Watching the news following night one at the Hollywood Bowl, featuring the infamous bomb scare, I found it comical the way the news anchor spoke, “Dead and Company featuring John Mayer encountered a bomb threat during their show tonight at the Hollywood Bowl. Dead and Company AND John Mayer were rushed off the stage…” We get it, John Mayer was there. We are all thankful John and his penis are safe.





Following the Pittsburgh show I was accosted by a couple of tie dye strangers in the elevator of my hotel. Being the kind chap I am, I asked what they thought of the show? To my surprise they both shrugged their shoulders and said some bullshit like, “it was ok”. I laughed and stumbled out of the elevator and went on to berate the pizza delivery guy for not bringing the pizza to my room. I must have forgotten I wasn’t saying at a Holiday Inn. If he only knew how bad that elevator experience truly was. “It was ok”, they said…





Four days later I’m still befuddled by their obtuse elevator obscenities. It was ok?! What the fuck, I stammered. Why was God doing this to me? Alright, let’s not bring God into this, we all know he doesn’t exist… Allow me to claw my way to the root of the issue. What could have driven these broken hearted folks into experiencing such dismay over what I thought, was just another fabulous Dead and Company show? The setlist? John’s shiny shoes? Otel smiling and shaking his ass all night? Jeff chiming’ Chimenti ripping the keys off his grand piano? Of course, we all have our off nights, even John Mayer, although that remains to be scene. I’m sure David Duke smiles himself to sleep every god forsaken night. What made the show so bad? I was absolutely perplexed. Shrugs, moans and speechlessness permeated through the soul-less elevator. They had no answer, I had no soul. They had no reasons for their dissatisfaction of the show. Could they help the shape that they were in? I listened closely, and all was quiet. Twas’ the sound of two thoughtless zombies looming too close for comfort.





As for the show, from my narrow vision, my mental snapshots pre and post coitus, rank up with any other show on the tour. The boys didn’t seem too far from that almighty crystal mountain of sunshine.





The day you start going to a Dead show expecting to hear your dream setlist, is the day you should stop going to a Dead show. Obviously I’m bias, corrupted and impure, but the beauty of this band is that the setlist should be looked at as merely a formality. I know I know they just played an acoustic Dark Star, but you’re missing my point. It’s not about the songs they play, but the places they travel. Yes, there are songs I’ve heard dozens of times and others I’ll never hear. It doesn’t mean that I don’t want to hear those dream songs, but I believe it’s more important for me to be open to the positive experience of the show. I’m not some proud guardian, claiming to know thy proper path. Rather, I have found a recipe that works, night after night and it starts with a freeness from concern over the setlist. This all starts with understanding just how lucky we are to even get to attend such an event.





All I know, is the scene these days is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. No, I’ve never seen Jerry but that doesn’t mean I can’t evaluate what we have today. The grilled cheese on lot has rosemary and garlic. Fenway park just got dosed with an acoustic Dark Star > Ripple. Things are getting weird, the band is going places, and a big reason why is because we’ve allowed them to try some new shit. We’ve given them the reigns to experiment with new band members, even though most people were worried it was all an egregious money grab. You don’t like this band? It’s because your mind is fucking closed off. The best thing I’ve ever done in my life is spend every last penny I have to see this band as many times as I can, because every time they start playing I start smiling and dancing. I’ve never felt anything more beautiful than that. See you in Bristow bitches and until then, have fun in Saratoga!