SHARING THE SHOWS
Grateful Dead Meetup at the Movies - Village East by Angelika - New York, NY - June 24, 20236/25/2023 I’d just been to Dead & Company; did I REALLY need to see an old Dead show in a MOVIE THEATER?
No, but my Dead FOMO had hit me at the prospect of seeing Dead & Co, and it had continued to the movie. And it was a daytime show, which would give me enough time to relax in the evening. I hadn’t been flaneuring around New York City in a while, so I thought I’d head down. I love people-watching on the trains; I was intrigued by an elderly local recommending restaurant to someone who appeared to be from Eastern Europe. Once in the city, my stomach started to rumble. I got to the neighborhood about 30 minutes before showtime, and the appearance of Tompkins Square Bagels on my map, right across from the theater, was inciting my craving for tuna on a New York bagel. I was greeted by a 20-minute line, consisting mostly of the 20somethings who’d likely been imbibing the night prior. I was able to get to the theater with three minutes to spare, and I saw a lovely sight. Five other people in the theater, all of whom appeared to be traveling solo. Solo outings aren’t celebrated nearly as much as they should be (IMHO), so I was psyched to see it. I did the “head nod” with a dude in a Dead hat. Three more solo flyers entered after me, along with a pair of friends. The show was great, and I drop the setlist here. When I’m at a live show, I’m into the music, but a movie (sans dancing) forced me to look closely at the show. Close-ups of Jerry and Bobby’s hands flying on the guitar and Phil’s on the bass. Jerry and Bruce Hornsby smiling at each other during an intense “Shakedown Street” jam. I wonder what the subverbal conversation was there. The graphics were interesting too; I present to you this video of “One More Saturday Night.” Scroll to 1:24 in. You can tell the video was edited in the 1990s; I was on my college television station in that decade, and the graphics looked like they were imported manually from a character generator. It brought me back. I didn’t have Maggie, Gary, Mark, Johnny, or Drew there, and I didn’t feel like being the only one to get up and dance, so the boogeying didn’t happen like it used to in Virginia. But I did tap my feet a lot, especially during “Wang Dang Doodle,” “Foolish Heart,” and “When I Paint My Masterpiece.” As we exited the theater, I heard the sound of an ambulance siren. Back to the real world, I thought. But it was nice to escape for a few hours, and the music provides just that.
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So, as I’ve said on previous posts, I’m not that enamored with Dead and Company. But it’s interesting how even as an adult, I can be influenced by peers. Stephen, Donny, and Kathy all posted about the Bristow show, and Pete gave me the scoop. He also did so with the Philly show. Shana posted pics of that one. Charles talked about Atlanta, Jaclyn about SPAC. Shawn, Bruce, and Heath: SPAC as well. I’m planning on staying in New York another week, and it was an easy train ride away from Citi Field. Tix weren’t that expensive. John was game. It was the last tour. Okay, fine, I was in. The fact that I have a soft spot for Flushing due to a childhood spending going to Mets games may have also been contributed to my decision. It would also be the perfect venue to wear my Dead/Mets combo T-shirt. I met John at Times Square, and we hopped that 7 express out to Citi Field. One of my favorite things about riding the subway to shows is seeing all the other heads on the train, so we’re already creating community before we get to the stadium, and we don’t have to navigate around other cars to do so. There was a nice couple from South Carolina who got their hotel in Manhattan to explore the city. During the show, John and I remarked on how these hotels really knew how to take advantage, jacking up prices during tourist season. Building on the theme of capitalism’s dark side, I hadn’t really walked Shakedown in a good while, and for the most part, nothing changed. Of course, now, the vendors will be happy to provide a QR code to gouge you through Venmo. Oh, and there was that super-nice salesperson who shouted, “Nitrous! Will take PayPal or CashApp!” So convenient. All cynicism aside, there were some cool shirts and signs, which I happily post for you here: We were able to get tickets for $50 each, way below the resale prices on Ticketbastard. Props to John for his negotiating sales. I’m not particular about where I sit, so long as I can hear them playin’ in the band. Like John said, “When you can fist-bump with the pilots, you know you’re in the nosebleeds.” Dinner was also nostalgic, having spent much of my money earned delivering papers on Nathan’s hot dogs and crinkle-cut fries at the Nanuet Mall. The show was tight, and here’s the setlist. It was a tight set. John did catch them messing up several lyrics, and I even spotted a missing verse in “Uncle John’s Band.” But they’ve been at it for fifty-eight years; I guess they’ve earned the right to revise their songs. Highlights for me included an INCREDIBLE jam on “St. Stephen” (favorite songs of Maggie’s and John’s), “U.S. Blues,” a tight bluesy “It Hurts Me Too,” and “Althea.”
The weather wasn’t quite as warm as I had thought it would be. Decked out in my T-shirt and shorts, standing in gusty winds got a bit uncomfortable during the second sun. On the one hand, I thought, shoulda brought my hoodie! On the other, it’s been colder. John and I parted at Times Square, and I had the privilege of seeing all the Cure fans decked out in black, courtesy of their show at MSG, and as I crossed Eighth Avenue to get to Penn Station, I heard a car blasting “Boys Don’t Cry,” one of two Cure songs I’m familiar with (the other being “Friday I’m in Love,” the latter of which does hit me if I’m in the right frame of mind). The trains home carried a nice mix of Deadheads and Cure fans. I heard a pair of friends talk about ticket prices as I drifted in and out of consciousness. I got back to the house at about 2 a.m., which brings me back to my early 20s, when I’d go to New York City shows, take the six-minute drive from the Suffern train station to my Mom’s house, and hit the pillow. I’m a little tired out at the moment, but I’m about to meet my friend Elizabeth in Ridgewood for lunch, so I was forced back into the real world. But, related to my last post, Elizabeth was a mentor to me when I started my teaching career as an adjunct for Bergen Community College. A whopping $2,100 per course, but that experience, and Elizabeth, helped propel me to the place I’m at now. And, like I also said in my last post, I wouldn’t have gotten to that place without these shows. Even though I’m cutting down on them (i.e., doing one of the Citi Field shows instead of both), they’ll continue to be a part of my life. Nothing left to do now but smile, smile, smile. As I type this, I’m listening to the Lettuce show on December 31, 2017 at the Brooklyn Bowl. This show permeated the speakers in my office on the evening October 31, 2018, ten months after the show.
That night’s a significant one. I had been spending the last month organizing the prior four years of the work I’d done as a college professor in Virginia into a huge binder and writing a narrative explaining why all that work entitled me to a promotion from Assistant Professor to Associate Professor. I didn’t think I was even close to qualifying, so my first draft of the portfolio (which was required) was a sloppy binder with about eight pages. My chairperson at the time didn’t accept this and insisted that I put in a real effort. I had done the work; why not reap the reward? After a lot of hesitation, I decided I had nothing to lose. That night, I had finally organized it the way I wanted, and it was time to place little sticky notes with typed page numbers on the sheet protectors that housed my work. A real pain in the butt, but the powers that be required it. It was 10 at night, I had spent a few weekends and late nights prior printing out documents, organizing them, collecting letters of recommendation, and fighting the onslaught of anxiety. And that’s where music comes in. The transition from the cocoon of graduate school to the tenure-track was a challenge. Expectations were lofty, and I wasn’t quite used to the conservative, genteel nature of the South. But I had made some new friends who were into the music that I had listened to before I decided to stop going to “those shows” and become an academic. About two months into my newfound residency in Virginia, a neighbor I knew as “Plumber Dave” invited me to an Allman Brothers tribute band called Skydog at a nearby bar/grill called Hoss’s Deli. Just like with my chair, after some hesitation, he kept doing the “come on” until I relented. I’m glad I did. It was there that I met the folks who would be my friends/show buddies for the next several years: Maggie, Mark, Gary, and through Mark, I met Drew. And through the shows, I’ve met others (Pete, John, Charles, Mark, Jaclyn, Bob, Amy, Shana, and well, lots of other good people). It was slow going. There were some sporadic trips I took with Mark: DSO at the Paramount, Widespread Panic at the Altria, Andres Osborne at the Jefferson. Then, during my second year at Hampton, I took weekly trips with Maggie and her/our friend Russell to see Blind and Dirty at various venues in Williamsburg. Then another Panic show with Drew and Mark. Then another. Then another. Then there was Phish in Philly with Drew and Scott. Then String Cheese with Mark, Drew, and Maggie in Portsmouth. That was the night my car got towed from the parking lot at Mark’s apartment complex. Bummed was what I was, but singing “Contact” helped. Then more local shows. Then Phish’s four-night run at Madison Square Garden to close out 2016 (hence where the title of this blog comes from). And then, well, more shows. By day, I lived the academic life. Teaching, leading teams and committees, developing my research interest in Singles Studies. I planned lessons, researched, wrote, and did all that paperwork they don’t show on television, and it could be stressful. But I often had the music from the likes of the Grateful Dead and all its offshoots and tributes (Dead & Company, JRAD, DSO), Phish, Widespread Panic, String Cheese Incident, and countless other acts/genres, playing as I worked. And by night, I was grooving out. And going to those shows would help me get a perspective on life. Hearing the music, dancing, joking around with friends (“Special Guest!”), high-fiving and fist-bumping strangers, all those things would help me stay in balance. As Mark Hannah stated to a young Jordan Belfort upon his entry into the world of high finance in The Wolf of Wall Street, “You gotta stay relaxed.” Music’s done that for me, much healthier than the strategies employed by the brokers in that flick. And low and behold, on May 1, 2019, I got the letter congratulating me on my promotion. The Lettuce show helped me get through that late night. Cut to 2021. I’d gotten promoted, but tenure was pretty impossible to come by. Luckily, I’d gotten a wonderful opportunity at my current school in Washington, DC. I’d go in at the rank of Associate Professor and I’d have a shortened tenure clock (I’d go up for it after two years, whereas most would need to put in four). I had a successful first year, but I had moved during lockdown. It was hard to build personal connections, and I’d grown burned out from teaching to video screens. I was in love with my current school, so my stress around tenure was way higher than that during my time in Virginia. The car accident I had at the B Chord (10/11/20) had also caused some trauma around driving, so my anxiety was at a peak, so much that I had been prescribed a medication to help me sleep. It did the job 98% of the time, but the groggy feeling I had the next day sucked. I’d learned about a local Dead cover band called Better Off Dead playing at the Pearl Street Warehouse one Saturday night (7/28/21). Once they started playing and I began grooving, a familiar feeling of bliss permeated my body. I hadn’t felt this since before the accident. I met a cool guy named John that night, and chatted casually with other Deadheads. The subway ride home was fun. And that night, I slept very well without the medication. Over the next several months, the shows came back. I met Pete on 10/1/21 at Masala Art, an Indian restaurant near the Anthem. He and I have done several shows in the past year and a half, and he’s turned me onto some good acts. As I went to more shows, my work stayed solid, but my anxiety around tenure decreased. This past January, going to shows was starting to feel like a job, so I underwent a 40-day fast from shows, which was wonderful for my spirit. I have some shows planned, but I’m being more judicious about them. So what’s the point? On June 8, 2023, the Board of Trustees at my school announced that I had gotten tenure. I’d been grinding away for the past several years toward this goal, and it happened. And while many people stereotype Deadheads, Phishheads, and fans of other jam bands as lazy, drug-addled burnouts, that stereotype couldn’t be further from the truth in my case. I worked my ass off for tenure (a rare feat in higher education these days), and the music has provided the soundtrack. So now what? I hope to stay in DC for years and years, and while I imagine my life will change quite a bit (I have been cutting down on the shows, and I plan to buy a home in the near future), I don’t see the music going away. It’s helped me get to where I am so far (knock on wood), so the way I see it, why mess with a good thing? And it’s not just the music; it’s the people. Everybody I mentioned here has played a role in helping me get to tenure. And it’s been great. On a deeper level, there’s some existential anxiety. I’ve been a nomad for the past thirteen years, as many of us in higher education are. So while I’ve developed connections to the areas I’ve lived in, I’ve always felt as if I’m eventually going to exit. Now, I’m committed to the DMV, and it’s a scary thing to think about. But I know I’ll roll with it, and the music and the friendships will be there as I do. Why’d I suggest this again?
That was the thought going through my foggy brain as I had finished another annual round of scoring AP essays in humid yet sunny Tampa. All I wanted to do was eat some mass-produced slop, courtesy of the College Board, and watch cat videos on YouTube. But I had bought the ticket and proposed the idea to Charlie and Jaclyn, so I was committed. The slop Charlie and I consumed consisted of brisket, pulled pork, mac and cheese, and green beans (it was actually decent). We met up with Jaclyn outside of the Tampa Convention Center and made our way to Jannus Live. I had been to downtown St. Petersburg once before, when I soloed to the Dali Museum a couple of days before my first year scoring AP exams. I don’t remember it being this lively; the partiers were out in full force, which motivated me. The venue was just as colorful, and in general, people were happier than I’m used to in the DC scene. I had a nice chat with a young lady named Brittany, who was following Lettuce around Florida with a group of dudes. And another guy named Nicko, owner of Nicko’s Pizza & Subs in St. Petersburg. If I’m there again, I’ll definitely consume some pre- or post-show pie. I also saw a cool variety of T-shirts. I tallied a Black Sabbath, a Godsmack, a “Grateful Dude,” a “World’s Greatest Cat Dad” (though I think I could give that one a run for his money), and one that read “Bronx Party Animals,” which is, ironically, a California-based punk band. And now the show. Three bands graced the stage. The first, Makua Rothman, had an upbeat jazz rock feel, and man did I dance out all that energy from the grading. A highlight was their cover of the Eagles’ classic, “Hotel California.” Jaclyn insisted on busting “Hotel Marriott Tampa” as that’s the hotel all three of us were in (Charlie and I in one room, Jaclyn in another, so get your head out of the gutter!). The moment reminded me of my old fraternity; at the end of a night of mass consumption of fermented hops, we’d all scream “Living it up at the hotel Theta Gamma” as that tune played on our house’s loudspeakers. The next group was a band called Steel Pulse; I hadn’t heard of them, but when I pulled them up on my Spotify app, I learned they’d been around since the 1970s, and they very much had a 70s era reggae sound, much like Bob Marley. And, to my surprise, John indicated he’d seen them and Bob had some of their LPs. Of course, Pete knew who they were too. I’m glad to know that I can always learn more about music history and grateful for people from whom I can learn. By that point, it had gotten crowded, and I migrated toward the back, where it’s typically less crowded, hence, more room to dance. I was also near the water cooler, which was a plus. Lettuce came on at 10:40; to be honest, I’m getting tired of bands that start after 10 p.m. and just go on and on (i.e. the Drive-By Truckers show back in April). That being said, they still rocked, I still danced, and they seemed to be wrapping it up at 11:30ish, right when the ticket said they would. We had to navigate through a windy hill of a parking garage trying to find an elevator to Charlie’s car, but we eventually made it, and we had a nice view of the water on parts of the drive home. After getting back to the room, I indulged in a (non-slop) brownie I had snagged from the Convention Center. As I write this, I’m sitting in the same exact seat as I did when I wrote about the show that capped last year’s reading. The spot: Bay Coffee & Tea Company at Tampa International Airport. The show: Uncle John’s Band with Charles, Jaclyn, Mark, and Kevin. I didn’t see them this year, which is totally fine, given my attempts to cut down on shows and the fact that as much as I love Dead cover bands, they are a dime a dozen. And I had plenty of other low-key good times: dessert with Liddy and Sage one night, dinner with Joey another night, two meals with Mark, flaneuring around Ybor City and Sparkman’s Wharf, and of course, some much-needed alone time. Scoring essays from 8 to 5 really does tire one out. So going back to my original question: why’d I suggest this? Because scoring essays from 8 to 5 really does tire one out, and music gives me a perspective on why I do this. And it’s thanks to this music that on June 8, 2023, I was awarded tenure at my university, a rare feat these days. I spent many hours planning lessons, researching, writing (including my book, How to be a Happy Bachelor), and doing the tedious work of putting together my promotion and tenure packets at Hampton and UDC, respectively. The sounds of Phish, the Grateful Dead, Widespread Panic, String Cheese Incident, Rush, Led Zeppelin, and countless other musicians permeated the air as I grinded away toward this goal. In fact, I remember spending one late night in my Hampton office putting the finishing touches on my promotion portfolio (i.e. sticky notes with page numbers) as a Lettuce show played on my laptop. This blog also propelled me into the writing habit that made my book, and several other articles, possible. In turn, tenure happened. I’ll pivot from my humble brag and remark that it’s amazing how things connect. At this point, I’m ready for a two-day nap. Good night, and cheers! |
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