Sleepy Alligator in the Noonday Sun

So begins one of my favorite early Dead songs, Alligator. I mention that because today is the 35th anniversary of one of the Grateful Dead’s more famous shows: 4/29/71, Live at the Fillmore East. One of my favorites, it’s a fun show, featuring the last-ever performed Alligator as well as a very strong We Bid You Goodnight. The show is widely available on the tape-trading circuit, and now part of the concert is available on the commercial release: Ladies and Gentlemen … The Grateful Dead.

A broken angel sings from a guitar.

Jerry played the sweetest, most hypnotic and soulful guitar I’ve ever heard. He had what Miles Davis called the “tone”. Many could be called his technical better, but few his equal in terms of how deeply he was appreciated by his fans.

His music spoke volumes to many thousands of people across the planet who got to see him perform in concert and via the many recordings that were made of both studio and live performances.

His personal life reflected that of many artists and so while he wasn’t the best personal role model, years ago he did give one piece of advice that I can relate to and that to some degree I’ve adopted as my goal in life: Thrive!

Yes, that’s it. One word. To me that means to learn and love and grow. To not simply exist as a bump on a log in this too short life we’re given, but to be alive and to take chances and enjoy the smell of the rain and also to work hard at what I love and to try and contribute to the world. And did I mention Love. The Beatles were right, you know. Love is the answer. (Though I don’t think they were the first to make this observation.)

And that’s what Jerry’s death means to me 10 years later. Like our moms and all the others who have gone before us we celebrate the goodness of his and their lives and the joy they brought us. As Wavy Gravy encouraged us, have: “Good grief”.

It all rolls into one
and nothing comes for free
There’s nothing you can hold
for very long
And when you hear that song
come crying like the wind
it seems like all this life
was just a dream
Stella Blue

on a cold dark night, … oh wait, that’s another song. But it was 10 years ago, and it was night time. I haven’t shared this story before, but now seems as good a time as any.

The real story begins a few days earlier. Sheryl and I were visiting relatives in Kansas, and she was going to fly back to California while I drove back with our daughter Lisa, who was moving back to San Jose. A couple of days before Sheryl’s departure, while we were out at Kanopolis Lake with Lisa, Sheryl’s mom, and Aunt Adelia, I had a strong feeling that I wanted Sheryl to ride back with me and Lisa, instead of flying by herself.

And so it came to pass that we took off one afternoon, headed west, on the way home. We stopped in Colorado the first night and the next morning Sheryl called in to let her boss know about the change in plans.

We had a blast spending most of the day acting as tourists in southern Colorado, first at the Royal Gorge, and then at a wonderful place Lisa knew about, Seven Falls, a beautiful waterfall and park in Colorado Springs.

We ended up spending that night in Wyoming, and thought we’d likely stop one last time, around Reno or Lake Tahoe, before heading home. We did notice some sundogs late that afternoon while driving through northern Colorado, and we did spy a long freight train, thought it wasn’t north bound and it wasn’t raining.

The next day, as we approached the Nevada/California border, I just had a strong feeling I wanted to push on home that day. I like driving, and wasn’t tired, so it wasn’t a big deal. We stopped briefly at Lisa’s request, and then headed on home. I remember not listening to the radio at all during the drive; almost as if I just didn’t want hear any bad news, that if I didn’t hear it, it hadn’t happened.

And early the next morning, as we lay sleeping, still exhausted from our long drive home, the phone rang. Sheryl answered it and when she cried out: “Jerry’s dead?!”, I thought she meant her boss.

After a little bit I went and played “Pain in my Heart” on the stereo. And was glad that we were together when we heard the news.

I baked a cake today. Not really for Jerry, though it is his birthday today. I got to see Jerry play on his birthday one time, back in 1984 at the Stone, in SF. If it weren’t for my friend Jeff I don’t think I would have made it into the show that day, as the Stone was a tiny venue(maybe 500 people) and the line to get in was, shall we say, not the most orderly. We did make it in, and while the show was fine, what I remember more to this day is that August 1st, 1984, was the day I was introduced to the (instant) Dr. Seuss classic, The Butter Battle Book, a timeless story loosely based on the mutual ignorance evidenced by the Cold War.

Hard to believe it’s been 21 years since that day, and harder yet to believe it’s been 10 years since Jerry last celebrated his birthday with us.

All the years combine, they melt into a dream …

Speaking of birthdays, it’s Aunt Adelia’s birthday tomorrow. She’ll be 90 years young, and after a few too many premature departures these past few years it’s great to see someone still thriving, living at home and generally taking care of herself (cue up the song “I get by with a little help from my friends”).

Oh, and the cake? A fine cinnamon poppy seed cake that I’ve only made a couple of times before.

Image courtesy of Herb Greene and used with permission.

out of control.

To some degree, those words from the song Tons of Steel, describe Brent Mydland’s last troubled years.

It was 15 years ago today that Grateful Dead keyboardist Brent Mydland died. He was only 38 years old and left behind a wife and child.

Brent was the 3rd primary keyboard player for the Dead, and the 10 year or so age gap between him and his fellow band members contributed to his insecurities and as a result he didn’t always feel that he fit in with the other members of the band.

Audiences disagreed, however, and his gravelly voice and Hammond B3 organ with the swirling Leslies were very special to a generation of deadheads who came of age in the 1980s.

I saw him perform at his first concert w/the Dead, at Spartan Stadium in San Jose in April of ‘79. It was only my 3rd show, and enthralled as I was by the music, the fact that it started raining when they played “Looks Like Rain”, and stopped shortly thereafter, forever stuck in my mind.

As with many artists, his troubled life found release in his passionate playing and singing. These lyrics from one of his songs, Gentlemen, Start Your Engines, serve to illustrate that point:

One of these days I’ve gonna pull myself together.
Soon as I finish tearin’ myself apart
Let me tell you, honey,
There’s some mighty stormy weather
Howlin’ round the caverns of my heart.

Brent Mydland, 1952-1990, Rest in Peace

Image courtesy of Herb Greene and used with permission.