Wed, 05/04/2005 - 1:34 pm

Well folks, looks like the latest fad amongst the erstwhile right wing in our fair country is to identify yourself as a "South Park Conservative."  Brian Anderson of the think tank, the Manhattan Institute, has published a book called "South Park Conservatives: The Revolt Against Liberal Media Bias" which has the normally buttoned-down conservatives coming out of the closet to rejoice in potty-mouthed irreligious humor that supposedly targets the Liberal Elite in its weekly broadcast.  Am I crazy or are these people just making another target out of themselves.  South Park creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone have always gone out of their way to skewer the self-serious and people like Michael Moore, Barbara Streisand and Alec Baldwin aren't exactly moving targets, but to suggest that the show has a conservative, or at least an anti-liberal bent is ludicrous.

Recently, Joe Scarborough, one of the usually more sensible and least vitriolic of the conservative talking heads on television, aired an interview with the author of the book, including some clips from the show to emphasize the point - which they have obviously completely missed:

SCARBOROUGH:  And actually making—you talk about environmentalism - actually making those people that were tearing down rain forests in South America the heroes of an episode.

ANDERSON:  That's right.

SCARBOROUGH:  Let's show another clip from "South Park."

UNIDENTIFIED ACTOR:  You white Americans make me sick.  You waste food, oil, and everything else because you're so rich, and then you tell the rest of the world to save the rain forest because you like its pretty flowers.

UNIDENTIFIED ACTOR:  We're here live in San Jose, Costa Rica, where hundreds of Americans have gathered for the Save the Rain Forest Summit.  Everyone is here so they can feel good about themselves and act like they aren't the ones responsible for the rain forest's peril.

In two lines of the show, Parker and Stone have gone after white Americans, wasteful consumption, rampant materialism and environmentalism.  Hey Conservatives, did you laugh at this?  How about you Liberals?  Of course you did, because it is funny and true.

It's embarrassing to hear right-minded individuals taking this for an attack on environmentalism and an endorsement of conservative values - to do so is to practically admit to being fat, greedy, wasteful and willing to let the world go to hell in a hand basket, everyone else be damned.

When Parker and Stone hold their mirror up to America, this is exactly what they see and what they are reflecting back to you.  Time and time again their message has been focused against the hypocrisy of the self-righteous in this country.  And that is neither Liberal nor Conservative.

If Vegas only took odds on the content of upcoming South Park episodes.  "South Park Conservatives" come to South Park and I can't wait to see what happens.

Complete Transcript from Scarborough Country Interview with Brian Anderson aired April 25th 2005

http://msnbc.msn.com/id/7640364/

Now, coming up next, the cartoon "South Park" is often childish, irreverent and obscene.  But conservative?  You know what?  Stick around.  You're going to be surprised by what you hear right after this break.

(COMMERCIAL BREAK)

(BEGIN VIDEO CLIP, "SOUTH PARK")

UNIDENTIFIED ACTRESS:  Hello there, little boy.  Do you know who I am?

UNIDENTIFIED ACTOR:  No.

UNIDENTIFIED ACTRESS:  I bet you do.

(singing):  I'm going where there's lucky clovers in the...

UNIDENTIFIED ACTOR:  Stop that.

UNIDENTIFIED ACTOR:  Yes, that sucks, dude.

UNIDENTIFIED ACTRESS:  I'm Barbra Streisand.

UNIDENTIFIED ACTOR:  So?

UNIDENTIFIED ACTOR:  So?  So, I'm a very famous and very important individual.

(END VIDEO CLIP)

SCARBOROUGH:  A popular TV show skewering a liberal celebrity.  You know what?  That may have been unheard of 10 years ago.  But now, thanks to cable news, talk radio, blogs, this type of humor has blossomed onto cable.  The elite media regime has started to crack, some say.  And others say it's a watershed moment in American politics and culture.

That is at least what Brian Anderson, who is editor at "Manhattan Institute City Journal," has to say in his new book, "South Park Conservatives: The Revolt Against Liberal Media Bias."

I spoke with him recently and began by asking him, what is a "South Park" conservative?

BRIAN ANDERSON, AUTHOR, "SOUTH PARK CONSERVATIVES":  Well, the way I use the term—and it's been floating around out in the culture for a while—is somebody who looks around at today's left, who might not be a traditional conservative, but who looks at the political correctness, the anti-Americanism, the elitism, and says that's not me; I want nothing to do with that.

And I find a lot of evidence for this on college campuses in the book

and also in this new kind of comedy, which is represented most powerfully

by "South Park" itself.

SCARBOROUGH:  Now, a lot of conservatives would be shocked that you talk about "South Park" being a conservative show.  I didn't watch it for a couple of years.  A friend told me, you've got to watch this episode and showed me an episode.  And I have not yet seen anything on television that goes after the left the way "South Park" does.

Now, political correctness, of course—well, I'll tell you what.  Why don't we just show a clip of "South Park" to help define what "South Park" conservatives are.

UNIDENTIFIED ACTRESS:  Kids, this is the Costa Rican Capitol Building.

This is where all the leaders of the Costa Rican government make their...

UNIDENTIFIED ACTOR:  Oh, my God, it smells out here.

UNIDENTIFIED ACTRESS:  All right, that does it.  Eric Cartman, you respect other cultures this instant.

UNIDENTIFIED ACTRESS:  I wasn't saying anything about their culture.

I was just saying their city smells like ass.

UNIDENTIFIED ACTRESS:  Wow.  Staying in a place like this really makes you appreciate living in America, huh.

UNIDENTIFIED ACTRESS:  You may think that making fun of Third World countries is funny, but let me...

UNIDENTIFIED ACTOR:  I don't think it's funny.  This place is overcrowded, smelly and poor.  That's not funny.  That sucks.

SCARBOROUGH:  That's the sort of thing you never see on mainstream media.  They go after Barbra Streisand.  In their latest movie, "Team America," they actually assassinate every liberal in Hollywood.

ANDERSON:  Yes.  In Hollywood, basically.

SCARBOROUGH:  Yes, so...

ANDERSON:  In horrible ways.

SCARBOROUGH:  So, what's going on with this subversive new humor?

ANDERSON:  Well, first of all, when you think about the history of humor, the last 30 years, it's been mostly directed at conservatives and—you know, at least when it's been topical humor.

You think of Norman Lear and "All in the Family" and "Maude."  And, even today, "Will & Grace" or "Whoopi," which was canceled a few years ago, these—topic humor is always to the left.  These guys saw an opportunity.  And cable made it possible.  This is the kind of show that would have never, never been broadcast on network television.

SCARBOROUGH:  You know, what's so interesting is, I—when "The New York Times" ran a front-page story a year ago, they were actually talking about how this was a liberal show.  It was anti-God.  It was anti-religion, and the conservatives were angry.  You know, I just—I can't figure out how they got it so wrong.

ANDERSON:  Well, I mean, on occasion, they do go after the right.

They did a kind of merciless mocking of Mel Gibson.

And, you know, they're not equal-opportunity offenders, however.  If you really look at episode after episode, they go after multiculturalism, radical environmentalism, hate crime legislation, even abortion rights.

SCARBOROUGH:  Yes.

ANDERSON:  And when was the last time you saw anything in popular culture satirize something like that?

SCARBOROUGH:  And actually making—you talk about environmentalism -

·         actually making those people that were tearing down rain forests in South America the heroes of an episode.

ANDERSON:  That's right.

SCARBOROUGH:  Let's show another clip from "South Park."

UNIDENTIFIED ACTOR:  You white Americans make me sick.  You waste food, oil, and everything else because you're so rich, and then you tell the rest of the world to save the rain forest because you like its pretty flowers.

UNIDENTIFIED ACTOR:  We're here live in San Jose, Costa Rica, where hundreds of Americans have gathered for the Save the Rain Forest Summit.  Everyone is here so they can feel good about themselves and act like they aren't the ones responsible for the rain forest's peril.

ANDERSON:  It's Comedy Central's most successful program.

And its demographic cuts pretty young.  And, as I explain in this book, "South Park Conservatives," there's a lot of this kind of activity going on, on campuses, too.

SCARBOROUGH:  Talk about that.

ANDERSON:  Well, Harvard's Institute of Politics did a study about a year and a half ago that found that students were actually to the right of the general population in most of their views.

SCARBOROUGH:  So, what happens is, they go to class all day.  They listen to professors.

ANDERSON:  They listen to...

(CROSSTALK)

SCARBOROUGH:  ... that all have the same opinion, same political correct viewpoint.  They get tired of it.  They go home at night.

ANDERSON:  Well, think about it.

SCARBOROUGH:  And they become "South Park" conservatives.

ANDERSON:  Yes.  Well, there's a gun club at Harvard now.  And that's pretty strange when you think about it.

SCARBOROUGH:  It's very strange.

Well, thanks.  The book is "South Park Conservatives."  Thanks a lot for being with us tonight.  We greatly appreciate it.

ANDERSON:  Thanks a lot, Joe.  I really appreciate it.  Thanks for having me on.

Mon, 05/23/2005 - 6:54 pm

A couple of weeks ago Mike asked me to go to the Phix show at the Fox and write a review; I'm not going to write a review of a cover band, I told him. You'll wind up with ridiculous lines like "Paul was really channeling Trey on that cover of Moma Dance" or "their version of Punch You in the Eye almost made me feel like it really was Phish." Over the last several days he kept bugging me in his inimitable Yahoo! Messenger style "you going tcasson?", "you there tcasson?", "where are you?" and finally, after my committed response of "please standby...", with "you're on the list."

So I had no choice.  Therefore, whatever you read in this article about the band, the show, or the Grateful Web, in the interest of full disclosure, I was a guest of Phix and the Grateful Web, at the Phix show Saturday 5/21/2005 at the Fox Theatre in Boulder, CO, a benefit for the Mockingbird Foundation.  I have also seen Phix several times previously and in each case I remember passing a pleasant evening listening to well-remembered tunes without any of the emotional investment that comes from the excitement of seeing the band in person.

Unlike the typical experience of waking up the day of a big show with that splendid jitteriness that heightens your sense of expectation that the day ahead holds magical and serendipitous promise, I woke up reeling from the effects of my previous night's foray to the Motion for Alliance event at Trilogy (Motion for Alliance is a band that you really need to see for yourselves, more on that another time) and in a not so splendid haze that could only be remedied by the classic Spring afternoon Boulder tradition of drinking at a patio bar, in this case, Rhumba, a Cuban themed cafe with a wonderful indoor-outdoor stone bar, replete with (artificially) fading stucco and those sliding metal garage door style windows that open up the whole thing.  Rhumba, among other things is known for its Mojitos, and it was for these that I took a seat on the outside half of the bar, greeted the bartender, J., who had just opened up for the day and was already prepping rows of pint glasses with ice, sugar, limes and fresh mint leaves for the coming lunch rush, and started into one of the ice-cold delicious drinks.  Like any great alcoholic concoction, the Mojito is more art than science, more touch than skill, more intuition than knowledge.  A good friend of mine who coincidentally shares the name J. with the bartender at Rhumba has mastered the art of the Mojito that can not be approached by anyone.  Nevertheless, his professional namesake puts out one only slightly less perfect and given the location of the bar, slightly more satisfying on a nice, warm Saturday afternoon.

I don't want to be one of those people who plops down on a barstool, orders a drink and immediately buries their nose in a book, but I had just picked up a copy of "Freakonomics" from the book store down the street and couldn't resist flipping through a few pages.  Seems like half the staff kept walking up and asking about the book.  They'd heard about it somewhere or read a bit of it and wanted to know what I thought.  The gist of it is that an award-winning economist from the University of Chicago spends his time researching statistical oddities in the world such as the corporate structure of a crack gang or the dangers of swimming pools versus handguns and comes up with some interesting conclusions that differ greatly from the conventional wisdom in these cases.  Good stuff and fodder for a separate discussion but after three Mojitos and some excellent Caribbean-style mussels, I was ready to put down the book for some other scenery.

Instead, I ended up taking some downtime at the homestead.  Unfortunately, I still wasn't getting that Phishy sensation that used to occur in the hours before a show (I suppose that I also used to get a Deady or Panicky sensation back in the day, as well...), so I mixed up a musical cocktail of some freshly purchased CDs.  Some of my friends can't believe that I still buy CDs when all of the music is so readily available, either burned from a friend or downloaded in some manner, and truthfully, when someone hands me a copy of a CD that they have just made, I really appreciate it, but nothing replaces the feeling of tearing open shrink wrap, of reading the liner notes and checking out the artwork, the same feeling that vinyl aficionados complained about disappearing in the age of the CD, and which I complain about disappearing in the age of the digital download.  I had picked some good stuff from Bart's (their used bin is always full of treasures) and put on a mix of Captain Beefheart, Donna the Buffalo, and Dr. Dog, a college buddy's brother's band from Philly, who I saw recently at the Larimer Lounge and are worthy of a far longer mention than the one in this single run-on sentence.  A sunny afternoon of good tunes later it was time to head out in search of some dinner and drinks prior to the concert.

This evening was to be a solo mission.  Most of my friends who would have been into an evening of Phish tunes were either out of town or had other plans.  No problem.  The day seemed to be taking shape, anyway, as an opportunity to follow no particular path, to just walk out the door and to see what happens, which happened next to be running into a friend who was out on the town with some of her out-of-town friends, and planning on attending night two of the Motion for Alliance festivities.  So I stopped and foregoing any thoughts of dinner, temporarily, joined them for some drinks at the Catacombs, the classic dungeony dive in the basement of the Boulderado, and the polar opposite of the afternoon's venue.  The Catacombs, is, of course, through some interesting legal loopholes, one of the few remaining places in Boulder where you can sit in a bar and smoke until your lungs turn black.  So I availed myself of a few pints of that most classic smoky bar beverage, Guinness, and some well-placed lung darts to boot.  Begging my leave from the group, that I had been placed on the guest list at the for Phix at the Fox by a very prominent web-based music site, and that I must head on to the show, even though I would love to return to the scene of the previous evening's debauchery, I began walking up to University Hill.

By now, I had both missed dinner and the opening band, Willis, who I'm absolutely certain were outstanding and as for dinner, the best gyros in town is right across the street from the Fox at the University Hill Market.  I made a note to make sure I stopped in there at some point but first I needed to get inside, procure myself another beverage and make sure that I didn't miss any of the show.  Upon walking in, I saw one of my favorite bartenders in Boulder, the lovely and amazing R., who I used to work with many years previously, and was terribly smitten with at the time.  After chatting for bit, she got me a Stoli and Soda with a squeeze of lemon and I wandered off to find a good spot to watch the show.  One note on vodka sodas.  Long ago, I switched from vodka tonics to vodka sodas.  They are much cleaner tasting, without the acrid sweetness of the tonic, and I can generally put back at least a half dozen without experiencing any diminished capacity.  I also refuse to buy into any of the snooty new Vodka brands.  I mean with the vodka of choice of the greatest nation of alcoholics in the world, how could one go wrong.

After a couple circuits of the bar to see if I spotted any familiar faces, I settled into a conspicuous corner of the back left bar where I could survey the whole room and had a clear view of the band.  One of the most wonderful things about the internet is the instant availability of information that previously might have taken weeks to disseminate.  I remember going to Dead Shows and immediately looking for a copy of Dupree's Diamond News which was one of the most reliable means to get an update on the bands recent shows.  Noting that in this information age, I was certain to be able to get a copy of the setlist on the Internet in the morning (of course this didn't happen), which I could reference instead of my memory in order to write this story, I proceeded to immediately forget the opening song, which was performed admirably by the members of Phix - Paul Murin, Derek Berg, Chris Sheldon and Brian Adams.

As the band segued into their second song, another very famous tune that Phish used to play all of time and performed with almost super-human dexterity by Phix, a co-worker of mine, J. (I know a lot of J's), wandered past holding a couple of Budweisers.  After determining that his viewing location was far better than mine, I joined him and his pals right up against the railing on the right side of the theatre overlooking the front of stage dancing area.  We talked a bit about how much we enjoyed Phix as compared to some other cover bands we had seen, notably a certain rough sounding band that toured for a couple of years playing covers of a recently returned from hiatus southern jam band that most of you are familiar with, the music scene in general and up and comers that we were familiar with.  I decided that the bottle of Bud was looking pretty tasty at this point over my now departed Stoli Soda, so I joined my colleague and ordered one, as Phix began their third song, a stellar rendition of a bouncy Phish song with some lyrics about a guy who did something.  A couple more Buds went down as did a few more songs and some idle chit-chat about past Phish experiences, upcoming summer concert plans and this goofy thing that happened at work.

Toward the end of the set, my phone began vibrating.  I picked up. Some old girlfriends of mine from college were out and about in Boulder and practically demanding that I join them for a drink later.  I promised that I would indeed meet them and returned to watching the show.  Phix was now embarked on a musical journey of incredible complexity in which they each seemed to be guided by a mysterious force manipulating their hands into playing their instruments with a subtle grace and majesty that had only been achieved by one other performing rock band to date, their very own inspiration, Phish. As the first set came to a close, I said farewell to my new friends and set off to meet these girls, who I knew would find some exquisite female means of torturing me if I didn't join them for drink, but that's another story.  All in all, it had been a most pleasant evening listening to some well-remembered tunes, without any of the emotional investment that comes from the excitement of seeing the band in person.

Sat, 06/25/2005 - 6:07 pm

Today thousands of Widespread Panic fans awoke still scratching their heads over last night's second set at Red Rocks Amphitheatre. Of course your hard-core Panic fan will analyze each set they play with both the precision of a Talmudic scholar, perfected in the mold of the Grateful Dead scholars that came before them, and the intense focus of a NASCAR mechanic, the perfect blend of rock and roll creation and down-home country-fuck. There was very little country-fuck in last night's second set, though, and a whole lot of southern prog rock-jazz fusion ripped straight out of the pages of one of the band's greatest influences, the Dixie Dregs, ultimately bringing to mind a sort of hillbilly Return to Forever. 

Playing a hefty selection of newer tunes especially from 2003's Ball, the band, under John Bell's leadership, seemed determine to showcase the frequently maligned George McConnell as if to say, "This is George, watch him play, he is one fucking good guitarist, and you damned well better learn to love him." J.B. was talking to George all night while the video monitors zoomed in on his fret hand for solo after solo. Perhaps its all about the music but jam bands and their fans have a certain politics of their own and it had been widely felt in the Widespread community that hiring George to replace the greatly lamented Mikey had been a huge mistake. Last night was one big "get over it" sent by the band.

Red Rocks was the site of Michael Houser's second to last show and has always been a second home for Panic and their fans. Panic's previous three night run at Red Rocks in 2003 after Mikey's death the year before had been very disappointing to most and word from the Spring Tour and the Bonnaroo shows had this Red Rocks stand as being redemption of sorts. Instead, the audience was treated to a somewhat muddy first set of standards highlighted by the always anthemic Chilly Water but with mundane stabs at Little Lilly, a good song which virtually nobody likes, and Weight of the World. Other high points were Holden Oversoul and Rebirtha but overall it was a very business-like and not terribly fluid performance.

The buzz in the crowd seemed to be that the second set would be soulful and dark, with one long jam punctuated by another. It was not to be, though. The song pacing was staccato with seemingly endless interludes showcasing George's fret board prowess and frankly it was underwhelming. The three song encore of crowd pleasers Goin' Out West, All Time Low and Henry Parsons Died ended the show strongly and did bring a measure of boogie-stomp back into the performance, energizing the crowd for today's show.

Thu, 07/28/2005 - 11:48 pm

Where else but at a Dark Star Orchestra show does the cryptical reciting and mind-changing on years and dates in the mid seventies occur with such frequency.

December.

Sometime in the summer.

February.

Each month is cause for consideration as some pattern of songs specific to a fall, a summer, a spring of a given year passes through memory.

Oakland.

Rochester.

Richmond.

A location where songs were played in a tricky order more than once.  A vaguely remembered setlist from a 20 year old cassette.

Dark Star is a phenomenally talented live band.  They have been telling us for years that they play each show as an evocation of the original - an exact as possible copy, mistakes and all - and I have no reason to doubt them.  Since I am not personally talented enough to remember the specifics of most of the shows that I have listened to, other than say the second set opening bass bombs of Cornell 77, the earthquake space of Providence 82, or the unearthly pause between the dying notes of the Playing reprise and Dark Star in Hampton 89, I must take DSO for their word in this regard and close my eyes and pretend that it is the Grateful Dead as they were at that moment in time.  It is indeed a fun game to play, but not half as fun as guessing the date and location of the show.  Yes, I am one of those irritating people who can't just listen and dance a hippie jig and enjoy the music.  I must have an ulterior motive for being there, and mine, like many others, is teasing the details of the original performance out of the copy.

The date - Wednesday, July 27, 2005.

The location - Cervantes Masterpiece Ballroom, Denver, Colorado.

The original - ?.

The first clue - two drum kits.

Two drummers of course means that the show took place either before Mickey Hart - very unlikely as DSO doesn't usually channel the formative years of the band - or after 1975 when Mickey rejoined the fold.  Hence, 1976 (or a rare 75 performance) to 1995.

The second clue - a second mic in the center of the stage.

For Donna ("the Donna").  Sure enough Lisa Mackey was there on stage dancing and harmonizing, dating the show prior to March of 1979.

From there on out the songs tell the story.  A rare Promised Land first set opener.  Loser-Jack Straw-Deal closes the first set.  Bertha>Good Lovin'- Stagger Lee opens the second set.  An encore of Johnny B. Goode.  It can only be, it must be...

...1978.

I think.

An odd California type of show.

Perhaps one of those in the days right before New Years.

Just for the hell of it I'll say 12-29-1978, Oakland, CA.

Johnny B. Goode is over.  Rob Eaton "The Bobby" steps to the mike, thanks everyone for coming out and announces that the show we heard tonight was originally performed on 11-21-1978 in Rochester, NY.

Oh well, next time.

Sun, 12/04/2005 - 8:19 pm

The year is 2005. Bob Weir and RatDog are playing the Fillmore Auditorium in Denver, Colorado.  I was born in 1969.  The Grateful Dead were four years old and gathering steam for their unexpected journey through time that would bring them 40 years into the future. They would become separate bands with separate energies, separate missions.  Yet the train keeps rolling, borne of its own momentum, the adoration for the songs of the Grateful Dead, the adoration for the members of the Grateful Dead, the sense of community that will not die, adding new members even as the old ones fade away.  The music, always the bedrock of the Grateful Dead, keeps broadcasting into the future, even as it grows and changes, a signal in the noise emanating from 1965, 1967, 1976, a history lesson of American culture from the increasingly tumultuous decades of our current era.

The Fillmore Auditorium in Denver is now the only other Fillmore theater.  In its original incarnation as the Mammoth Events Center, it hosted shows in the sixties that many say changed the character of the Colfax Avenue neighborhood into the seedy strip it is today.  Extending 26 miles from the foothills to the plains, Colfax Avenue is one of the longest streets in the country, with the Fillmore nestled almost at the center, near the state capitol.  With a mix of adult bookstores, dives, low rent motels and street corner hustlers scattered among the still renewing community, Colfax is the perfect real world evocation of Shakedown Street, which was first performed by the Grateful Dead on August 31, 1978 very close to the western end of Colfax Avenue, at Red Rocks Amphitheatre, and unsurprisingly opened RatDog's first ever appearance, Friday night at the venue.

As the crowd jumps to the familiar tune, now having opened 4 of the 15 shows performed at the Fillmore by either Phil Lesh or Bob Weir, Weir is onstage with RatDog and the band's most stable lineup since its inception - guitarist Mark Karan, bassist Robin Sylvester, keyboardist Jeff Chimenti, drummer Jay Lane and saxophonist Kenny Brooks - dressed in shorts and sandals despite the December chill, beard neatly trimmed, sporting a pair of distinguished looking specs, leaning into the microphone with that unmistakable pose and singing with that unmistakable voice that hasn't changed a bit since 1965.  With all that has happened over the last 40 years and all the critical and uncritical dissection of the Grateful Dead, it is most frequently Weir's crystal-clear voice that gets ignored.  While he is unmistakably a talented guitarist and musician, Weir's voice remains to this day his best and most evocative instrument.  After following Shakedown with a skillful but perfunctory performance of Minglewood, that leaves me thinking a little bit of the old Saturday Night Live band, Weir leaps into one of his most soulful covers, Dylan's She Belongs to Me, and is clearly in good form as one of the world's best Dylan interpreters.

The year is 2005.  The rules are changing.  The Grateful Dead blossomed into a full-blown world-wide phenomenon as a dedicated army of amateur producers began distributing recordings that they had made of the Grateful Dead's concerts, with the bands blessing, many even plugging directly into soundboard.  The cassettes changed hands via networks of fans connected by newsletter, by word of mouth.  Blanks were sent in bulk to complete strangers, who would take time to duplicate over and over and over again shows requested by complete strangers, only for reason of their love of the band and the community and their willingness to participate, to keep the fire burning.  The band grew up, the band's support staff grew up.  Marriage, kids, responsibility, family, illness, life and death.  When Jerry passed on, the great engine that powered the train was no more - the singularity of the Dead Show.  All that was left behind of these shows began to increase in preciousness. Beginning almost simultaneously, the growth of the internet completely changed the accessibility to the music being traded.

Chuck Morris, the well-known local music promoter, whose organization is now part of Clear Channel, is onstage introducing the band's long awaited first Fillmore appearance and announcing that CDs of the show will be available immediately after the concert.  There is a still a group of tapers gathered by the soundboard producing the audience tapes that many fans still prefer over the perfection of the digital soundboard recording, but modern technology and economics have created the market for the instant digital replay.  To the band whose job and passion is to create music night after night, a different performance each time, some better than others, the facts of this modern age must be both amazing and disturbing.  While the Grateful Dead invented the feedback loop between the audience and the band, now fans will yell and scream their names into the performance with the hope of being embedded in the recording for posterity, and not for any particular kind of emotional involvement other than bragging rights.  Still, the market exists, is fulfilled and mouths are fed.

After the Dylan cover, Weir steps into another Garcia classic, Row Jimmy.  In the highly opinionated Grateful Dead universe, some consider it sacrilegious for Weir to play Garcia tunes.  For some songs I tend to agree.  Row Jimmy is not one.  Never my favorite Dead tune, RatDog performs it as well as any band and I sense an energy, a seriousness of performance from Weir that I haven't seen for a while.  The rest of the first set is fairly bluesy.  Boots plays harmonica on Walking Blues and Boss Man, The band plays one of their own, Lucky Enough, and knocks out a Big Railroad Blues to close it down.

The year is 2005.  No one is certain about anything anymore.  An entire generation does not recognize life without the Internet.  Everything in life can be had online.  Many kids today may never buy a CD in a record store.  Perfect copies of any form of entertainment may be easily made available to friends and strangers.  And a perfect copy is always perfect no matter how many generations from the original have passed. As Bob's lyricist and old friend John Perry Barlow has argued, with the advent of the Internet not only is the genie out of the bottle, but the bottle has now ceased to exist.  Those dedicated tapers and tape traders now have the perfect distribution medium.  No more long sessions laboriously creating and mailing cassettes to complete strangers.  SASE is a dead "word", almost absent from the lexicon.  I can find just about any show I want in a myriad of versions, both audience and soundboard, from numerous websites and sharing mediums, most of which are administered by people with highly ethical ideals about the distribution of the Grateful Dead's music, always following the guidelines set forth by the band and refusing to share any material that overlaps with an official release.  Because of the ease of distribution, I have not added any new Dead shows to my collection in a few years because all of my hard drives are full and I have been lax about archiving to CD.

There are no more Dead shows.  All that is left are the countless copies of lovingly created archives, analog and digital, soundboard and microphone, released and unreleased.  To this date, the Grateful Dead have distributed more than 50 official releases of complete or partial shows from their archives.  Every time one of these shows is released, most operators of sharing networks or sites will remove from distribution soundboard versions of these shows, in deference to the wishes of the band.  There are no more Dead shows.  The fans have always owned the live music, which as an unintentional consequence created an entirely new marketing paradigm, which thousands of organizations both entertainment and otherwise have attempted to emulate.  Now as the band tries to enforce some order on the digital chaos, they have come under fire for shifting the paradigm, for trying to somehow contain the last resources they have left.  Old feuds are rekindled, compromises are reached.  Old pal Barlow advises old pal Weir of the futility of the whole thing.  Fans are not amused.  The status quo is maintained, barely.  There are no more Dead shows.  All that remains are the copies - and the continuing performances of the surviving members.

Ratdog | Fillmore Auditorium | 12/2/2005

Bob Weir was born to sing El Paso. Where Marty Robbins wrote and performed it with the ultimate singing cowboy smoothness, Bobby delivers it with his Saturday night tequila confidence that permanently replaces any other rendition, even for the casual listener.  The band takes the stage to play the song to open the second set with their acoustics out but switch to electric as they perform Masters of War and Corrina segueing into West LA Fadeaway.  West LA is another Jerry tune that Weir performs exceptionally well, a slight hint of reggae in his guitar, his singing sinister and sensuous at the same time. Next up is the mashup of Silvio, Tequila and Iko first unveiled on April Fools Day in Chicago, which is both clever and silly at the same time, with the members of the band following up with a series of solos before moving toward the conclusion of the set, beginning with Sugaree.  Bob Weir singing Sugaree is not right, shouldn't happen.  Too much of a signature Garcia tune.  However, Ratdog's version is strong, especially toward the finale, where an extra bit of jam from the band gets the crowd rocking right into an outstanding St. Stephen/Eleven closer.  The Ripple encore is merely standard but the band and audience seem fulfilled as RatDog takes its bows at the conclusion of their first Fillmore appearance.

The year is 2005.  There are no more Dead shows.  Bobby is still out there carrying on with RatDog playing Grateful Dead songs, some RatDog songs and a generous mix of covers.  The fans still come out to see him and he is, after all these years, still the rock star of the band.  When he approaches the microphone with that half-step forward, leans in and starts singing with that distinctive voice, a small part of the Grateful Dead remains.

Here's some pictures from the show.

Mon, 04/10/2006 - 10:36 pm

It's Thursday night at the Fox Theatre in Boulder.  I am standing on the railing overlooking the dance pit thronged with lollypop sucking all-agers.  The LA-based self-proclaimed space-porn band Particle is chugging, swirling, looping rhythmically through one of their tunes.  I had only heard of Particle up until this point in time and am chatting with the young lady standing next to me about their relative merits to other bands in the jam rock scene when she interjects, "You know, hallucinogenics are a really important part of my life."

[Sigh]

When I was about 16 and particularly fond of 70s British hard rock (my favorite band was Jethro Tull), I bought a compilation record with a song called "Master of the Universe" by Hawkwind on it.  All I knew about Hawkwind at the time was that Motorhead's bassist, Ian "Lemmy" Kilminster, had been kicked out of the band at one point.  I remember hearing this track for the first time and immediately being taken by its churning rhythm and swirling textures.  It really didn't sound like anything I'd ever heard before.  And I thought the name "Master of the Universe" was really, really cool, too.  It turns out that Hawkwind is sort of like the Grateful Dead of England.  They've been around for about 40 years now and attract the same sort of devoted following over there that the boys do.  Musically, they refer to themselves as a space rock band and their lyrics tend to be a cross between Dungeons and Dragons and particle physics.  So if this description sounds interesting, I encourage you to check out Hawkwind.  However, what they're doing in LA calling themselves Particle is a mystery to me.

Fox Theatre | Boulder, CO

Particle is a band in transition.  As with any change to a beloved band's lineup and direction, the fan base was a little edgy.  Vocals in Particle! Blasphemy!  And quite frankly, the singing, performed mostly by the two guitarists, Ben Combe and Scott Metzger, does need a bit of work before it starts to click, but right now Particle is a band about keys, drum and bass.  Especially keys.  Not to take anything away from the other founding members, drummer Darren Pujalet and Bassist Eric Gould, who are human beat generators, but this is keyboardist Steve Molitz' band. Molitz has no less than 6 keyboards or synths in front of him at any given time giving him substantial leeway in choosing the one appropriate to the song.  The best thing I can say about the sound is that Particle evokes so many different bands to me at so many different times in their show, that they achieve some higher level of originality.  In addition to Hawkwind, I find myself drawing comparisons to moe., Pink Floyd, Beck (whose E-Pro they cover), Parliament, Emerson Lake and Palmer, Prince, Sun Ra, The Beastie Boys and any number of drum and bass bands.

What's it really all about then?  Particle's music is driving and relentless, a train clacking along a track.  The crowd surges forward and backward to the pounding rhythm.  The beat shifts subtly, the train slows down.  Swirls and textures spiral out of the groove.  Occasionally a melody, a song, lyrics materialize before they drift back into the primordial funk, chaos breeding order, order breeding chaos, wave and particle superimposed upon each other.  Was that one song or many?  Does it even matter?  I guess if I had to name it, I'd call it..."Master of the Universe."

Check out more photos from the show.

Sun, 07/16/2006 - 10:26 pm

Another decade another night at Red Rocks for Bob Weir.  Joined by RatDog for the current lineup's first appearance and co-headlining with Colorado native sons String Cheese Incident, Bobby celebrated his 34th personal appearance at Red Rocks with a set of classics, Grateful Dead standards and covers mostly, that resonated throughout all of the phases of his own career, as he pushes the Grateful Dead legacy further into the 21st century.

Beginning with The Music Never Stopped and culminating with a Black Muddy encore, Weir and RatDog showered the crowd with as pleasing a set of classics as possible during their one long set.  In this phase of his career, Weir seems to be unapologetic about pushing no new ground.  The band performed Music Never Stopped with enough enthusiasm to make it seem like 1978 and the audience responded in equal measure.  Moving into a mini Dylan set of Maggie's Farm and Senor, Weir showcased yet again his masterful interpretation of the Dylan canon.  In particular, Senor, with its haunting anti-war overtones, brought an edge to the beautiful Colorado night.

After Loose Lucy, the performance of Blackbird highlighted Bobby's equal skill with Beatles covers.  Victim, the difficult late Dead-era anthem segued seamlessly into the iconic and ageless tale of Jack Straw which in turn flowed right into Dark Star, giving me the pleasure of relating the significance of my first Dark Star experience in Hampton, VA to my friend, herself seeing Bobby for the first time.  The next song allowed me to tell the story of Neal Cassidy and how his legacy inspired the name of a little girl.

RatDog | Red Rocks Amphitheatre

After each of the band members got some time to solo, Sugaree and One More Saturday closed the show with the Black Muddy encore.  As I have mentioned before, Bobby's interpretation of Sugaree, although strong, tends to incite division among Deadheads about the sacrilege of Weir performing such a Garcia original.  On a night like this one, though, as RatDog settled into a flawless as possible performance of the songs that everyone wanted to hear, it doesn't seem to matter so much any more.  Bobby and the band are playing music beloved as much by themselves as the fans and it shows in their playing each and every night they take the stage.

Check out more photos from the show.

Wed, 02/25/2009 - 10:46 pm

Of all the members of the Grateful Dead, Billy Kreutzmann, really knew how to retire.  Hanging out in Hawaii, he showed none of the predilection for road-warrioring into the sunset like his bandmates.  Sure he'd play with the boys when they got back together for the full band gigs and after ten years on the island he started playing out more often with various old cronies, but he didn't have his name on the marquee with his band, his music, his beat.  He was always the one behind the scenes.

When he met Garcia, working together at a music store in 64, he became the jazz drummer of Jerry’s and Pigpen's new band and that was the beginning of the long journey where Billy and Mickey became percussionists and turned rock and roll drumming into a tribal gathering and cultural anthropology showcase.  But while Mickey was a Drummer, a Percussionist, a Voyager, Bill was your prototypical teenage jazz combo drummer catapulted into stardom as part of the rock era's greatest and longest lasting shared musical experience.  He didn't get the spotlight, he didn't have his own tunes, but he was back there beating at every Grateful Dead show ever played

Scott Murawski and friends on the hill in Boulder

Now he's on the road with Max Creek's Scott Murawski and Allman Brother's bassist Oteil Burbridge, playing some Dead tunes, some Creek tunes, a few classics and some new songs that Robert Hunter wrote just for them.  The show at the Fox was their last together for a while as Billy will be joining the rest of the Dead on the road this Spring.  When I popped in line to get my tickets, Scott was actually standing in line with everyone else - seriously - making sure some folks he knew were all set at the ticket window, with people asking him if needed to tix to get into his show, kids coming up to their tix autographed, the rock star hanging out being rock fan.

Murawski has been a staple on the East Coast scene since the 70s, but playing out with the BK3, he is quickly making a new name for himself as one someone everyone wants to play with and one of the foremost jam guitarists of the last 30 years.  At times the BK3 is his band, as he re-interprets the classic Creek songs for jazz rock trio.  This night, playing his elegant Languedoc guitar, he sets a strong soulful tone for the show, coming out of the opening jam with Creek's Louisiana Sun.  Kreutzman is back and center keeping the beat always the drummer's drummer.  Oteil wears his musical heart on his sleeve, playing the six-string bass with equal measures of crunchy rock, soul, jazz and funk stylings.

Make no mistake; this is Billy's show, though.  Like any good leader he takes the combo through a mix of the songs the crowd has come to hear, the new songs they want to make their own and the songs that each musician will seize as their showcase.  As the first set pushes on Kreutzmann opens up.  During Thunder he hits his full stride as the music takes on a ritual quality and the fans gladly move with Oteil’s thumping bass and Billy’s gathering beats.  He lifts his head high and smiles broadly at his band and the crowd as they take the jam out of Thunder and blaze into Bertha to close the first set.  The second set is as crowd pleasing as it gets for the Deadheads in attendance as the band sparks up China Cat to start it all off, before plowing through the repertoire as Help/Slip and The Other One shine.  With many in attendance already big Max Creek and Murawski fans, Scott rapidly converts the rest to the fold with his masterful playing.

Oteil Burbridge

So here’s to the back beater turned front man.  The jam band stalwarts playing stripped down jazz rock with their most familiar tunes to guide them.  The bass player claiming his place as one of the most gifted and versatile of his generation.  The guitarist busting his ass in clubs and festivals for three decades in the musical equivalent of Triple A ball, now rising late in the game to the top of his field.  This is the Bill Kreutzmann Three playing at the venue that has brought so many rising stars to the next level.  This is Bill Kreutzmann his name in front of the theater sharing his love for music with his buddies Scott Murawski and Oteil Burbridge and thankfully the grateful crowd at the Fox.

Set 1: Jam->Louisiana Sun->Jam, Yellow Moon->jam, Mr. Charlie, Pollyanna->Thunder->Jam->Bertha

Set 2: China Cat Sunflower->Jam->Chains of Life->Jam, The Other One->Jam->Fly Away, Help On The Way->Slipknot->Jam->Slipknot->Free Born Man

Encore: Murder Land

Sun, 06/03/2012 - 5:49 pm

Following upon the heels of last year’s highly regarded jam at the Lyons Folk Festival, Bob Weir, Chris Robinson and Jackie Greene cleared their schedules for a mini-tour that saw them headline the legendary Ryman Theater in Nashville and also get in three nights at three legendary Colorado venues - the Boulder Theatre, the Mishawaka Amphitheater and Chautaqua Auditorium.

Boulder Theater

And once again the estimable Mike Moran, your proprietor and editor of the Grateful Web put out the call and asked me to take in an evening with Bobby and his fellow beardsmen.  I caught up with them on the first night of the Colorado swing at the Boulder Theater with Mike himself along for to take pictures and provide a note of vicariousness for this dad of two small children whose attendance at shows has taken a steep dive in recent years.  A knowedgeable devoted crowd in Boulder is a slam dunk and this evening at the Boulder Theater is no exception.  The line to get in stretches around block and the usual gang of hawkers, gawkers and stalkers mill around the entryway.  The occasional miracle is found and all make their way in for the show which begins without delay.

To begin our diary style recap, Bobby is front and center, Jackie to his right and Chris to his left.  They strum around a bit to get warmed up and then launch into “Truckin” followed by a bright “Loose Lucy” with Bobby starting to get his howl on (more on that to come).  Jackie switches into an Americana hat and banjo as the trio hits a couple of Bluegrass standards, perhaps in memory of Doc Watson as they had other nights on this tour -  “Love, Please Come Home” and “East Virginia Blues” each taking a lead on vocals.  At this point, these three bearded troubadours are channeling two equally venerable musical traditions - that of the wandering minstrel and the off-campus house impromptu jam session.  You can almost picture these three fellows representing three generations of American blues and roots rock sitting on cigarette scored couches with a bong between them rocking out jam band standards (more on that to come) late into the night.

Jackie, Weir, and Chris

With Weir at 65, Robinson at 45, and Greene 31 these guys literally are three generations of Psychedlicbluesfolkrootsrock.  Each will now take a solo turn as Bobby announces with Jackie going first.  Despite an incident with a fallen harmonica that had to be held too his mouth by a roadie on “Never Satsified,” Greene showcases his stuff, which along with a relentless touring schedule has caused him to be unfairly tagged as the latest next Bob Dylan.  Harmonica holder firmly in place for “Gone Wanderin’” with his hat brim low and vocal growl one is prompted to wonder how truly unfair those Dylan comparisions are.  Nonetheless it is obvious why this one has so quickly become a fixture and fan favorite in the Grateful Dead and associated other musical communities.

Up next, Chris Robinson, who I keep thinking is the guy from Stillwater.  I swear, the long hair seventies ‘do, the beard, the old shool Colorado logo T-shirt - am I getting reality and fiction mixed up.  He did marry Penny Lane, right?  Ok, but this dude has morphed from the rock stomp of the Black Crowes into a seriously insightful and folky singer-songwriter.  The Robinson original “Reflections on a Broken Mirror” comes across like a cocktail of Dylan and Robert Hunter but remains it’s own unique concoction.  The oft covered “Driving Wheel” is another dead-on choice for Robinson as he concludes his solo set.

Bobby’s turn - Weir steps up to the center mic, Boulder Theater crowd in mad applause and says “This one is by request” before launching into the only solo acoustic “Weather Report Suite” I am likely to see.  Degree of difficulty on this one is off the charts, but Weir navigates the whole thing perfectly his voice still bell clear, the “I am’s” just as strong and resonant as they were in ‘74.  Grateful Dead fans and followers will to their dying breath love and critque their heroes in equal measure but for all the loving pokes Bobby has endured over the years, his voice is his signature instrument and shows little sign of age and wear.  A thrilling thing to experience for everyone in the packed house.

Boulder, Colorado

Jackie and Chris rejoin Weir on stage and crank out “Casey Jones” to end the first set, now officially bookended by the two most timeworn Dead standards and once again invoking the beat up couch jam vibe.

Back now after intermission.  Stocked up on beverages and ready to go.  The three guitarists come back to the stage and without much hesitation launch into “Stealin’” (the Dead’s first record ever!) followed up by “Wake Up Little Suzie.”  Nothing revolutionary or eye opening here.  Warming up a bit by playing a couple staples of the campfire jam.  “Deal” follows right on their heels.  Things are about to get interesting though.

Jam Band time.  The opening notes of “Dark Star” are played.  Another high degree of difficulty tune for an acoustic trio.  The extended improvisation and jazz-like meandering are largely absent here as the reading is fairly straight but after a couple of verses, out of nowhere Uncle Johns teases its way in but it’s cut off pretty quickly and we’re back in to Dark Star.  At this point it seems like Uncle John’s is certainly coming as a couple more snippets seem to break through but instead it’s a straight segue into a burning “Death Don’t Have No Mercy” - the song of the night.  As the band pushes further into it, Weir seems to get angier and angrier in his lament taking his howling to the next level with Jackie and Chris keeping freight train time on each side of him.

With the end of Death Don’t and momentum on their side, they bust out “Easy to Slip” one of my all time favorite Little Feat tunes and Bobby cover songs, with Weir’s vocals again seeming as youthful as ever.  Has there been a Dylan cover yet, in spite of my frequent points of reference?  Oh here we go - more echoes of the traditional couch jam with “Knocking on Heaven’s Door” and then, because it’s Saturday night everyone knows the song, a second set closer of “One More Saturday Night.”

The encore tonight is “Ripple” which they’ve used a couple previous times on this short tour.  In this rendition a pretty good song to bring the generations on stage and in the crowd, together and when you think about it, it feels like the reason this collaboration - a one off a year ago, a short tour now and who knows what in the future - has been so fruitful is the sharing of the music amongst three generations.  Not so much a passing of the torch but a powerful reminder that the flame is alive and will burn long into the years that follow.

Bob Weir

Check out more photos from the show.