Confessions of a Closet Deadhead

Once again, I find myself listening to the Grateful Dead on my daily commute to work. That means at least two hours of great music, and it's always something new, even as it's familiar. It's addictive.

So much to like. Jerry's guitar leads. Phil's wandering bass lines. Bob's enthusiastic singing. Lots of drumming by Bill and Mickey. Pigpen's down-and-dirty blues. Multiple keyboardists. A disco period. A post-disco period. Nearly 500 different songs by the Dead--and more by the guys as individuals. Covers.

What I like best, though, is the group musicianship. These guys, even at the beginning, but  always later--play together. I feel like they are different parts of one entity. I've read quotes from the guys saying that they just sensed when to come in or when to change songs or play a certain way. It's a feeling.

I appreciate hearing the same song done dozens or hundreds of different ways. God bless the tapers. I know most of the standard recordings, but when another version of Bertha comes on or I hear yet another version of Dark Star it's always exciting.

The band went through different periods, but is still around, in a way, with Furthur, so it feels like they've been playing forever. I guess in 2015 we'll celebrate 50 years.

In one hour this afternoon on Sirius/XM's Grateful Dead channel, I heard Blow Away, featuring Brent Mydland singing, then the harmonies of a version of Jack Straw. Then there was Pigpen wailing away on Promised Land. And on and on...

The first Dead I heard was The Golden Road on KFRC AM - the big 610, in 1967. They stood out then! I then received a gift of Anthem of the Sun (who was it that gave it to me? Can't remember...). I listened to that one on headphones in my bedroom over and over again in early 1969. Then, it was Truckin' on the radio and this and that. But it wasn't until I started playing the bass in 2003 that I began to appreciate Phil's inspired work and started buying the CDs. Now, Workingman's Dead and American Beauty are favorites, but I like the freshness of Terrapin Station, too, and put on the other discs periodically.

Even though I have always identified with and appreciated the Haight Ashbury and the 1960s, I regret that I missed out on the live shows. I'd like to be there with the people, sharing the music in person. Luckily, thousands of hours live on. There are bands who play the music, too, and I've heard a few. So nice.

Maybe I'll find a way to get to a Furthur show. I did see Jerry with Merle Saunders at San Francisco State in the 1970's. Maybe I'll find a way to play some of the Dead's songs myself, too, with some other interested musicians.

What a long, strange trip it's been.

Lonesome Locomotive Rocks at the Milk Bar in S.F.

On a busy weekend of listening to music, I report in from last night's couple of hours of Lonesome Locomotive music at the Milk Bar on Haight Street, near Stanyan. My drummer, Tony, and I ventured to the historic Haight-Ashbury district and enjoyed the powerful and perfectly synched up sounds of the young band, which has been playing together a lot after forming last year.

My specific interests were hearing my friend Mike Meagher--the bassist, and he didn't disappoint. I also wanted to see the venue and meet the person who set up the musicians. I succeeded. Other band members include Michael Rosen, Brian Byrnes, Erin Cassidy, Steven Sparapani, and Kit Ruscoe. The vocal harmonies of Rosen and Byrnes were strong, Byrnes' leads evoked the Dead (at least two of the songs they played were by the seminal S.F. band). The drums were exactly right and played with enthusiasm (I saw at least one instance of baton-like stick flipping--a little flair).

The venue is long and narrow with the bar along the left, booths up front on the right (empty last night) and a cozy back room containing a small stage--about big enough for five people. In this case, Steven the cellist, when he joined in on a couple of numbers, took the left side of the L-shaped raised platform.

Besides enjoying the music and sampling the half dozen beer choices on tap, I met Amy, a young woman who spent much of the evening successfully rolling a hula hoop around her hips. A second woman joined her at times. We were served by an attractive traditionally tattooed and coifed female bartender.

The small crowd seemed happy to be there and the vibe was mellow. The Sunday Bluegrass schedule at the Milk Bar starts in midafternoon every Sunday, so Lonesome Locomotive were the third band to go on. We arrived just a little before their show. You could spend the day there--and I plan to show up earlier next time.

After a couple of beers over the two hours, we were hungry, so we visited Escape to New York and enjoyed pizza by the slice and Cokes. The perfect meal for 9:30 p.m. on a Sunday night! They had an autographed album by Elvis Costello on the wall.

Gimme a Head with Hair

After looking at a global crisis yesterday, today I turn my attention to a subject dear to my heart--hair.

I grew up in the 1960s, when we all started out with short haircuts and many of us grew substantial manes by the time the folks had cleaned up Yasgur's farm at Woodstock. My goal, at first, was to look like a Beatle, but my kinky Jewish hair looked more like a bush. So, that's what I had. It was long in the early 1970's, but by the end of that decade, it was trimmed way down.

I identified with youth, hippies, musicians, artists, cool people, and so on. I heard the anthem from the musical HAIR in my head, and was waiting for the positives vibes of the Age of Aquarius to begin.

Well, here I am approaching 60, and my hair has thinned a bit and lost a lot of its dark brown color too. As I play rock and roll (and classical) bass now, I'd like to have cool hair, too. I feel like I look like a businessman or a "straight" person now, despite a full (white) beard (that's another story).

The problem is, when it's too short, my hair loses its curl, so it isn't "fun" anymore.

But, at the same time, I don't want to bother with my hair and I really don't think about it much at all, until it's time for a haircut.

What to do about it?

Probably nothing. But I can't forget how much it meant once--as an identity with what I saw as a new way of life, with moving from nerdhood to coolness--with growing up. The symbolic value was more than any other. I didn't need it to keep warm and there was no ceremonial purpose to the longer hair.

Even the members of the Grateful Dead have shorter hair now. So what am I thinking about?

Rain Songs as Spring Begins

With some pretty strong precipitation over the last few days, I'm thinking about some of my favorite rain-themed oldies.

Rain by the Beatles comes to mind first, with John's acerbic commentary and Paul's high bass part. Sweet pre-Pepper Fab Four.

Listen to the Rhythm of the Falling Rain.... by the Cascades--a pretty early sixties song of regret that still gets a lot of (oldies station) airplay.

How I Wish it Would Rain by the Temptations is the old story about how men aren't supposed to cry so to avoid cabin fever, the poor guy wishes it would rain so no one would see his tears when he goes outside.

Who'll Stop the Rain by Creedence Clearwater Revival. Long as he remembers the rain's been pouring down. With John Fogerty it's all symbolic too, of course. It was the late 1960's--nuff said.

The Rain, the Park and Other Things by the Cowsills is a soft psychedelic song by the talented but pop-oriented family group. I loved it, but the "I knew I knew I knew I knew" part was a little annoying.

Box of Rain by the Grateful Dead. I really like this song but don't really understand it. I heard that Phil Lesh wrote it for his dad. It's one of the rare Dead songs by Phil with him singing lead. This link goes to a much later live performance. Oh--I forgot--Happy Birthday Phil! (3/15).

Yellow Balloon by Yellow Balloon. I love this little 1967 pop hit by the mysterious one hit wonders. It contains "it's raining it's pouring" in the middle. With the vocal harmonies and meter changes, it sounds like Brian Wilson could have written and produced it.

There are many more. How about Don't Let the Rain Come Down by the Serendipity Singers? Group folk music at it's most poppy.

Not So Groovy--Acid Genius Owsley is Dead at 76

I remember LSD--I lived through the 1960's. Even if you never actually ingested any, "acid" affected the music you heard, from artists such as the Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane and even the Beatles. It also was manifest in poster design and fueled much of the energy of the Haight Ashbury--for better and worse.

It worked its way into the literature of the time, too. Owsley supplied the fuel for Ken Kesey and his Merry Pranksters, featured in Tom Wolfe's 1968 book, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. If you're interested in more about drug literature, consult Flashback Books -- they're the experts.

Owsley Stanley was the Colonel Sanders of acid. He somehow got the recipe just right (and kept it to himself). You can read a lot more about him in the March 14, 2011 New York Times obituary.

There's something inglorious about his demise--in a car accident in the Australian bush country--but it's not surprising either.

I'm listening to my copy of the Dead's Anthem of the Sun in his memory right now.