by Dean Budnick
(Huh?)
“What’s with the shrine?”
(Let it go, enjoy the show. Hey, I rhymed. I’m a poet and I didn’t know—)
“Come on…”
(Dude, you are not looking good.)
“Please?”
(Fine, if it’ll make you feel better. It’s a soundboard from the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles, August 24, 1968. The best tape I have ever heard in my life. Supposedly it was liberated from the Dead vault in the late ’70s or early ’80s by some Willington kid who copied it and then returned it before anyone noticed. Not sure how he did it. The tape is passed down to the biggest Head in each senior class but this year’s senior class is so bunk that it was given to Jason and me. We have it for two years. There’s a ritual that involves breaking into the chapel at 2:40 in the morning, baking down hard with the diggity dank and then at precisely 4:20 lying on the altar and starting the tape. We would have told you but since we’re not even seniors and you’re hadn’t been to a show yet we decided to wait. But you’ll get your chance.)
I’ll never get my chance.
Uhhh, although I might get my chance to hurl.
TAPER TED
“Looks Like Rain.”
Whenever I hear this one I think of Rez. I still remember that time in ‘81 when we had just moved in together. We had our problems and that song just said it for me. It reminds me of how lucky I am that it worked out and that she’s stuck with me over the years.
When she came back here to pick up the girls she could tell that I didn’t exactly wow them but luckily she knows that I’m occasionally a schmuck.
We’ve toured together for so long, we’re linked. And sometimes it’s easy to forget that. But damn, if this song doesn’t remind me.
“Looks Like Rain.”
I wonder who Bobby wrote this song for or who John Barlow wrote this song for and if Bobby thinks of that person when he sings it. It’s weird. Pretty much this is the only song where my thoughts drift in that direction.
Then I return to other matters at hand like “When’s the last time they opened a second set with three non-Jerry songs and what does that mean will come next?” That and the fact that my setlist prognostication is in the toilet. Our projected lists are back in the hotel room but I remember my second set opened with “China” > “Rider” > “Estimated.” I’m zero for three.
For any number of reasons I’m tempted to say that it’s just not my night but then again, I am here with Rez.
My glorious Resin Scraper.
BAGEL BOB
(You’re making a big mistake here.)
(Oh, are we yellow jacket? No, this is our stand. This is our time.)
(No, you’re making a mistake with Sinclair Lewis. All that simple, didactic realism from the 1920s goes down easy but I wouldn’t call it literature. I’m keeping him out of my literary canon.)
(He just threatened us! This yellow jacket just threatened us! With a cannon no less! This is in unacceptable!)
(No, the literary canon. Hey, Tony, come over here. Do you buy into this? What do you think of Sinclair Lewis? Do you consider him literature?)
(Jesus, Jimmy, what do you have against Sinclair Lewis? For most people living in the era, he was the voice of the 1920s. Not Fitzgerald, not Hemingway and certainly not Gertrude Stein.)
(I’m just not feeling it. These people are playing a little too fast and loose for me.)
(Hell yeah, we are, yellow jacket!)
(Why are you calling us ‘these people’? We’re every bit your equals.)
(And we’re probably your superiors. Where do you two yellow jackets have the right to tell us what is and isn’t literature?)
(I thought that’s why you called us over. Hey Tony, have you taken Professor Franklin’s 1920s seminar?)
(No, he only teaches it in the fall and it conflicts with football practice.)
(That’s why I went for wrestling. Better hours.)
(YELLOW JACKETS, WE ARE HERE TO PROTEST
YOUR POLICIES AND ACTIONS!)
(Franklin really makes you grind it out. There was a month there where he had us read Main Street, Babbitt, Elmer Gantry and Arrowsmith. Now Arrowsmith, that was the worst of them.)
(The yellow jacket’s right. Aerosmith sucks. I hope they break up again.)
(Are you kidding me, Frankie? Arrowsmith won the Pultizer freaking Prize.)
(Yeah, but Lewis declined it. I think that was his conscience talking.)
(I REPEAT, WE ARE PROTESTING YOUR POLICIES BY SOLICITING AND DISTRIBUTING LITERATURE IN DEFIANCE OF YOUR DECREE!)
(Do you get it? This is civil disobedience.)
(Oh man, I love Thoreau. I knew we could find some common ground. I figured that’s why the big guy sent us over. Which one of you is the Thoreau expert?)
(The throw expert? Are you proposing some form of martial arts challenge? Are you threatening us again?)
(WE STAND BEFORE YOU TO CHALLENGE YOUR REGULATIONS. WE HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR PERSECUTION!)
(Do you assholes even understand what we’re doing here?)
(Yeah, we’re all talking about books, right? Listen, we might not agree but that’s what great about this country—we have the ability to express our individual opinions. Do you do this every night? This is cool. So much better than that bullshit bonfire.)
(Yeah, this is like a parking lot oasis for us lit majors. Jimmy’s into America but I’m not so self-absorbed. Is anybody here talking continental literature?)
“Bob recently completed Crime and Punishment yet again.”
(Well this Bob is a man after my own heart. Digging some Dostoevsky. I really like The Idiot.)
(Hey, don’t insult Bob!)
(Yeah, don’t insult Bob!)
“Bob is not sure who is insulting whom. Bob’s Fydor fave though is The Brothers Karamazov.”
(The juggler dudes? They crack me up.)
(Didn’t they once sit in with the Dead at the Oregon Country Fair?)
“Bob suspects you are referring to the Flying Karamazov Brothers.”
(And there’s a book about them? Is Jerry in it?)
“Bob is suitably dumbfounded.”
(Don’t give in to their insults.)
(Oh, shit. Sorry everyone but we’re going to have to punt on the canon talk. Our boss Tony just walkied us.)
(Good stuff though. Will you all be back tomorrow?)
“Might as well.”
ZEB
(So where are we headed?)
“Headed?”
(Not the two of us but all of us. Still could go ‘Eyes.’)
“I’d still be game.”
(You know if you cup your hands around your ears like this, it really helps you cut through some of the distortion and chatter. Go ahead try, it.)
“Thanks.”
(No, go ahead, try it.)
“I get that it works for you but I like to do things my way.”
(Come on, Jed—I mean Zeb. Don’t be so stubborn about it. Give it a try. Trust me I’m full of good ideas. It comes up at work during our department meetings. People are always telling me I’m full of it.)
“Right on.”
(Nah, just kidding. That was a joke. I never cease to amuse me.)
“Right on.”
(Yeah my co-workers they don’t have any problem with me. I mean what problem could they have other than my coming up with too many good ideas. I’ll never apologize for that, man. It’s not my cross to bear. Oohh, have you seen the Allman Brothers band yet? I mean, I know they pretty much stopped playing when you were in your crib but now they’re back. They have this killer guitar player Warren Haynes trading licks with Dickey Betts and a real forceful but melodic new bass player Allen Woody. I mean they’re not the Grateful Dead, but there’s nothing like the Grateful Dead. Still,
they’ll treat you right for a night. That’s my non-Dead tip of the day.)
“Noted.”
(My Dead-related tip of the day, is hold your hands like this around your ears. Come on you can do it. There you go…)
“It’s my Dumbo impression.”
(Consider that a bonus.)
Terrapin!
“Terrapin!”
(Indeed! You see most people haven’t picked up on it yet. We’re still just drifting in that direction. Thank you, magical ear cups! Any minute now, Jerry will hit those familiar notes and they’ll be screaming.)
ROBIN
(Terrapin!)
“Terrapin! Terrapin!”
(I see turtles.)
“TerrapinTurtles?”
(Ninja turtles?)
“Terrapin ninja turtles!)
(We’re turtles!)
“Turtles!”
(Turtles!)
“Ooops sorry…”
Popcorn… Mmmmm salty…
“My shell issss cleannn!”
(Feeeeed Turtles! Jerrry, feeeeed theee tuuuurtlees…)
“Moths!”
(Jerrry, feeed theee turtles Moth solos!)
“Tassteeeee mothssss”
(Jerrryyyyyy!)
“Tassteeeee mothssss”
(Haaaa haaaaa)
“Yessss?”
(Jeerrrrreeeeee)
“Yesssss?”
(Jeerrrrreeeeee Haaaassss Motthhhhh Baaalllllssssss)
“Haaaaaaaa!”
STEVEN
Way too here.
I’m waaayyy too here.
I wish it were tomorrow.
I know that tomorrow I’ll look back on this and laugh, so why can’t it be tomorrow.
I’ve been looking forward to this for so long. All I wanted was to be here. And now I am and I don’t want to be. I—uhhhh my stomach—he poisoned me, Burns poisoned me.
No, that’s crazy.
Uhhhh.
What is crazy? What does that even mean?
Maybe this is my defining Grateful Dead moment.
“Terrapin’s” sweet but there’s darkness and confusion.
Jerry can’t figure out if it’s an end or a beginning.
Uhhhhh—oowwww.
And neither can I.
What I can figure out is I should be going to the bathroom, I’m gonna be—
Uhhhh.
“Excuse me, Burns. Excuse me, Shannon.”
Nobody even asked—uhhhhh.
That’s fine because this is the end of my beginning.
STELLA BLUE
(Come on, Stella, take Uncle Ernie’s hand. There you go. How’s your popcorn?)
“I’m not hungry.”
(That’s okay, you can hold onto it for later.)
“I can’t eat it if I’m holding your hand.”
(Well, then why don’t you let me close the box for you, so it doesn’t spill all over the floor here and leave a little Stella trail. That would be silly. That’s it, there we go. Okay now, would you like Uncle Ernie to pick you up and carry you?)
“Nuh-uh.”
(Are you sure? Uncle Ernie doesn’t mind.)
“Nuh-uh. I’m a big girl.”
(You are, you are a big girl.)
“I know I am.”
(And I like your big girl necklace. It’s very pretty.)
“I know it is.”
(What’s it made of?)
“Beads and shells.”
(Ohh, beads and shells. Can I touch it?)
“Uh-huh.”
(It feels neat with all those different shapes and colors.”
“You can’t feel colors. That’s silly.”
(Maybe Ernie can. Maybe Ernie has magical powers.)
“Like the Grateful Dead?”
(Like the Grateful Dead?)
“They have the magical power to create smiles.”
(That’s what your mother says?)
“Uh-huh.”
(Well some people say that Uncle Ernie has the magical power to create smiles.)
“Are you Jerry’s ’ssisstant?”
(Jerry?)
“From the GRATEFUL DEAD!”
(I am not Jerry’s assistant. You can say we’re colleagues.)
“Collies? Will there be doggies too?”
(We’ll see. We’ll be there very soon, Stella. Very soon.)
RANDY
(Ready to quench that thirst?)
“I’m parched. That means I’m dry and thirsty. I get that way after I play a few quarters of football. I’m not sure what it’s like to sit on the bench. Do you get parched?”
(Don’t be a dick and follow my lead… Good evening boys, and how are you?)
(We could be better. Far, far better if we were in the show.)
(Drowning your sorrows?)
(What do you mean?)
(What’s that in your hand?)
(Nothing.)
(That nothing looks suspiciously like a beer to me.)
(So?)
(Can I see some ID?)
(I don’t know, can you?)
(Son, with all due respect and when I say with all due respect, I mean with absolutely no respect whatsoever, can you take a look at my colleague here. Do you see what’s all over his jacket? Do you think he has patience for twerps like you?)
(So you want to see my ID?)
(I don’t know, do I?)
(Fine. Hold on, my wallet’s in the car.)
(No, actually I don’t.)
(You don’t want to see my ID.)
(I do not.)
(Then what is that you want?)
(Your beer.)
(Here you go.)
(Not the one in your hand. The rest of it. Open your hatch.)
(My hatch?)
“Your hatchback. I can see three cases in there. Now listen, we both know you’re not even twenty years old. So if you promise not to consume any more alcohol on the premises tonight, we’ll leave you a case. We’re taking the other two but we’ll leave you one.)
(Don’t let him do this! They can’t make you, that’s yours. You’re allowed to have it in your car if it’s unopened.)
(Do you think so? Should we take all three?)
(No…)
(So then two is fine?)
(I suppose…)
(Or would you underage boozers prefer that we call in our supervisors?)
“And the local constables.”
(Constables? What movie are you in?)
“Raging Bull. Wanna join?”
(No, no, I’m all set.)
(Then two it is. Open up. There you go. My oversized assistant will relieve you of your excess. You can thank us later.)
(We won’t.)
(No, you probably won’t.)
(Mean people suck.)
(They suck down your beer. Randall, let’s head to the back of the lot where we can dispose of these properly.)
STEVEN
Uuhhhh, I can’t even even puke.
I’m soooo sick.
I’ve been poisoned and I can’t even puke it out of me.
Uhhhhh. It stinks in here. It smells like everyone’s been yakking. That kind of makes me want to yak but I can’t.
(HELP ME! HELP ME! AHHHH SHIT HELP ME SHIT THEY’RE-BU-BU-BLUHHHHHH-OHHHHHH! AHHHHH!)
What?
(HELP ME! PU-PU-BLUAHHHH! HELLLLPP!)
Uhhh, I am not leaving this stall. I am not going out there.
(PLEASE HELP ME!)
(Hey now, brother, what’s the matter?)
Good. Uhhhh. Someone came in. Thank you.
(Please, please help me I’m—bluuuhhhhhh.)
(Aww man,
that’s gross.)
(Someone clean him up.)
(Help me please. They’re after me.)
(How can we help you? Tell us and we’ll help you.)
(I need you to help me. They’ll be here.)
(Hank, man, stay away from him. He’s covered with chunks and he smells like shit.)
This is just so harsh…
(I’m telling you they’ll be here! Help me!)
(Henry come on, let’s get out of here, this guy’s crazy, there’s no telling who’s looking for him.)
(Help me, it’s not my fault, I didn’t mean to bluhhhhhhhhh.)
(Awww, that’s gnarly. Hank, that is gnarly.)
(We have to tell someone about this.)
(Fine with me but let’s go.)
(After I piss.)
(Really?)
(Yeah that’s why I came in here.)
(Help, hehelll-bluhhh-BLUUHHHHH.)
(You know, I’m good. Let’s motor.)
(Thank you.)
(But we need to find someone and let them know.)
Shit they’re gone.
(Ohhhman, help, help ahhhhhuhhhhhhhaakkkkkhh-awwwkkkkk)
He’s making scraping noises—choking, he’s choking. Gotta do something.
(Uuuuuakkkkkkkhhhhhh.)
Over by think sink he’s-uuuhhhhhhhhh.
Owwwww.
On his back, I need to turn him over.
Shit, I don’t know
(Ahhkkkk.)
Okay, okay, I can do it. Okay.
“Gonnahelpyou…here I come, I’m gonna help you. Here I—ahhh, uuuhhh, LEMMMEGO! LET ME GO!”
PLEEAASEEEEE
“LET ME UPPPPPP!”
(Uhhhhh.)
“Helpontheway…”
He’s breathing
I’m outofhere.
TAPER TED
Not bad. Four song pre-Drums but Jerry let the “Terrapin” flow gently away. Sometimes he’s too abrupt—like he has to run offstage and pee or something. I hate that. They’re in the middle of this post–“Terrapin” jam, a really beautiful jam, and Jerry starts rushing it. And then while the rest of the band is speeding to catch up with him, he takes off his guitar. But tonight was up to snuff. A fine transition into the death of song.