ZONE OUT with the ROLLING RIDER
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6/23/04 - The Dead in Chula Vista, CA ...
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Set I: 'Sell everything, without love day to day insanity's king.'

Rocky had Philadelphia. Bruce Springsteen has the Jersey Shore. The Yankees have the House that Ruth Built. And the Grateful Dead have California. Tumbling head-first into the West Coast leg of the 'Wave that Flag' Tour with a rollicking LET THE GOOD TIMES ROLL, there was the distinct feeling the boys were going to savor the comforts of home, pairing the opener with an impromptu 8 MILES HIGH: 'round the squares huddled in storms, some laughing some just shapeless forms.' From there they touched down into another forgotten melody, SITTIN' ON TOP OF THE WORLD, last ripped by Garcia in 1972. Not to be outdone, Phil hammered the opening bars to MASON'S CHILDREN, and The Dead conjured up the secret vocal harmonies forty years in the making. 'taught us all we ever knew, we never knew so much before.' Truly, we may never know so much again. LOSER found the Rider sauntering the perimeter with the Queen of Diamonds, then dancing on the dusty dirt as the boys traded verses of CUMBERLAND BLUES. The local community determined to make the most of a rare San Diego appearance, they wondered in unison 'I just don't know, if I'm going back again.' Even way up on the hill, you could feel NEW SPEEDWAY BOOGIE down to the marrow. One step done and another begun, Warren took the reins of DEAR MR FANTASY, with Jimmy taking each crescendo teetering to the brink of Hey Jude. After a set filled with old chestnuts, the elliptic LAZY RIVER ROAD was a welcome variation: 'bright blue boxcars train by train, clatter while dreams unfold.' Toltec wisdom says the dreams of our mind are unfolding twenty four hours a day, but does true freedom lie in the place where the chains of your dreams are broken? A bolt from the blue sounded in our collective visions as the fledgling chords to HELP ON THE WAY. I've always loved the imagery of the wounded prisoner who has scaled the wall in the prison of his mind: 'Crippled but free.' SLIPKNOT! tied up the first set, with enough slack left in one strand to thread the needle right through the eye.

Set II: 'If this ain't the real thing, then its close enough to pretend.'

The border almost within sight, an opening SLIPKNOT! JAM became MEXICALI, and the boys seemed hell bent on taking the Vista Cruiser barreling through the checkpoint and ascending into the nebula. After a LTGTR REPRISE, an interstellar conversation washed over us like a Wave, recognizable only by the Terminally Psychedelic as the liquid MINDBENDER JAM. Mickey filled us up with the primal SELF DEFENSE, drifting to the swirling pinnacle of LOST SAILOR, where it sounded as if Bobby Ace felt the 'Shoreline' beckon. SAINT OF CIRCUMSTANCE transported us to days of old, to the angels we thought we might never find. NIGHT OF A THOUSAND STARS features some of Hunter's best post-GD lyrics: 'These were moments of my life, since dissected with a thick blunt knife; If I could recapture one moment of truth, from the firm foundation of a misspent youth'. Indulge me this tangential thought, but this tune is reminiscent of the feeling I used to imagine of the crowd as almost ghostlike souls being swept around by the broom of Garcia's guitar. A MOLECULAR JAM became DRUMS, and Billy K proved why he has always been the backbone of the band. He recalled fondly how Jerry saw the magic in his playing: 'Kreutzmann, it's wonderful you sound like you're falling down a flight of steps but landing on your feet!' The tail end of SPACE contained an ode to Candace Brightman, aesthetic electrician of All-Things-Trippy -- an almost haunting version of HAPPY BIRTHDAY which melted into HIGH TIME> MILESTONES. You do the math. Our beautiful evening ended with a scrap of age-lullaby, a STANDING ON THE MOON which had us looking up to the waxing crescent in the sky, also known as Jerome John Garcia. Finally, we received the much-anticipated FRANKLIN'S.

Interestingly, in a response to a writer who claimed all GD songs were meaningless candy-colored playfulness, Hunter himself provided a thorough response based on Franklin's Tower, a birthday wish song for both his newborn son and his country. Here's a taste of the opening lines:
'You have your mother's eyes, child,
the very shape, color and intensity
of the eyes that looked through
her face so long ago. Borne on the
varied winds of chance and change,
like a dandelion seed, you may find
yourself deposited on barren soil.
My wish for you is that the forces
that brought you there may sweep
you up again and bear you to fertile ground.'

After Phil pulled the heartstrings with his DONOR RAP, Bobby tore up the night with JOHNNY B GOODE, backed by a dueling Warren and Jimmy. It was impossible not to point the van toward Irvine. I'll find a change of clothes on the way.

See you on Tour, The Rolling Rider

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4.15.04 - Phive Years Ago - Phil & Phish

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