I have been interviewed! Click here to read.
I have been interviewed! Click here to read.
Last Saturday night we ventured out to one of my favorite venues, The Capitol Theatre in Port Chester, New York. The theatre is a restored art deco theater that has hosted many of rock’s legends. The building is just shy of a century old. In the tradition of sixties liquid light shows, patterns are projected on the walls and ceiling. On Saturday a cartoon squirrel ran around among a paisley motif. This then morphed into strange configurations as the band took the stage.
All appropriate illusions for the Chris Robinson Brotherhood.
Most of the shows we have experienced here give the option of walking up to the stage, in a polite standing room only area, or if one chooses, sitting up in the balcony. Since I am height challenged, I prefer the back of the floor or balcony. Hubby will venture up front yet I get too squished to appreciate the view.
Recharging my creative juices in this fashion brings on a plethora of strange occurrences, the most prominent one happening this morning. I woke to my characters fighting. Not my present characters, they are still steamed that I haven’t finished telling their story, these voices were those of past protagonists.
And what were they fighting over?
This blog. Okay, so I realize some of you think that maybe I had lost part of my mind at the show, yet hear me out. This is the time of year when we all seem to look around and (hopefully) appreciate the good things in our lives. My past protagonists want to express that appreciation to our readers.
To maintain a bit of order, and the ability to get back to my current character crisis, here are some thoughts from a few old friends:
From Lindsay of Dancing With Faith: “Hi beautiful people! I am so grateful for my family and friends and the beautiful sound of live guitars. We wish all of you a wonderful Thanksgiving.”
From Maxi of Maximum Mayhem: “Ric, I, and my entire family wish you and yours a Happy Thanksgiving. I would include greetings from Zach yet I don’t want to overstep any boundaries because our relationship is, well, complicated. If she ever finishes, look for the next part of our story coming soon, well not too soon because she gets distracted and well, you know…”
From Izzy of The Perfect Pitch: “Bobby and I would like to send out holiday greetings to all our friends and family! And a special congratulation to The Chicago Cubs! As Red Sox fans, we get it.”
And finally, from Rina of Passenger – the only game in town: “Greetings folks. Chris Robinson Brotherhood, huh? At least she listens to jam bands. This is probably why she hears those voices, too. To quote one of my favorite artists, G. Love, I wish you peace, love, and happiness!”
Can you see why I don’t let them speak, yet I am so grateful for their voices!
I’m grateful for many things, like you (yes, you), the ones who take the time to read my creations along with family, close friends, and one psycho Beagle-Dor (half lab, half beagle). There is more: poetry and books, good music and bad, mentors and students, rainbows and sunshine…for this and more, Be grateful!
Twenty-one years ago today I still worked in advertising at a newspaper. My phone rang and my friend Paul, without any kind of preface, stated, “Lynnz, I just heard Jerry died,”
I told him I’d call him right back and ran up to the newsroom to track down Roger, the paper’s rock critic at that time. I started to ask and before I could get the question out Roger replied, “Reports came in this morning. He had a heart attack and died in his sleep.”
The death of a musician may not mean a lot to most people yet to hundreds of thousands, the death of Jerry Garcia symbolized the end of an era. For those who are not aware, Garcia was the leader of the band The Grateful Dead. The Grateful Dead became one of the most iconic bands to emerge from the 1960’s San Francisco era.
After news got out, my phone rang off the hook with friends calling to grieve and clients to offer sympathy. The people who knew me, then and now, know that I have a love for The Grateful Dead as I am not one to keep this part of myself secret.
Two months’ prior, my husband kicked me out the door and instructed my friends, Jeff and Abby, to take me to see the band in Highgate, Vermont. I was visibly pregnant with our first child and hubby thought I needed a Grateful break.
I was blessed to be there and all the other times I had the privilege to experience Mr. Garcia on stage with The Dead, solo, or his own band. My son was blessed too. He got to experience The Grateful Dead bouncing around inside of me. (He was also the cause of my nap during drums and space). When my younger self went to shows and saw little kids dancing around, I had hoped someday to dance with my little one. (Once born, I did bring him to see the remaining members on different occasions. He got to experience “the scene” yet for me, something was always missing).
The memorial concert in Walnut Hill Park with Max Creek and all the others across the world sent Mr. Garcia to his next destination with love and light.
There is not enough space here to explain the impact that this man, whom I never met, had on my life, so I will simply end with, “Thank you, Jerry. You are still missed.”
Writing comes easy some days while others are a challenge to get words out. Today is a combination of both. Last night another show (an old friend labelled this the Dreaded Dead Disease) and today 1500 words. I’m not sure there is a cause and effect yet I do know that somehow the music rejuvenates my soul.
And I want to go again…and again…and again!
The experience changes each time. At SPAC we sat in the balcony, paid attention to the elements of lights and sound, and of course, danced. In Hartford we grouped on the lawn with many friends. It didn’t matter that we were way back amongst the masses. We try to predict what the next song would be (my friend Pook is a master at this) and of course, danced and swirled. My highlight, besides being surrounded by friends, was dancing in the rain. Yes, it poured. Yes, we got wet. Yes, I ignored my rain gear in favor of the water flowing down my body while music lifted my spirit up.
If you haven’t tried dancing in the rain, I highly recommend it. This is a very freeing experience.
Back to the writing – the hard part today is staying on task. My characters are screaming in one direction while my other voices demand to be heard. Right now my setting is a church instead of a concert hall. My characters are mourning a loss versus celebrating life.
Maybe my timing is just off…I hear the band is playing again soon…
Harmony comes from many different places. It could be present in an eclectic coffee shop or when 30,000 people are all swaying to the same song. Harmony came my way twice this week.
I am working in the coffee shop again, (best egg sandwich anywhere!), trying to get
Neddy’s ready for when my editor arrives next week. Her visits are always anticipated with excitement to be in the same time zone and dread of showing my present work.
I also went back to The Saratoga Preforming Arts Center or SPAC for short. My first trip there took place in the early 80’s. I caravan up with four other cars of folks, got to the park mid-morning, hung out playing Frisbee, and then upon entering the venue, promptly lost all my friends.
There were sightings along the way. In line for the Ladies Room I would be told that Terri went that way or they just saw Faith and she was looking for me. I would head off in the direction pointed only to just miss each time. I danced the whole show solo, yet during the last number, Don’t Ease Me In, I ventured back to where we entered. Within minutes my friends and I are dancing around each other.
That is the magic, which is probably why two of my books, Dancing With Faith and my latest, Passenger – the only game in town, both have scenes from the Saratoga Performing Arts Center.
Decades later we venture to SPAC again. The band plays. We are a bit older, and some days wiser, still dancing the night away. The music brings harmony to the masses and will forever rock my soul.
The creative juices will be different moving forward…Scattered like lost words…(Weir)
I started to write this several times and in each version seemed to venture off track so I sent it to a very gifted writer friend, Terri Linnea, and through edits and additions, she was able to focus on what I am trying to say.
“Inspiration, move me brightly…”
For thirteen years and over 100 shows, the words and music of the Grateful Dead inspired me. I drove, flew and hopped the railway cars to beautiful wonderlands such as Saratoga Performing Arts Center, Red Rocks, and the Greek Theater at Berkley. The people and places I experienced “moved me brightly.”
In 1980, a friend turned me on to this amazing band. Basically, the “bus came by and I got on.” From that moment until June 1995, the music never stopped. I will never forget that Highgate show in Vermont. My husband sent me off with kisses and some good friends. I was pregnant with my son but I still fully expected to attend shows for many years to come. In fact, I had visions of us dancing together someday: the little toddler, my husband and I. A few months later, I mourned Jerry’s death with the whole Deadhead community. I would never get to dance with my son at a real Grateful Dead show. The experience would never be the same again, at least not for me.
Oh sure, I enjoyed the spinoffs: The Dead, Phil & Friends, and Ratdog. My son and I did go to the Further Fest at SPAC, my favorite venue. Each off shoot provided a chance to enjoy some familiar songs, dance, and see some familiar faces. Yet, something was missing. Or, maybe it was someone who was missing.
I’m not going to lie – I got excited when I first heard of the Chicago shows. We started to plan a “long strange trip” around it. Then we sat down and thought about it. We crunched the numbers, and wondered, “When did it all start coming down to numbers?” Bottom line: if we were lucky enough to get the golden $1500 ticket and hotel package we’d still have transportation costs. Long gone are the days of hitching with a friend in their VW van to the show. No longer can one arrive in the parking lot and pick up a “miracle” ticket. These days, at my age, I have considerations that need to be made in advance. So it comes down to a numbers game, to some extent. Conservative estimates would be $1500 for the weekend. Some posts are bragging about VIP ticket packages costing $110,000. I’m not saying Chicago won’t be fun, but for $1,500 dollars, is it really worth it? What is the price of nostalgia? For 1,500 dollars we could see a lot of cool jam bands this summer who equally deserve our attention.
In addition to the recent press about the ticket scalpers, Grateful Dead Ticket Sales has come under fire, which is unfortunate. You see, GDTS was always the great equalizer. Back in the day we’d fill out a 3×5 card, put it in an envelope with a self-addressed stamped envelope, bring it to the post office and watch the clerk date stamp the whole thing. Then we’d all sit back and wait. That means everyone. Rich, poor, young and old. Some ticket scalpers existed, but GDTS limited them in their equation. They made sure the true fans got the tickets. Let me tell you, when that envelope came back like a boomerang, into your mailbox, there was a party, because you were IN!
Unfortunately there are not many true equalizers left. Wealth allows those that have to get more. This drives prices up because “people will pay it”. Skyboxes and luxury suites divide folks into categories at shows where Oneness used to exist. Venues encourage the divided seat system. People no longer wait in line in a communal type atmosphere outside a box office. We sit at our keyboards and hit Refresh on command. We are plugged into our appointed place at the show before we have even arrived.
Back in the day I heard a story from a reputable source, about a fan who boasted to Jerry that he paid $1,500 to see him play that night and visit backstage. Supposedly, Jerry told the kid he would have let him in for free if he had donated the $1500. For me, if the ridiculous ticket prices were going at least in part to a charity, maybe I would be less skeptical. You will see the “have’s” at the show, that is, those rich enough to afford it. Meanwhile, in this charitable scenario, at least the “have not’s” would be getting some benefit too. Following this line of thinking, maybe I don’t need someone to come up with a ticket-for-charity scheme. Maybe I can just donate a portion of my “entertainment” budget to a worthy cause. Maybe you can, too.
Yet, are we missing the big picture here? If you are “fifty-something” like me, then you are also at the tail-end of the “baby boomers.” The “free love” era brushed your cheek as a baby. One of the great talents of our generation is the ability to hang out and talk about the “big picture.” So let’s think about this a minute. The current concert-going system might just be a microcosm of society at large. Many things have changed from communal to narcissistic. The Occupy Wall Street movement asked a lot of good questions, whatever one may feel about their methodology. Questions such as “Who is this 1% and why do they have so much, when 99% have so little?” In the Dead show context, this same 1% will be taking those few high-end ticket packages. So, where will the 99% be? Outside in the parking lot? Can they enjoy the music just as much from there? Most won’t be able to afford the travel costs. Is that okay? I don’t know the answer. All I know is that each person, including me, needs to be watchful of saying, “I got mine now you get yours.”
Meanwhile, the kids – both young and old – will go to Chicago and “shake their bones.” No, I don’t “throw stones” at anyone who’s trying to have a little fun. I am sure that everyone who ventures forth to that great American city will experience a certain amount of magic. I hope it is worth the trip for each brave soul.
Regarding what trip I will be on, I am still not sure. I am keeping my options, as well as my mind open. I may wander into a simulcast venue and make a toast to Jerry with my friends. I may stay home and watch The Grateful Dead movie again and dance around my living room. All I know is that Chicago will happen with or without me. My only prayer is this: May those who are present be touched by inspiration, as I was, so long ago. May the men kiss their women in between songs, as my husband did with me. May the women smile as they watch the young ones dance, as I wished I could have done with my son. May Jerry be somewhere high and happy, his heart filled with song. May we all enjoy both the memories and the future, with smiles and with tears. This is my prayer for the Grateful Dead Chicago shows: both for those who can go and those who can’t go.
The Grateful Dead changed my life long ago. In many ways, the music and the people and the places made me the person I am today. I don’t have any answers for anyone, including myself. I do know that I still remain grateful forever.