ZONE
OUT with the ROLLING RIDER
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Robert
Hunter
Conga Room, Los Angeles - 6/21/03
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Robert Hunter began his orison with the opening bars of CANDYMAN, and the tiny room in the City of Angels remained quiet as a benediction. NEW SPEEDWAY BOOGIE had us out of our pews and clanking our chains, as our beloved bard roared: “One step done and another begun, in I wonder how many miles”: 1150 so far on this West Coast tour, with Jehovah’s favorite choir simultaneously playing Hartford 2250 miles away!
Amid this second wind of our scene, THE SONG REMAINS invoked the days polished like a golden bowl: “Trying to forget days when Heaven met/ the world below and sang for love's sweet sake”. The poet laureate of psychedelia dug deep on CUMBERLAND BLUES, then collapsed gracefully into LAZY RIVER ROAD, buckets of stars raining down. Seemingly on a mission, packing only a white Gretsch Falcon, Hunter belted out STAGGER LEE, the characters coming to life on stage, a full moon over town.
SCRAP OF MOONLIGHT, as promised the night before, was a tangential foray into his post-GD body of work. The lyrics to this song should be required reading. Not only do they offer personal insight into the elusive lyricist, (“Just because my face was washed off in the rain, drifted down the gutter in the ashes of our name”), they articulate his gift to our community: “Here’s a kiss to build a dream on/place to lay your head/star filled skies to guide you til’ the end”.
As sacred as his reading of Scrap was, the infamous Heckler reared his pathetic head once again, this time with Hunter cajoling: “You want to hear Truckin’, don’t you?” The LA crowd roared at his acid tongue, but the sarcasm soared over the drunken fans’ head like Shakespeare on Jeff Spickoli. Hunter opted for TIGER ROSE, but after a couple verses, he stopped dead in his tracks, seemingly frustrated.
He did everything including offering the fan a refund, and asking him if he thought he was a ‘metronome’, to no avail. Deciding to extemporize, the muse descended and Mississippi John Hurt’s LOUIS COLLINS cascaded from the guitar: “Angels laid him away”. After tying up TIGER ROSE, I had the overwhelming feeling Hunter was going to show me something I don’t know…
Confession: The Rider immediately approached the Heckler, who went for MORE beer, saving his seat with an empty Heineken bottle. I promptly removed it, sitting down to the approval of the entire section. Under his seat I noticed a forty-ounce bottle of Colt 45 wrapped in a brown bag, so I gave it to the one of the Conga Room’s staff, assuring him this was a ‘family affair’. Hunter penned relief about the Heckler’s ensuing ejection. Oh well. I guess I was feeling a little crotchety, and protective of a man who deserves, if not reverence, than at least respect.
The Dead opened their second set with Feel like A>Scarlet, and Hunter must have had one of those flashes too – a rollicking SCARLET BEGONIAS kick started the crowd, providing a brilliant segue into SILVIO. One of my oldest and dearest friends put it well: he must be getting his chops together to pull that out on the Dylan/Dead leg. Surely, we all feel like we’re staking our futures on a helluva past.
After rolling the laughing bones in Candyman, gambling on the inside straight of LOSER was second nature for Hunter. He mused aloud: “I can tell the Queen of Diamonds, by the way she shines”, and preceded to pair this with another personal favorite, TALES OF THE GREAT RUM RUNNERS, my dreams tattered sails in the wind.
Coincidentally, the saxophone player on Rum Runners in 1973 was none other than Snooky Flowers, who Janis thought Owsley had dosed, on the infamous night Hunter accidentally ingested a quarter million mikes. That night, lying in an alley on some broken glass, Hunter may very well have composed both Black Peter and Stella Blue, before being saved by Garcia playing acoustic all night long. “Just the pavement left?” “My friends they come around?”
Only WHARF RAT could have been so fitting, followed by a chilling reading of MOUNTAINS OF THE MOON. Hunter placed the wreath of laurel on Jerry’s shaggy head, and now assured, “More than laurel you may sow”. Two night stands with Hunter allow for the storyteller to treat fans to the complete rendition of TERRAPIN STATION, the archetypal melody, his encrusted lyrical scabbard which when opened, reveals the relationship between so many of the stories we hold dear set in token rhymes suggesting rhythm.
RIPPLE:BOYS IN THE BARROOM bid farewell, with their faces in wine, the Jack of Roses, the Queen of Diamonds, and the King of Hearts. Every Ace drawn by Hunter reminded me how lucky I was to still be able to put my gold money where my love is…the last fair deal in the country.
Heading out
for the ol’ East Coast~
- Rolling Rider
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Rolling
Rider: 6.20.03 - Hunter in LA
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