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It's been 30 years since the Grateful Dead's final concerts at Soldier Field in Chicago

It's been 30 years since the Grateful Dead's final concerts at Soldier Field in Chicago

Chicago Tribune03-07-2025
The longest, strangest trip embarked upon by a rock 'n' roll band ended 30 years ago this week at Soldier Field. On Sunday, July 9, 1995, the Grateful Dead played what would be its final concert with its full lineup at the stadium — the harmonious echoes of 'Box of Rain' concluding a fascinating musical journey that began in May 1965 at a small pizza parlor in California and encompassed more than 2,300 shows.
Coming just before a stifling heat wave engulfed the city, the Grateful Dead's two-night lakefront stand remains memorable for many reasons — some better off forgotten. While the sextet rebounded from a Saturday production that witnessed lead singer Jerry Garcia forgetting lyrics, flubbing notes and demonstrating clear signs of ailing health, the uneven closing show concluded what's now known as the 'Tour from Hell' — a trek haunted by uninspired performances, gate-crashing incidents, weather-related injuries, death threats and deplorable behavior from some fans.
Take it from someone who was there: It was a bad scene.
An anomaly, really, in the Grateful Dead's local history. Though the band's newest archival trove — 'Enjoying the Ride,' a 60-disc box set themed around the group's ties to select venues — spotlights what was then Deer Creek Music Center in Noblesville, Indiana, and Alpine Valley Music Theatre in East Troy, Wisconsin, to represent the Midwest, the Dead made Chicago its go-to base in the heartland. Far surpassing the number of its respective appearances in Milwaukee, Minneapolis, Detroit, Indianapolis, Kansas City and St. Louis, the Grateful Dead played some 70 dates in the Chicago area.
Not included in that tally: The regrouped collective's three 'Fare Thee Well' shows in July 2015 at Soldier Field. Clever marketing lingo aside, nothing disguises the fact that the band ceased when Garcia died of a heart attack shortly after turning 53 in August 1995.
Here are 10 of the most significant visits from a band that looms perhaps even larger today than during its existence.
More than three years after forming, the Grateful Dead arrived for its Chicago debut at a bygone Uptown venue that hosted legends such as Led Zeppelin and The Who before they became massive. Freshly discharged from the Air Force, keyboardist Tom Constanten officially joined the collective earlier in the week. The Grateful Dead is nascent enough that no definitive setlist information survives for either show. Reporting on the second night for the Tribune's youth music column, Robb Baker amusingly observed: 'They have no good vocalist; their material itself is not that memorable (you don't go around humming Dead tunes); and it takes them forever to really get warmed up.' Ultimately, he succumbed to the band's eclectic charms and gave it a rave. The Grateful Dead returned to the same location the following January and again that April. A portion of the latter visit is documented on 'Dick's Picks Volume 26.'
Mirroring the right-into-the-fire experience of his predecessor, Constanten, whose brief tenure ended in early 1970, keyboardist Keith Godchaux had one show under his belt when the Grateful Dead arrived for its second of a career total of four residencies at Auditorium Theatre. He was tasked with spelling the playing of beloved original member Ron 'Pigpen' McKernan, on hiatus due to health problems that led to his death in early 1973. Adding to the pressure? The Grateful Dead premiered an array of new tunes ('Tennessee Jed,' 'Comes a Time,' 'Jack Straw,' 'Mexicali Blues' 'One More Saturday Night' among them). And Oak Park radio station WGLD-FM broadcasted night one, which contained the final performance of the obscure ditty 'The Frozen Logger.' Godchaux, who stayed with the Grateful Dead until 1979, passed his test. Both concerts sizzled. The first, which prompted the Chicago Sun-Times to predict 'a revival for dance halls' and Tribune critic Lynn Van Matre to deem the band 'relaxed, yet very much together,' featured a 'St. Stephen'-led encore. The second, chronicled on 'Dave's Picks Volume 3,' sparked with a transcendent 'That's It for the Other One' suite.
No regional Grateful Dead show witnessed more back-and-forth planning drama than the band's sole Evanston date. Daily Northwestern archives show that attempts to book the group began in April 1970. Efforts to land the band for the university's 1973 homecoming unfolded over several months. Debates pitted organizers against administrators fearful of issues related to security, safety, cost and behavior by non-campus attendees. Despite opposition from the dean and contractual uncertainty that stretched into mid-October, the student government — with a big assist from Jam Productions — secured the artist it wanted. Northwestern students paid $4.50, one dollar less than the public. But more money than the estimated 50 to 100 people who gained entrance by buying discounted admission from entrepreneurial kids who found untorn tickets discarded under the bleachers by a careless Jam attendant and re-sold them outside. Inside, amid Halloween decor and a capacity crowd, the Grateful Dead played four hours despite guitarist-vocalist Bob Weir reportedly feeling under the weather. Part of the show can be heard on the two-disc 'Wake of the Flood' reissue.
The Grateful Dead's second and final concert at the now-demolished Canaryville arena marked the only local appearance of the band's complete, near-mythical Wall of Sound. The subject of 'Loud and Clear,' a brand-new book by Chicago-based writer Brian Anderson, the pioneering sound reinforcement system became as famous for its spectacular fidelity as its immense size. Because the 75-ton array proved incredibly labor-intensive and expensive to schlep from show to show, the group retired it in October 1974. In addition to marking the group's last area gig for nearly two years, this excellent mid-summer performance remains noteworthy for a collaborative interlude between Grateful Dead bassist Phil Lesh and Ned Lagin. The electronic composer experimented with Lesh nearly two dozen times using the Wall of Sound and released his quadraphonic 'Seastones' album on the group's record label.
Garcia, Weir, Lesh and percussionist Mickey Hart's afternoon appearance at Rambler Room — a hybrid cafeteria/gathering space in the now-razed Centennial Forum on Loyola University's Rogers Park campus — doesn't technically qualify as a Grateful Dead show. But few Chicago dates harbor more intrigue than this impromptu 'Bob Weir and Friends' gathering. Seated in front of a hand-drawn Hunger Week poster, the band members performed acoustically together for the first time since 1970. They dug into chestnuts — Jelly Roll Morton's 'Winin' Boy Blues,' the traditional 'Tom Dooley,' the Memphis Jug Band's 'K.C. Moan,' Weir's 'This Time Forever' — the Grateful Dead never before or again attempted in public. The first rendition of 'Knockin' on Heaven's Door,' a Bob Dylan number the full group wouldn't play until 1987, anchored the set. After finishing with a romp through Buddy Holly's 'Oh Boy!,' the quartet headed a couple miles south to Uptown Theatre for its second show of a three-night run.
Though the Grateful Dead usually kicked off the year in California or on the East Coast, Chicago got the honor in 1981 when the group launched its spring jaunt at Uptown Theatre — an architectural gem that still sits, decaying, awaiting its second act. The three-night run marked the Grateful Dead's sixth and final hurrah at the movie palace, which closed its doors for good that December. (Jerry Garcia returned in June with his namesake band.) Due to an intimacy and acoustic signature that would cause the balcony to vibrate from certain frequencies, Uptown Theatre quickly became known among fans as a magical spot to see the group. The feeling seemed mutual. In the span of 37 months, the band headlined an astonishing 17 shows at Uptown Theatre, which hosted the Grateful Dead more times than any local venue. A-list examples of early '80s Grateful Dead, these shows should be short-listed for the band's ongoing archival series. Relatedly, the group's Dec. 3, 1979 date at Uptown Theatre comprises 'Dave's Picks Volume 31.'
As the Grateful Dead waded into the mid-'80s, the odds of catching a truly great show declined. Garcia, his disheveled hair increasingly gray, ballooned in weight and often lost a beat. The band shunned the studio, releasing no original albums between 1980 and 1987. Yet the concert vibes remained healthy and the scene mellow, free of the toxic misconduct that violated the Deadheads' unspoken 'do no harm' ethic after the group's popularity exploded in the late '80s. Plus, the group still channeled bursts of imagination. This pair of dates represents the Grateful Dead's only appearance at a welcoming outdoor venue that ultimately gave way to a new, far inferior option 60 miles away in Tinley Park. Too bad. Once a favorite among tape traders, June 27 saw the band scamper through one of the first performances of 'Hell in a Bucket' and lock into a fervent 'Scarlet Begonias' into 'Fire on the Mountain' coupling. The next evening sounded nearly equally on point and culminated with the New Orleans staple 'Iko Iko' unveiled as an encore for one of just three occasions in the group's career.
Given these concerts capped the Grateful Dead's stellar 1990 summer tour, a trek that piggybacked onto a spring trek that stands as one of the most acclaimed in the band's history, they should evoke only joyous memories. As delightful as the performances remain, they are overshadowed by the death of keyboardist Brent Mydland — whose drug overdose on July 26 permanently altered the trajectory of the band and sent Garcia into a dark spiral — and nightmarish management. Frustrated with limited road access into the venue and impassable traffic jams, fans parked their cars on the highway and walked the rest of the way. Commercial truck traffic ground to a halt. State police closed westbound lanes on I-80 from I-57 to Harlem Avenue, and ordered hundreds of vehicles towed. Unaccustomed to large concerts in their area — World Music Theatre opened that June — neighboring residents also complained about the alleged invasion of Deadheads who cleaned out stores of certain supplies and foodstuffs. Then, there were the insurmountable shortcomings of the venue that, in the words of renowned Grateful Dead sound engineer Dan Healy, constituted 'the most awful sounding place I've ever heard in my life — it's beyond my wildest imagination.' Suffice it to say the band wasn't asked back.
The Grateful Dead collaborated onstage in the '90s with esteemed jazz saxophonists Branford Marsalis, Ornette Coleman and David Murray on the coasts, the same regions its brief 1987 trek with Bob Dylan unfolded. Local fans starved for a similar treat lucked out at the first of the band's two-night Soldier Field engagement when opener Steve Miller joined the ensemble for four songs in the second set and an electrifying encore of Them's 'Gloria.' Extending the bluesy motifs, Chicago-based harmonica virtuoso James Cotton also guested on the latter number as well as on a smoky version of Sonny Boy Williamson's 'Good Morning Little Schoolgirl' and charged take of Bobby Bland's 'Turn on Your Lovelight.' Such location-cognizant nods and unexpected twists — which extended to a blaring train whistle during the psychedelic 'Space' sequence — confirmed the Grateful Dead could still surprise and awe, even in stadium settings.
The Grateful Dead commenced its spring 1993 outing with a radiant 'Here Comes Sunshine' and didn't look back until its second-to-last residency at Rosemont Horizon concluded a few nights later. Reinvigorated with a batch of promising new songs ('Liberty,' 'Days Between,' 'Lazy River Road,' 'Broken Arrow,' 'Eternity') and eager to refine recent material road-tested a year prior ('So Many Roads,' 'Wave to the Wind,' 'Way to Go Home'), the band strongly suggested it had more to offer in its fourth decade together. And yet, bittersweetly, Garcia's beautiful, gospel-etched timbre and choice of poignant material — a somber 'Knockin' on Heaven's Door,' a spiritual 'Standing on the Moon,' a symbolic cover of Dylan's 'It's All Over Now, Baby Blue' — indicated an acute awareness of endings and mortality. Both would wait. On March 10, the band stunned everyone with the rare, and final, 'Mind Left Body Jam.' At the finale, Chicago word-jazz poet and radio announcer Ken Nordine further shattered sensory perceptions by reciting 'Flibberty Jib' and 'The Island' during the 'Drums' into 'Space' improvisation. We never saw it coming. In other words, signature Grateful Dead. Then, and now, a band beyond description.
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Jerry Garcia: Your memories 30 years after his death
Jerry Garcia: Your memories 30 years after his death

Yahoo

timea day ago

  • Yahoo

Jerry Garcia: Your memories 30 years after his death

Yahoo asked readers to share where they were when they heard the legendary Grateful Dead guitarist had died on Aug. 9, 1995, and how his music makes them feel today. It was 30 years ago tomorrow that Grateful Dead co-founder, guitarist and vocalist Jerry Garcia died in his room at a drug and alcohol rehabilitation facility outside of San Francisco, on Aug. 9, 1995. He was 53. Fans of the pioneering psychedelic rock band known as Deadheads knew this day would come. Garcia had struggled with drug addiction and diabetes for years and was in bad shape weeks earlier during what would be his final tour. He was visibly frail, forgetting lyrics — more so than usual — and mumbling through his songs. Still, the news of his death was no less shocking. "I'm probably like a lot of people entering the first waves of numbness,' Tom Constanten, former Grateful Dead keyboardist and a close friend of Garcia's, told San Francisco's KCBS radio that night. I was also probably like a lot of people, looking to numb myself when I learned of Garcia's death. I had just graduated from high school and was at home in Connecticut, weeks away from going to college, driving around aimlessly in my used Volkswagen Jetta and listening to Dead tapes. (I had a couple hundred bootlegs of live shows, which, for serious Deadheads, was not many.) It was also a pivotal moment in Yahoo's history. One of the site's originally programmers, Srinija Srinivasan, told the New York Times that on the day Garcia died, searches for his name spiked immediately, so they put a link to it on the homepage. 'That was the birth of Yahoo News," Srinivasan said. Since Garcia's death, surviving members of the Grateful Dead, including guitarist Bob Weir and drummers Mickey Hart and Bill Kreutzman, have been performing in various incarnations, including Dead & Company — with John Mayer assuming Garcia's role as lead guitarist. 'I'll never come close to playing like @jerrygarcia,' Mayer wrote on Instagram earlier this month following Dead & Company's three-day run at San Francisco's Golden Gate Park celebrating the Grateful Dead's 60th anniversary. 'But if I can somehow get you closer to him — and to the spirit he created 60 years ago — then I suppose I've done my job. Thank you for accepting me.' To mark the 30th anniversary of Garcia's death, Yahoo gathered memories of the iconic guitarist from readers like you. Here are some of your most vivid and moving responses. They have been edited for length and clarity. Where were you when you heard the news Jerry died? Mitch W., 57, Wake Forest, N.C.: I was sitting in a rocking chair in my living room down in Boca Raton, Fla. I was just numb, devastated, sad and upset. The music that never stopped had stopped. Even though we knew Jerry was in rehab, we (at least me) figured he would be out soon. Mark K., 54, Fort Myers, Fla.: I was a young reporter working on Sanibel Island. At first, I thought it was just another rumor, so I called a friend/editor (who worked at the Grateful Dead fanzine Dupree's Diamond News) to confirm. I broke down and cried at my desk. I then collected myself, asked my boss for the rest of the day off, went home and watched all the coverage on TV with my roommate, who was also a Deadhead. Tony, 52, Lyman, N.H.: I was driving toward the beach to go surfing. I heard three consecutive Grateful Dead songs on the radio — and I just knew. I had to pull over my car. Complete emotional devastation. Beverly, 51, Lewisville, Maine: I was at an ARCO ampm restocking candy when a customer came in and broke the news. He was not gentle about it, causing me to be utterly devastated. Jenny W., 56, Chicago: I was working at Kraft Foods as an intern in the tax department. I received a phone call from a friend who let me know. I was devastated. I ended up telling my supervisor that I had a death in the family and needed to go home. I gathered with my friends, and we sat around sharing memories and listening to music. I had just met Jerry in St. Louis earlier that summer. We met in the concierge lounge at the Ritz, where he was grabbing some cookies. He took a picture with me and the cookies. He was amazingly kind. Ann, 51, Ann Arbor, Mich.: It was my 22nd birthday. I walked in to work the lunch shift at a local bar. Jerry's death was announced on the TV news. I was speechless, then melancholy. I was at the last show at Soldier Field, second row center. We were so close that I didn't know Jerry was wearing shorts. It was unbelievable that he was gone. J. Morgan W., 53, Fort Lauderdale, Fla.: I was at home in Fort Lauderdale when WSHE Radio announced Jerry's passing; I thought it was a bad joke. Then after multiple announcements from various news and radio reports, realizing that this news was true, I went out to Peaches Music and purchased the last few Dead CDs to finish my collection. Dori R., 59, Boulder, Colo.: I was driving down the 101 from a TV shoot with my Discovery Channel crew in California when we heard the news on the radio. We pulled over in shock. I was never a huge Dead fan, but I had actually just spent the previous summer following them, attending 14 West Coast shows out of pure curiosity with the music and the whole scene. I became a big fan that summer and was profoundly grateful that I got to experience the band, Jerry and all, before we lost him. D.P.F., 78, Yucaipa, Calif: I had just been upgraded to a speaking role on "Caroline in the City." You must understand what an exciting and joyous moment this was for a simple background actor. I was, needless to say, ecstatic. The following morning, I drove to Hollywood to sign the contract. The joy just mounted. I got back in the car to drive home; happy as a lark. When the radio came on, the first thing I heard was that Jerry had died. So, in a matter of minutes, I went from the peaks of happiness to the depths of sorrow. Of course, having followed the Dead for quite some time, I was well aware of Jerry's, shall we say, "predilections" and any serious fan was prepared for this. And yet, I and many others were rocked to our cores. "Cheff" Z., 78, Lancaster, Pa.: I was monitoring the Associated Press wire. The bell started clanging — which was the sign of 'breaking news.' I pulled the tear sheet and read of his death as AP was breaking it. I stood in front of the machine, alone in the clattering wire-service closet, and started to cry. I had seen the Dead all three nights in Philly on that final tour. He was weary looking, without the energy with which I was familiar. The Jerry I knew was funny and engaging. On that last tour he looked like he wanted to be done. How did you discover the Grateful Dead? Tony, 52, Lyman, N.H.: They were popular with everyone's older brothers in school. Someone gave me a bootleg from 1985. Maybe Roanoke, maybe Raleigh? The 'Stagger Lee' from that show hooked me. Ann, 51, Ann Arbor, Mich.: I saw 'Touch of Grey' on MTV and got the In the Dark album as a teen. Then a good friend from college knew that I liked Phish. She played old Grateful Dead bootleg tapes for me since she thought they were better. I agreed and never went to another Phish show. Anna M., 56, Oregon City, Ore.: I grew up in a rural area and had no exposure to the Grateful Dead except for shirts I had seen. I did not really know their music. My partner bought me a ticket for my birthday in 1992 to see them at Autzen Stadium in Eugene, Ore. I remember I had on jeans and a black mock turtleneck. As I got closer to the venue, I quickly realized my outfit did not blend. The concert was already going when I arrived. The scene was unlike anything I had ever seen — so many beautiful, weird people. I bought a new batik dress, ordered my first falafel and sat down and just absorbed it all. I felt like I had finally come home. Beverly, 51, Lewisville, Maine: My mom's friend always told me I was a hippie and didn't know it. She told me to check out their music in 1993; when I did, I knew immediately I had found my tribe. I only saw them once, in Las Vegas, before he died. It was amazing. The people really were like a family. I never knew how kind people could be, but learned that summer. Bud, 70, Oxford, Conn.: I was attending UConn in the early 1970s, and they got a lot of airplay on FM radio. "Casey Jones" was big. They were going to play the Yale Bowl, so I picked up Workingman's Dead, which was their latest LP. I couldn't believe how "country" it sounded. I expected something heavier. I played it once or twice and put it away. I still have that record, and it has become one of my favorites of the last 50 years. Rick B., 62, La Crescent, Minn.: In 1978, when I was 15, I read a reference in National Lampoon that characterized the Dead as being "still numero uno with the acid heads." And since I had every intention of becoming one at the first opportunity, I decided that this was probably a band that I should be listening to. What do you think of the Grateful Dead's post-Garcia reincarnations, like Dead & Company? Mark K., 54, Fort Myers, Fla.: Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I'd still be seeing this music and enjoying the scene I loved so much some 20 years after his death — thanks to Dead & Company. I credit John Mayer especially for introducing this music to new generations. Now I have fun razzing all the newbies at D&C. A phrase me and my crew always repeat: We saw Jerry. Anna M., 56, Oregon City, Ore.: I love it. It brings the family together and helps introduce younger people to the music. I love seeing young people at shows that have never seen Jerry, but they know the music, and it's meaningful and important to them. That is the power of the music, the message and the love. Dori R., 59, Boulder, Colo.: I enjoy the shows but can't avoid feeling like the same magic is just not there. Brit O., 61, Eureka, Calif. Meh. Never the same without Jerry. Marianne R., 57, Myrtle Beach, S.C.: Initially, I was done. I grieved the loss for at least a year. In 1996 Further came to town, I went with long- time Deadhead friends for closure. I saw Rat Dog and Phil Lesh & Friends over the years, but once John Mayer joined, I didn't see anything Dead-related until Dead & Company at the Sphere in Las Vegas in 2024. It was like going home. It was a very emotional experience. I am so glad I went. I loved being with my "people" again. I am also so happy that new, young people are constantly discovering the music. Jay D., 70, Novato, Calif.: I just saw Dead & Company at the Sphere in Las Vegas in April. Like everybody says, it was amazing! I used to be in the camp that after Jerry died there was no more Grateful Dead, but no more. John Mayer is a great guitarist, and he is doing right by the Dead's music. John, 53, Ringwood, N.J.: I love them all for different reasons. I'm fortunate to have seen the Dead with Jerry. All the other reincarnations have just carried the music further and connected it to newer generations of fans. What did Garcia mean to you then? And what does he mean to you today? Gary B., 73, Columbia, Md.: He was a tour guide to so many different kinds of music, and today he, more than any other individual, is the uniting force behind so many different bands and artists. Mitch W., 57, Wake Forest, N.C.: Jerry Garcia was the leader of the greatest American band ever. I miss him and still miss him (even though Bobby [Weir], day by day, is resembling Jerry). Wish my kid could have seen him and the Dead. Mark K., 54, Fort Myers, Fla.: No guitarist's music ever spoke to me the way Jerry's did. As a singer, he understood and seemed to feel the lyrics (lost on many singers), and as a guitar player and bandleader, he was like the pied piper for many of us who weren't into hair bands. Marianne R., 57, Myrtle Beach, S.C.: He was like family, even though I never met him. I grew up with that band. Today, I smile any time I think of him or those days of my youth. That music and scene made me who I am. Beverly, 51, Lewisville, Maine: Jerry was the poppa bear, setting the example of kindness, honesty and vulnerability. He's still a legend in my book. Lauren T., 53, Shelby, Ala.: He was just so f***ing cool. So talented. His music meant something to me. Still does. I played the Dead in the delivery room when I gave birth to my children. Played it for them when they were babies. On the way to and from school. Now, my adult kids have all the Grateful Dead songs on their Spotify playlists. I try to explain what the shows were like to my kids but they can't possibly understand the vibe. I hate that they'll never see or hear Jerry live. Anna M., 56, Oregon City, Ore.: I have always viewed Jerry as someone who rescued me from a very limited worldview. To see all the many wonderful people that loved the Dead, to get to know them, to have my mind expanded with new ideas, new ways of looking at life — he was monumental in my development into who I was meant to be. He was the gateway for me; his lyrics and words are touchstones for my soul.

Jerry Garcia: Your memories 30 years after his death
Jerry Garcia: Your memories 30 years after his death

Yahoo

time2 days ago

  • Yahoo

Jerry Garcia: Your memories 30 years after his death

Yahoo asked readers to share where they were when they heard the legendary Grateful Dead guitarist had died on Aug. 9, 1995, and how his music makes them feel today. It was 30 years ago tomorrow that Grateful Dead co-founder, guitarist and vocalist Jerry Garcia died in his room at a drug and alcohol rehabilitation facility outside of San Francisco, on Aug. 9, 1995. He was 53. Fans of the pioneering psychedelic rock band known as Deadheads knew this day would come. Garcia had struggled with drug addiction and diabetes for years and was in bad shape weeks earlier during what would be his final tour. He was visibly frail, forgetting lyrics — more so than usual — and mumbling through his songs. Still, the news of his death was no less shocking. "I'm probably like a lot of people entering the first waves of numbness,' Tom Constanten, former Grateful Dead keyboardist and a close friend of Garcia's, told San Francisco's KCBS radio that night. I was also probably like a lot of people, looking to numb myself when I learned of Garcia's death. I had just graduated from high school and was at home in Connecticut, weeks away from going to college, driving around aimlessly in my used Volkswagen Jetta and listening to Dead tapes. (I had a couple hundred bootlegs of live shows, which, for serious Deadheads, was not many.) Since Garcia's death, surviving members of the Grateful Dead, including guitarist Bob Weir and drummers Mickey Hart and Bill Kreutzman, have been performing in various incarnations, including Dead & Company — with John Mayer assuming Garcia's role as lead guitarist. 'I'll never come close to playing like @jerrygarcia,' Mayer wrote on Instagram earlier this month following Dead & Company's three-day run at San Francisco's Golden Gate Park celebrating the Grateful Dead's 60th anniversary. 'But if I can somehow get you closer to him — and to the spirit he created 60 years ago — then I suppose I've done my job. Thank you for accepting me.' To mark the 30th anniversary of Garcia's death, Yahoo gathered memories of the iconic guitarist from readers like you. Here are some of your most vivid and moving responses. They have been edited for length and clarity. Where were you when you heard the news Jerry died? Mitch W., 57, Wake Forest, N.C.: I was sitting in a rocking chair in my living room down in Boca Raton, Fla. I was just numb, devastated, sad and upset. The music that never stopped had stopped. Even though we knew Jerry was in rehab, we (at least me) figured he would be out soon. Mark K., 54, Fort Myers, Fla.: I was a young reporter working on Sanibel Island. At first, I thought it was just another rumor, so I called a friend/editor (who worked at the Grateful Dead fanzine Dupree's Diamond News) to confirm. I broke down and cried at my desk. I then collected myself, asked my boss for the rest of the day off, went home and watched all the coverage on TV with my roommate, who was also a Deadhead. Tony, 52, Lyman, N.H.: I was driving toward the beach to go surfing. I heard three consecutive Grateful Dead songs on the radio — and I just knew. I had to pull over my car. Complete emotional devastation. Jenny W., 56, Chicago: I was working at Kraft Foods as an intern in the tax department. I received a phone call from a friend who let me know. I was devastated. I ended up telling my supervisor that I had a death in the family and needed to go home. I gathered with my friends, and we sat around sharing memories and listening to music. I had just met Jerry in St. Louis earlier that summer. We met in the concierge lounge at the Ritz, where he was grabbing some cookies. He took a picture with me and the cookies. He was amazingly kind. Beverly, 51, Lewisville, Maine: I was at an ARCO ampm restocking candy when a customer came in and broke the news. He was not gentle about it, causing me to be utterly devastated. Ann, 51, Ann Arbor, Mich.: It was my 22nd birthday. I walked in to work the lunch shift at a local bar. Jerry's death was announced on the TV news. I was speechless, then melancholy. I was at the last show at Soldier Field, second row center. We were so close that I didn't know Jerry was wearing shorts. It was unbelievable that he was gone. J. Morgan W., 53, Fort Lauderdale, Fla.: I was at home in Fort Lauderdale when WSHE Radio announced Jerry's passing; I thought it was a bad joke. Then after multiple announcements from various news and radio reports, realizing that this news was true, I went out to Peaches Music and purchased the last few Dead CDs to finish my collection. Dori R., 59, Boulder, Colo.: I was driving down the 101 from a TV shoot with my Discovery Channel crew in California when we heard the news on the radio. We pulled over in shock. I was never a huge Dead fan, but I had actually just spent the previous summer following them, attending 14 West Coast shows out of pure curiosity with the music and the whole scene. I became a big fan that summer and was profoundly grateful that I got to experience the band, Jerry and all, before we lost him. "Cheff" Z., 78, Lancaster, Pa.: I was monitoring the Associated Press wire. The bell started clanging — which was the sign of 'breaking news.' I pulled the tear sheet and read of his death as AP was breaking it. I stood in front of the machine, alone in the clattering wire-service closet, and started to cry. I had seen the Dead all three nights in Philly on that final tour. He was weary looking, without the energy with which I was familiar. The Jerry I knew was funny and engaging. On that last tour he looked like he wanted to be done. How did you discover the Grateful Dead? Tony, 52, Lyman, N.H.: They were popular with everyone's older brothers in school. Someone gave me a bootleg from 1985. Maybe Roanoke, maybe Raleigh? The 'Stagger Lee' from that show hooked me. Ann, 51, Ann Arbor, Mich.: I saw 'Touch of Grey' on MTV and got the In the Dark album as a teen. Then a good friend from college knew that I liked Phish. She played old Grateful Dead bootleg tapes for me since she thought they were better. I agreed and never went to another Phish show. Anna M., 56, Oregon City, Ore.: I grew up in a rural area and had no exposure to the Grateful Dead except for shirts I had seen. I did not really know their music. My partner bought me a ticket for my birthday in 1992 to see them at Autzen Stadium in Eugene, Ore. I remember I had on jeans and a black mock turtleneck. As I got closer to the venue, I quickly realized my outfit did not blend. The concert was already going when I arrived. The scene was unlike anything I had ever seen — so many beautiful, weird people. I bought a new batik dress, ordered my first falafel and sat down and just absorbed it all. I felt like I had finally come home. Beverly, 51, Lewisville, Maine: My mom's friend always told me I was a hippie and didn't know it. She told me to check out their music in 1993; when I did, I knew immediately I had found my tribe. I only saw them once, in Las Vegas, before he died. It was amazing. The people really were like a family. I never knew how kind people could be, but learned that summer. Bud, 70, Oxford, Conn.: I was attending UConn in the early 1970s, and they got a lot of airplay on FM radio. "Casey Jones" was big. They were going to play the Yale Bowl, so I picked up Workingman's Dead, which was their latest LP. I couldn't believe how "country" it sounded. I expected something heavier. I played it once or twice and put it away. I still have that record, and it has become one of my favorites of the last 50 years. Rick B., 62, La Crescent, Minn.: In 1978, when I was 15, I read a reference in National Lampoon that characterized the Dead as being "still numero uno with the acid heads." And since I had every intention of becoming one at the first opportunity, I decided that this was probably a band that I should be listening to. What do you think of the Grateful Dead's post-Garcia reincarnations, like Dead & Company? Mark K., 54, Fort Myers, Fla.: Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I'd still be seeing this music and enjoying the scene I loved so much some 20 years after his death — thanks to Dead & Company. I credit John Mayer especially for introducing this music to new generations. Now I have fun razzing all the newbies at D&C. A phrase me and my crew always repeat: We saw Jerry. Anna M., 56, Oregon City, Ore.: I love it. It brings the family together and helps introduce younger people to the music. I love seeing young people at shows that have never seen Jerry, but they know the music, and it's meaningful and important to them. That is the power of the music, the message and the love. Dori R., 59, Boulder, Colo.: I enjoy the shows but can't avoid feeling like the same magic is just not there. Jay D., 70, Novato, Calif.: I just saw Dead & Company at the Sphere in April. Like everybody says, it was amazing! I used to be in the camp that after Jerry died there was no more Grateful Dead, but no more. John Mayer is a great guitarist, and he is doing right by the Dead's music. What did Garcia mean to you then? And what does he mean to you today? Gary B., 73, Columbia, Md.: He was a tour guide to so many different kinds of music, and today he, more than any other individual, is the uniting force behind so many different bands and artists. Mitch W., 57, Wake Forest, N.C.: Jerry Garcia was the leader of the greatest American band ever. I miss him and still miss him (even though Bobby [Weir], day by day, is resembling Jerry). Wish my kid could have seen him and the Dead. Mark K., 54, Fort Myers, Fla.: No guitarist's music ever spoke to me the way Jerry's did. As a singer, he understood and seemed to feel the lyrics (lost on many singers), and as a guitar player and bandleader, he was like the pied piper for many of us who weren't into hair bands. Beverly, 51, Lewisville, Maine: Jerry was the poppa bear, setting the example of kindness, honesty and vulnerability. He's still a legend in my book. Anna M., 56, Oregon City, Ore.: I have always viewed Jerry as someone who rescued me from a very limited worldview. To see all the many wonderful people that loved the Dead, to get to know them, to have my mind expanded with new ideas, new ways of looking at life — he was monumental in my development into who I was meant to be. He was the gateway for me; his lyrics and words are touchstones for my soul.

King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard talk going orchestral at the Bowl, and finally saying ‘F— Spotify'
King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard talk going orchestral at the Bowl, and finally saying ‘F— Spotify'

Los Angeles Times

time2 days ago

  • Los Angeles Times

King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard talk going orchestral at the Bowl, and finally saying ‘F— Spotify'

Need a model for how to thrive in the stranglehold of the modern music economy? How about a band of Australian garage-rockers who cut albums at the pace of an Atlanta rap crew, tour like peak-era Grateful Dead and who just told the biggest company in streaming to go to hell. King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard are a fascinating phenomenon in rock. Over 15 years, their LPs have flitted between genres with insouciant musicianship, pulling from punky scuzz, regal soul, krautrock, electro-funk and psychedelia. These LPs come at an insane clip — sometimes up to five in a year, 27 so far. Their freewheeling live shows made them a coveted arena act, when few new rock bands can aspire to that. Two weeks ago, they became probably the most high-profile band to take their music off Spotify in the wake of Chief Executive Daniel Ek's investments in an AI-driven weapons firm. The band self-releases on its own labels — they needed no one's permission. King Gizzard returns to the Hollywood Bowl on Sunday, this time backed by the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra for a live read of its new album 'Phantom Island,' a standout LP that adds deft orchestration to its toolkit. The band's frontman, Stu Mackenzie, spoke to The Times about giving Spotify the boot, how the L.A. Phil inspired the new record's arrangements and what they've figured out about staying afloat while artists get squeezed from all sides today. What was your initial reaction to Daniel Ek's investments in an AI arms company? A bit of shock, and then feeling that I shouldn't be shocked. We've been saying f— Spotify for years. In our circle of musician friends, that's what people say all the time, for all of these other reasons which are well documented. We saw a couple of other bands who we admire, and thought 'I don't really want our music to be here, at least right now.' I don't really consider myself an activist, and I don't feel comfortable soapboxing. But this feels like a decision staying true to ourselves, and doing what we think is is right for our music, having our music in places that we feel all right about. Was choosing to leave a complicated decision for the band? The thing that made it hard was I do want to have our music be accessible to people. I don't really care about making money from streaming. I know it's unfair, and I know they are banking so much. But for me personally, I just want to make music, and I want people to be able to listen to it. The hard part was to take that away from so many people. But sometimes you've just got to say, 'Well, sorry, we're not going to be here right now.' In the end, it actually was just one quick phone call with the other guys to get off the ship. As the sizes of everything gets larger, all of the stakes start to feel higher. I grapple with that, because that's not the kind of band that I like to be in, where it feels like everything is high stakes. I do miss the time where we could just do anything without any consequences, but I still try really hard to operate like that. In the past, I have felt tied to it, that we have to be there. But with this band, we have been happy to take a lot of risks, and for the most part, I'm just happy to see what happens if we just choose the path that feels right for us. Do you think Spotify noticed or cares that you left? I don't expect Daniel Ek to pay attention to this. We have made a lot of experimental moves with the way we've released records — bootlegging stuff for free. We have allowed ourselves a license to break conventions, and the people who listen to our music have a trust and a faith to go along on this ride together. I feel grateful to have the sort of fan base you'll just trust, even when you do something a little counterintuitive. It feels like an experiment to me, like, 'Let's just go away from Spotify, and let's see what happens.' Why does this have to be a big deal? It actually feels like we're just trying to find our own positivity in a dark situation. 'Phantom Island' is a really distinct record in your catalog for using so much orchestration. I heard some conversations with the L.A. Phil planted the seed for it? We played this Hollywood Bowl show a little over two years ago, and being the home stadium of the L.A. Phil, we naturally chatted with them at the show. It did plant a seed of doing a show there backed by the orchestra. We happened to be halfway through making a record at that exact time that we weren't really sure how to finish. When we started talking about doing a show backed by an orchestra, we thought, 'Let's just make an album with an orchestra.' We rearranged and rewrote these songs with a composer, Chad Kelly. We knew the songs needed something, and we ended up rewriting the songs to work for a rock band in a symphonic medium. Were there any records you looked to for how to make that approach work? I hear a lot of ELO in there, Isaac Hayes, maybe the Beatles' 'A Day in the Life.' To be completely honest, I just don't think there was a model for it. I think we landed on something that we only could have made because we wrote the songs not knowing there were going to be orchestral parts. When you ask me what were the touchstones, well, there weren't any. I was probably thinking of a lot of music from the early '60s, a lot of soul and R&B music at that time, which had often had orchestral arrangements. Etta James, for instance, was in the tone and the feel. This isn't the perfect way to do it, but it was a really serendipitous process. Your live shows are pretty raucous to say the least; how did you adapt to keep that feeling with orchestras behind you on this tour? I was pretty anxious, to be honest. We only had one rehearsal the day before the first show. We had to go in and cross our fingers, like, 'Okay, I think that's going to work. I'm just going to hope that it translates.' Our rehearsal was the most intense two and a half hours, but for the show, you're just like, 'All right, this is it.' You've just got to commit to what's on the page. We've had some really awesome people collaborating with us — Sean O'Laughlin did the arrangements for the live shows, and Sarah Hicks is an amazing conductor. We're just a garage rock band from Australia; we're very lucky to get to honestly work with the best of the best. On the other end of the venue spectrum, what was it like playing a residency in a Lithuanian prison? It was a real prison until really recently [Lukiškės Prison 2.0 in Vilnius, Lithuania]. The history is very dark — like, very, very dark. But there are artist spaces there now, and it's quite a culturally positive force. They're the things that make you restore your faith in humanity. You spend so much of your life losing faith in it, and then you go to places like that, and you're like, 'Yeah, humans are okay.' Speaking of threats to humanity, I think your band contests the idea that artists need to use AI to make enough music to be successful on streaming. You're proof you can make a ton of music quickly, with real people. Making music is fun as f—, especially making music with other people. That's a deeply motivating factor, and we just have a ton of fun making music together. It feels human, it feels spiritual, it feels social. It's deeply central to who we all are as human beings. And it doesn't feel hard. It doesn't feel like we're fighting against some AI trend or anything. We just make music because it feels good. You're an arena act with your own label, and pretty autonomous as a band. Do you think you've figured out something important about how to be successful in the modern music economy? I think we've been good at asking internal questions, and questioning what everybody else does and whether we need to do that or not. Sometimes we do the same thing that everybody else does. Sometimes we do something completely different because it makes sense to us. I think we've been quite good at being true to ourselves and being confident, or maybe reckless enough to do that. I do think there's some serendipity and fate in the personalities of the other guys in the band, and the people that we work with, who have have also been on a pretty unconventional journey and have faith that — in the least pretentious way possible — that other people will dig it, and not worry too much about the other other stuff. Do you hope to see more and bigger bands striking out on their own, since the big institutions of the music business have yet again proven to not really reflect their values? I just know what has worked for us, and I'm not sure that means that it'll work for other people. I don't know if there's a model in it. If there is a model, it's that you don't have to follow a path if you don't want to. The well-treaded path is going to work for some people, but you don't have to stay on that. I think one thing about this band is that we've all been at peace with failing. That if this all fell apart and we went back home and we got regular jobs, I think we would say, 'Well, we're proud of ourselves. We had a good time.' We did what we wanted to do and just suffered the consequences along the way. We're probably being reckless enough to make potentially selfish decisions over and over again. But people, for some reason, want to come out and see us do that, and we're super grateful.

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