ZONE OUT with the ROLLING RIDER
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6/27/04 - The Dead in Sacramento, CA ...
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On the Road to Sleep Train Amphitheatre, a new travel game was invented, at least for this Rider: a variation on 'I Spy' using GD song titles. Sure, Truckin' was spotted within moments. Of course, Ryder had a special place in my heart. Peterbilt even counted as a double-whammy. But, you could imagine my delight when we came upon Jack in the Box.

Opening Act: Robert Hunter

'I have sung strange songs beneath strange skies in a tongue no voice can hope to master but I have never sung to strangers.' -R. Hunter

Surely, there were no strangers on hand at Sleep Train, as this show was strictly a family affair. Staring into a blinding sun, the bard found the familiar chords of his anthem, BOX OF RAIN. Almost with a sense of urgency, with vision true Hunter collapsed into a scrap of age old lullaby we call STANDING ON THE MOON. REUBEN AND CERISE was interpolated by MUST'VE BEEN THE ROSES, and I couldn't help but think it's been nine years now, since the waves have rolled the ships home from the sea. In part two, Hunter takes REUBEN to the other side for Cerise, just as Orpheus goes to the Underworld to search for Eurydice in Mythology. He jokes, 'I get into it so much that I'm down there in hell with Reuben trying to bring Cerise out. I'm wrung out by the time it's over.' MR. CHARLIE melted into impossible word jazz in which Hunter revealed an indescribable Elfin language he delivered like a jackhammer. It was a secret vernacular spoken in my head years before. The song's rough brother, EASY WIND, contained Hunter's cryptic mantra: 'the river keep a talkin', but you never heard a word it say'. The Sacramento Heads received a true rarity, Bill Monroe's poignant UNCLE PEN, a tribute to the man who taught him the fiddle: 'I'll never forget that mournful day, when Uncle Pen was called away'. Two new songs finished the set, and in his journal, Hunter explains: 'I've been including KEY TO YOUR ROOM and EULALIE in all my sets because it's my mission this tour to get those songs heard and develop them the way only stage performance can do.' Keep them coming, sir. An opus he has crafted tirelessly over the past year, Key to your Room is vintage Hunter. The beauty of Eulalie speaks for itself: 'Far from care and far from pain, fields of roses wet with rain.' Time fleeting, Hunter gave us RIPPLE. It sure didn't sound like a tune he penned himself along with To Lay Me Down and Brokedown in a sunny two-hour period in England with a bottle of Retsina, the Greek wine of the Gods. It was a refrain as old as time we all share.

First Set: 'Show me something built to last, or something built to try.'

The triumphant opening JAM which became CASSIDY had the Dead quickly closing the gap on the dark years in between. They were On from the fledgling notes, and BUILT TO LAST had the years rolling past like cloudscapes in the sky. Between Jimmy's tantalizing riffs and the boys' secret harmonies, CUMBERLAND BLUES was like hitting hyperdrive, and being transported to that place we know so well. Bobby laid down HELL IN A BUCKET, and the chorus sounded like some kind of guttural psychedelic prayer: 'at least I'm enjoying the ride'. Amen. Warren and Phil's version of ALABAMA GETAWAY had both trading lyrics line-for-line, including the straight reference to the 23rd Psalm and the Valley of the Shadow also borrowed from in the song Ripple. Then with Bobby on acoustic, Warren offered a golden reading of Van Morrison's INTO THE MYSTIC. Already on the outskirts of Cumberland, it was an easy venture into the forests of Fennario and the DIRE WOLF, and the COSMIC CHARLIE which closed the set was at once a walking antique and a blueprint for the new hyperspace.

Second Set: 'If I had my way, I would tear this whole building down.'

When Bobby finds the first liquid bars of PLAYIN' IN THE BAND, we share in the collective knowledge that it's time to drift out a little further from the shore. Mickey's JAM into SELF DEFENSE was a primeval thunder rattle, and it was time to go to church, the processional hymn being SAMSON AND DELILAH. The Rider found himself sitting down low in a section for the Deaf, where the glorious Interpreter was in a full sweat, miming ferociously, 'he Ripped that beast, God knows he killed him Dead!' The bees made honey in the lion's head during a DRUMS and SPACE which had Billy and Mickey grabbing at our very hearts and seemingly pounding them on the taut skins of pulsating drums. For the first time ever, we heard the Dead pull a Led Zeppelin classic. The shocked interpreter, obviously a Dead purist, sent one of her minions to ask me the title of the song, to which I was elated to reply OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY. You didn't need to hear the lyric 'many times I've wondered how much there is to know' to Feel that this was a special, high occasion. Phil took a JAM into NEW POTATO CABOOSE, and Jerry smiled down as his old friend sang flawlessly: 'This ground on which the seed of love is sown, all graceful instruments are known'. Nobody plays the bass like Philip Chapman Lesh, and at this point SHAKEDOWN STREET was inevitable. Apparently, the boys just 'stopped in' because they want to say you can never tell when a night is winding down or truly just beginning. AFTER MIDNIGHT crackled with energy, and we literally became lost within VIOLA LEE BLUES, only to be plunked over the head with the dawn of the trumpeting refrain. Jeff Chimenti has really been adding a creative spark, and he lit up a JAM which segued into THE GOLDEN ROAD TO UNLIMITED DEVOTION. I couldn't help but crack a smile when I heard the lyric, like an advertisement for freakdom: 'join the club, party ever day'. SUGAR MAGNOLIA, the second most-played song in the history of the band, never ceases to have me feeling a tinge of nostalgia while I shake my bones to a groove 39 years in-the-making. Sensing the harsh reality of the desolate 650-mile trek to the next show in Salt Lake, the Boys sympathized with GOIN' DOWN THE ROAD FEELING BAD. Adding an ephemeral cherry-on-top recessional, Warren covered the Stanley Brothers' ANGEL BAND, echoing our very souls: 'I know I'm near the holy ranks of friends and kindred dear' Yes, the holy ranks of our community make all magic possible. Let the words be yours, I'm heading out for the East Coast!

The Rolling Rider

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6.26.04 - The Dead at Shoreline, CA

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