This is from Dave Roberts, of Crawfish of Love fame, reporting on his experience hearing Bill Kreutzmann at MagnoliaFest with his trio, KBM (Oteil Burbridge on bass, Scott Murawski on guitar). Posted with his permission, of course.
I only got to see The Dead 25 times in my life. Although I became an immediate fan in 1967 upon seeing Harry Reasoner interview the band on national television, I never got to actually see them play live until April 1978 in Jacksonville. My last Dead show was St. Petersburg, October 88, Weir’s birthday. Both my alpha and omega live Dead experiences were replete with many moments of what one now-exiled Grateful Dead scribe called “being lost in that divine sparkling oak grove…,” or in other words, those segments of Dead tunes where the structure of the song has been platformed into a launchpad for Neptunian mental exploration. For me, the weirder the better. Deadheads called it “Space.” I called it Manna.
My Dead live listening pattern consisted of patiently waiting for verses and choruses to end so the needly searching of Jerry’s guitar could propel Phil’s bubbling low end and Bobby’s odd, beautiful backwardish chording over the rhythm section (two of the master rhythmists on Earth) which stirred the whole beautiful stew into unknown vistas and corners with their four arms and four legs conducting the mad, insane, beautiful orchestra on stage in front of them. Those were the moments I waited for… being lost in that divine sparkling oak grove of my mind… while The Dead played snake music for my mental landscape. That’s why I never danced at Dead shows. I couldn’t. I was traveling.
Until last Saturday night, I hadn’t had an opportunity to revisit my beloved sparkling oak grove since St. Pete of ’88. That’s twenty years. The Grove was always the place where I could shed my stress and daily tensions like nowhere else. The Grove was where I could just close my eyes and let The Boys lay down the magic carpet for me and just wash, wash, wash the crap out of my brain. And it could only happen at a live show. Had to be live. Like psychotherapy. On the moment.
This is why I approached co-promoter Randy Judy with thankful tears in my eyes last Sunday morning to tell him how much KBM’s set from the previous evening meant to me. For three hours the night before I was able to go back to that Grove I’ve been locked out of since ’88, and God knows I needed re-entry on an emergency level, and needed it soon. Life hasn’t been kind lately. KBM came to my rescue.
My favorite Dead period came before I ever saw them. 1973/Wake Of The Flood era shows top the list, with 1972 and 1974 coming next. Of course, Mickey was out of the band for most of that period, but Kreutzmann was there. Not just there, but THERE. Damn, on those tapes from ’73-74 he wasn’t just drumming, he was multitasking as Sparkling Oak Grove Inducer/Accelerator as he progressively stepped on the gas propelling the vehicle. He played like he had seven arms and five legs. His snappy snare synchopations mixed with his dancing drumstick-tipped cymbal work mixed with his bass drum accents always adding counterbeats to the already swirling snare work made me smile and smile and smile and smile AND I’LL BE DAMNED IF LAST SATURDAY NIGHT I DIDN’T SUDDENLY FIND MYSELF FOR THE FIRST TIME IN TWENTY YEARS smiling and smiling and smiling again…. and I didn’t even have to wait for verse/chorus this time to board the spacebus.
The crowd at Magfest gave Kreutzmann a huge wave of love as he settled behind his drums Saturday night, and Bill seemed genuinely grateful for this show of appreciation. IÂ had positioned myself sidestage with a clear view of Kreutzmann, right next to Oteil’s amp. Just watching Bill warm up with a few trips around his drumkit flashed the door open to The Grove. Fuck. There was that snare sound. Damn. There were those familiar cymbal pings. I could tell magic was about to take place. And it did.
The band kicked off with Scarlet. Bill just settled back in that posture I remember from the Dead days… back straight, trunk of his upper body acutally quite still, head tilted slightly back and eyes closed, tight-lipped grin on his face. But from note one and not ending util note last of the final tune, Kreutzmann’s arms and legs and writs and ankles bounced and blitzed and caressed and crashed and slashed and flashed and PROPELLED ME DEEPER AND DEEPER INTO MY BELOVED DIVINE OAK GROVE and I realized I WAS BACK HOME and I realized IT’S STILL OUT THERE and I realized I’M STILL BASICALLY O. K. and I realized The Grateful Dead has not gone out of my life forever and I was weeping with joy less than two minutes into tune one because I realized what was happening.
Jerry’s death definitely ended that particular avenue to The Grove forever. No other guitarist I’ve heard yet can take me to The Grove. But Jerry’s guitar was not the ONLY key element to The Deads ability of Grove Transportation. Bill Kreutzmann’s drumming was JUST as pivotal to The Dead’s magic as Jerry’s guitar. What made me so happy Saturday night was the realization that Bill still carried the magic with him. Not to disparage, but I’ve seen and enjoyed Ratdog twice and they couldn’t transport me to The Grove. I saw Lesh and Hart and Weir at a different festival but they could not transport me to The Grove. That’s because Bill Kreutzmann was not in the mix. I discovered Saturday night that Kreutzmann has The Key. And Magnoliafest brought The Grove back into my life at a much needed time. Thank you Beth Judy and Randy Judy for that One Kind Favor again. Each March and October for the last twelve years you have uplifted our lives with some absolutely breathtaking festivals. I always say “this one was the best” after each festival, and I mean it each time. Thanks you guys… this one was The Best.
And thank you, Bill Kreutzmann. You played like a man possessed with an evangelistic passion for percussion. You sent timeless rhythms out into those magic oaks surrounding the amphitheatre Saturday night, and those notes will linger in the Spanish Moss hanging from those trees. Since I only live an hour’s drive from the festival site, I often go down to the Spirit of The Suwannee park during the year when it’s peaceful and quiet and stand in that empty amphitheatre playing past Magfest and Springfest sets through my memory. Now I’m REALLY loaded, pun intended. Thanks, Bill.
Patiently awaiting Next Bus To The Grove,
David Roberts,
Crawfish of Love,
Jacksonville, Florida
I think someone forgot Col. Bruce was there with them too that night. 🙂 It was an awesome night.