SHARING THE SHOWS
So I started off this morning with a moderate hike at Meyer Ranch Park (so many parks to choose from), and from there, I adjusted to the altitude. After a true Colorado omelette, a nap, a marathon writing session with my blog, book, and screenplay, I picked Amy up at her friend Andrew’s house in Edgewater. We went to the hotel some friends of hers were staying at and took a nice dip in their pool before hitting the show.
Amy is an extrovert, a true force of positive energy. Once we parked, before I even had my shit ready for the show, she was already chatting with the couple parked next to us, and by proxy, I was too. We parked in the top lot, so the climb in wasn’t as strenuous. We found Art from a Facebook group called Panic Passportal. He hooked me up with a “passport” with the Panic logo on it. You get stamped with the shows you go to. He stamped mine with the DC show (3/16/19) and Durham show (3/30/19); later, someone else stamped mine with the Red Rocks run. In Art’s words, it’s about the human connection, interacting with the folks you’re stamping. I observed him interacting with a lot of folks as he stamped their passports; I can dig it. The blog’s done the same for me. Amy and I set up camp next to Art at the top. As an introvert, I like to find a spot and stick with it; Amy was all about finding adventures everywhere. It worked for me. I ended up chatting some with Art and his son, Joseph. I fueled up with a mac and cheese dish topped with brisket. On the way, Art pointed out a beer that was positioned on the ledge above our seat, precariously over this dude’s head. He asked me to point it out to him, and I did, to which the guy thanked me. I said, “I’m just the messenger. That guy pointed it out.” On the food line, I thought, I shoulda said, don’t praise the messenger.’ That woulda been witty. Oh well, I’ll use the line next time. It started drizzling as we waited for the opener, and I was thankful for Bob’s rain jacket. I thought of the website that states that rainouts are rare because the band is well-protected. I guess we concertgoers are badass enough to dance in the rain (I am). The band opened with “Ain’t Life Grand” on JB. I videotape every opening song to put on Facebook, and as I taped, a guy walking by just grabbed a girl’s behind. Not the first time I’ve seen that at a show, but no less upsetting. I never thought #metoo would reach this scene, but what do I know? “Mr. Soul” always rocks, and so does “Good People.” I had never heard “Dark Bar” before, but it was nice, especially when it circled back to “Good People.” “Wondering” and “Walkin” had me grooving (I also spotted a rainbow that had me close to tears), and “A of D” had me spinning in circles, so much that I got a little dizzy, but it was worth it. “Saint Ex” was a good slowdown tune, and “Flat Foot Flewzy” is always a good one to get me moving. The second set opened with “Climb to Safety,” the lyrics of which I find uplifting. I was reminded of a discussion I had postshow with a dude after 3/30/19 about how his kid was making fun of him because saw his new girlfriend in that song, but it’s all in the beholder. “On Your Way Down” was a new one for me, but a cool one. “Proving Ground” and “Jack” are both chill, and “Bowlegged Woman” was my first live. I talked to this young dude named Alex who had just been skiing that day. I still can’t fathom skiing in June, but with the snow that hit Breckenridge last week, it was happening. He showed me video where he was doing jumps and flips, and I was just amazed. I was in the bathroom when they segued to “Arleen,” which prompted me to sprint back to my spot. The drum jam was the best I’ve ever heard from them; I felt connected spiritually at that moment. “Blight” was a nice segue out, and “Tie Your Shoes” is always good for a spin. The old chestnut “Space Wrangler” closed the set. Amy was back for the encore. They played “End of the Show,” which I’d never heard before, but Amy was tired of hearing as an encore, as it’s very slow. I prefer a rocking one myself, something to go out on a high note with. Occasionally, a slower one, a la “Shaking the Tree” (SCI 5/27/19), does have me close to tears and reflecting. Amy and I had a good conversation as we got her back to her friend’s place. We stopped at a 7-11 so I could get caffeine, and it turns out we both have Slurpee obsessions. And all the while, the wind gusts were everpresent; thank you Bob for that jacket.
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So after a few days reconnecting with old friends in El Paso, it was onto Colorado for the annual Widespread Panic run at Red Rocks. It’d been on my bucket list to see a band at Red Rocks for a while, preferably Panic.
At any rate, I got in a day early to bop around Denver and catch a Rockies game at Coors Field (park #21 of 30). Friday, I met up with my friend Bob who drove me to the venue (the altitude was messing with me and I thought it might be cool to let someone else take the wheel the first night). We tried to get him a miracle, but it didn’t happen. At any rate, he dropped me off at one of the lots. The walk up those stairs was crazy; I’m told a lot of people have to stop to take breaks, and I can see why. I’m in good physical shape, and even I was getting winded going up those stairs. Why did I do this again, I thought. When I got to the top, I understood why. The view of those mountains is, hands-down, the best I’ve seen at a concert venue (sorry, Camden, you’ve been bumped to #2). I was a little lightheaded from the altitude, but the advice I kept hearing was water, water, and more water. Fortunately, security was wise enough to know that I needed my giant water bottle, which I kept refilling in the venue’s museum (pretty cool narrative of the history of Red Rocks). I indulged in a Nacho Deluxe from the venue, the taste of which reminded me of the “taco meat” from my elementary school. Anywho, the seating’s labeled but not assigned, and people are constantly passing through, and a couple of folks crowded into my space, which tested my patience for a spell, but as I was taught, “You gotta dance ‘em out!” So I did. The band opened with “Puppy Sleeps,” which I had first heard on the 6/23/18 show a few days prior on my Relisten App. I hung with a nice couple from Arkansas named Allen and Tanya. I promised them I’d include them in the blog, so here goes, guys J I jammed nicely during “Henry Parsons Died,” Neil Young’s “Walk on,” and “Fishwater.” “St. Louis” was a nice “slowdown” tune, which preceded “Rock,” “Rebirtha,” and “Pigeons.” Highlights included a young lady playing air bass next to my air guitar and a loud guy who insisted I go to the show in Telluride (I’d love to, but hey, I gotta adult sometime). The lights went down for the second set, and the band busted out a tune I had never heard, which upon looking up, I learned was “Down on the Farm” by Little Feat. “Tall Boy” was a nice jam. “Machine” and Barstools and Dreamers” are okay. During the latter, I refilled my water and saw there was a videocast in the museum. I sat down for a few minutes, away from the crowd. I was up and running once the opening notes for “Love Tractor” hit. “I’m Not Alone” was another slowdown, but “Big Wooly Mammoth” and Warren Zevon’s cover “Lawyers, Guns, and Money” brought it to a rousing close. I had been starting to yawn under “Barstools,” but dammit, I was gonna make it till at least the encore. After the second set, I began to walk toward the bottom. I’d stay if it was one of my favs, like “Bear’s Gone Fishin’” Or “Climb to Safety.” Instead, it was Link Wray’s “Rumble” (I only knew it was the song from the Pulp Fiction trailer until I looked it up). I found a nice dancing nook. Once “Chilly Water” came out (meh), I was gone. There were a bunch of food stands set up, one of which was Chick-Fil-A. “Chick Fil-A?” a woman commented. “Seriously!?” “Maybe I’ll have it on Sunday,” the dude she was with said. “That would be appropriate,” I said, my dig at the Catholic church. I headed toward the Uber lot, but it just seemed so much easier to get one of those cabs that were lined up right on the street. I popped in one of those, and just spaced out all the way back to my Airbnb in Littleton, where I watched an episode of Mr. Iglesias, that new Netflix comedy series starring Gabriel Iglesias, a comedian I’ve grown to love in the past week. After that, it was lights out. So this was Day 1 of my jaunt across the country: Philadelphia, El Paso, and Red Rocks. After a quick bus ride and nap at the City House Hostel, I walked around Philly solo for a bit. There’s a used bookstore next to the hostel, so I easily dropped $25 on two books and a DVD of Ryan Gosling’s Half Nelson. From there, I walked over to Penn’s Landing to buy a ticket for the ferry going across to Camden (didn’t want to have to cut it so close to showtime). It's federal law that if you're not a vegetarian, you have a Philly cheesesteak at least once while in Philly. I went with Sonny's, the place Amy and I went to last year before Phish (8/7/18) None around, so I gave it to the clerk at the hostel.
I had 90 minutes to kill before showtime, so I spent 10 minutes working on my book and 15 on my screenplay. Even on vacation, I have to write; “working” is the wrong word to use in this case, it’s just in my bloodstream. The ferry ride over to Camden was easy; the line going inside, not so much. In our age of terrorist attacks, I suppose security can’t be too careful. At any rate, I found a nice spot on the lawn up top with that view of the Philly skyline I love. They opened with “The Music Never Stopped,” followed by “Dancing in the Streets,” with another beautiful Cornell 77esque jam. “Row Jimmy” and “Tennessee Jed” followed, and then a rare “If I Had the World To Give.” Upon the opening notes, I had to check Setlist.fm. I had heard the song on Shakedown Street a bunch of times, but never live. It was a cool treat. Mayer sounded great on “Brown-Eyed Woman.” The “Lost Sailor-Saint of Circumstance” combo closed the set. Around setbreak, I flipped to extrovert mode and chatted with a young lady named Lauren from Washington who was traveling the East Coast. She informed me that 20-minute wait I had was nothing compared to the three hours some folks were waiting to get into the Gorge shows. She was pondering whether to write a review for the web; Lauren, if you’re reading this, please do. The showgoing public needs to know! See? Told you you’d make the blog! I also talked to bartender named Chris, who named Plattsburgh as his place of origin (the Monopole came up in our conversation). On the ferry back, I talked to a guy named Wayne, an upstate New Yorker and graduate of Clarkson, right near my fraternity’s chapter in Canton (TGs!). Although I don’t drink anymore, we agreed on the intensity of Canadian beer (Labatt’s Blue and Molson Brador, the latter being the champagne of beers). “Truckin’” opened the set, followed by “Estimated Prophet.” During the latter, I talked to a budding musician from Newark, Delaware named Ty Mathis, who told me about his band Rooftop Farming. I promised I’d plug his band on the blog, so here it is (note to self: consider business cards with your blog titles on it). It was his first Dead show; I say “Welcome, brother!” “Ship of Fools” was next, and I think “China Cat Sunflower” may be replacing “Passenger” as my new favorite song; that jam was off the hook. “I Know You Rider” naturally followed, and then the usual “Drums/Space” deal. Question: I wonder what would happen if the boys ever decided to do just “Drums” or just “Space.” Would that throw the universe out of balance? After what felt like an hour waiting on the porta potty line, I headed back to the lawn, and I saw a bunch of people sitting solo, just staring at the skyline. The “Space” jam was perfect for that, so I joined them. Introvert Row (or, in some cases, Tripping Row). “Throwing Stones,” “Black Peter,” and “Good Lovin” closed the set, and the “Touch of Grey” encore represented the shortest gap I’ve ever seen between a second-set closer and an encore (curfew?). I reflected on my book project during “Touch of Grey” (can’t stop thinking about it) and came to the epiphany that it really fills a need and it can change the world. The world needs this book, it’s in my blood, I thought. I felt motivated to write – write then and there. That motivation ended once I got on the line to the ferry. I did my New York walking thing to get there quickly, but others apparently had the same idea, as the line extended for what felt like a mile. Still, I had that conversation with Wayne, a lady from Massachusetts, and I overheard a young lady talk about this new job she was going to start in Jordan. After getting back to the hostel, I looked forward to crashing, but alas, that sleep was broken by a loud snorer. I’ve shared beds and rooms with snorers before, but this dude had a variety of pitches, worthy of a “Space” jam (second note to self: noise-cancelling headphones may be a good investment). I’m a little tired and grumpy as I write, but the bliss of that show (and convenience of location) was worth it. And I suppose I can sleep on the plane to El Paso. NOTE: I forgot to get a picture, so I had to screenshot the video I took. You won't be able to play it.
After a day of helping my Mom do errands, followed by a nice NY-style chicken parm meal at Sonny & Tony’s in Mahwah, NJ, I was off to meet Sal, aka T-20, a friend who I hadn’t seen in three years, at Parkside to see Touch of Grey, a Grateful Dead tribute (obvs). Driving there was interesting, as the reaction times of most of my fellow drivers seemed a little slow (just one more Saturday night indeed). Fortunately, I got there safely. After parking in the Pearl River train station, Sal and I walked over. The first set was spent was spent reminiscing on the Mustang we rented on our trip from Colorado to San Francisco, as well as those awesome tuna melts we used to chow on at the Bronx’s Riverdale Diner before a night of partying. We shared the narratives of mutual friends who have long since faded from my memory, but it was nice to revisit, and talked relationships (I’m writing a book called How to be a Happy Bachelor: Can the Man Be Just as Smart?). The first set playlist from the time I arrived on: West LA Fadeway Hard to Handle Scarlet Begonias Fire on the Mountain I Need a Miracle Crazy Fingers (it’s a rarity to hear that played by a Dead tribute) It Hurts Me Too Greatest Story Ever Told Jack-a-Roe I was dismayed to learn that Diet Cokes were $3 (they’re usually free at the places I frequent in Virginia). It’s nice to encourage the designated driver program, although I suppose the venue needs to make money. During setbreak, some of Sal’s friends (aka the Pearl River bunch) came by; the names I was able to write down consist of Shannon, Pete, Mike, and Jerry. I felt I was in Dazed and Confused, as a bunch of 70s hits blared on the speakers, such as Ted Nugent’s “Cat Scratch Fever” and Head East’s “Never Been Any Reason.” Set 2 opened with “Eyes of the World,” then went into “Samson and Delilah,” followed by “Big Boss Man.” I was delighted to see the latter, as I never heard any tribute play that one live. “Moonlight Midnight” followed, then “New Speedway Boogie,” “The Race Is On,” “The Mighty Quinn,” “Mississippi Half-Step Uptown Toodleloo,” and “Shakedown Street.” Other highlights include meeting a young lady named Corrina, named after the Dead song, and the men’s door that kept swinging back at me, making me think there was someone in there the first time I used it. Sal and I parted ways at about 1 a.m., and I drove home in some rain. The plan: take Route 304, the Palisades, and the Thruway home. Those windy roads can be a challenge for drunk drivers, which can be a challenge for my safety. Fortunately, those main roads were sparsely populated. All in all, a nice trip down memory lane.
This is a piece of flash fiction written in a workshop held by Gotham on June 14, 2019. It was inspired by show experiences and takes a slice of life from my screenplay's protagonist. “Wait until that deal come round, don’t you let that deal go down.” So the singer crooned into the microphone. Devin was happy to hear some live music after escaping from her Dad and evil stepmother. Lynda. What the fuck was up with her, having to step into their lives? She wasn’t Devin’s Mom! She bopped her head back and forth and twirled around in a circle, her favorite dance moves. Everyone knew that was Devin’s space, the world Devin had fashioned for herself in the midst of all the worlds created by her fellow dancers. Then she looked over and saw him. A man, looked about three or four years older than her, tall, dark complexion, and wearing a tye-dyed Grateful Dead shirt! Hottie, Deadhead, available! she thought. She tried to make eye contact with him as she danced around, hoping he’d come over and spin her around. He looked toward her, and she gave an awkward smile. He smiled back. Suddenly, she felt a tap on her right shoulder. She turned around, and it was Shane in all his dreadlocked glory. “What?” Devin asked. “I’m gonna go get a drink, you want one?” he asked. “No, I’m fine,” Devin responded hurriedly. Tye-dye guy had turned away from Devin. Dammit, she thought. That guy thinks fucking Shane is my boyfriend. “Must be getting early,” the singer belted into the mic. “Clocks are getting late.” She continued to dance, and the guy wasn’t even looking at her. Until he was. His position had changed on the dance floor; he was a few feet closer to her. Don’t look like you’re interested, Devin thought. Pretend not to notice! Suddenly, Devin felt another tap on her shoulder. It was Shane holding a glass of water and presenting it to her. “Shane, I’m good, I don’t need a water,” Devin said, her patience beginning to run thin. “You always get dehydrated, though,” he said. Devin slinked away from Shane and toward this mystery guy. Fuck it, she thought. I’ll talk first if he’s not going to. Suddenly, she saw a blonde in a flowy skirt put her arms around the guy’s eyes. The guy turned around, and they kissed passionately. Devin exhaled deeply as her heart sunk. She walked back toward Shane and took the water. “Thanks,” she said as she took the water. “I was born in a desert, I was raised in a lion’s den,” the singer bellowed as she reclaimed her original spot on the dance floor. By the time “New Minglewood Blues” finished, Guy in Tye-Dye had disappeared from her memory, and she was ready to rock again. So on June 13, 1978, my little body passed into this world. Forty-one years later, I found myself at this little spot. This was the first birthday in three years that I wasn’t scoring AP exams. Yet, I did work on editing essays for a collection I’m proposing on writing and emotion as relates to the First-Year Composition classroom. That evening, my marvelous mother took me out for dinner at Fink’s, a cool BBQ joint in Suffern. After that, I was headed into Nyack, an old stomping ground of mine to see Dead Meat, a local Dead tribute (Kelly suggested I see a show for my birthday when she wished me a Happy Bday via Facebook, so I had to). It was the first time I’d been in a Nyack bar in over ten years.
I felt as if I was in a Poe story as I took a staircase into a basement. Upon entrance, I saw Aaron chilling with the band. The band was great, but the venue tight, not unlike Cogan’s Deli in Williamsburg. Fortunately, I was able to find my space, and I was informed by a young lady that “it clears out as the night goes on,” followed by a dude saying, “Yeah, people have Friday responsibilities.” I walked in on a “Dancing in the Streets” that reminded me of the version from 5/8/77, that classic Cornell show. There was then a “Terrapin” tease that led into a sweet “Help/Slipknot/Franklin’s” combo. “The Music Never Stopped” followed, then “Goin’ Down the Road,” “Not Fade Away,” and “Feel Like a Stranger.” At some point, a scraggly dude whose spatial awareness was compromised by his imbibing of spirits nailed me in the right shoulder with his elbow. When I writhed in slight pain, he gave me a hug, presumably to say “my bad.” Nice dude, but I’d avoid him for the rest of the night. By the time “He’s Gone” came (one of Johnny Mac’s favs), I had enough space to move. The band debuted “Casey Jones,” which gave me a skingasm much like the version I had the privilege of seeing close the first set at Citi Field on 6/25/17. I never thought they could take what could be perceived to be a mainstream song and send chills down my spine, but the Dead give us those miracles we need (hahhahah…get it? I Need a Miracle?) Speaking of which, that song followed “Bird Song” and a “St. Stephen” tease (Maggie’s fav). “Uncle John’s Band” next, and during “Brokedown Palace,” Aaron invited me to go eat with him; he had to leave early for a work meeting the next day. I was there for the socializing more so than the music, so I exited with him. I was full from dinner, so I thought I’d get coffee. But once we hit Tarantella’s down the road (the thick crust on their pizza makes it truly NY), the pizzas captivated me much like the Sirens did to Odysseus on that fateful journey. So I indulged in a bacon chicken ranch slice, while Aaron had a nice-looking meal of calamari, along with chicken fingers and fries. We talked music, books, philosophy, real estate, our jobs. It was an awesome conversation. All in all, a great way to celebrate 41, although I felt 21 that night. Shows do that. So my summer of writing and concerts and travel was punctuated by my annual trip to Tampa, Florida to grade Advanced Placement essay exams. We call it “summer camp for word nerds.” I think of it as Summer Camp/Big Cypress for Word Nerds because I feel the same way I do at a show.
This year was even better because after four straight days of grading essays (I’m not supposed to talk about anything that goes on there or the folks at the College Board will tape my fingers together so I can’t type anything), I was able to coordinate a trip to Skipper’s Smokehouse, a true Deadhead bar in suburban Tampa for Uncle John’s Band. I had seen them two years earlier, and they’re one of the better Dead tributes I’ve seen. Thirty years of playing will do that. I met up with Mark (North Carolina) and Dave (Texas), both English teachers, and we chowed down on some sushi at Harpoon Harry’s Crab House, this spot next to the Tampa Convention Center. It was cool alternating conversations between music and shop, which is something I can never do with my “academic tribe” or my “Dead crew.” Code-switching is cool. We met up with Charlie (Georgia), Rod (Long Island), and Ryan (Maine) at the Marriott on Water Street, and after a technological gaffe, caught our Uber up there. There, I saw Beth, who I had spoken to on our group Facebook page, and Adair, another reader. Skipper’s Smokehouse is a true Deadhead bar, with Steely logos in the bathroom, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen a smaller Dead tribute with a Shakedown. I got three bracelets there my last time around, and they’re still going strong. In fact, the lady who sold them to me was there, and I did some repeat business by purchasing a necklace. Mark and I read each other’s blogs and talked music and philosophy. Dave and I talked country music and teaching. Rod reminds me of Johnny Mac (8/16/18) in his mannerisms. Long Islanders unite! Charlie reminds me of Dean (4/4/19), a fellow Southerner, in his. Always cool to be able to be able to make those kinds of connections. The band started at about a quarter after 8. They opened up with “China Cat,” segued into “I Know Yuou Rider,” played a song I’d never heard (if anyone knows of it, feel free to comment) and jammed out on “Cumberland Blues.” Around that point, a young lady walked around with a big jar, yelling, “Contributions for the band! Give it up or you will get shivved in the parking lot!” I like my skin the way it is, so I gave a couple of bucks, and they rock hard enough to deserve it. Somewhere on the floor, I heard the words “Rhetorical Analysis.” Not what I’d expect at a show, but it was a pleasant surprise melding academicland and showland. Side note: I was informed that Dr. John had died (my current events had been lacking this week). He was a true icon, and I figured the band would do a tribute to him, but I wouldn’t be around for it. Next was the Janis Joplin tune, “Me & Bobby McGee,” followed by “Fire on the Mountain.” At that point, it was raining heavily. Now, multiple choice question: do you think I danced in the rain? Take your time.
Disclaimer: once it got REALLY heavy, I limited my dancing space to the canopy, but it didn’t stop me from getting blisters from dancing in the rain in flip-flops (“I got blisters on my feet!”), so much so that the next morning, I had to wear sneakers. But it was worth it. The boys went into the Stones’s “Miss You,” followed by “Iko Iko.” At that point, they stopped due to the heavy rain (I respect their desire not to be electrocuted). A few folks brought out some bongos, and there was a pretty neat drum circle. I met Ryan’s friend Doug, and the three of us had a good conversation about our respective universities and positions (I love shop talk at shows!). Rachel (Minnesota), a lady from the reading, came in with her friend Eric (Austin, Texas), and we had some good conversation. Those two win my patented Badass of the Night Award, as they stayed until the end of the show, 1 a.m. My crew was thinking about heading back during the setbreak, and we agreed on 15 minutes. I informed Mark of this as he was talking to Rachel. During the “Begonias” that opened the second set, the following dialogue took place: Rachel: Are you really leaving in fifteen minutes? Me: Not anymore. That was a total lie, as I ended up leaving with the group during “Sugaree.” I go to these shows all the time, and I didn’t want to be shot (I have to be awake to score those essays), so I figure missing part of the set wouldn’t hurt. The ride home was pretty chill. This show, while short, was a very unique experience. This blog has given me a wonderful way to integrate my love of writing and my love of shows, but this is truly the first time I actually combined my work life and my show life in such a robust way, and it integrated seamlessly. And I met some cool people. Thanks, guys, for making it a great night, and for contributing to an amazing AP experience (best thus far). Hope to do it again next year! |
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February 2024
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