Phil Lesh at the Riviera Theatre
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| Phil Lesh at the Riviera Theatre Chicago, November 16, 2017 |
Tailgating was a big thing at those shows and when we got to stadium,
the parking lot was packed to the gills and off the hook. Everyone was hanging out, playing
music, dancing, drinking, smoking weed, throwing frisbees, hacky-sacking... Drugs were everywhere and on
offer. Multiple people were even selling
balloons of nitrous oxide (laughing gas) from big tanks out of the back of
their vans or cars. People were walking
around naked. It was a real trip-
in more ways than one. Another
positive is that everyone was mellow and totally cool with everyone else. There was no violence or aggression to
be had at these shows. People just
went with the flow. There were also
cops everywhere, but, amazingly, they didn’t do anything except help people
cope with their buzzes. You’d see
people smoking grass right in front of the police and the cops wouldn’t do a thing. I couldn’t believe that America still
allowed this to happen. It was
really something magical to behold.
After the tailgating, we went into the stadium. Once the show started and the sun set,
the place was overtaken by an aura of communal love, a chi of sorts. Everyone was sharing a common energy
and the music was the source, spreading good vibes of peace and acceptance. I watched the scene, danced to the
jamming music and I realized how ignorant I was for turning down so many of
these experiences over the years because I thought I didn’t like their music. Only now could I hear their music for
the first time and I loved it. The
whole thing was a small slice of lost Americana at its finest and from that
first show, I started going to see them whenever I could.
Sadly, I only got to a handful of shows before Jerry passed away
and they stopped touring. I also
moved to Europe for over twenty years and wasn’t around to catch them when they
started touring again without Jerry.
Until this week, my last show was at Soldier Field in the summer of 1993.
A few weeks ago an old buddy told me Phil Lesh was coming to town
and would play at the Riviera Theatre.
We decided to go. (For
those who don’t know, Lesh is a founding member of the Grateful Dead and was
their bassist for their entire existence.) I didn’t know or really even think about what one of his
shows would be like these days. I
didn’t expect any of that old 60s Americana hippie magic (and madness) to have
survived these last 25 years, but I figured he was part of an amazing and
historic band that I liked, so why not go check it out.
When I invited another friend to come along, he wasn’t interested,
but he spontaneously gave me an edible marijuana chocolate for it. I wasn’t even thinking about doing
anything like that, but I accepted his generous offer (it was the Dead’s
bassist after all). The chocolate
was just beginning to kick-in when Lesh and the band came out. We were on the main floor around ten
rows back from the stage. The
place was packed. Tie-dye shirts and
the smell of patchouli were all about.
Once the lights went down, the music came up and everyone in the place started
torching weed. Standing in that
thickening cloud, it all felt strangely right, harmonious. The universe was finding its balance at
the Riviera that night and I was at a newfound peace myself. For the length of the show, I didn’t even
once think about Trump. Good times
indeed. The power of music.
From start-to-end the band kept jamming out Dead classics and the
crowd was totally drawn into it.
I’d forgotten how powerful and entrancing their music can be and out of
nowhere, I had an epiphany about why so many people don’t understand this kind
of music. It’s very subtle and
understated, and, importantly, it’s non-visual. Watching the band play doesn’t help you get into it. The best way to understand the music is
to just close your eyes and let it take over your thoughts. You get lost to the music that
way. It’s really the same thing
that happens when you listen to classical, jazz or even house music. Once you close out the visuals and focus
on the tunes, you’re taken to another place. The rhythm takes over.
The improvisations, the long instrumental jams, that’s what it’s all
about. Freestyle and order meld
together and everyone settles onto the same wavelength and you cannot do
anything but dance to it. It’s a
beautiful thing.
As the show continued, a guy next to me offered me his one-hitter. I accepted it and torched a couple drags. With the edible I had eaten (which I’m not at all used to) and now this, I was feeling great. I danced, lost awareness and was free. Later, another guy who was smoking offered me one of those new vaporizer pens. Everyone was on the same team. Once again there was this weird window into the past- full of camaraderie, generosity and mutual respect that provides a stark contrast to what is desperately lacking in our culture today. When I passed him back the vape, I said, “Thanks, it’s my first Dead show in 25 years and I’m lovin it.” He was happy to hear it.
“Wow- that’s totally rad dude. Right on!” And he
gave me a high-five. I think he
was probably only 25 years old, maybe.
Later when I was walking back from the restroom, I saw like eight
cops standing around a woman. I
walked by close to see what was happening but couldn’t figure it out. I asked a guy with dreads who was standing
right there watching.
“Hey man, what happened?”
“Oh nothing. She’s
just a bit out of it. They’re
helping.” He responded, cool as a winter
fresh breath mint.
“Oh, groovy.” I said
and walked away. The army of
police from the old stadium shows was now condensed down into this one unit who
came along for the ride to take care of people who are “out of it.” Perfect- that’s police presence I
support-
I returned to the dance floor. After a particularly intense song ended, I looked at the guy
next to me and said, “Awesome- just awesome-”
He seemed confused by where he was and replied, “Yeah, though I’m
still waiting for them to play Light My Fire, that’s my favorite.” I couldn’t believe this guy thought we
were watching the Doors or something, but when in the bubble, you don’t want to
ruin anyone’s vibe.
“Maybe they’re saving it for the encore.” I told him.
It was a fantastic show and the band played from around 8:30pm
until around 1am. When we were in
the scrum leaving the theatre, I loudly said to my friend “I’m surprised they
didn’t play Touch of Grey” which got me some strange looks until I laughed at
my own joke. (That song is just
about universally hated as a commercial sellout by many Dead Heads.)
Then, just when we hit the street and we were exiting back to
reality, I heard a very distinctive sound from the past. I looked over to see people
congregating just to the right of the main entrance of the theatre. Many were leaving this small huddle
with balloons in hand.
“Dude, look- that guy’s selling nitrous balloons out of a
backpack!” I said to my friend.
“Oh my god- that’s crazy.”
We both stopped and stared for a moment.
“Let’s get a couple.
I haven’t done nitrous since the Love Parade in Berlin in 1996.”
“Arrrh, I don’t think so.
I got to work tomorrow morning.”
“It’s nitrous, it will wear off in a few minutes. Who knows when we’ll
see this again?”
My buddy didn’t want anything to do with it, “Dude, it’s hard on
the system and I don’t have many brain cells to spare these days.”
And with that dose of middle-aged cynical realism, it was clear
that the magic of the night couldn’t survive without the music around to
sustain it. In a final effort to prolong
this kinder and gentler alternate reality, I ran over and bought a balloon for
myself. I downed it in a few deep
breaths just before we grabbed a cab and headed back to the mundane race to mediocrity
that is our culture today. Despite
the destination, for me, it was a good cab ride home. Full of laughs.
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