#GD50 - Fare Thee Well Review

One of my philosophies as a music fan is that the real magic happens on the road.  A rainbow may have formed over the Santa Clara shows but there was enough love and energy for the Grateful Dead to light up the entire Chicago skyline during Fourth of July weekend 2015.

After all the media hype, Fare Thee Well was the perfect living tribute to the Grateful Dead’s history as an American band and celebrated the unique relationship they have with their fans.  The initial offering was twice over-subscribed.

From the original four, to stand-in guitarist Trey Anastasio, to the grand stage created by producer Peter Shapiro, to the sea of Deadheads in attendance – everything fell into place on this momentous occasion the way they often do.  Fans got what they came for.  The Grateful Dead got what they deserve.  “Everybody’s dancing…”

They turned the museum next to Soldier Field into a memorabilia mecca, the South parking lot into a beautiful freak show and they opened each night like they would have opened any outdoor show in Grateful Dead history - with plenty of daylight left on the clock and a set list built to last.  The final form of the Grateful Dead strutted out a little after seven o’clock for each show, had a group hug and proceeded to celebrate life.

From the first note they transformed the overflowing crowd at Soldier Field into what felt like a small town celebration mass in someone’s backyard complete with fireworks, calliopes, and clowns.  They opened Night One with Box of Rain to pick up with the song Jerry left off with on his final night at Soldier Field 20 years ago.  They featured Dead mashups like Scarlet > Fire and Help > Slipknot > Franklin’s for fans who live by the classics and the ‘greater than’ sign translating ‘one song into the next.’

The original four - Bob Weir, Phil Lesh, Bill Kreutzman, Mickey Hart - embraced the occasion as much as the attendees  They’ve aged but they were clearly rejuvenated for the final run with energy from shows past.  Jerry Garcia got a fitting tribute to the music he wrote and to his spirit which lives on through the bands deep tradition.  He may be gone but his impact at the heart and soul of this band won’t be forgotten.  Screens all over Soldier Field pulsed with black and white pictures of a young Jerry with matted down kinky hair and that familiar peaceful grin on his face.  “Those were the days” shared a seventy-something hippie standing next to me with flowers in her hair, clutching a metal flask.  I couldn’t imagine.

When 85% of a show’s attendees come from out of town you create the enthusiasm and attitude cocktail you need to throw a serious party.  The Grateful Dead opened the second night of celebration with Shakedown Street and it went exactly as I remembered from a Giants Stadium opener I caught in the early 90’s.  Phil dropped the first atomic bass bomb and a human waterfall of Deadheads cascaded over the padded walls onto the floor.  My personal Night Two favorites were Deal at sundown, Bird Song to start the second set, and a West L.A. Fadeaway they played so slow your blood pressure dropped.  The July 4th celebration would not have been complete without the widely predicted encore - U.S. Blues.  

“Red and white, blue suede shoes.  I’m Uncle Sam, how do you do?”

Special thanks should go to Jeff Chimenti, Bruce Hornsby and Trey Anastasio for complimenting the original four.  Chimenti and Hornsby provided keyboard action that would have made “Pigpen” and Brent Mydland proud.  Trey Anastasio standing in for Jerry Garcia, I would argue, could not have been done by another musician.  Trey’s affinity for grass roots rock and roll, for the Dead, and for Jerry’s style all speak for themselves via Phish’s music.  It’s no secret that Trey spent a lot of time learning Grateful Dead songs for Fare Thee Well.  The result was Trey brilliantly channeling Jerry but remaining true to his own style and that’s why I’ll be listening to these shows for months to come.

Like Jerry, Trey has mastered the art of the imperfect rolling guitar solo that will mash a smile right onto your face.  I lost count of how many times I got mashed in Chicago but The Music Never Stopped, Althea and Throwing Stones were the perfect tracks for Trey to showcase his creative jamming skills while staying true to Jerry’s pace and tone.  It’s no coincidence Trey took control of The Music Never Stopped.  I’m certain he drew on it more than once scribing Phish songs and he knocked the Chicago version out of the park.

By the time the final Dead show rolled around I had an anxiety thorn in my side.  This is not the time in our nation’s history to put the Grateful Dead Tour up on blocks.  It took no more than the opening chords of the Chinacat > Rider opener to calm my nerves but it wasn’t until Bob Weir released some of his philosophy on the crowd that I broke through to the other side.

During Throwing Stones Bobby sang his own line with flair: “You can buy the whole Goddamn government today.”  There is comfort in knowing that the bearded, Birkenstocked lead singer in faded jeans not only dresses like you, but also thinks a little like you too.

Throwing Stones and Bob’s line in particular led to the best decision I made all weekend – not to move my feet for the set break.  That decision put me 25 yards from Trey for four consecutive first downs: Truckin’, Cassidy, Althea and a monstrous Terrapin Station that nobody thought they would tackle their last night on stage.  Let the record state they crushed Terrapin into the Soldier Field turf.

Their set list sent a real message with the finishing touches they put on Night Three.  They segued from Space into “Blue light rain, whoa Unbroken Chain…” like the last Jerry show at Soldier in ‘95.  They followed with Days Between reflection:

“Walked halfway around the world on promise of the glow,
Stood upon a mountain top, walked barefoot in the snow.
Gave the best we had to give, how much we’ll never know.” 

The band may never know how much they gave but we all knew the show was drawing to a close.  It got harder to hold it together.  As they faded out on the final song of set two only the crowd was left singing “You know our love will not fade away…”  That was Fare Thee Well’’s most surreal moment.  I’m sure the sparse drumbeats softly fading out as the band went silent against 71k strong chanting their grungy lungs out was a unifying communal experience that won’t take place in a music venue ever again.  It was too long in the making.

Thank the rock Gods they lightened the mood with a Touch of Grey encore.  That song choice reflected on their mortality and belted out everyman’s song of survival - “I will get by.” In our best Jerry voice for good measure.

Attics of My Life came last with black and whites scrolling across the screens.  Everyone got their chance to reflect on what 50 years of the Grateful Dead meant to them.  I’m sure it meant a lot of things to a lot of people but the bands point was clearly made with three nights of masterful musicianship.  Their parting message was simple: “be kind.”

I finally wiped my face dry with my T-shirt and split.

No one's noticed, but the band's all packed and gone
Was it ever there at all?

If you were able to hold back the tears then you are a stronger man than I am.   I hopped a pedi-cab and headed for home.  The millennial hippie driving the bike joked with me as I collapsed on its bench with literally nothing left in the tank - “That’s it Bro?”

“That was it.”  He turned on the bicycle boom box as loud as it could go and we made our way up Columbus Drive to the Fare Thee Well opening tune.  The real magic always happens on the road, right?  His JBL speaker never sounded so good.

“Look out of any window…
Any morning…
Any evening…
Any day…”

I’m trying not to be sad it’s over.  I’m trying to be glad it happened.  The reality is there aren’t enough kind words to be said about 50 years of the Grateful Dead but I know we’ll be listening for 500 more.  “God Bless This Terrapin Nation” is right, Phil.

Slipkid Style 2013 - Syracuse Lacrosse

We're big on awarding LAX style points at Slipkid Screams.  After inspiring this column in 2011 (with yellow neon cleats and socks), seeing Garden City High School win the award in 2012 (with camouflage detail), the Syracuse Orangemen Lacrosse team are an early season favorite for 2013.  Checkout the Cascade Matte Grey CPX-R/Grey Nike Vapor Jersey combo.  

Maybe that's how you beat the Tigers 13-12 in a Princeton Stadium nail biter?

A Dedication to Paul Schimoler

Four time NCAA All American goalie, Class of '89 Cornell University, Ivy League Rookie of the Year, Ivy Player of the Year, gold medal winner (1990, 1994), record holder for most saves in NCAA playoffs with 85.  A world class husband, father, competitor, team mate and friend.

Long live Schimoles.

Phish New Year's Eve 2012 Madison Square Garden

PHISH 2012 MSG Holiday Run Poster

I've said it before and I will say it again.  The best iteration of PHISH is the most recent version of PHISH.  This years Holiday Run in New York City celbrated 30 years of the band, provided all of the breakaway moments I expected and ended in an explosive grand finale third set on New Year's Eve 2012.

I'll just sit on the edge of my seat until they come around next year.

Derek Trucks at the Beacon Theater 2011

photo by TG

A Moment of Clarity

Tomorrow will present an opportunity to give thanks that I won’t soon forget.  I know you’ve heard all about it on a topical level, but I’m here to provide some inside color.  The lessons to be learned from a Category 1 hurricane temporarily inundating your hometown with the Atlantic Ocean are monumental. 

The first hurricane head fake came when meteorologists started hyping the storm.  For a change, they nailed this one.  I had advance warning from a heroic power trader in Baltimore who was in front of it by 10 days.  I knew my town was in trouble because last year Hurricane Irene came and went with 75% of our locals sticking around to laugh at Al Roker.  One week after that hurricane Long Beach, New York, of all places, was treated to its finest hour when 100 year surf conditions provided a playing field for the best surfers in the world to compete for the NYQuiksilver Pro Championship.  This time, we wouldn’t be so incredibly lucky, but we’d learn something.

The stress level created by the storm, the unbelievable surge, and then the aftermath is a lot to bear for a blue-collar beach community.  The City of Long Beach had just elected new leadership, for better or for worse, and cut spending and raised taxes to cover its $25M budget deficit.  Then Sandy hit causing billions of dollars in damage.  Neither the savings accounts, nor the tax receipts of a town with a median income of $76,000, were going to pay for those billions.  Consider for a moment that I had no idea what condition the town was in during the wee hours of October 30th.  I was left to reading the “market” signals.

I firmly believe that having a background in trading is useful in any time of crisis.  During a low-grade natural disaster, daily staples like power, gasoline, cash, and south shore pizza become a luxury.  Fending for them brings out the extremes in human nature; and you can read the sentiment signs through catastrophe like you can read the warning signs through a trade. 

  

At around 11pm weather channel predictions came to fruition and the Frankenstorm surge reached its peak of 10’ feet above sea level.  A few of those locals were watching their cars get entirely submerged from the 2^nd floor of their two-story home as the ocean poured into their living room right up to their flat screen.  Down the block from them in the “canals” area of town - 6 homes were in the process of burning down to the water line in a matter of 2 hours.  We were indeed on the lows in the middle of the night and I was praying for a bottom.  Text messages of desperation now read “Dude make it stop!!!”

On my first return trip to Long Beach on the morning of Tuesday, October 30^th – I admit – I couldn’t believe my eyes and was highly skeptical we would see any modicum of normalcy for months to come.  The town was a warzone, covered in debris and burned-out zombie vehicles.  There were parts of our boardwalk on front lawns five blocks away, vehicles were smashed through parking garage walls like Matchbox cars, and four feet of sand covered the roads along the beach.  The water decontamination plant had been knocked totally offline and we were at square one in determining when, if ever, we would have power again.  We’d just been taken down several notches of living standard and gone straight to primitive. 

Locals immediately began the arduous task of pumping several feet of water out of their basement with gas powered generators and carrying the waterlogged contents of their life out to the curb.  I will never forget the looks on the faces of my friends, family and neighbors facing the seemingly insurmountable task of first cleaning up after one phase of their lives, then rebuilding the next one.  Put yourself in their boots for a moment.  All at once, that is a consideration your brain cannot handle.

House after house, block after block - waterlogged furniture, wallboard, carpets, mounds of insulation piled twenty feet high.  Beautiful God fearing people reduced to zombies in filthy wet work clothes. It was time to queue up my crisis salvation song by Derek & the Dominoes.  “It’s Got to Get Better in a Little While.”  Repeat.

I knew while watching my 6-year-old niece crying out loud at the sight of her playroom being deposited on the curb, dripping with black-water from a freshly gutted first floor, that the situation had reached a dark sentimental bottom.  Despite the mess, the loss, and all of her tears - the sun rose again.  The next time I saw my niece laugh hysterically – I got the chills.

In the days that shortly followed, the National Guard set up throughout town and the industrial clean up revved into full gear.  Having the support of your iphone, text message system, email box, and twitter feed fill up with calls of concern provided the first chance to get your spirit off the mat.  In short order a friend from Connecticut offered to make a midnight run to deliver 20 gallons of gasoline, desk mates and market buddies offered to come down and pitch in with the clean up, professional saxophone players were available in tool belts for the rebuilding process, the ice arena where my children skate was converted into a massive supply station as donations arrived from every corner of the country.  Help was pouring in from neighboring towns in the form of man power on school buses.  People were so eager to help us that my faith in human nature spiked to the top of my screen and I have all of that to be thankful for this year.

On the first Saturday after the storm I was proudly part of a 50 man team that gutted 8 homes in 12 hours.  That’s a lot of tonnage moved for charity and something we’ll always be proud of.  Some day in the future – the clean up and the rebuild will define this episode, not the destruction or the despair.

After that herculean effort, to borrow a phrase from Jules Winnfield “I was sitting here, eating my muffin and drinking my coffee and replaying the incident in my head, when I had what alcoholics refer to as a moment of clarity.”  Ok I was drinking a cold Bud can outside and eating a hot dog, but I’m the farthest thing from an alcoholic.  In partially soaked and entirely filthy work clothes, I realized how damn lucky I am.

The most important stat was that there was no loss of life in my town.  Everything that everyone was forced to part with on short notice was either of material or sentimental value.  The truth is – in short order the material loss will mean nothing.  Aside from Rockaway Flu, we have our health and a big job to do, but we can look each other in the eye knowing we have the will to get it done.  It didn’t seem possible 2 weeks ago but we are going to have a 1^st Grade Turkey Bowl and monstrous Thanksgiving this year after all.

If there is a town on Long Island with a Kevlar backbone, it is the town of Long Beach and that is a testament to the people.  “Beach Creatures”, as I refer to my local brethren, want for very little.  How much can you actually want for with a median income of $76k? 

I realized in my moment of clarity that it is not money or the possessions we’re after.  It is to be able to call our beautiful beach town home and have that cohesive bond motivate us to full recovery.  We are all longing for a run on the boardwalk, to watch our kids play sports on local fields and for 12 hour days on the beach that end riding waves with the family until the sun goes down.  A few thousand more man hours, donations, FEMA checks, automobiles, generators, renovations, prayers of love & care and we will be sitting on the beach enjoying that sunset in no time.

Still one thing that you can do;
Fall down on your knees and pray.
I know the Lord's gonna answer you.
Don't do it tomorrow, do it today.
- Clapton