’ conscious pacing, the first half of the show felt slightly subdued compared to the later portion.  Perhaps “introspective” is more accurate given the overall quality of their music, but in any case, the Brothers steadily amplified their energy and eventually exhibited real ass-kicking intent.

Chris Wood loosened-up with some crazed dance steps before they launched into a churning “Snake Eyes.”  Instead of resignation there was urgency in the Woods’ performance—“Come on everybody there’s a train coming/Won’t be at the station too long.”  A rowdy hell-raiser, “Snake Eyes” put the kettle to the fire.

The Wood Brothers threw down a series of blistering shuffles and demonstrated their lip-smacking knack for finding a sick groove.  At times their musicianship went unnoticed in support of their sensational songs, but as the show unfolded they began to let their instruments unwind. 

A compendium of classic rock, soul, jazz and blues started to cross in the Wood Brothers’ cauldron. Rix enhanced the mood on “Pay Attention” with Billy Preston-flavored keys.  “Who the Devil” swaggered as Chris and Oliver traded concise, sweltering licks.

The band attempted to reign-in and refocus the room with their old-fashioned, “time-machine” microphone.  They circled the “Radio Days” relic intending to quietly harmonize, but the cork was already out of the bottle and the crowd was beyond shushing.  The group’s choice of song, the striding fan-favorite “One More Day,” didn’t do much to pacify the jubilant howlers.  The Woods simply rocked it less like a baby and more like a house.

The Brothers graciously invited their opening act, Liz Vice, a young gospel/soul singer from Portland, to take a turn on the “time machine” and lead them through the old spiritual, “I’ll Fly Away.”  Vice has the voice to do just that and she delivered a high-flying take.  The show’s energy continued to rise in spite of the group’s effort for intimacy.  Vice belted-out the familiar hymn with such strength the lyric continued to resonate long after the set was complete—“When I die, hallelujah by and by/I’ll fly away.”

Chris then announced, “We’re gonna get a little weird,” and he grabbed his electric bass.

This “weird” part was easily the apex of the Wood Brothers’ altogether entertaining performance.  The electricity equipped the band for even higher climbs, and they put the added thrust to good use.

“Wasting My Mind” sounded huge, like a magnificent dinosaur from the Lost World of album-rock.  Possibly the greatest Leon Russell song not penned by Russell, “Wasting My Mind” filled the theater with a massive, soulful presence. 

The thumping new “Raindrop” shook remaining seat-clingers to their feet, before the Wood Brothers sent the room sideways with a choice cover of Charles Wright’s “Express Yourself” (famously sampled by N.W.A).  The sensual strut of “Honey Jar” brought the show to climax and completed the Woods’seamless transformation from acoustic revivalists into full-blown rock-and-roll band.

The Wood Brothers’ unmistakable calling-card remains their expressive songwriting.  Live performance only intensifies the visceral effect.  Shifting masterfully from meditation to revelation to cathartic release, they moved the McDonald Theater.  They shook souls loose and sent them soaring.  The narrative of so many of their songs concerns a quest for something more—musically, the Wood Brothers have found it.

Veteran jam-masters, The String Cheese Incident checked into Eugene’s (Ore.) Cuthbert Amphitheater for a pair of reliably freaky shows, though the first night's performance was the juicier, more driven and musically intriguing offering.

Those present on Saturday were treated to the Cheese at their mind bending best. Sunday’s show was solid, but on Saturday, SCI rolled out a shape-shifting psychedelic jukebox that spun trance inducing grooves one after another in a kaleidoscopic variety of herb-friendly forms.

The intimate riverside amphitheater sparkled in late afternoon sunlight as the band appeared on a stage adorned with freshly cut flowers. The Colorado-based outfit looked quite comfortable with the Cuthbert’s idyllic, natural setting as a backdrop of tall trees lazily swayed in the breeze behind them. Michael Kang casually announced, “This feels like home.”

The energizing “Shine,” was an appropriate and warmly received opener. A perennial favorite on SCI set-lists for many years, “Shine” is a prototypical String Cheese song and a perfect introduction to the band.

Guitarist Bill Nershi quickly went to work, combining with percussionist Jason Hann and drummer Michael Travis to create a bright, bouncy calypso feel that immediately generated an agreeable festival vibe. Nershi is one of the few jam-band guitarists to rely primarily on an amplified acoustic as his axe of choice. His distinctively natural tone lent an innately organic flavor to the often otherwise otherworldly String Cheese sound. Familiar affirmations like “love” and “light” and “shine” invited Eugene’s colorfully clad patrons into an uninhibited happy place where music transforms.

The Cheese are known for their ability to “take it up a notch” and from the first note this entire Incident was a mammoth exercise in acceleration. The initial “Shine” stretched for more than 17 minutes and featured each member’s emphatically stated intention to deliver the goods.

The irresistible barroom piano and slide piece, “Missing Me” rolled seamlessly into a joyous version of the Allman Brothers instrumental, “Jessica” and completed a breathless, satisfying start to the show. The band came right out of the gate bursting with enthusiasm and lit the fuse for a sizzling Saturday night Incident.

The highlights were plentiful throughout the first night. The Cheese seemed to be in dance party mode, dropping a number of well-placed, popular covers into their two sets.  SCI is a terrific covers band. Their choices are widely eclectic and consistently satisfying. Selections by Stevie Wonder, Kool and the Gang, James Brown, Bob Marley and the Jerry Garcia Band were all fantastic, faithfully played and met with ecstatic approval.

Even when SCI was not covering other artists, their musical influences were easily distinguishable by the references, even quotations, present in their exploratory jams. These allusions were obvious winks and high-fives for their knowing fans, though skeptics might call it pandering. String Cheese has an enduring relationship with a rabid fan base, and they know each other very well. In the entertainment business, there’s nothing wrong with giving the people what they want, and on the first night at the Cuthbert, SCI was more accommodating than Santa Claus.

One unnamed, vibrantly buzzing admirer knew exactly what he wanted. “It’s all about the space funk,” he convincingly declared. “That’s what I love; Phish, String Cheese, whatever, I got to have the space funk!”

And “space funk” we would have. From overt expressions like “Hollywood Swinging” to more interpretive meditations like the Talking Heads tinged “Colliding,” SCI brought the space funk from every known dimension. Their space funk was a heady, high-proof variant that incorporated a dizzying array of sounds. String Cheese shifted easily from “space funk” to space jazz fusion to space grass to trance and folk and furious rock and rolling. Weird moments of French synth pop, Spanish guitar flourishes and dubbed up dance mixes intermingled with striding Irish fiddling, muscular Kangolin climaxes and propulsive tribal beats.

Throughout the first evening, keyboardist Kyle Hollingsworth was in a mood to put some stank on the Cheese. He persistently pushed the energy in fun, crowd-pleasing directions. Subtlety is not Hollingsworth’s calling card; he has a large bag of sonic tricks and he likes to use them all, sometimes in the same song, but his contributions led to many of the concert’s more memorable moments.

Saturday’s second set opened with a classic blast of Hollingsworth, “BAM!” A spectacular achievement in genre blending, “BAM!” circulated through styles like sweaty seventies funk, organ pumping soul, Chick Correa-like fusion, and galactic, Parliamentary insanity at a breathless pace—props to the slamming rhythm section. The song swirled and ratcheted intensity as Hollingsworth managed to touch every ebony and ivory in his formidable arsenal before finally exploding “In a Cold Sweat.”

The first night also included SCI’s mind-altering epic, “Howard.” While it sounds more than a little like Phish in places, “Howard” is an exciting, essential piece of Cheese, and another launching pad for their own signature brand of jam. There was unquestionably more space than funk in the 20-minute version the Cheese unfurled in Eugene, but there were also snatches of a churning, growling, jungle beast, and (“Wow!) more of that electric jazz fusion.

As their songs continued to dissolve into instrumental improvisations and resolve back into songs again, the effect of this sequence began to melt pieces into a cohesive whole with its own unique, faintly narrative arc, as though they were performing a theatrical production of “The String Cheese Incident.” This curiously precocious self-awareness was endearing and fun. String Cheese lacks a natural “front-man” or “focal point,” but compensate by making their collective sound express its own dynamic character. SCI, in good form, creates something exceedingly enjoyable from a careful assemblage of reliable parts.

A burning version of Bob Marley’s “Exodus,” heightened by special guest Dwayne “Danglin” Anglin from the Wailers, sent the glowing crowd on another heart-pounding joyride. After two and a half hours of continuous skin tingling climax, SCI finally landed softly with another old favorite, “Colorado Bluebird Sky.”

For an encore, String Cheese concluded the soul-satisfying Incident with one final rocket launch, the Garcia Band standard, “Don’t Let Go.” They gave it a thorough 15- minute workout and sent the crowd cartwheeling out the doors.

Sunday’s show was more of a kick-back than a rage. It was equally well-played and sounded great but didn’t seem to slip through the elusive rabbit hole that leads to the realm of stranger things. A thrilling rendition of Peter Rowan’s fantastic folk-rocker, “Midnight Moonlight” was a nice treat. A sprawling, smoking version of one of their oldest tunes, “Texas” also hit a high mark. The simmering, spacey cowboy ballad about a run-in with the Man felt like a gentle reminder for departing travelers at the end of the tour. Another special guest, guitarist Jeff Pevar, from Phil Lesh and Friends created some of the evening’s best moments, pushing the band in exciting directions during an outrageous “Impressions” and the beautiful encore, “Shaking the Tree.”

Over the course of the two concerts, The String Cheese Incident gave Eugene a healthy sampling of their multi-faceted and uniquely post-modern interpretation of the jam-band idiom. Playfully shifting, shuffling and manipulating crowd-pleasing styles like a doppelganger deejay, String Cheese continues to provide entertaining excursions to the outer rim.

Check out more photos from the show(s):  Saturday | Sunday

The Nashville-based Wood Brothers are adroit practitioners of a timeless, exhilarating art. Like the mythical F.S. Walcott Rabbit’s Foot Minstrels, the Wood Brothers travel backroads and alleyways, opening hidden doors to magic places where music cures any disquieting ailment. Their authentic, American blend of blues, country, rock, gospel and R&B serves a satisfying account of the nation’s complex twisting of cultural roots. The Brothers’ tradition-rich textures evoke a beautifully pure sound—raw, rudimentary—viscerally felt as much as heard. They combine essential, fundamental ingredients into a recipe both distinctive and satisfyingly familiar. Like the best of their recognizable influences, the Wood Brothers inhabit songs so convincingly, they come alive. They are the much-needed bearers of Good News, and the enlightening message itself. Their spiritually charged live performances are what singer/guitarist Oliver Wood calls, “the real deal.” The Wood Brothers offer a genuine, invigorating remedy for the “fake” world flu.

After two breathtaking studio efforts, Paradise (2015) and The Muse (2013), the Brothers have just released a sensational live album recorded at the late Levon Helm’s Barn in Woodstock, New York. The aptly titled, Live at the Barn captures the warmth and immediacy of the trio’s expressive, rustically nuanced oeuvre, and the suggestive setting provides an illuminating context for the Wood Brothers’ deeply allusive material.

Their songs contain more vintage influences than a Memphis record store, but the special regard they have for Helm is particularly apparent on this new disc. While not entirely abandoning their penchant for earthy, acoustic blues, the Woods have increasingly embraced more electric sounds from the sixties and seventies. Helm and The Band provide a useful template for infusing early folk traditions with a more varied, muscular bite.  

The Wood Brothers also share Helm’s infectious enthusiasm for classic American music and his passion for performing it live. The Band understood the naked, uncertain miracle of a rock-and-roll show. They existed as artists to turn people on. The Wood Brothers are cut from the same cloth. They thrive in front of an audience. They reach out and grab people with an engaging, tactile energy. Their music moves. Live at the Barn offers heightened, reimagined versions of familiar songs that demonstrate the trio’s blistering musicianship and give a solid indication of the Woods’ fierce potency as performers.

If you put some music on whatever’s wrong, it’ll sure help out,” Levon Helm.

Elder Brother Oliver Wood recently spoke with Grateful Web about the band’s current exploits, including Live at the Barn, upcoming studio plans and their current tour. We began by talking about the Wood Brothers’ connection to Levon Helm, which came out of their participation in Helm’s “Midnight Rambles.”

The Rambles were concerts Helm hosted on his Woodstock property that harkened back to his younger days in Arkansas. In The Band’s monumental concert film, The Last Waltz, Helm expressed his fascination with old-time medicine shows that used to tour rural, Southern towns near where he grew up. Names like the aforementioned F.S. Walcott Rabbit’s Foot Minstrels would put on wild, uninhibited shows featuring exotic blues singers and dancers.

“After the finale,” Helm explained to director Martin Scorsese in the film, “they’d have the midnight ramble.” Once the children were ushered off to bed, “the songs would get a little bit juicier, the jokes would get a little bit funnier, and the prettiest dancer would really get down and shake it a few times.”

Invoking Helm’s nostalgia for rocking Rambles is no accident. The whole fanciful concept of the Midnight Ramble serves as a something of a blueprint for the Wood Brothers’ vibrant shows. Inspired by Helm's affinity for merging music and myth, the Brothers continue to carry on the Rambling tradition faithfully.

Grateful Web: Thanks so much for visiting with us Oliver, I was hoping we could start by talking about the new, live record. I know it was made at Levon Helm’s place in New York. Could you tell us a little about the venue?

Oliver Wood: Sure, no problem. It is a venue designed by Levon Helm on his property where he lived. The idea was that he would recreate things from his early days called “Midnight Rambles” where people would just come and have small concerts. People could come to him. He could have his band and his drum kit and everything ready to go, and then a couple of hundred people would show up and sit in the barn. He could walk out of his kitchen and right to the drum set and put on a show for people who would come up from the city, or come from around the world to see him. It was designed as a little intimate performance venue. You could call it a private venue. Levon’s band would play and there would be guest acts. People like Dr. John, Allen Toussaint, Elvis Costello would sometimes go and join his band. The Wood Brothers were lucky enough to be the opening act several times. It’s not a venue anybody could play anytime. It was really for Levon and his Rambles. That’s what they were called. Anybody can look up the Midnight Rambles.

GW: So you got to hang out with Levon a little bit. I’m obviously a huge fan, can you tell us a something about Levon? What was he like?

OW: He was just a very humble and gracious guy. You could just watch him and tell that he loved playing music. I think he also just loved connecting people. When you talk with him off the stage, he was a very charming, normal, Southern gentleman. We always felt real welcome. He’d always look you in the eye, and after a show one time, I remember we sat in his kitchen with him for hours and listened to him tell stories. He was just a very approachable and sweet man. He was also very passionate about the music.

GW: Did he ever give you any words of advice, about music, the business? What did you learn from hanging out with Levon?

OW: Just words of encouragement, and a lot of times with guys like that, you just learn by example, you know what I mean? You just look at their career and everything about it, it’s not perfect but, you can learn by example. Something I feel like I indirectly got from him was just to be yourself, to be real and be yourself. That’s the way he was. I was like, “I’m going to try that.” I’m not going to try to be him, but I’m going to be me. I kind of learned that from him.

It’s fun for us and hopefully it’s fun for the audience too.”

As we continued to talk about the new live album, it became clear how much the Wood Brothers enjoy playing in front of fans, and how much performance shapes their sound. Wood revealed how touring is itself a creative process that often forces the band to produce exciting stretches of new growth.

GW: Is the new record from a single concert?

OW: This was a single show. The barn was set up also as a recording studio at one time. The room was made to sound good and to rock. It really does sound good in there. We played a two-hour show, and out of that, we had to get a 45-minute album. The whole night is not on the record. Most of it is in order and sequential, but some of the things we played were already on a live album, or some of those songs we don’t want to put on a live album yet. Certain songs were “eligible” for this album.

GW: You do a cover of the song “I Got Loaded.” I was first introduced to this tune by the Los Lobos version which is pretty faithful to the original done by Little Bob and the Lollipops. Both of those versions have a prominent horn line, but you guys don’t have horns. Instead, you did something interesting with the percussion. The song starts with a creative rhythmic pattern. It has some sort of Caribbean or New Orleans flavor.

OW: I think we sort of had the Mardi Gras thing in mind. A lot of times your creativity comes out of your limitations. We don’t have a horn section with us, so we can’t do the horns. It doesn’t mean we don’t want to do the song. We love the song. A lot of times we try to get inventive. How can we make this song our own, and some of my favorite covers, when a band covers a song, how do they give it their own touch? Due to our limitations, we sort of did our own thing with it. We maintained the fun story of it, but the music is quite different other than the chord progression. We like to do that with covers.

GW: Could you talk a little bit about Jano Rix, your multi-instrumentalist and drummer? He seems to be a big part of your efforts to expand your sound. How did you guys hook up with Jano? What does he bring to the table musically?

OW: We met Jano about six years ago and sort of crossed paths when we were on the same bill. We stayed in touch and it turned out he was already a fan. When we decided we really wanted a full-time drummer touring with us, we called him up. We already knew he was an awesome drummer, what we had no idea about was the shuitar—the amazing, sort of percussion, modified acoustic guitar that’s basically a little mini drum-set. We also didn’t know what an amazing piano player he is. He’s an incredible keyboard player! He can play the keyboards while he’s playing the drums. The keyboards you hear on “Tried and Tempted,” he’s playing keyboards while he’s playing the drums. That’s not an overdubbed keyboard part, he’s got all his limbs on the drums except his right hand is on the electric piano. So anyway, we have this guy, who can do all of this stuff.

GW: Yeah, I wanted to ask you about “Tried and Tempted.” I wondered if there were any guests playing, and is that also a melodica I hear?

OW: Yep, he’s got a melodica hooked up. All of that stuff is happening live. He’s either going back and forth or sometimes combining the keys with the drums. He brings a lot to the table.

GW: That added dimension that Jano brings seems to be in line with an ongoing progression in your music. It sounds like you are moving slightly from the intimate acoustic based material and morphing more into a straight-up rock-and-roll band. As I was preparing for this interview I checked out King Johnson, your group prior to the Wood Brothers. That band had horns and leaned more on the funk and soul than folk and acoustic blues. Do you see the Wood Brothers moving more in that direction?

OW: Yeah, I think as we evolve and our career evolves and you start playing more festivals, larger venues, you just feel like these people want to rock and we want to reach everybody, so the psychology of it is partly what your environment is. But I don’t feel like we’ve left behind any of our old roots, I just feel like we’ve added another dimension. Even if you check out the last few records, there’s still plenty of stuff that harkens to the early Wood Brothers where we’re just broken down and all acoustic. We still love that aspect of what we can do, but now, if we want to go to fifth gear, we can crank it up, and Jano can play full drum kit and we can all be on electric instruments. It’s fun for us and hopefully it’s fun for the audience too.

It was just so raw, yet it was something I could almost figure out.”

Oliver opened up a little about the Wood Brothers’ many creative influences and his connection to the music and culture of the South.

GW: Speaking of roots, you do a stirring version of “Trouble in Mind” on the new album, definitely a roots, acoustic thing. There are so many versions of this great, old tune, what’s the version that really grabbed you? What’s your “Trouble?”

OW: I always loved Lightnin’ Hopkins. The first versions I heard were Hopkins’ and maybe Sonny Terry/ Brownie McGhee. My dad had a record with them doing that. Those more acoustic blues, those early versions are some of my favorite ones. That’s one of the first songs I learned. I’ve always loved that song, that eight-bar blues kind of progression.

GW: I wanted to ask you about another song, “Postcards from Hell.” There’s a lyric in there that really seems to apply to your musical aesthetic, “a little Chicago and a lot of New Orleans.” You have all kinds of influences going on, but you’ve got this serious Southern, Delta, folk-blues thing happening, with some Crescent City hot sauce thrown in. You’re from Colorado. I know you lived in Atlanta, you live in Nashville now. How did you get so infatuated with the Southern sound or culture?

OW: Well it probably started with my dad. My dad is still alive and he plays acoustic guitar and he was a big folk kind of guy back in his day, so he knows a million songs. Some of that stuff was blues, so I heard him playing stuff like that. He also pointed me toward some of the records in his record collection. That’s where I heard Lightnin’ Hopkins and Jimmy Reed and Sonny and Brownie, and that kind of stuff. I guess that’s where I first got really interested in playing guitar, listening to Hopkins’ records. It was just so raw, yet it was something I could almost figure out, it wasn’t complicated, just simple and raw. I always liked that, and even going through phases of country and gospel, and jazz I got really into, and of course my brother did too, seems like we always come back to that original stuff that made such an impression when we were younger. My whole adult life, I’ve lived in the South. When I was twenty years old, I moved to Atlanta. I married a Southern girl, that’s my comfort zone and has been for thirty years. I’ve always been drawn to it, and I’ve connected with other people who are also into it and also really good at it. I’ve had a lot of great influences that way.

GW: I really hear the folk influence in your songwriting. Folk songs are cool because it’s like you can hear all the people who’ve ever played them, and you can feel the connection to the past. Ghosts seem to circulate in those kind of songs.

OW: Yeah, artists really live in those songs. And that “Postcards from the Edge” song, is a tribute, it’s biographical. It’s about a very close friend and music mentor and a guy who was just a hero, a musician from Texas named Donny McCormick. He was a close friend and someone I really admired. He was a real artist. All of that stuff about Chicago and New Orleans is about an actual guy who I was directly influenced by. There’s part of me that emulates his realness or tries to. I’ll never feel like I reached what he did, but at the same time, that’s something to aspire to.

GW: I was going to ask you about that because you dedicate the song to Levon on the record, but it’s so vivid, I wondered if it was about someone specific.

OW: I love how songs can be interpreted and reinterpreted by different people and also in different times. When we played it in the Barn that night, that song made me think of Levon. He was an inspiration, you know, he doesn’t read postcards from hell either. He’s another one of those iconic and inspirational guys that influence us and make us feel good and also teach us things.

GW: Another line from “Postcards” says something about “taking you on a freight train, taking you down an alley, take you to the church, walk through the valley.” Again, you could be talking about yourselves here. Your songs have a very transportive quality. Your music sort of carries people away to another place and time. But, I want to focus on the “church” part. I feel like your shows reflect the closeness blues and country had with gospel in the early days of rock-and-roll. In the early Elvis, fifties period, concerts had a rapturous, nearly religious, give yourself up to the Holy Ghost kind of effect on artists and audiences alike. Your music conveys elements of that exalted, gospel-like glory. Do you feel a connection to that type of music?

OW: It’s definitely a big influence. You can obviously tell how blues and gospel are very connected. People like Ray Charles, Sam Cooke, Aretha Franklin, all heroes of ours, a lot of them started playing out playing gospel music and took those stylings with them into blues and R&B. And, for that matter so do people like Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Loretta Lynn, and others coming from the country side of things. You can hear their gospel background in their country music. No matter what they got into, they sort of kept that in there. I feel like gospel music is one of those foundational ingredients to all kinds of American music. It’s another ingredient in our stew, that’s for sure. We love that kind of music. We definitely try to fit some in.

GW: What’s on your turntable right now?

OW: I’ve been really into the Stones, revisiting a lot of Stones stuff.

GW: Have you heard their new “blues” record?

OW: I’ve heard a little of it, but I haven’t really checked it out. I heard one song off it that I really liked but I’ve just been kind of geeking out on older stuff. Somebody gave me a Stones book for Christmas that’s all about a bunch of their songs and how they recorded them and what they were going through during that time, just music nerd kind of stuff. It’s fun, after you read about something and get more insight, to go back and listen to it again with different ears. So I’ve definitely been doing that but I’ve also checked out Anderson Paak, and I always go back to the first G. Love album. I’m obsessed with that record. The very first one, I don’t know if you’ve ever heard that one. For modern stuff, I love that stuff. But, I tend to listen to older stuff. I’ve been listening to John Prine a lot. On the road we have a turntable that we take backstage and we’ve been listening to a lot of Ray Charles and Allen Toussaint. Kind of all over the place.

GW: I think your original songs are one of the real strengths of the band. Can you talk about your songwriting process a little bit? Are you more of an inspiration guy, or a sit in the chair and sweat it out guy?

OW: A little bit of both. I’m definitely an inspiration guy. My brother is a little bit more like sweat it out and work. He’s got the work ethic. It’s a nice balance sometimes. We don’t have any one method. Chris and I both have notebooks we’re always pulling out on airplanes, or when we’re in vans, or when we’re at home or wherever. When lyrical inspiration comes, I’m always writing things down or recording them on my phone. We do make it a point, once in a while as a group, to just go and play and sort of improvise and try out sounds we haven’t tried before, come up with cool chord progressions, grooves and combinations of instruments and things. We make it a point to do that once in a while just to come up with new music. A lot of times that music will inspire lyrical ideas, or at least melodic ideas. Sometimes we’ll try to marry things out of notebooks and other times the music itself will just bring up words. A lot of times we combine old ideas with new ideas. There’s no one way to do it. It’s nice with phones nowadays, if you have an inspiration, a quick lyric or something musical, you can just record it and file it away. Right now, we’re in a real serious writing spurt because we know we want to make a new studio record soon. Now, we’re taking all of those seeds and trying to nurture them and put them together and develop things. That’s where we’re at now.

GW: Do you have plans to record soon?

OW: Oh yeah. We’re going in the studio real soon.

GW: Is there any chance we might hear some new material on the tour?

OW: You know, there’s a good chance of that. We’ve debated. With our last studio record Paradise, we purposely didn’t play anything live until the album came out. I don’t know why we did that, just to be different than we had been in the past. I don’t know. I’m really excited about some of our new songs. I do feel like playing them live. Like we talked about before, it’s playing them live that allows them to evolve and sort of grow into something really finished where you say, “OK, this is the ultimate version.” Playing live is what does that to me. A lot of our songs on studio albums are great and they come out beautifully, but you end up changing them live to be more effective because you can test them on people and that feels good. I bet you we’ll play some new music. We really try to mix it up with stuff from all the different records, and all the eras of our little career.

GW: I noticed you didn’t include any tunes from Paradise on the new live record. Was it just too close to the release of that?

OW: Yeah, we played a few that night but we decided you know, that record just came out. And, there’s a good chance a couple of years from now, we’ll take some of those songs and completely turn them upside down and play them differently and those are the versions we’d want to capture and put out.

GW: Your last two studio releases were very impressive and I was curious about the thinking for a “live” record. Is it like a “tide me over” for fans until the next studio album comes out?

OW: There’s a few reasons to do a live record. That’s definitely one. It’s nice to put something out for people to check out while they’re waiting on a new studio album. One thing we really like about live records, and we’ve done a few in the past, is that a lot of these songs, already on studio albums, have evolved over the years into completely different things. If you listen to “Postcards” on the original album, Loaded, and you listen to the live version here, it’s very different. The instrumentation is different. Things evolve over the years. It’s exciting for us to take a song that’s been refined or completely reworked and re-release it in a different way. It’s kind of fun.

It doesn’t have to be the most popular thing, that would probably wreck it.”

The Wood Brothers exist outside the artificial spotlight of commercial music, but they live in a corporate music town. They are working musicians, but they play a style often overlooked by radio and television. Oliver discussed their relationship with the business side of entertainment and revealed how the Wood Brothers measure “success.”

GW: So you guys all live in Nashville now? What’s that like? Is there a rivalry between rockers and country cats? Is it a “music business” kind of town?

OW: It really is a “music business” kind of town. I think it has a stigma, like before I moved to Nashville, I always pictured it as all about country and what you hear on the radio, and there may be that element here, but there’s equal parts rock-and-roll. There’s indie rock, garage stuff, you’ve got the Black Keys, you’ve got Jack White, you’ve got John Prine, Emmylou Harris. It’s across the board. I don’t know about a jazz scene, but almost every kind of music, gospel music, rock-and-roll, there’s plenty of it here. I feel like it really is a music business town. I don’t think there’s any rivalries going on, there’s a lot of interesting, coexisting music scenes. There’s lots of studios, lots of great musicians, great producers and really creative people. I think most people still think of it as “oh, that’s that country music town,” but it’s really way more than that, and that’s what attracted us to come here.

GW: It seems like the music business has really changed. When I was a kid in the seventies, the goal was just to make a record and get it on the radio, and that was it. Everyone heard you. Radio was much more powerful then, and seemingly more open to different kinds of bands? Now it’s all soulless, processed, commercial crap. What are the Wood Brothers’ goals? You’re not necessarily concerned with trying to get a song on the radio anymore, right? I mean, how do you measure yourselves? Your success? It’s not the same as it once was.

OW: You’re right. It is really different. I’m a child of the seventies too, and I remember listening to the radio all the time. It’s still fun to think in those terms. It’s still fun to hear yourself on the radio. I still discover cool music on the radio. It’s not that it’s dead. But, like you’re saying, it’s not as powerful as it once was. There’s things like Pandora and Apple Music and Spotify and all the streaming things which are now equally important, if not more important. It’s spread into all these different little outlets. Honestly, our goal is just to make good music that we feel good about. Every once in a while we might have a song, and think “if any of our songs could go on the radio, it’s probably this one,” but it’s not like we’re trying to tweak it and make it “radio friendly.” That doesn’t seem worth the trouble. The goal is definitely to keep people interested in the music and to be able to sell tickets at shows. That’s our livelihood. Not that many people make their living by royalties. The touring thing is really important, and it’s still the most fun. Playing live is still the most fun thing to me. We’re just trying to keep that alive, whatever it takes.

GW: You guys play a lot of festivals with other groups Grateful Web covers. All of the new grass bands like the Infamous Stringdusters, Greensky and Yonder Mountain String Band play a lot of those gigs. Have you developed any friendships with any of those guys?

OW: Absolutely. We’ve made a lot of cool friends. It’s kind of nice because those festivals are the only time you actually get to hang out with those people, otherwise you’re just crossing like ships in the night because you’re never in the same place at the same time. We’ve gotten to know a bunch of those folks over the years. Even if we’re not collaborating musically, we certainly can relate to the lifestyle and we’re fans of each other’s stuff. We root for each other. We’ve gotten real tight with the Stringdusters. Amy Helm and Tedeschi/Trucks are buddies. So many more.

GW: Anytime I’m feeling down about the current state of good music in this country and I go to one of these festivals, I’m re-energized and blown away by the size and popularity of the scene. Lots of artists playing real, heartfelt music on actual instruments, and tons of folks digging it. I just don’t understand why these kinds of bands aren’t played more on popular radio.

OW: It’s really strange; really, really strange. We just got a new radio station in Nashville that’s dedicated to all “roots” music. But, you know, I guess it’s never going to be like “pop music,” it’s never going to be the most popular thing, and honestly I’m okay with that. Generally, that’s when it starts to suck. When some of those things get too big, then the music gets watered down. You just gotta be careful. I don’t mind the feeling that there’s a finite audience for the music we do. I don’t mind that. It doesn’t have to be the most popular thing. That would probably wreck it.

GW: Thanks again for your time, Oliver. Just one final question, are you pleased with how the new record turned out?

OW: Absolutely. It’s really satisfying to do a live record because you can put it out so much sooner. We’re not trying to push it and make it a big, giant release. It’s what they call a “soft release” in the business, which is just a thing for your fans. It’s not like you’re trying to break new ground with it. You can record it and a couple of months later, it can come out. It’s more instant gratification. When you make a studio album, it’s much more expensive, much more involved. Sometimes a record comes out a year after you’ve done it, and so you’re not as thrilled about it because you’ve already moved on. But with this record, I feel like this is what we sound like right now. That’s really cool, just us playing live. That’s always my favorite thing. It’s the real deal. So, we’re very proud of it. I wish there was an accompanying DVD because there really is something to being at a live show. You always want to “capture the live energy” but there’s no substitute for being there and seeing it and smelling it, and picking up every nuance of the atmosphere.

Grateful Web abides. There’s never been a better time for the Wood Brothers. They exist on the outskirts of popular music, beyond the synthesized “Idols” on radio and TV, but they serve a vital function. The Wood Brothers are the “genuine” article, no processed artificial flavoring, just 100%, all-natural, organic uplift mojo tapped from deep roots. You’d be well-advised to grab a healthy dose. There’s no substitute for the real thing.

Dark Star Orchestra came “high-stepping” into Eugene (Ore.) last Monday night and fulfilled their bold promise to “continue the Grateful Dead concert experience” which is no easy feat. A substantial, multi-generational crowd of familiar faces gathered to glow wild and celebrate the reawakening. It’s long been said, “there’s nothing quite like a Grateful Dead show,” but Dark Star Orchestra skillfully produced two satisfying, soul-cleansing sets at the McDonald Theater that thoroughly convinced the amenable patrons “the music never stopped.”

Dark Star Orchestra is known in the Dead community for recreating specific concerts from GD’s long career, duplicating set lists, sounds, and personnel from the band’s many sonically distinctive periods. DSO first gained attention by bringing everyone’s favorite bootleg recordings to life, presenting historic musical documents in a real-time, live performance setting. In recent years, DSO has also mixed in “elective” sets comprised of their own choices.

The start of last Monday’s show strongly hinted at post-Pigpen, Keith and Donna-era Dead. The soulful presence of vocalist Lisa Mackey and the bright, electric piano of Rob Barraco were obvious indicators. The classic “Jack Straw” opener embraced the expectant crowd like a comforting hug from an old friend, a rush of warm remembrance. A triumphant “Ramble on Rose” followed with the welcome assurance— “I know this song it ain’t never gonna end!” All systems screamed “Go,” as both the band and brethren prepared to launch.

“The Race Is On,” a thumping, rockabilly cover made famous by George Jones, kept the Heads stomping and nodding approvingly. The relative rareness of the tune, GD only played it 58 times, added to its appeal and had more than a few fans initially guessing we were at a vintage 1973 show. DSO was using both of their drummers, Dino English and Rob Koritz, on Monday night, however, and Mickey Hart wasn’t with the Dead in ’73. What could it mean? Did they play “Race” with Keith and Donna after “73?

The next cut kicked the cat out of the bag and cracked wide grins across the crowd’s faces. For the first time since 2009, DSO played the early 1990’s Robert Hunter/Jerry Garcia composition, “Liberty.” The tune originally appeared as the title track on Hunter’s 1988 solo record, but was later reworked by Garcia and slated for inclusion on the Dead’s last, unfinished (and unreleased) album. A largely overlooked and underappreciated song from the final stage of the Dead’s career, “Liberty” effectively illustrates the contrarian brand of individualism so inherent in the band, and Garcia specifically. The lyric describes a free spirit driven to defy convention and “find my own way,” for better or worse. Despite the nine years between performances, DSO showed no discernable rust and delivered a confident reading that captured the sarcastic nuance Garcia often applied. By jumping ahead several chapters in the Dead’s songbook, and digging deep in their own repertoire, Dark Star Orchestra cleverly utilized “Liberty” to signal a set of their own unique design.

Now working without the map of a past performance, DSO moved even closer to “continuing the Grateful Dead concert experience.” Spontaneity is an elemental feature of the Dead ethos. DSO treated the McDonald Theater patrons to the unique excitement of not knowing what amazing thing was going to happen next. Fans were free to wish for and imagine any sublime possibility. DSO’s first set continued to favor the bouncy, round-bottomed tones and pastel colors of mid-to-late seventies Dead. Jazz, rhythm & blues, gospel, and country cosmically fused into a singular, distinctively American sound.

Mackey provided a beautiful highlight with a stirring version of Donna Godchaux’s “Sunrise,” another undervalued and rarely played nugget from the Dead’s deep catalog. The song is widely believed to be at least somewhat about longtime Grateful Dead crew member, Rex Jackson, who died in 1976. Many Eugene fans at last Monday’s show were still grieving the recent passing of GD lyricist, John Perry Barlow and “Sunrise” seemed to gently acknowledge the loss of this beloved family member.

DSO offered another warm tribute to Barlow later in the set with the rare Jerry Garcia Band number, “Who Was John?” Performed by JGB only about 30 times in the mid-seventies, “Who Was John?” is a spine-tingling, call-and-response gospel that throbs with awe-inspiring glory. DSO’s lead guitarist/vocalist, Jeff Mattson rode the pulsing holy-roller for all it was worth, and the hymn’s religious imagery infused the theater with a heavy, spiritual vibe. DSO musically laid Barlow’s soul to rest: “Seal up your book old John/John don’t you write no more.”

They fittingly ended the first set with a jubilant rendition of “The Music Never Stopped,” Barlow’s own loving portrait of “the band beyond description.” The song reverberated thematically throughout the evening’s festivities, hinting at how the Dead remain “alive” in the wake of so many, well, deaths. “People joining hand in hand while the music played the band.” The Grateful Dead didn’t invent the experience; the experience created the Dead. Their tales exist in a real folk tradition, shared and shaped to serve the needs of real folk. The tradition, the music, the show, the scene, the search for “Furthur” continues.

After a moderate break, DSO unleashed a white-hot second set reminiscent of late eighties, stadium Dead. Highlights included the opening “China Cat Sunflower>I Know You Rider,” a quintessential Grateful Dead “standard.” Encapsulating nearly everything the Dead is about in a single sequence of music, “China>Rider” also exemplifies the notion that “the music played the band.” They performed it at every point in their long career, through all their equipment changes, evolving sound systems, different venues and varied personnel. Regardless of circumstance, “China>Rider” rarely failed to achieve the group’s definitive “lift-off.” The song’s intrinsic qualities seemed to persist beyond the individual efforts or concerns of the band. At the McDonald, the song arrived on time again. DSO paid the fare and fans enjoyed a swirling, churning ride from “the eagle winged palace of the Queen Chinee” through the “cool Colorado rain.”

From one of the most played pieces in the GD songbook to one of the least, DSO surprised and delighted with a celestial “Unbroken Chain.” Yes! “Unbroken Chain,” the Loch Ness Monster, or Yeti of Grateful Dead songs, rarely seen or heard, though the legends still exist. One of the more complex compositions in the GD catalog, “Unbroken Chain” was penned, perhaps unsurprisingly, by Phil Lesh, with lyrics by Bobby Peterson. It appeared as a glistening gem on the 1974 album, From the Mars Hotel, and then vanished mysteriously, never performed live until the Dead unearthed it at a handful of shows on what became their final tour in 1995. Dark Star Orchestra’s “Unbroken Chain” enveloped the room. It permeated the atmosphere and unfurled luminously over the audience, sparkling like a constellation in a wilderness sky.  Bassist Skip Vangelas played the part of Lesh perfectly. His vocals, supported with harmonies from Mackey and the rest of the group, glided weightlessly through the song’s dreamscape of ambient sounds. The fierce instrumental interplay of the entire group during the song’s climactic jam conquered cities and melted minds. “Unbroken Chain” was a freaking beast, a masterclass of magnificence. The song’s mystical meaning held everything—the Dead, DSO, the Heads, the cosmos, everything—in a comforting, circular affirmation: “Unbroken chain of you and me.”

This spacey sentiment segued seamlessly into a smoldering “Keep on Growing,” the Derek and the Dominoes cut covered only four times by the Grateful Dead in 1985-86. DSO’s vocals, enhanced by Mackey’s contributions, were consistently strong throughout the evening and “Keep on Growing” was another fine example. Baracco mimicked the soulful style of the late Brent Mydland with support from Vangelas, and he put his phat Hammond organ to work. A sweaty, spongy, howler, “Keep on Growing” gave the crowd a chance to groove again after the probing think piece, “Unbroken Chain.” Round, rubbery notes slid off Mattson’s guitar and bounced from the floorboards through the ceiling. The boogie was on. Mattson kept finding hair-raising peaks and then reaching even higher, defying gravity with an ecstatic, reverse cascade of sound. The song’s hopeful lyric, “you’re gonna be alright boy,” suggests the “life after Dead” scene evolves eternal: “’Cause time is gonna change us, Lord, and I know it's true; our love is gonna keep on glowing and growing, and it's all we gotta do—keep on growing.”

DSO turned mildly topical after their “Drums>Space” segment, which felt appropriate given the strained political climate of the times. Bob Dylan’s “All Along the Watchtower” screamed of discontent, “there must be some kind of way outta here,” and impending doom, “the hour’s getting late.” Mattson again flexed and scorched earth before “New Speedway Boogie” strolled defiantly out of the fuming remains of “Watchtower.” While not overtly political, “New Speedway Boogie” was the Dead’s subversive response to social criticism following the Altamont Speedway disaster in 1969. The Dead always scorned and shunned the notion of leadership. “New Speedway Boogie” is typically uninterested in offering any directives. Hunter’s lyrics assume a righteous, somewhat detached posture of passivity. He expresses resentment for regressive, negative thinking, “please don’t back up the track,” but he questions dictatorial pronouncements, “some say better run away/others say better stand still.” Ultimately, “New Speedway Boogie” ends without specific answers and instead only achingly pleads, “one way or another this darkness got to give.” DSO’s striking version spoke to the existent angst shared by many in the socially conscious Eugene crowd. The song simply brought the house together, not so much in a mutual understanding, but rather a common need.

Dark Star Orchestra magically produced two sets of Grateful Dead music last Monday night and accurately evoked the originators’ most endearing qualities. DSO’s decision to fly free, crafting their own “elective” show, resulted in several satisfying surprises. By combining at least two distinct, discernible styles of Dead with their own creative energy, they provided a truly unique listening experience. They delivered an exciting, brilliantly played concert characteristically rippling with suggestive “meaning.” Glistening, wide-eyed revelers exited the theater gratefully restored. “Everybody’s dancin’… and the band keeps playing on!”

There’s something irresistible about the Infamous Stringdusters. Their ebullient enthusiasm and riveting musicianship completely overwhelmed the packed house at Eugene’s (Ore.) HiFi Lounge on March 8.  The Stringdusters performed two invigorating sets of their distinctively expansive, new grass music and beguiled the enthusiastic crowd. They produced a bona fide ball, flooding the small venue with ecstatic musical energy that felt bigger than the room. The ‘Dusters themselves appeared awed at times by the excitement. An affable, unpretentious stage presence only intensified their comprehensive appeal. Undeniably enjoyable, Infamous Stringdusters left Eugene buzzing and breathlessly smitten.

Nearing the end of their “Across the Great Divide Tour,” which included an unprecedented five-city jaunt through Oregon, the ‘Dusters found a thick vein of sensational form. Currently riding a career high after the exquisitely crafted and compelling “Laws of Gravity” won the 2018 Grammy for “Best Bluegrass Album,” it feels like everything is coming together for this whip-smart, tireless and increasingly inventive group. Their performance at the HiFi delivered the skin-tingling thrill of witnessing something truly “great” happening, before expectation, pretension, the “business” or any other mortal impurity interferes. It was rare and beautiful. The Stringdusters have always been very good, but they’ve never sounded more certain of themselves, their superlative material or their potent recipe for throwing down. The close, raucous crowd sensed a “we were there” moment straight from the start, and the ‘Dusters amicably obliged.

The show’s second song, “The Place That I Call Home,” was the first indication of the group’s exciting growth. At this point, describing the ‘Dusters as a “bluegrass band” is like calling a tiger a “cat.” Their evocative soundscapes have nearly as much in common with Son Volt or even Sun Ra as they do with Flatt and Scruggs.

At the HiFi, “Home” sounded Nashville enough up front, but bristled underneath with swaggering rock-and-roll intensity. Jeremy Garrett’s hickory smoked vocal recalled hints of Whiskeytown-era Ryan Adams, a familiar, bittersweet sentiment expressed with an aching drawl and dressed in torn, faded jeans. The song took off, gliding top-down along an open road, chasing Garrett’s intrepid fiddle. Employing a multifaceted, post-modern style just as acquainted with Stephane Grappelli, Jean-Luc Ponty, Papa John Creach and Scarlet Rivera as Kenny Baker and Chubby Wise, Garrett carved a spiral staircase with jazzy, flowing, woodwind licks. The group’s exhilarating instrumental interplay ascended weightlessly into something not altogether unlike the Grateful Dead’s “Eyes of the World” jam, before emphatically returning to its countrified “Home.”

The song and the Stringdusters sounded huge, bigger than ever before. It was as if they went away for summer and returned completely reformed as more muscular, mature versions of themselves. The Eugene crowd responded with an equally robust roar. Referencing a local Thai food truck parked outside the venue, one of the band members amusingly noted, “we’ve already gone from a mild to a medium.”

The ‘Dusters have been turning heads in bluegrass circles since their 2007 debut “Fork in the Road,” but they’ve continued to evolve, growing more confident and creative with each new studio release. There is an architectural quality to their music. You can clearly distinguish framework from foundation, structural and stylistic design. You can hear each individual member sawing fresh boards and nailing them together, constantly renovating, yet never weakening the rock-solid weight of the original underpinnings. They’re building something indescribable, but sturdy and sublime.

“Soul Searching,” another jewel from the Stringdusters’ Grammy-winning record, showcased the group’s startling vocal development. Known for beyond-and-back instrumental excursions, one of the most striking qualities of their Eugene concert was the ‘Dusters’ consistently remarkable vocal work. Garrett took another terrific turn on lead, enhanced by fine wine harmonizing from Travis Book and Andy Hall. Always blessed with multiple, capable singers, Infamous Stringdusters still cut their teeth by dusting strings. Hall, Book and Garrett’s voices now sounded richer, more flavorful and dynamic than on previous tours. “Soul Searching” relied heavily on the power of the three singers to provide the song’s emotional punch, and they delivered a convincing blow.

The Stringdusters continued to stoke the juiced crowd throughout the opening set, sprinkling in a few of their popular, well-chosen covers. They rolled out a tight-fitting version of the classic Allman Brothers’ instrumental, “Jessica.” This grooving beauty got the house bouncing and showed how surprisingly hard the Stringdusters can swing without any drummer. Hall plucked the sweet theme on dobro and opened the good book of Dickie Betts, while the rest of the group just scooted like hounds on a hare. Garrett found the scent and fiddled a foot-stomping path to guitarist Andy Falco, who tore off teeth bared and tail wagging in a bounding, lively gait. The entire rollicking endeavor was a pile of fun.

“Just Like Heaven” displayed the ‘Dusters’ extraordinary flexibility and offered another facet of their prismatic musical lens. Imagining the Cure’s endearing 1987 hit as a folk song is a clever conceit. Infamous Stringdusters’ ineffable brand of new grass blends ideas from delightfully curious sources. “Just Like Heaven” brilliantly intertwined nostalgia and new experience.

With a supple, acrobatic twist the ‘Dusters turned from bubbly, British pop music to masterfully rendered American folk. “Deep Elem Blues” dripped with expressive connotations. It juked and jangled like a jubilee. The band played hotter than a habanero pepper and goosed the crowd into fits of delirious exaltation. They raided “Deep Elem,” dusted it and made it shine with their Infamous glow.

“Machines,” embarked on a mind-expanding instrumental odyssey that typified the group’s all-inclusive adventures in genre-busting, where the blend is truly the thing. “Machines” expertly and extensively illustrated why Infamous Stringdusters have become a “must see” act. Their complex knot of intelligent, flawlessly played, bluegrass fusion is breaking new ground.

The megawatt energy of the first set kept right on flowing through the second with a generous helping of jam. The transitions between songs were inspired. The psychotic hillbilly romp, “Cluck Ole Hen,” spun deliciously out of “See How Far You’ve Come.” Chris Pandolfi’s banjo strutted like a lunatic chicken while Falco, Garrett, and Hall chased the bustle around the barn. Pandolfi found a hole in the fence and started picking his way through as some strange manner of electrified space garble percolated from beyond.

Later, the ‘Dusters struck a nerve with Buffalo Springfield’s sixties anthem, “For What It’s Worth.” Intensified by reverberating context, the pitch-perfect selection powerfully melded music, message and moment together while setting off a metaphorical riot of “hell yeahs” and high fives. With each ringing verse, you could feel a shared sensation building and spread infectiously through the room. “Battle lines being drawn/Nobody’s right if everybody’s wrong/Young people speaking their minds/Getting so much resistance from behind.” It wasn’t quite a revolution, but it was pure rock-and-roll.

The embraceable, country-rock confection, “It’ll Be Alright” followed and suggested hopeful, alluring possibilities, “Drive out past the city lights/You’ll be feelin’ better by midnight/A winding road will make it right/Go ahead it’ll be alright.” Midway through, the song escaped into carefree reverie, announcing the impending departure with a sumptuous “Terrapin Station” tease before sneakily creeping into a back alley-cat prowl that eventually became the defiant, fire-breathing “Don’t Mean Nothin’.” A sizzling, hoedown throw-down, “Don’t Mean Nothin’” featured a healthy helping of Hall’s tangy, baby-back Dobro and again lit the intimate HiFi with incandescent energy.

One magnificent highlight after another shook and psyched euphoric fans. There was a “Praise Jesus,” purist pleasing “One More Bridge.” The jaunty, streetwise Danny Barnes cover, “Wagon Wheel,” exuded soulful, Southern charm. The mystical, Middle Eastern madness of the “No More to Leave You Behind” jam; the grassy, reggae scratch of “Walking on the Moon;” and the weirdly animated, cosmic mountain breakdown, “2001,” all spun heads and made mile-wide smiles. You couldn’t escape amazement. Perhaps the most “electric” acoustic outfit currently picking on the piping-hot, jam grass circuit, Infamous Stringdusters are plugged in and packing a high-voltage kick.

Check out more photos from the show.

East-coast jam masters, Joe Russo’s Almost Dead brought their inventive interpretation of Grateful Dead music to a sold-out, typically relaxed but receptive crowd at Eugene’s (Ore.) McDonald Theater, August 11. Many locals were getting their first look at the heavily hyped combo from New York. Buzz had been building for weeks, since the show was announced, with many knowledgeable fans calling JRAD “THE Dead band to see.” The group responded with two thick, throbbing sets of intense improvisational interplay, strongly emphasizing the heady, jazz leanings of the Grateful Dead. Not really a “tribute band” and certainly not a “re-creation,” Joe Russo’s Almost Dead are another brilliant indicator of the flourishing after-life of the Grateful Dead’s impressive legacy.  

The band wasted no time introducing newcomers to their distinctive brand of jam. They immediately impressed with a slippery, spacey, slide-in-the-side-door entrance to “The Wheel.” JRAD is built from the floor up. Everything JRAD does starts with the prominent rhythmic presence of drummer Russo and bassist, Dave Dreiwitz. Both took hold of “The Wheel” at the McDonald and started turning vigorously. The song provided the perfect vehicle for the churning, gut-grabbing, foot-stomping power of JRAD’s formidable rhythm section. The room began to tumble and roll. Heads bounced up and down. Hands shot up in the air. “The wheel is turning!” First set, first song, and the ship was already steering toward deep water. JRAD instantly announced their predilection for second-set level potency and the show lit up with energy right from the start.

As they stretched “The Wheel” and tweaked it, prodding it in interesting directions while tenderly embracing it, they rendered something exciting and unusual. The initial striking impression upon seeing/hearing JRAD is of finding another thriving branch sprouting from some twisted, but wildly entertaining R. Crumb sketch of the Grateful Dead’s family tree. JRAD sound as though they were spawned from the experimental, jazz fusion elements of the Dead, influenced by artists like Miles Davis and Ornette Coleman. They aren’t as interested in the folky, bluegrass, jug band aspects of GD.  

The four-song first set (The Wheel>Uncle John’s Band>Dancing in the Streets>Eyes of the World) extended over seventy-five minutes and convincingly demonstrated the group’s startling improvisational proficiency. Each individual member dropped jaws, but the band’s ensemble playing was particularly impressive. They utilized the songs like jazz standards, stating their familiar themes before pivoting and accelerating into thrilling new places. Each instrumental excursion was an adventure packed with fascinating twists and turns. JRAD loves to shapeshift, and they slid an unmistakable Dire Straits’ “Money for Nothing” tease into their elastic “Dancing in the Streets” jam. The Dead tunes were only doorways to discovering JRAD’s own imaginative ideas. JRAD may “cover” Grateful Dead songs, but the jams are of their own extraordinary design.

Guitarists Tom Hamilton and Scott Metzger displayed unique styles that created interesting combinations and counterpoints throughout the show. Hamilton’s fluid, lyrical runs, and bright, clean tone, could superficially be said to reflect Garcia’s style more, yet TH augments familiar sounds with his own sensibilities. Hamilton doesn’t just play Grateful Dead songs; he plays with them. He establishes a well-known phrase, then he spins fresh variations off the recognizable theme, developing an intriguing dialogue with the source material. Metzger’s generally angular and rough-hewn attacks originate more from the fringes of the Dead’s musical vocabulary, but his inventiveness contributes an essential complexity to JRAD’s collective. Metzger’s style melds strange, alien objects with the haunting rattle of a kicked soup can. The combination of Hamilton’s furious fusion and Metzger’s otherworldly, alley-cat escapades produced an intriguing compound dynamic in Eugene.

Joe Russo’s Almost Dead are not simply a guitar-oriented group. Throughout the performance, keyboardist Marco Benevento added compelling interjections to JRAD’s heated musical exchange. Like Hamilton, Benevento placed recognizable lines next to embellishments and tangential asides, producing a kind of post-modern commentary on the original songs.  He utilized a fascinating array of sounds and indicated diverse influences beyond the Dead’s well-known keyboard players. His poignant piano solo on “The Wheel” recalled Vince Guaraldi’s heartwarming work with Peanuts, and Page McConnell’s outro on “The Squirming Coil.” The Band’s Garth Hudson could be heard in Benevento’s swirling organ on the second set “Tennessee Jed.” His rich style reflected Herbie Hancock, Jan Hammer, and Kraftwerk, as well. Billy Preston? Brian Eno? Bill Evans? Benevento conveyed a compendium of keyboard creativity. He provided much more than colorful accompaniment, stepping to the forefront on numerous occasions to deliver exciting, crowd-pleasing flourishes of his own.

JRAD’s monumental first set at the McDonald expressed their conviction for stretching the songs out, exploring every artistic inclination and breaking new ground. They revealed a fresh, blistering fusion beneath a genuine affection for the Grateful Dead. They remained locked in a tightly connected groove no matter how far off the map any of them would wander. Russo and Dreiwitz were the constant driving force. Their infinitely engaging rhythmic patterns maintained the group’s structural integrity. Dreiwitz maniacally fingered his bass as though wrestling a multi-limbed monster. He sent pulsating figures wriggling across the floor and scurrying up the spines of delirious dancers. Russo was the central fulcrum they all circled around. When the set finally ended, they left the room full of “smoking craters” and spinning Heads.

After a deep, thought-provoking first set, JRAD followed with a howling screamer of a second. They kept the trippy, jazzy vibe flowing at the start with a kaleidoscopic “Crazy Fingers,” but somewhere during the brooding “Estimated Prophet,” JRAD began to favor searing stadium rock. The anthemic “Ramble on Rose” shook the house into a tipsy sway. “Tennessee Jed” was a raucous, celebratory stomp. As the set progressed, Hamilton, Metzger, and Benevento all took turns shattering ceilings and scaling outlandish peaks. The show climaxed with the swirling, carnival ride combination of “The Music Never Stopped” into “The Eleven” and back into “Music.” It was a satisfying conclusion to a striking performance.

JRAD opened eyes in Eugene with their expansive, next-generation reading of the Grateful Dead. They are much more of a progression than a recapitulation. JRAD’s loosely but lovingly held versions of familiar songs are full of fresh creative energy. If there is anything missing, it may be the nefarious specter of danger that always shadowed the Grateful Dead. JRAD tend to favor lightness over dark. No bummers. They maintain an aesthetic innocence somewhat lacking the depth of experience communicated by their influences, but that’s not a knock. JRAD are only “Almost Dead,” which means, of course, they are also “Something Else Entirely.” That “something else” was a mind-melting blast at the McDonald Theater, and well worth the price of admission.

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Iconic architects of San Francisco’s celebrated psychedelic sound, Jorma Kaukonen and Jack Casady, brought their enduring roots-infused mélange, Hot Tuna, to Eugene’s (Ore.) McDonald Theater on Sept. 1st and suitably verified their vaunted rock-and-roll credentials. Though not as widely known as their seminal 60’s group Jefferson Airplane, Hot Tuna have been playing searing, head-spinning shows for nearly five decades. Their recent Eugene performance, thick with fan favorites, was a spirited affirmation of their imperishable creative potency. A masterful demonstration of highly refined technique rippling with emotional intensity, Hot Tuna’s Eugene appearance impressively celebrated their rich, musical history and forcefully asserted their ongoing significance.

A skin-tingling response swept through the crowd as these two legitimate rock stars, veterans of Monterey Pop, Woodstock and Altamont, slid onto the bare stage, unadorned by any pretense. Music is always the focal point at a Hot Tuna show. There are very few theatrics. They simply aren’t necessary. Kaukonen on guitar, Casady on bass, and in this case, the very capable Justin Guip on drums, are riveting entertainment by themselves.

They opened with the classic Kaukonen original, “Been So Long,” a seething rocker from Hot Tuna’s 1971 live album, First Pull Up, then Pull Down. It’s also the title of Kaukonen’s recently published autobiography, Been So Long, My Life and Music. The soft-spoken Kaukonen has always conveyed a mysterious, almost spiritual quality best expressed in the grooves of a long-playing record. He’s been content to communicate evocatively through song. A tell-all tale of the Airplane’s adventures is not Kaukonen’s style, but the straightforward, conversational prose of his book insightfully describes a life every bit as packed full and intriguing as his expressive songs. “Music stirs memory in a singular way that is unmatched,” Kaukonen astutely muses. At the McDonald, Hot Tuna went straight to work confirming JK’s claim with a sinewy, swaggering riff reverberating with suggestive meaning.  

Hot Tuna has taken many shapes and forms over the years, proving equally adept at both intimate, acoustic Americana and explosive, electrified rock-and-roll. In Eugene, they were plugged in and equipped for a high-energy howler. The trio sounded spry, even downright sinister on “Ode for Billy Dean,” from Tuna’s 1972 studio debut, Burgers. If there were any questions about the vitality of a couple of septuagenarian rockers from the “Summer of Love,” Hot Tuna crumpled them and lit them on fire with their blazing “Billy Dean.” Casady rolled thunder under Kaukonen’s wicked, atmospheric wail, and Jorma defiantly growled, “I’m still alive now, and I don’t worry/When I go down, don’t let me go slow.”

The group evoked a raunchy, edge-of-town roadhouse aura with the screaming Billy Boy Arnold cut, “I Wish You Would.” Kaukonen dug deep and demonstrated why he is often listed among the world’s greatest guitar players. He gave it the fuzzy, lysergic, “rock god” treatment and shot the song from its juke joint origin to a place decidedly closer to 2400 Fulton Street. Kaukonen is one of those important artists who bridge the gap between authentic, traditional folk/blues and the pinnacle of electric blues rock. JK begins with genuine, acoustic folk roots and spirals outwardly until he flowers in the land of Hendrix and Cream. At the McDonald, he displayed all the fiery, muscular, consciousness-heightened energy of Woodstock alongside an acute understanding of Mississippi Delta and urban, Chicago-style blues. Throughout the evening, Hot Tuna conveyed a “Night at the Museum” effect, where historic exhibits burst to life. “I Wish You Would” lit the theater with an incendiary, vibrant presence as if the “Mona Lisa” leapt off the canvas and boogied through the crowd.  

A haunting version of “Trial by Fire” created one of the evening’s early highlights and showcased Hot Tuna’s captivating talent for storytelling. It also, amazingly, suggested Hot Tuna are still evolving. Among the best songs, Kaukonen penned for Jefferson Airplane, “Trial by Fire” displays JK’s proficiency with traditional folk motifs. Familiar idioms like “that bony hand comes a beckoning” implicitly connect the circumstances of the songwriter to an eternal, archetypal struggle expressed in folk-tales and myth. Appearing on the Airplane’s final studio release, Long John Silver, the track originally gleamed like a pick-up truck rolling down a country road. The buoyant, glassy-eyed shine of the 1972 recording bristles with youthful resiliency, unencumbered and running free. In Eugene, the song maintained a rustic amble but became imbued with a darker hue. The narrative remained resistant, yet more calloused than brash. The consequences had grown closer, and the weight of anguish had increased with age. Lyrics like “lying on the floor with a hole in my face and a ten-gauge shotgun at my head” echoed with jarring authenticity. The song sounded sincerer in the throat of an older man.

Special guest, guitarist Steve Kimock joined the trio for a fine finish to a terrific first set. Kimock, a decorated veteran of San Francisco’s jam-band scene, founded the group Zero with John Cipollina, and lent his talent to Keith and Donna Godchaux’s Heart of Gold Band, Phil Lesh, and Friends, as well as Ratdog, among others over the years. At the McDonald Theater, Kimock’s tasteful accents and added crunch helped Hot Tuna build another level on an already high-rising show.

A luminescent “Sea Child” featured Kimock on pedal steel guitar. Another fascinating Kaukonen composition, “Sea Child” mystically synthesized folk with psychedelia. Kaukonen’s ornate fingerstyle guitar merged a deeply rooted earthiness with the ethereal. Kimock’s shimmering emphases swirled with golden California vibrations. The song held the room in a warm embrace as JK pleasantly affirmed, “Reminds me once again/how nice it is to be with you.”

A double-shot of growling, groovy blues closed the opening set. First, Tuna’s scorching treatment of Delta bluesman, Walter Davis’ 1940 hit, “Come Back Baby” summoned demons from the crossroads and bathed them in fierce distortion. Casady’s bassline burned tire tracks on the floorboards of the theater with its supercharged, muscular thrust; and Kaukonen nearly assumed a power stance as his fingers triggered a crackling eruption of electricity.

Bobby Rush’s “Bowlegged Woman, Knock-Kneed Man” delivered another high-powered hit of amplified emotion. Again, Casady’s huge, pulsating presence gripped the room in a sultry trance. Kimock’s funky scrubs kicked dirt around the chicken coop before Kaukonen’s wolf arrived to satisfy his instinctive hunger. Hot Tuna’s barn-burning “Bowlegged Woman” indisputably confirmed the group’s explosive blues power.

The first set was simply a primer, it turned out, because the second helping was truly lit. Hot Tuna revealed themselves to be more than amazing revivalists. They became illuminating shamen practicing an ancient art. The crowd hypnotically succumbed to Hot Tuna’s alluring mixture of vintage American styles. As set unfolded, a theme emerged—we were taking a trip, a spiritual journey that began appropriately with “Serpent of Dreams.”

From Hot Tuna’s 1975 release America’s Choice, “Serpent of Dreams,” established a heady, mentor/master, medicine-man vibe. Kaukonen and Casady blended elemental forces of fire and earth and flowed like hot lava. Kaukonen’s evocative fingerstyle guitar filled compliant heads with fanciful visions, and the lyrics intimated a transformation, “Serpent’s friends have come and gone, down the slopes they’re moving on.”

Fan favorite, “I Know You Rider” embraced the thematic journey, and once again emphasized Hot Tuna’s deeply embedded roots. The song’s churning, irresistible momentum collected any stragglers and unified the audience in a singular, hopeful assurance, “The sun’s gonna shine in my backdoor some day!”

“Roads and Roads &” jangled with genuine pop-rock sweetness, while “Watch the North Wind Rise,” another stunning display of Kaukonen’s multi-faceted technique, sauntered happily and promised, “We’re going home, won’t be long, hearing my song.”

“Good Shepherd,” from Jefferson Airplane’s 1969 album Volunteers, affectively initiated the show’s final phase. A traditional gospel, arranged by JK, “Good Shepherd” represents one of Kaukonen’s finest contributions to the Airplane. It is characteristic of Kaukonen’s trademarked synthesis of “flower power” and folk. In Eugene, the song resonated with historic importance. The lyrics’ religious overtones created a poignant turn in the set’s symbolic voyage. Hot Tuna were taking us to a threshold of spiritual enlightenment, “Oh good shepherd, feed my sheep.”

Perhaps to remind how close salvation is to sin, Hot Tuna unleashed a rabid reading of Robert Johnson’s “Walkin’ Blues.” JK flexed and stretched the blues to Filmore-era dimensions. The rhythm section was locked in the pocket of a filthy groove. The room throbbed in unison. “I’ve been mistreated, and I don’t mind dying.”

Another track from Tuna’s landmark America’s Choice record, “Hit Single #1,” blasted the theater with high-voltage rock-and-roll. Kimock returned to fan the flames, and the group tore into a free-flowing jam. Kaukonen conjured radiant waves of musical electricity. Seventy-four-year-old Casady bounced and pounced across the stage like a randy alley-cat. The band was in full flight and obviously enjoying the ride.

Casady, the crawling king snake of vintage rock bass players, threw down a bumping, bone-rattling introduction to “Funky #7,” the final song of the second set. Casady, a fascinating character and gifted musician in his own right, seems to exist solely to wrap his fat, fluid basslines around Kaukonen’s expressive leads. JC and JK are one of rock’s dynamic duos, mirroring in many ways the musical marriages of other psychically linked artists like Weir and Garcia, Lennon/McCartney or the “Glimmer Twins” (Mick Jagger/Keith Richards). The two have known each other and collaborated since high school. Casady joined Jefferson Airplane on Kaukonen’s recommendation, and when the Airplane finally fractured into separate, distinct entities, Casady remained with JK to become a foundational cornerstone of Hot Tuna. Casady and Kaukonen share a Vulcan mind-meld type of understanding. Casady surrounds Kaukonen’s ideas and intuitively fills the empty spaces. While they’ve both played with other artists, it’s almost impossible to imagine one without the other. They comprise complimentary elements of the same work of art.

Hot Tuna worked “Funky #7” into an ecstatic torrent of delirium. It was the climactic, rapturous release. No rock-and-roll salvation is worth its salt without joyful exaltation. Kaukonen stepped on his wah-wah pedal and accelerated the process. Liquified notes poured from his strings and splashed the awed faces of the audience, a baptism by guitar. It was not a quiet sermon. The group stood on hind legs and roared. They eviscerated skeptics and left only admiring believers.

Those who remained for the encore were treated to magical version of Tuna’s instrumental masterpiece, “Water Song.” In a final exhibition of their uncommon expertise, Hot Tuna didn’t simply play “Water Song” as much as they coaxed it out of the shadows and allowed it to play them. A delicate, dabbled creature, “Water Song” flowed through the theater and elicited a stunning “wow.”

Tecumseh once said, “When the legends die, the dreams end; there is no more greatness.” Hot Tuna’s scintillating Eugene performance emphatically established “greatness” is not yet extinct.

Progressive bluegrass pioneers, the Infamous Stringdusters rolled into Eugene (Ore.), January 20, and lit-up the McDonald Theater with a typically brilliant performance. This fire-breathing, five-piece combo’s relentless determination to Dust damn near every town in the country has honed their live show into one of the most reliably “hot” tickets on the thriving jam-band circuit. Every set is a high-flying adventure. Their head-spinning Eugene appearance only added to their growing reputation. Night after night, the Infamous Stringdusters make the exceptional appear routine.

The Stringdusters are a difficult band to categorize. The term “bluegrass” is imperative, but there is so much more. Their art is fluid and evolving. They present a recognizable, strictly defined package, and then they turn, into something else, surprising. This changeling quality was on full display throughout the Dusters’ Eugene show, as they shifted effortlessly between familiar, traditional forms and experimental mutations.

The Dusters don’t require a lot of warm-up, and almost as soon as the first boot scraped the stage, the group was piping hot. Even the introductory tuning spit sparks, as they collectively dialed-in “the sound” before bursting into a triumphant “Where the Rivers Run Cold.” The song coursed through the theater with a blast of mountain grown grass. Piercing harmonies sent shivers. The group crackled like kindling and quickly brought the house together for a collective, “Hell, yeah!” It was also the first strong indication vocalist/fiddle player, Jeremy Garrett was in a mood to shine.

One of the Stringdusters’ not-so-secret weapons is the ability to throw five aces. On any given night, any one of the band’s gifted artists can emerge as a “front-man.” On this occasion Garrett was in fine form, and throughout the evening, his singing and fiddling consistently took center stage.

The set’s second song, “I Wonder” also featured Garrett on lead vocals. A slippery, sidewinding sizzler, “I Wonder” gave each of the boys a chance to flex a bit. Dobro player, Andy Hall peeled off a pound of greasy licks as the hoedown slid maniacally toward the surreal and the group flashed a small glimpse of their otherworldly intentions.

Just as quickly as they wandered off the map, the Infamous Stringdusters snapped back to familiar ground with a series of vibrant bluegrass beauties. “Cluck Ol’ Hen,” a traditional banjo/fiddle instrumental, bristled with an almost angry intensity. It suggested the group busting at the seams of convention, yet in complete control of the form. “Travelin’ Teardrop Blues” offered a striding, jubilant exercise in Nashville charm, goosed with a well-received “After Midnight” refrain. Garrett leapt out front again with the bouncing, bone-rattling jalopy, “What’s That You’re Doing,” and the Stringdusters were rapidly winning fresh converts to their cause.

The classic “Likes of Me>Getting Down the Road” combination closed the opening set with a satisfying, foot-stomping finish. The Dusters pulled the curtain back a bit and revealed more of their “progressive” inclinations. Banjoist, Chris Pandolfi’s skull-probing trills intertwined with Hall’s sweaty twangs to create a spectacular, swirling vortex during the climactic jam.

The Stringdusters always strike with a surprising jolt of energy. Their “electricity” frequently shocks newcomers expecting an acoustic, bluegrass show. After a rapid-fire, workmanlike demonstration of their traditional roots, the Dusters ended the first set intimating the unconventional shape of things to come, and the lathered-up crowd buzzed into the break twitching with anticipation.

Locals may be biased, but Oregon appears to be one of the Stringdusters’ favorite destinations. The band acknowledged as much when they returned for their second set.

“Oregon is the one place where we’ll play like all week,” bass-playing vocalist Travis Book remarked. “We just set up camp, and we stay, and we hang out and play shows.”

The Eugene performance was part of a four-city Oregon swing with additional stops in Ashland, Bend, and Portland. The group already had the crowd eating out of their hands, but Book’s comment was a sweet touch. It amplified the congenial intimacy indicative of the Dusters’ best shows.

Garrett was on the mic again for a raucous “Don’t Mean Nothing” which felt like a snorting mule right before the kick. It spilled straight into the Martha Reeves and the Vandellas anthem, “Dancing in the Street,” famously utilized as a launching pad for many celebrated improvisations by the Grateful Dead. The Stringdusters’ version at the McDonald quickly spun toward a strange, Middle Eastern jam, conjuring images of slow, loping camels in a desert caravan. Hall pinched sitar sounds out of his dobro as Pandolfi’s brightly embroidered patterns shimmered like sunlight on the sand. They masterfully navigated their way back to “Dancing” before leaking what sounded like a “Wharf Rat” tease at the end.

This ten-minute stretch of exhilarating weirdness was the first real, “surprise, we’re not just a cute and cuddly bluegrass band” moment of the show. Up to this point, they hinted, suggested and implied, but they hadn’t yet completely unleashed. Now, the little band that could was morphing into a screaming locomotive, off its rails and rocketing toward outer space.

The Infamous Stringdusters are accurately considered “expansionists,” renovating traditional musical forms and constructing exquisitely designed additions. They are “progressive” because they’re forward thinking, willing to employ a wide variety of contemporary sounds and influences. Their artistic potency is not impaired, but rather empowered by the group’s diverse blend of musical styles. Their innovative mutations sound like naturally occurring features of new growth. The bulk of their breathtaking second set highlighted the Dusters’ expansive impulses. As Pandolfi would later admit, “The jam was on.”

The title track from guitarist/vocalist Andy Falco’s 2007 solo album, “Sentenced to Life with the Blues,” a good-natured, countrified boot-shuffler, tore off quicker than a skinny hound on a hare’s scent. After a few turns around the barn and back, Falco flipped the rock-show switch, and we weren’t in Kansas anymore. Effects-laden notes wobbled around the room in a syrupy, euphoric swirl. Falco climbed into the captain’s chair and treated the crowd to a top-down, wind-blown joyride.

“Rain” evoked characteristics of two different styles simultaneously. Bright, tight, Nashville country bubbled on the surface, while a rare breed of moody, free-flowing folk-jazz undulated underneath. Eventually, Garrett’s fiddle broke loose and gifted the song weightlessness.

The Stringdusters answered ethereal, electric jazz with earthy Americana. A giant, churning version of Johnny Cash’s “Big River” gushed with juicy exuberance and swept the crowd into a helpless, knee-buckling boogie.

“Tragic Life,” a classic crowd-pleaser from the Stringdusters’ 2007 debut, “Fork in the Road,” started as a taut, emotionally charged, outlaw ballad, utilizing several familiar folk tropes, before the Dusters ratcheted-up the scope and intensity of the song until it achieved Tarantino-like, cinematic proportions—a 19th century gangster tale.

Garrett’s smoldering vocal oozed evocative nuances, and the song sizzled like a lit fuse on a stack of dynamite. Once the verses ended, the tune exploded into an incendiary instrumental jam. Pandolfi took a wide turn and treated fans to a fascinating taste of his “Twilight Zone” technique. His cerebral banjo style is equal parts science experiment and high-proof, mountain moonshine. More than any other single member, Pandolfi’s innovative play typifies the group’s “progressive,” post-modern approach to traditional, “old-time” music. Notes began to fly off Pandolfi’s instrument and wriggle around the room. Ragtime accents mingled with western motifs. (Wait, was that a harpsichord?) The other Dusters giddy-upped and fused themselves to Pandolfi’s blazing trail. A fierce section of tight ensemble play created a powerful, symphonic effect. Falco broke it off with a cool, twangy. “Fistful of Dollars” lick, and then started picking his own wicked path. “Tragic Life” was a stunning demonstration of the Dusters’ ability to not only stretch out, but also to augment, heighten and intensify.

A funky, strutting “Get It While You Can” got the party kicking again. The song’s infectious sass and swagger suggested Leon Russell’s southern-fried soul. Hall wrangled filthy, junkyard whines from his dobro. The Dusters circled and set off another furious session of fingerpicking fireworks.

When the smoke cleared, the Stringdusters delivered a crisp, unadorned reading of Charlie Monroe’s heartfelt dirge, “Rosalie McFall.” A song covered by both Jerry Garcia and the Grateful Dead, the Stringdusters’ version reaffirmed their musical roots. When they return to traditional bluegrass after one of their spacey fusion jams, the Dusters produce a jarring, but spiritually cleansing effect. The anguish expressed by the narrator of “Rosalie McFall” reverberated through the McDonald Theater as a shared human voice. The song’s glistening, natural purity gently embraced the audience and offered comforting reassurances of a great design.

On an evening packed with circus somersaults, tightrope walking and human cannonballs, the Infamous Stringdusters had one more amazing feat to perform. “No More to Leave You Behind,” another mighty warhorse from their masterful first record, illustrated how the Dusters can tilt a perfectly fine song on its side and reveal something astonishing underneath.

There were indications of weirdness right from the start. Hall unfurled a mystical, meandering introduction comprised of exotic musical threads. He fused hints of Spanish guitar with the slithering blues of Robby Krieger and a flash of Eddie Van Halen to form an odd, aural tapestry, radiant with extraordinary ambience.

From there the song hit the trail and rode hard, storming through its verses under constant threat of breaking apart. The Stringdusters gave the distinct impression they were on their way somewhere, and they weren’t taking long to get there. They squeezed through the proverbial “rabbit hole” and arrived in a musical “upside down.” Strange things started to occur. A futuristic soundscape unfolded with an eerie, alien whir. Garrett was first to explore, unearthing a mechanized, Frankenstein’s monster. His violin mimicked a crazed synthesizer in a prog-rock “Phantom of the Opera.” The Stringdusters’ celestial search for intelligent life eventually discovered there were other hillbillies in the universe. Pandolfi and Garrett finished the song with a rocket-fueled exchange that brought the mountain to the moon.  

The Stringdusters weren’t going to be satisfied until every mind at the McDonald was comprehensively blown, and the fifteen-minute “No More to Leave You Behind” whipped the crowd into a glazed, wide-eyed “Whoa!”  Even mature, Eugene hippies were shaking their experienced heads. The encore, “Colorado,” provided a pleasant send-off and a circular conclusion to the Dusters’ audacious musical display.

Throughout the evening, the Dusters combined hair-raising, instrumental prowess; engaging, original songs; intelligent, crowd-pleasing covers; and infectious, overflowing enthusiasm to produce an insanely entertaining performance. This group continues to ride an upwardly arcing trajectory, and after 2018’s Grammy award, they’ve shown no signs of slowing down. They continue to earn the admiration of both industry and audience with a never-ending string of increasingly mature recordings and earthshaking shows.

The Infamous Stringdusters move freely between and blend the best of different worlds. They exist in a surface realm of the sleek, Nashville recording industry, and on the road, in an otherworld of unrestrained imagination. The tension between these two unique constructs produces a crucible which tempers their creative energies with stirring effects. The group’s live performances provide an opportunity to experience this musical transfiguration firsthand. The Infamous Stringdusters consistently amaze and excite. Their western US tour continues through the end of February and their new album, “Rise Sun” drops on April 5.

Veteran midwestern rockers, Umphrey’s McGee returned to Eugene (Ore.) for the first time in five years and unleashed a torrent of heavy, metallic, guitar-driven jams on a packed, Friday night crowd at the McDonald Theater. Combining a taste for crunching, head-banging riffs with mind-melting prog-rock fusion, Umphrey’s are an intriguing musical complexity. Their two thick sets at the McDonald shook the skulls of the hyped, responsive audience and delivered a dizzying array of intense, heady sounds.

Umphrey’s concerts, and even their individual songs are like guided tours of their impressive record collections. UM’s alchemy occurs in the strange mash-ups of styles their imaginative improvisations produce. Fierce, cerebral rock reminiscent of Yes, King Crimson or Frank Zappa mingles with sweaty, British Steel like Motorhead, Iron Maiden or Judas Priest. Extraordinary fusion guitar jams akin to Jeff Beck or John McLaughlin shift suddenly into flashy, Van Halen-styled arena rock. Elements of noise, techno, free jazz, funk, classical and dub are also all apparent in Umphrey’s striking eclecticism. UM’s performance at the McDonald rendered a virtuosic sample of their blistering rock pastiche.

The show’s first song, “It Doesn’t Matter,” quickly established a crispy, Friday night, party vibe. Bass-player, Ryan Stasik fingered a tight, rump-shaking groove and the house bounced to life. Keyboardist, Joel Cummins furnished cosmic atmospherics. Drummer, Kris Myers drove a ferocious beat, and his partner, percussionist, Andy Farag rode shotgun, side-kicking like the Sundance Kid. The immediate impact of Umphrey’s dynamic ensemble play made a powerful impression.

Above all else however, Umphrey’s stop in Eugene forcefully celebrated the electric guitar. Brendan Bayliss and Jake Cinninger have, after nearly 20 years playing together, developed the intuitive, interlocking relationship that characterizes all the best twin-guitar attacks. They answer each other’s questions and finish each other’s sentences, combining in their finest moments to create a compelling compound expression. Both are capable artists, but time and time again at the McDonald, Cinninger burst to the forefront and emptied his bottomless bag of spectacular guitar licks.

On “It Doesn’t Matter,” Cinninger stepped on his wah-wah pedal and plucked the juicy, vaguely Japanese-sounding theme. The group produced a few bars of intense Montreux Jazz Fest fusion, then Cinninger unfolded a sequence of variations that combined equal parts muscular thrust and music theory. He appeared energized and inspired, alternating between chunky, funky, rhythmic scrubs and fret-dancing, high-altitude ascents.  

The entire unit crackled and sparked as they shifted into a section of eye-widening improvisation. The song snarled with fist-pumping, head-banging menace. A recurring feature of Umphrey’s sound, their songs often threatened to explode into full-blown metal assaults. Just as the adrenaline-fueled transformation was about to break loose, the group pulled out and returned to the song’s infectious hook. “It Doesn’t Matter” immediately gripped the crowd’s attention and squeezed.

“Divisions” offered a comprehensive, eighteen-minute sample of UM’s complex, sometimes baffling song structures. “Divisions” initially hit like pleasant, if lyrically intense, indie rock. Bayliss’ vocals resembled Ed Crawford’s from fiREHOSE, the 80’s college rock band that grew from the remains of the legendary Minutemen. The song glistened with a soft-focused nostalgia for beer-can cluttered, poster-smeared apartments blasting poignant, adolescent yearning from taste-making hipsters’ record crates.

But, Umphrey’s changed colors quicker than a chameleon in a kaleidoscope. After two minutes, the drummers signaled a shift. A pulsating rhythmic pattern emerged. The band circled, Cinninger took hold, and by the three-minute mark, “Divisions” sounded like “Grand Illusion”-era Styx. Umphrey’s then elevated the arena-rock atmosphere further with a gigantic two-headed, eight-limbed drum segment from Myers and Farag. The chomping metal beast loomed again momentarily before Bayliss returned with more verses, and we were back on campus, slouching stylishly on a secondhand couch.

The song reached a sneering, slacker climax, which could have been the end, but Cinninger and Bayliss instead produced a captivating exhibition of their duel-guitar dexterity. Gliding weightlessly, the pair chased each other over a series of steep, screaming peaks until Cinninger eventually found a bright, blue, breaking dawn tone, and the group slid delicately into the song’s stirring refrain, with Bayliss affirming, “Soul embrace/we’re all the same.”

“Divisions” was a stunning musical statement, but the song seemed to lose itself amid furious experimentation. The tune’s central emotional component became diluted by its disjointed structure. The expansive middle sections of “Divisions,” while instrumentally impressive, sounded unnaturally attached rather than organically conceived.

One of the highlights of the show, and another vivid example of Umphrey’s mad scientist technique was the genre-blending “Number 5>Domino Theory>Number 5” combination. The track surfaced with an icy/hot, acid jazz feel, as Stasik stated the strolling theme. Cinninger twisted a haunting, twangy figure and sent slinky, springy notes wobbling through the air. It was a high-grade, laid back buzz before the unsettling motorcycle gang appeared to forebodingly bark at the moon. At times, Umphrey’s jarring metal injections produced a GWAR-like parody effect. It was hard to know if they were donning the leathers seriously, or with their tongues pressed firmly in their cheeks. “Number 5” was a sensational, though slightly disconcerting amalgamation, alternating dark shades of Deep Purple with the mystical chill of Thievery Corporation.

In a surprising, though agreeable turn, Farag emerged through the revolving door with his congas, and jettisoned the band into another fascinating, improvisational space. Cinninger, of all things, peeled off Chuck Berry’s signature “Johnny B. Goode” lick, a puzzling choice, even for the expansive musical montage of Umphrey’s McGee. Was JC implying there wasn’t a note in the book he hadn’t mastered? Was he casting himself as Berry’s mythical guitar slinger? Or, was he referencing Marty McFly, who in “Back to the Future” suggested his parents’ generation “might not be ready” for his own shredding, Hendrix-inspired version of Berry’s iconic tune? A humorous nod to the latter perhaps, because Umphrey’s maniacal mutations were blowing people’s minds.

A throbbing, grungy rocker, “Domino Theory” detonated over the surging patrons, and for a brief instant threatened to ignite a mosh pit, though glassy-eyed wisdom prevailed. Umphrey’s McGee stomped and spit indignance like Bad Religion or Rage Against the Machine, “If I roll up my sleeves/you should just stand back/stand back.” But, they left the onslaught unfinished, rapidly cartwheeling into an otherworldly, effects-dripping exploration. UM sculpted shapes and contours of a science-fiction novel. The guitarists engaged and initiated the crystal cyan glow of a spacecraft’s thrusters. Slashes of pinched, phased chords reverberated mystically, then gleaming alien figures wriggled and probed. Cinninger ultimately launched a frenzy of piercing notes that caused skulls to ooze molten awe. In the next instant, Umphrey’s boomeranged back into the seething tempest of “Number 5.”

Intense, transcendent prog-rock wrapped in the dark, studded cloak of death metal, this jaw-dropping song sequence characterized Umphrey’s jolting, high-octane concoction. The reprise of “Number 5” featured fantastic keyboard accompaniment from the nimble Cummins, who deftly alternated between zany, swirling synth sounds and ghostly, luminescent passages of piano. The song shattered and reformed, and when it finally stopped, it left smoking craters, vaporized heads billowing fumes of disbelief.

A rare “Ride on Pony” provided a welcome change of pace late in the first set. A swaying power ballad in a glittery, classic rock style similar to Mott the Hoople, “Ride on Pony” was refreshing for its uncomplicated structure as much as its breath-catching tempo.

UM ended the mammoth first set with another ten-plus-minute think piece. “Mulche’s Odyssey” melded Umphrey’s metal circus with the frenetic, oddball energy of Phish. The group again stretched in a shape-shifting jam. Cinninger and Bayliss conjured a furious squall. UM’s hard-hitting, Iron/Crimson creature shook loose and shrieked. The pulsating, white-hot climax swiftly swerved into the dreamy, warm body flow of a celestial, ganja-infused dub. Umphrey’s remarkable ensemble play was frequently amplified by relatively shred-less sections of simply “feel good” grooves. Cinninger (and Bayliss) still played amazingly in these spots, but the reduced amplitude and bite opened spaces the entire combo could skillfully explore. The band flipped back to their churning, metallic power-stance, and fired off a searing, cranial strike.

Giggling, somewhat woozy fans stumbled into the lobby, bar, and street at set-break, mumbling things like “next level” while contemplating the overwhelming prospect of what might possibly follow. UM’s second helping provided its fair share of fireworks, but a discernable pattern emerged. Umphrey’s continued to expertly, at times brilliantly, recapitulate their primary conceit throughout the remainder of the show. They put fans in a spin cycle and alternated wildly through a connoisseur’s collection of classic guitar sounds, from ballsy to erudite.

“Der Bluten Kat” introduced a kicking rock riff with an exultant, call-and-response vocal. Like earlier offerings, “Der Bluten Kat” intermittently flashed audacious, steel-tipped claws. The absorbing jam replicated a variation of UM’s fantastic, intergalactic, machine-head soundscape. This extraterrestrial, musical alloy shaped many of Umphrey’s most exceptional and imaginative moments.

An astonishing cover of Prince’s “I Wanna Be Your Lover” highlighted the band’s instrumental prowess and flexibility. Bayliss managed an impressive impersonation of the Purple One’s falsetto, and Cummins’ sexy keyboard thrusts recreated the swinging, 80’s bounce of the Revolution.

“Syncopated Strangers>North Route>Syncopated Strangers” repeated the now familiar carrousel ride of alternating musical styles. Hints of Herbie Hancock, Rainbow, Hawkwind and Return to Forever whirled keenly. A cyclone of engaging sounds, from funky to Phishy, sinister to sublime, flooded the theater and liquified Umphrey’s ecstatic fans. “Hajimemashite” moved majestically, avoiding sudden jerks or spasms, and presented an uplifting, empowering embrace. The fifteen-minute, set-closing version of “The Silent Type” shifted from swaggering, spirited rock to a sailing, interstellar joyride and back again for a final shimmering transfiguration.

Umphrey’s core idea of a heavy, 21st-century progressive-rock band is an intriguing proposition. Their variety of stylistic influences, when properly integrated, molded a fierce, futuristic synthesis of beast and brain. UM rarely sustained these imaginative structures even for the length of a single song, however, preferring to veer between divergent impulses rather than bringing the inspired hybrid to complete maturity. The unsteady architecture of Umphrey’s songs confounded as much as excited or inspired.

“Shifting gears,” as it were, is standard procedure for the jam-band genre. Moving fancifully from point A to point B is a trademark exercise, but Umphrey’s transitions exhibited symptoms of ADD at times, instantly discarding one idea for another rather than gradually unwinding a harmonious progression.

UM’s most enthralling moments undoubtedly occurred during their lengthy improvisational jams. Clearly defined, successful pieces of stylistic fusion dazzled. Suggestions of second-gen Joe Satriani crossed with alien Zappa juice slid from Cinninger’s fingertips. No matter how distinctive or diverse the path however, every improvisation reached a similar arena-sized, ceiling shattering crescendo. It’s hard to fault a band for rocking too hard, but Umphrey’s repeated ALL CAPS exclamations initiated a law of diminishing returns.

In Eugene, Umphrey’s functioned predominantly as a platform for Cinninger’s high-flying exploits. He produced scalding flourishes and was the most animated performer in the band. He favored flashy demonstrations of technique over expressive touches of emotion, though he appeared capable of everything. The flow of his ideas occasionally progressed like a strobing sequence of musical snapshots. I preferred Cinninger’s space-jazz, prog-fusion blend to his persistent interjections of leopard-print Van/Malmsteen. I marveled at Cinninger’s obvious mastery of his instrument, but his approach evoked a collection of scintillating sounds more than a focused, distinctively characteristic voice. The same might be said for the group as a whole.

There is an intellectual, post-modern quality to UM’s method of cutting together sound bites from sources both strange and familiar. There’s something avant-garde in their abstract formalism. Umphrey’s exceptional musicianship asserts a divinity of design over emotional expressionism, but their ideal shape is elusive. UM are most potent when they are the masters of their influences, rather than the other way around. Umphrey’s bold, combustible mixture kicks harder than their hyperactive collage.

An unusual entity on a jam-band circuit that largely champions psychedelic, folk and blues-infused rock, Umphrey’s McGee are supported by a strong contingent of loyal fans. The Eugene faithful emerged from this rare Oregon appearance suitably entertained. UM’s unrelenting, hard-rocking intensity went “to eleven,” and stayed there the entire show. Umphrey’s high-energy, experimental soundscapes scorched psyches and left lingering, thought-provoking impressions.

There are occasions when you can just smell a good time coming, and a Friday night performance by Joe Russo’s Almost Dead at Eugene’s (Ore.) cozy, Cuthbert Amphitheater had the unmistakable aroma of “you don’t want to miss this.” Oregon unfurled a sparkling, early summer evening at the beautiful riverside venue, and JRAD subsequently accommodated with two scintillating sets.

The afterlife of the Grateful Dead has become nearly as long and strange as the original trip. It’s been twenty-four years since Jerry Garcia passed away, and there’s still no shortage of Heads shuffling down the “golden road to unlimited devotion.” Even post-mortem, the Dead evokes a powerful combination of spirituality, creativity, and capitalism. Their imaginative depiction of the archetypal, beatnik fantasy, a swashbuckling troupe of thrill-seekers chasing the next euphoric “wow,” has proven every bit as lucrative and influential as their amazing songs. People still line up to get “on the bus,” and clusters of touring musicians have spawned in the Dead’s prodigious wake. “Jam bands” have emerged with their own recipes for the Dead’s intoxicating blend of music, magic, and mayhem. One of the most popular and interesting of these groups, Joe Russo’s Almost Dead renders sophisticated, high-end interpretations of GD songs, typically emphasizing the cerebral, jazz-leaning facets of their originators.

JRAD eased onto the sun-soaked, Cuthbert stage and admired the warm, pleasant atmosphere. They began gently searching for something to compliment the sublime setting before “Althea” oozed out suggestively and enveloped the blissful scene. A popular, spark-spraying show-starter, “Althea” goosed the laid back, left-coast crowd into approving hoots and hollers. Guitarist/vocalist, Tom Hamilton took the first turn on the throttle and emphasized “Althea’s” enticing, head-turning figure. Keyboard player, Marco Benevento offered intriguing asides and embellishments. The band never strayed far from the original’s blueprint, but JRAD’s energy rippled with fresh juice.

Benevento produced an adventurous transition that spilled sideways into “Truckin’,” and the combo began to assert itself as something more than a “cover band.” JRAD did something like a duet with the Dead. They harmonized with the source material and provided all sorts of counterpoints, accents, and alternative improvisational ideas.

Benevento’s organ, sounding like a savage combination of Booker T. Jones and Jimmy Smith, shaped the shuffle into a smoldering jazz joint. Swinging harder than Hank Aaron, drummer Joe Russo danced on his cymbals, and bassist, Dave Dreiwitz strolled in heavy like a jazz/punk thunder god. The song snapped back briefly with more verses, then became completely untethered and drifted weightlessly through a deep space. The group’s other guitarist/vocalist, Scott Metzger emerged with his compadre Hamilton, and they ripped through a thrilling interpretation of the song’s hair-raising end. It was as if they were playing inside, outside and alongside the Dead’s “Truckin’.” They took the song for a long ride, and the captivated Cuthbert crowd right with it.

“Cassidy” whooshed out crisp and cool like the Willamette River, permeating the idyllic scene. There was a detectable snap, crackle, and pop to JRAD’s sound, largely emanating from their formidable rhythm section. Russo and Dreiwitz were strikingly vibrant in Eugene, lending a freshness to the Dead’s material and powering the coursing energy of the show.

Metzger, Dreiwitz and Russo became knotted in a fantastic, frenetic sequence that teased the impending “Tennessee Jed.” An inspired Metzger, goaded by Dreiwitz, wrangled a delirious dog-pile of bent variations before eventually unwinding a few bars of the Rolling Stones’ classic, “Paint it Black.” The song continued to slide cosmically, and JRAD gently unreeled “Jed,” similar to the way the Dead used to roll out the “The Wheel.” It seemed to gather and materialize magically out of loosely drifting particles in space.

“Tennessee Jed” was a raucous riot, as it indubitably should be. The instrumental breaks showcased JRAD’s proclivity for shaking fresh ideas out of well-worn material. Benevento dropped a stanky, Dr. John crossed with Dave Brubeck piano piece. Metzger and Dreiwitz slipped into a parallel, Bizarro “Jed.” The entire unit tilted and started to spin ecstatically. It was like putting a Ferris wheel on top of a roller coaster. JRAD increasingly infused the Dead’s material with their own creative energy. They weren’t out to simply play these cherished songs; they sought to possess them and make them their own.

The first set flowed deep, but not all that wide. With just four songs, spanning nearly 75 minutes, JRAD released and swiftly returned the genie to the bottle. “Cassidy>Tennessee Jed” completed the healthy appetizer course with a tasty flourish and gave the hungry patrons something to chew on between sets.

While the opening set was a satisfying introduction to JRAD’s distinctive talents, the second helping was a more comprehensive feast. The songs became catalysts for JRAD’s own creative expressions. They developed a conversation with the Dead’s music that enabled thrilling, new determinations. They presented the source material and simultaneously provided their own bonus commentary.

“King Solomon’s Marbles” elicited a justified, “Whoo!” from excited fans and immediately ratcheted the intensity up several notches. The song originates from one of the more experimental and jazzy periods in the Grateful Dead’s history. It was a perfect match for JRAD’s east-coast combination of sophistication and street. “King Solomon’s Marbles” instantly initiated the badass afterburners and the band, the venue, the glistening faces, the entire visceral scene heightened and swelled.

Each time I see Joe Russo’s Almost Dead, I decide a different member is the MVP of the band, most times rotating through all five at a single show. I usually start, and many times finish, with either Dreiwitz or Benevento. Both were outstanding on “King Solomon’s Marbles,” and the balance of the second set. Dreiwitz is some sort of impish, Tasmanian Devil of bass bombs. The man’s ten fingers are each nimble enough to warrant their own license to kill. In Eugene, Dreiwitz was a persistently provocative presence. He held down the bottom and percolated to the surface of every song. His playing paired a swaggering, grungy punk ethos with scorching, jazz-dripping chops. On “Marbles,” Dreiwitz and Benevento produced a thick musical smoke that penetrated the crowd and fumed expressive atmosphere.

JRAD’s “Here Comes Sunshine” characterized the group’s unique interpretation of the Dead’s music and illustrated their own remarkable creative prowess. Hamilton and Benevento crafted a delicate, music-box introduction that cleverly deconstructed the signature theme of the original song. JRAD delivered a ripe, luscious bite of the song’s primary essence before vigorously reshaping it to suit their own mischievous whims. The Homeric jam encompassed volumes of interesting tastes and teases. Bubbly, kaleidoscopic wah-wah tones wobbled through the pristine evening air. All five members embarked on a furious, transcendent climb. The flammable, full-flight combo reverse segued an “I Know You Rider>China Cat Sunflower” transition. The pulsating force of a near “Rider” cascaded into an insane slice of “China Cat,” and then somersaulted into a throbbing flirtation with “They Love Each Other.” Dreiwitz dominated this exceptional highlight of the show. His playful musical energy continued to command attention. Benevento and Russo dropped a galactic funk break, again invoking Booker T. Jones, this time with an added touch of Herbie Hancock. Metzger appeared eager throughout to board any outgoing vessel, and he departed on a gripping, exclamatory jag.

“Sunshine” reappeared and brightly curtsied before dipping out of sight as JRAD moved with the Earth toward star sprinkled nightfall. Benevento and Dreiwitz explored the celestial setting. Metzger began opening doors to other dimensions. Dreiwitz rumbled insistently and Russo dug in as the group shape-shifted into an electrifying “Help on the Way.”

The show reached its climactic apex with JRAD’s enthralling “Help>Slipknot>Feel Like a Stranger>Slipknot>Franklin’s Tower” sequence. The fierce, combustible “Help on the Way” threatened to burst into flames. Dreiwitz leaned on the serious groove and made it his son. Benevento fingered mesmerizing, Chick Corea-like patterns on his electric piano. The guitarists peaked and chimed.

The first “Slipknot” teetered along a precipitous ledge, barely maintaining cohesion, then Metzger furiously scrubbed his way into “Feels Like a Stranger.” SM’s throaty vocal delivery furnished added heat. The group amazingly played “Stranger” and “Help” simultaneously. Things were collectively sliding like an avalanche toward an explosive rock-and-roll finish.  

After “Stranger,” JRAD went back to “Slipknot” and reemerged with a shimmering, resplendent “Franklin’s Tower.” The generous, triple-dip “Slipknot” swirl just about finished the wowed crowd, and a gratuitous “Good Lovin’” did the trick. It was a breathtaking conclusion to a sensational set of music.

Joe Russo’s Almost Dead checked all the requisite boxes for “jam band” nirvana, and they offered fascinating, at times even ironic, readings from the beloved GD songbook. JRAD’s extraordinary creativity appeared in the friction they developed between themselves and the powerful, residual essence of the Dead. They invoked the ghost and engaged it, playfully. They may be Almost Dead, but in Eugene, JRAD provided a lively kick of their own.

Check out more photos from the show.