The Grateful Dead Paradox

Paradox.  A situation, person or thing that combines contradictory features or qualities.

Paradox number 1.  I love the Grateful Dead.  I hate going to their concerts.

Now, normally, any band I love, I love going to see them live in concert.

I love the Grateful Dead, but had never been to any of their shows until I was married to Ernie. 

Ernie not only loves the Dead, but is indeed a Deadhead.  A super fan, for any of the uninitiated.  So much so, that the song he picked (with her approval of course lol) for the father of the bride dance at our daughter’s wedding was Scarlet Begonia. 

He even surprised her with a scarlet begonia and tucked it into her hair.  Afterwards, the bartender told us that that was an epic father/daughter dance and that he had never seen a Grateful Dead song for one before. He was old and had bartended a lot of weddings in his lifetime.

So, in the mid to late ‘80’s when Ernie realized I had never been to a show, he couldn’t wait to take me.

We were living in Boston at the time when he got us tickets to see the Dead somewhere in Rhode Island.

I knew I was in trouble before we even made it out of the parking lot into the arena. 

My senses were immediately assaulted as I stepped out of the car. 

Olfactorily speaking, I was overcome by the wafting scent of marijuana.  And what seemed to be a miasma of unwashed bodies. And this was outdoors!  With lots of what should have been fresh air circulating.

Visually speaking, it was a psychedelic, multi-colored extravaganza of whirling, twirling dervishes. Barefoot ones at that.  Spinning and tripping to the music playing in their heads.

We only took a few steps when one of the great tie-dyed unwashed approached us asking if we’d like any acid.

“Umm, no thanks,” I said.  “We’re good.”

I gave Ernie a look, like what the hell is happening here? He was grinning from ear to ear like isn’t this great? 

He couldn’t wait to show me “the village” and also the grilled cheeses that various and sundry Deadheads were making and selling for a dollar.

I mean, a grilled cheese is more benign than acid, but judging by the hygiene factors present or not present as the case happened to be, I’d say maybe it was still a risky proposition.

Now, I wasn’t naïve.  I knew the type of following the Dead drew. I knew the culture.  The tie-dye, the drugs, the twirling, the tripping.  But knowing something and actually experiencing it are two quite different things.  I was most definitely out of my element and a little overwhelmed by the magnitude, the scale of it all.

And we weren’t even inside the venue yet.  I braced myself as we made our way in.  If I thought the smell of marijuana was overwhelming outside, inside it was like there would be no air if there wasn’t marijuana air.  The smoke was as thick as fog. So thick it was like you needed a machete to cut through it. I did not and do not smoke pot.  I began to wonder if I would get high just from being inside the venue.

We made our way to our seats and I thought, well, this will all be worth it once they start playing.  I couldn’t wait to hear them live and sing and dance to my favorite songs.

This is where Paradox number 2 arrives.  The music on my Grateful Dead albums sounded nothing like the music they were playing live. The songs were somehow in a different rhythm, different length, with lots of extended play in them.

They weren’t even playing many of the songs I knew and loved.  No Uncle John’s Band. No Ripple.  No Brokedown Palace. 

Then came something with which I was totally unfamiliar.  Space.

“Ernie,” I leaned in close to his ear to ask, “what is happening? What is this? And more importantly, how much longer will this go on?”

“Oh, this is space,” he answered.  “You know, they are just jammin’.”

Space. No singing. Just random playing of instruments. Not even to the songs. Just random playing of instruments. Sometimes solo instruments.

I seemed to be the only person in the venue who was not into space.  Probably because I was the only person in the venue not high or tripping.

It was somewhere around that point where I asked Ernie if we could go.  Jammin? This was not my jam.

Ernie graciously understood and we left.

There were a few more times after that where I would give going to a Grateful Dead concert another try. Ernie loved the experience so much and I loved the music so much and thought well maybe the next experience will be better.

Yeah, no.  Never did, lol.

Now? Ernie goes to the concerts without me.  I stay home.  If I want to get my Dead on, I simply put on my Spotify and groove to the tunes.  No miasma of marijuana. No space.  No altered songs.

I did feel a little pang of regret when Ernie went to their farewell concert this past summer.  He was sending me video clips of the songs.  Everyone was one of my favorites and they were playing it “right.” Lol.

But not enough regret for me to accompany him this summer when they will be playing the Sphere in Las Vegas.  I can’t even imagine the sensory overload I’d have there.

My.  What a long, strange trip it’s been.