Breakfast. It is by far my favorite meal of the day. It is the taste of the morning. The taste of waking up, of looking forward to the day. It's the start of the light, the end of the darkness. Okay, you get it, I like breakfast.
And yet, having been to countless restaurants throughout the bay area, only today have I found THE place to call my favorite breakfast spot. I do like Chloe's in Noe Valley, offering the occasional pear and walnut pancakes that are delightful. Toast just down the road is also fairly reliable and offers a wider range of desirable items. Many a day I've gone to Bean Bag Cafe on Divis, it being walkable and pleasantly mediocre. Not in a long time, but a once frequented Blue Jay Cafe is also not a bad choice in a bind. But every one of these lacks that thing. That subtle yet irresistible thing that I've yearned for since childhood. It's a kind of culinary glow, an etheric wash that manifests in gentle and delicate texture, softness around the edges of flavors, and peace in the setting in which these can be appreciated.
Welcome, Dottie's True Blue Cafe. It was maybe a year ago that I first visited the place, and I had been warned of what I was in store for. Sure enough, it was a treat. But that day was a weekday, just before closing and the joint was nearly empty and I had lunch. A very good lunch, though I don't recall what I ate. I do recall the bread. More on that in a moment. Yet for various reasons, the message was delivered but not received. That is to say, in the several times since then that I thought to visit, I passed after driving by and seeing the line around the block. It didn't seem worth it. Today, I would disagree.
Bread is the great white whale of my lifetime eating experience. It is a magical creature born as a paste that blossoms into a castle of crunch and chew. So much of what modern food lacks comes from a focus on shelf life. In worst cases, plastic bagged factory bread is mushy tasteless foam engineered to last the weeks it takes to get from its birth lab to your sandwich. In best cases, a kind baker applies their craft and something delicious is born. But in every case, the true reality of good bread is missed. That is to say, good bread is by design fleeting. It is a paradox of moisture and dryness. Crisp crust is essential for a hearty wheat loaf, yet the desired softness of the custard middle means that in just hours, the bread self-destructs. It sits on the counter bleeding its fragile structure to death.
But in the moments when bread has been just baked and just cooled, there is something special. It's almost like a shine on the texture. A fragile crisp that happens just before the bite. It's daffodils and puffy clouds and long walks on the beach... and now I'm gushing.
Dottie's has tagged the bread puzzle. And when I say bread, I pretty much mean everything that comes out of the oven. Today I had two slices of scallion bread served with apricot preserve. Yes, this is wheat and green onions blended together to give a crumbly yet perfectly crisp and moist pan-seared toast with the hint of savory, grounding the twist of sweetness. I sat there sipping my coffee and eating this thing, feeling flush, almost weepy, like I'd just had a visit from a long lost friend. It was pretty darn good.
Then came my entree: whiskey-fennel sausage, mushroom, and spinach scramble served with cornbread and potatoes. Starting with the cornbread, more of that baking magic. Crisp and light and crumbly in a way that only freshness can offer, it was well done. The eggs were smooth and consistent, not too eggy. Potatoes had a seasoned caramel but not blackened quality that was perfect. And the small chunks of sauteed sausage added just a touch of spice, without overpowering the dish. Solid breakfast, without the slightest hint of pretense.
That's another thing that really ticks me off about most "good" places to eat. Food, like all other things of value, has been commandeered and perverted by classism. The foodies strive for something weird, different, unusual, or rare. Every place servicing the food snobs of the bay has a menu that reads like a foreign film, full of incomprehensible words, and language whose pronunciation some self-righteous staff love to enforce.
I am all for trying what's good. But I think what's good is what's simple. It's not what's different. It's what's the same. It's the core. It's the ability to be so satisfying that it never needs to change. It's goodness that never gets old. That is the heart of what I believe I want from flavor. Simple, reliable, repeatable pleasure, with no requirement for flair. A long term marriage based on respect and deep connection. Not an oily romp with a rubber ball gag.
Dottie's has a long list of muffins, tarts, and choco sweet baked goods that makes me wish I'd found them 25 pounds ago. I avoided most of this. But their list of entrees was nearly unanimously appealing. Something like 15 choices, and probably 11 of them sounded like what I wanted to have right then and there. Every one spoke of simple goodness like cornbread, sausage, toast, eggs, roasted tomatoes, and the like. I just had breakfast, and I feel like I missed out on so much they had to offer. That is a good place to eat.
*sigh* Despite my moment of enthusiasm, I doubt I will go back there tomorrow morning. It might even be a few weeks. But in my heart, I have a peace of mind, that looking out into the city I live in, the city I love, I know another spot where there are folks who do things right. That is a treasure unto itself.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Why?
Yesterday I visited the Monterey Bay Aquarium. It was a spectactular collection of marine life. In particular was a visiting exhibition of seahorses. As I navigated from tank to tank, touched by the vast span of shape, color, beauty, and idiosyncracy of our living reality, I couldn't escape the throngs of families who were having their own Sunday outings. Strollers and children abounded. Displays were interspersed with placards and screens advocating for conservation. The aquarium itself names its mission as a means of increasing awareness to protect wild places and wild life.
And for that reason, it was so striking to see a problem visiting a solution. I am convinced that human behavior is the reason so much other life is suffering. Millions of species of plants and animals are threatened, endangered, or extinct. Habitats continue to shrink due to expansion of human residential, agriculture, mining, drilling, and manufacturing needs. And what spaces are left wild are flooded with the waste products of the aforementioned human activities.
That said, I am a consumer. I am not a Luddite. I am not a hippie. I live in the city. I own a TV. I support technology, civilization, and the well being of all that wish to offer me the same. Personally, I am also deeply touched by life in its many forms, and it seems as devastating to me to bulldoze a pristine forest as it does to bulldoze my neighbor's house. Both are places in which what's there would rather be, and both are places that had a lot of time and energy put into being there. But even on a purely selfish basis, can we consider our choices in terms of not shooting ourselves in the foot?
Many sources indicate that in 10 years we will be facing worldwide shortages of fresh water. Think about this. There will not be enough water. Imagine being thirsty, and not having any possible way to relieve that feeling. Imagine being dirty, and having no bath or shower to turn to. This is already a reality for many many people. I'm not fear-mongering, I'm simply describing an apparently elusive cause-and-effect relationship: finite resources divided among more and more consumers. At some point, there will too little, and that point is upon us.
Beyond water, there is of course the overall climate itself. Every person generates their own contribution to this problem, and westerners with much more manufactured goods and travel impact are the worst. So each body makes us hotter, sicker, and less able to survive. Of course, we can all reduce our consumption and our carbon footprint and we do and should. But the equation has two parts. One, the impact of an individual. Two, the number of individuals.
Then there is the complex hierarchy that supports our life. Devastation of insect populations threatens plant populations which threaten animal populations and on and on. Basic 8th grade earth science teaches us the cycles that support us. If we didn't get it then, we should get it now. The breakdown is showing us decisively that our foundation is crumbling. And a foundation that took billions of years to build. Toppling after just 100 years of misbehavior.
It is an atrocity of intellectual debate that population management through individual voluntary family planning is not at the top of our collective mind. I am against any form of mandate that would restrict human population growth. But I cannot advocate enough that those of us who are interested in surviving and being well, and perhaps offering that possibility to others who cannot or will not help, consider why we need to reproduce and how fair it is to all parties involved - including the children.
I see spirituality as why we do what we do. Religion can be spirituality if it advises to this effect. Whether you have religion, or just a personal sense of choice, you must have a framework that includes reality. Otherwise, we're in different worlds and your world doesn't realize it's crushing mine. That makes us, sad to say, foes by design. If we are in agreement that our belief systems, however spun, are to include reality - in the form of observable best effort truth - then we must be willing to overtake our habitual inclinations with our concerted judgment. Because truth currently demands it.
I introduce this topic not as a chastisement for those who've chosen to have children, or as a means of shaming or insulting those who plan to do so. What I really want is an education. Tell me why it makes sense. Tell me why I'm wrong. Tell me how you plan to deal with scarcity of natural resources. I wish it weren't true. If it weren't I'd have three kids. As I've always wanted. To see my legacy live on. To feel incumbent unconditional love. To feel like a parent. To feel part of a long history of life. But I won't. Because it makes no sense to me.
How could I put effort - a LOT of effort - into something that not only is completely unnecessary to me or anyone else, but is in fact going to harm us all. How could I do that?
Even at this point, I recall how I felt looking through aquarium glass into the eyes of a leafy sea dragon, a creature unlike any I've ever seen. So delicate and gentle, a form that could be as much plant as animal, and feeling as though I were a fool at the foot of the wise. There is quiet desperation in the eyes of many of our earthmates. It is a desperation, I believe, drawn from their reality that speaks to surges of insanity - things behaving in ways that make no sense even to themselves. It is the look of fear that has no obvious resolution, and therefore must be accepted. Perhaps I will have that look one day. But for now, I still have hope.
And for that reason, it was so striking to see a problem visiting a solution. I am convinced that human behavior is the reason so much other life is suffering. Millions of species of plants and animals are threatened, endangered, or extinct. Habitats continue to shrink due to expansion of human residential, agriculture, mining, drilling, and manufacturing needs. And what spaces are left wild are flooded with the waste products of the aforementioned human activities.
That said, I am a consumer. I am not a Luddite. I am not a hippie. I live in the city. I own a TV. I support technology, civilization, and the well being of all that wish to offer me the same. Personally, I am also deeply touched by life in its many forms, and it seems as devastating to me to bulldoze a pristine forest as it does to bulldoze my neighbor's house. Both are places in which what's there would rather be, and both are places that had a lot of time and energy put into being there. But even on a purely selfish basis, can we consider our choices in terms of not shooting ourselves in the foot?
Many sources indicate that in 10 years we will be facing worldwide shortages of fresh water. Think about this. There will not be enough water. Imagine being thirsty, and not having any possible way to relieve that feeling. Imagine being dirty, and having no bath or shower to turn to. This is already a reality for many many people. I'm not fear-mongering, I'm simply describing an apparently elusive cause-and-effect relationship: finite resources divided among more and more consumers. At some point, there will too little, and that point is upon us.
Beyond water, there is of course the overall climate itself. Every person generates their own contribution to this problem, and westerners with much more manufactured goods and travel impact are the worst. So each body makes us hotter, sicker, and less able to survive. Of course, we can all reduce our consumption and our carbon footprint and we do and should. But the equation has two parts. One, the impact of an individual. Two, the number of individuals.
Then there is the complex hierarchy that supports our life. Devastation of insect populations threatens plant populations which threaten animal populations and on and on. Basic 8th grade earth science teaches us the cycles that support us. If we didn't get it then, we should get it now. The breakdown is showing us decisively that our foundation is crumbling. And a foundation that took billions of years to build. Toppling after just 100 years of misbehavior.
It is an atrocity of intellectual debate that population management through individual voluntary family planning is not at the top of our collective mind. I am against any form of mandate that would restrict human population growth. But I cannot advocate enough that those of us who are interested in surviving and being well, and perhaps offering that possibility to others who cannot or will not help, consider why we need to reproduce and how fair it is to all parties involved - including the children.
I see spirituality as why we do what we do. Religion can be spirituality if it advises to this effect. Whether you have religion, or just a personal sense of choice, you must have a framework that includes reality. Otherwise, we're in different worlds and your world doesn't realize it's crushing mine. That makes us, sad to say, foes by design. If we are in agreement that our belief systems, however spun, are to include reality - in the form of observable best effort truth - then we must be willing to overtake our habitual inclinations with our concerted judgment. Because truth currently demands it.
I introduce this topic not as a chastisement for those who've chosen to have children, or as a means of shaming or insulting those who plan to do so. What I really want is an education. Tell me why it makes sense. Tell me why I'm wrong. Tell me how you plan to deal with scarcity of natural resources. I wish it weren't true. If it weren't I'd have three kids. As I've always wanted. To see my legacy live on. To feel incumbent unconditional love. To feel like a parent. To feel part of a long history of life. But I won't. Because it makes no sense to me.
How could I put effort - a LOT of effort - into something that not only is completely unnecessary to me or anyone else, but is in fact going to harm us all. How could I do that?
Even at this point, I recall how I felt looking through aquarium glass into the eyes of a leafy sea dragon, a creature unlike any I've ever seen. So delicate and gentle, a form that could be as much plant as animal, and feeling as though I were a fool at the foot of the wise. There is quiet desperation in the eyes of many of our earthmates. It is a desperation, I believe, drawn from their reality that speaks to surges of insanity - things behaving in ways that make no sense even to themselves. It is the look of fear that has no obvious resolution, and therefore must be accepted. Perhaps I will have that look one day. But for now, I still have hope.
Friday, May 15, 2009
The Dead
I love The Dead. The Dead, the now touring band of former Grateful Dead members plus Warren Haynes and Jeff Chimenti. Their show at Shoreline Amphitheater last night was exceptional. A profoundly memorable event. I am truly grateful to have been a part of it. As a musician, I'm in awe of the skill set. Rhythmically, they were tight, flowing like a surging river of sound, every particle deeply integrated with the movement of the whole. Esthetically, the tones of each instrument blended richly, and presented a flavor of music that combined classic elegance with modern panache. I have spent the last few years trying to learn how to play that way. Last night gave me the chance to really appreciate why I want to be able to do that.
Which brings me to the greater takeaway from The Dead listening experience. And that is its value on the human level. True, recreation is recreation and great fun was certainly had. But what if you had to make sense of it? I can think of a lot of ways to amuse myself. Why am I writing about The Dead, and hoping to convince you to see the value that I see in them? It is because what they offer is rare and precious. And perhaps for that reason, can be difficult to get at. My intent is to help whet the appetite and lower the hurdles.
I completely missed the Deadhead scene during the 80s and 90s when I was immersed in Florida pop radio - Janet Jackson, Madonna, Howard Jones, and Duran Duran. I loved tweaking the Dolby settings on my walkman, and considering the richness of CrO2 cassettes versus normal bias. I loved sound, and songs. But in many ways I wasn't really listening. That is to say, I wasn't fully listening. What were the people making those sounds doing? What were they saying? What motivated them to make the sounds they were making? I often didn't know the lyrics to my favorite songs. I definitely couldn't articulate the rhythm. Even pitch escaped me. But I felt drawn to the music. I could feel something in it, and that feeling has brought me to this point today, where I insist and urge everyone I care about - and even those I don't - to go after more depth. Take my word for it, there's more available, and it's worth the effort to seek it. Late on the Dead scene, it's the answers to these questions that really inspire me to dig in.
The Grateful Dead, and presumably The Dead are encumbered with an image that many people seem to be unable to get past. Not sure if it's the drugs, or the hippies, or the jeans and sneakers regalia in which they appear. But I often find a certain blankness in the people I discuss this music with. There's a sense that I'm being written off for some reason. I must say, the crowd really can be a turnoff. Constant chatter, sometimes stupidly inebriated, many who show up aren't really there. Ignore them as much as you can and focus on the music. If you find yourself unable to connect, I would really challenge you to consider that you're not getting it, and keep trying, instead of deciding its not there. I am only talking about the music here, not the scene, not the image, not any other thing. Just sound and purpose.
I like a lot of different bands with different styles and flavors. The Beatles, Simon and Garfunkel, Radiohead, Pink Floyd - so many important moments in my life linked to and colored by these epic artists' work. They've helped get through tough situations, inspired some beautifully joyful ones. But let's go a little further. Harmony, I think, is the condition of distinct elements showing their innate relationship through cooperation - when tangible parts line up to suggest their intangible whole. Cycles combine into deeper, richer cycles. I think most of us have experienced situations in which our natural cycles were challenged. Things were less than harmonious. Where pressures were put on us, and we had to deal. For me, this meant choosing to detach from awareness of certain things, creating filters to keep out certain kinds of distress. That translated into a certain kind of silence in the flow of things. And to fill that silence, so many behaviors emerge twisted into a range of disturbed patterns.
Which brings me back to music. Why bother? It's not a requirement for life. Air, food, water, shelter and we exist. But what about a collapsing economy, mercury in the water, priests who rape kids? What about a 50% divorce rate, domestic violence, alcoholism, war, obesity, deforestation? This is the world we live in. What is going on with the people responsible for these situations? My argument in grand summary: they aren't listening. That is to say, something is going on for them that keeps them separate, distant, selfish, embroiled in their own detached existence, unable to find common ground in fellow seekers of life, sympathy and connection. Or maybe they're just pure evil, and can't be helped. Those people should not bother with music. For the rest of us, for the people with good hearts, trying to do what's right, what makes sense, trying to feel their own humanity, I cannot beg you enough to give The Dead a chance. What makes them different from other musicians is a commitment to delivering harmony with magical depth.
Recognizing how we come at things with filters, one thing to consider is how that limits the appreciation and understanding of what's there. So much of what's popular feeds the desire to be surprised - to hear something new and different, or the desire to be accepted - to hear something that fits the prescription of cool and hip. Or music comes from a place of venting, an expression of pain or anger or lust. All of these are okay. But life can be simpler than it seems, and the greatest truths are those things that remain the same. If you try to make sense of these other motivations for music, you find that their impact is limited. They are a kind of short term balm. Their influence doesn't fit with the end game. For The Dead, connection is the focus, and their ability to connect solidly deeply and thoroughly amounts to the kind of listening experience that I have only begun to dream about. The musicians are not only connecting with themselves and the audience, but also with the soul that seeks and delivers music in the first place. This, to me, is the psychedelic experience.
The Dead produce the sounds of getting along. The wall of sound is a place to open up to a feeling of being integrated into a greater whole. To recognize spirituality as a focus on what's important - what really truly matters. To be willing and able to cross the chasm of fear and uncertainty by trusting in some greater cycle in which we fit.
Religion, pedantry, glory, whatever. There are so many distractions. So many places to focus that are dead ends. So many chances for hamsterwheeling through life, spinning unraveling energy into frayed cords, rather than winding them into stable guide ropes. I am suggesting the choice of a deliberate valuable point of focus. For anyone who can listen, I suggest you listen to The Dead. Email me if you need a suggestion. Go to Dead.net and download some shows. Go to archive.org and listen to some shows. Buy their discs. I have seen hundreds of live music shows in my life, and last night had to be one of the finest. Standing on The Moon into Terrapin Station and back in to Moon was so sweet. Estimated Prophet into New Potato Caboose was a musical highlight. And Dear Mr. Fantasy just blew it out in terms of energy and enthusiasm. And I haven't even begun to discuss the details. The intricate stories of each song that reflect on love, loss, conflict, hope, struggle. It is poetry of emotion. Deft and intelligent. The phenomenal writing craft of Robert Hunter articulating the messages of the melodies. These guys are in another league when it comes to storytelling. But I will leave these details to your own discovery.
When I discuss music with people, so much of what goes on involves naming styles and patterns and comparing one thing with another. It's like an exercise in sorting and filing. The interest is in pushing things around, rather than just taking it in and getting something out of it. I say this recognizing my own ongoing struggle to get past this behavior. Part of what I've realized from a lifetime of not fully paying attention is that it's easy to see past the thing you're looking at and therefore miss what it has to offer. Some of this has to do with the limitations of what we're often given to look at.
I have to mention the dancers during Drums. First off, Mickey Hart and Bill Kreutzmann are hands down the most solid drummers I can think of. They relate emotionally. That is to say, they're not counting gaps and trying to hit the markers, or worse trying to wow and amaze with rhythmic zingers, but instead appear to be agreeing on a four-dimensional rhythmic form and then spraying its surface with notes like fireworks silhouetting a skyscraper. They give you structure as well as fluidity. That soundtrack against body-painted women gyrating and whirling fire balls was not a bad intermission between songs. So much costumed dance comes across as constricted, cheesy, as though people are hiding in their own uncertainty. Not this one. The art of the dance, and the art of the dancers themselves was so humane - legit on a basic level. For anyone who can appreciate the beauty of Balinese woodcarving, imagine that forged with life and lit with fire. These dancers were enhanced by their decoration, rather than subdued by it. And their craft was passionate and strong - a real treat again to experience among the stodgily empty perfectionism of so much other stage work. Definitely a solid accompaniment to the circus of sound.
In summary, as I see it, popular culture suffers from an overwhelming dearth of real value. People present themselves as entertainers for so many unfulfilling reasons, and their presentations trickle through all the filters of their own pain and confusion. But there are other options, and I submit The Dead as a very good one. I have had great experiences with Ratdog, Dark Star Orchestra, and Phil and Friends - bands with similar intentions. They are worth checking out too. Still, hands down, these guys are the real deal. Along with exceptional talent and top-notch material, they bring to the stage a wisdom of the ages, no doubt honed by their own ongoing struggles that grounds the whole affair in a deep and lasting place. What they offer is not just entertaining, but is in fact enriching, like a searchlight beaconing truth among clouds of delusion. Check them out.
Which brings me to the greater takeaway from The Dead listening experience. And that is its value on the human level. True, recreation is recreation and great fun was certainly had. But what if you had to make sense of it? I can think of a lot of ways to amuse myself. Why am I writing about The Dead, and hoping to convince you to see the value that I see in them? It is because what they offer is rare and precious. And perhaps for that reason, can be difficult to get at. My intent is to help whet the appetite and lower the hurdles.
I completely missed the Deadhead scene during the 80s and 90s when I was immersed in Florida pop radio - Janet Jackson, Madonna, Howard Jones, and Duran Duran. I loved tweaking the Dolby settings on my walkman, and considering the richness of CrO2 cassettes versus normal bias. I loved sound, and songs. But in many ways I wasn't really listening. That is to say, I wasn't fully listening. What were the people making those sounds doing? What were they saying? What motivated them to make the sounds they were making? I often didn't know the lyrics to my favorite songs. I definitely couldn't articulate the rhythm. Even pitch escaped me. But I felt drawn to the music. I could feel something in it, and that feeling has brought me to this point today, where I insist and urge everyone I care about - and even those I don't - to go after more depth. Take my word for it, there's more available, and it's worth the effort to seek it. Late on the Dead scene, it's the answers to these questions that really inspire me to dig in.
The Grateful Dead, and presumably The Dead are encumbered with an image that many people seem to be unable to get past. Not sure if it's the drugs, or the hippies, or the jeans and sneakers regalia in which they appear. But I often find a certain blankness in the people I discuss this music with. There's a sense that I'm being written off for some reason. I must say, the crowd really can be a turnoff. Constant chatter, sometimes stupidly inebriated, many who show up aren't really there. Ignore them as much as you can and focus on the music. If you find yourself unable to connect, I would really challenge you to consider that you're not getting it, and keep trying, instead of deciding its not there. I am only talking about the music here, not the scene, not the image, not any other thing. Just sound and purpose.
I like a lot of different bands with different styles and flavors. The Beatles, Simon and Garfunkel, Radiohead, Pink Floyd - so many important moments in my life linked to and colored by these epic artists' work. They've helped get through tough situations, inspired some beautifully joyful ones. But let's go a little further. Harmony, I think, is the condition of distinct elements showing their innate relationship through cooperation - when tangible parts line up to suggest their intangible whole. Cycles combine into deeper, richer cycles. I think most of us have experienced situations in which our natural cycles were challenged. Things were less than harmonious. Where pressures were put on us, and we had to deal. For me, this meant choosing to detach from awareness of certain things, creating filters to keep out certain kinds of distress. That translated into a certain kind of silence in the flow of things. And to fill that silence, so many behaviors emerge twisted into a range of disturbed patterns.
Which brings me back to music. Why bother? It's not a requirement for life. Air, food, water, shelter and we exist. But what about a collapsing economy, mercury in the water, priests who rape kids? What about a 50% divorce rate, domestic violence, alcoholism, war, obesity, deforestation? This is the world we live in. What is going on with the people responsible for these situations? My argument in grand summary: they aren't listening. That is to say, something is going on for them that keeps them separate, distant, selfish, embroiled in their own detached existence, unable to find common ground in fellow seekers of life, sympathy and connection. Or maybe they're just pure evil, and can't be helped. Those people should not bother with music. For the rest of us, for the people with good hearts, trying to do what's right, what makes sense, trying to feel their own humanity, I cannot beg you enough to give The Dead a chance. What makes them different from other musicians is a commitment to delivering harmony with magical depth.
Recognizing how we come at things with filters, one thing to consider is how that limits the appreciation and understanding of what's there. So much of what's popular feeds the desire to be surprised - to hear something new and different, or the desire to be accepted - to hear something that fits the prescription of cool and hip. Or music comes from a place of venting, an expression of pain or anger or lust. All of these are okay. But life can be simpler than it seems, and the greatest truths are those things that remain the same. If you try to make sense of these other motivations for music, you find that their impact is limited. They are a kind of short term balm. Their influence doesn't fit with the end game. For The Dead, connection is the focus, and their ability to connect solidly deeply and thoroughly amounts to the kind of listening experience that I have only begun to dream about. The musicians are not only connecting with themselves and the audience, but also with the soul that seeks and delivers music in the first place. This, to me, is the psychedelic experience.
The Dead produce the sounds of getting along. The wall of sound is a place to open up to a feeling of being integrated into a greater whole. To recognize spirituality as a focus on what's important - what really truly matters. To be willing and able to cross the chasm of fear and uncertainty by trusting in some greater cycle in which we fit.
Religion, pedantry, glory, whatever. There are so many distractions. So many places to focus that are dead ends. So many chances for hamsterwheeling through life, spinning unraveling energy into frayed cords, rather than winding them into stable guide ropes. I am suggesting the choice of a deliberate valuable point of focus. For anyone who can listen, I suggest you listen to The Dead. Email me if you need a suggestion. Go to Dead.net and download some shows. Go to archive.org and listen to some shows. Buy their discs. I have seen hundreds of live music shows in my life, and last night had to be one of the finest. Standing on The Moon into Terrapin Station and back in to Moon was so sweet. Estimated Prophet into New Potato Caboose was a musical highlight. And Dear Mr. Fantasy just blew it out in terms of energy and enthusiasm. And I haven't even begun to discuss the details. The intricate stories of each song that reflect on love, loss, conflict, hope, struggle. It is poetry of emotion. Deft and intelligent. The phenomenal writing craft of Robert Hunter articulating the messages of the melodies. These guys are in another league when it comes to storytelling. But I will leave these details to your own discovery.
When I discuss music with people, so much of what goes on involves naming styles and patterns and comparing one thing with another. It's like an exercise in sorting and filing. The interest is in pushing things around, rather than just taking it in and getting something out of it. I say this recognizing my own ongoing struggle to get past this behavior. Part of what I've realized from a lifetime of not fully paying attention is that it's easy to see past the thing you're looking at and therefore miss what it has to offer. Some of this has to do with the limitations of what we're often given to look at.
I have to mention the dancers during Drums. First off, Mickey Hart and Bill Kreutzmann are hands down the most solid drummers I can think of. They relate emotionally. That is to say, they're not counting gaps and trying to hit the markers, or worse trying to wow and amaze with rhythmic zingers, but instead appear to be agreeing on a four-dimensional rhythmic form and then spraying its surface with notes like fireworks silhouetting a skyscraper. They give you structure as well as fluidity. That soundtrack against body-painted women gyrating and whirling fire balls was not a bad intermission between songs. So much costumed dance comes across as constricted, cheesy, as though people are hiding in their own uncertainty. Not this one. The art of the dance, and the art of the dancers themselves was so humane - legit on a basic level. For anyone who can appreciate the beauty of Balinese woodcarving, imagine that forged with life and lit with fire. These dancers were enhanced by their decoration, rather than subdued by it. And their craft was passionate and strong - a real treat again to experience among the stodgily empty perfectionism of so much other stage work. Definitely a solid accompaniment to the circus of sound.
In summary, as I see it, popular culture suffers from an overwhelming dearth of real value. People present themselves as entertainers for so many unfulfilling reasons, and their presentations trickle through all the filters of their own pain and confusion. But there are other options, and I submit The Dead as a very good one. I have had great experiences with Ratdog, Dark Star Orchestra, and Phil and Friends - bands with similar intentions. They are worth checking out too. Still, hands down, these guys are the real deal. Along with exceptional talent and top-notch material, they bring to the stage a wisdom of the ages, no doubt honed by their own ongoing struggles that grounds the whole affair in a deep and lasting place. What they offer is not just entertaining, but is in fact enriching, like a searchlight beaconing truth among clouds of delusion. Check them out.