Hi, we've got a great new article up about the Dead, from the point of view of people who at first didn't like the band, and then slowly began to realize what was so special about them. You can read it here: http://crawdaddy.wolfgangsvault.com/Art ... px?id=3682
A brief sample:
A brief sample:
As a San Franciscan with more angry punk than twirly dance hippie in me, I figured it was not only my birthright, but also my moral obligation, to hate the Dead. For my entire natural life, resisting their supposed lure posed no problem for me, even though from the day I was born the very air I breathed was filled with their jams. I made damn sure that very little could penetrate the stony psychic wall I’d erected to protect myself from hearing them or from consorting with their kind, those dirty followers of theirs known as Deadheads. Yep, them. They who would seasonally perch themselves on my doorstep adjacent the Panhandle and regularly taunt me with the question, "Have you seen Jerry?" "No, I haven't, you freak!" I'd say, emphasizing the word "freak" while glaring at them as I stomped off to work (you know, work, as in job). At the time, I didn't fully understand going to see the Grateful Dead, night after night, was their job. As it happened, my job was working as a receptionist for the concert promoter in town, where throughout the day I would receive people with names like "Mountain Girl" and "Bear" with suspicion, a sneer, and an asymmetrical haircut. Like I said, I was surrounded.Hope everyone enjoys, we like it a lot.
But as these stories go, the vociferous hatred—verging on phobia—often masks a shadowy side (or at least a very large, Dead-logo-like skeleton in the closet). And so, I live to report that I've had a shift in consciousness, having made the proverbial long strange trip from Dead hater to doubter to full-on believer, but with a few caveats: I'm still not sold on Bob Weir, I don't own anything tie-dyed, and those dancing bears make my skin crawl. Ironically (or not), it took me leaving the Bay Area to discover just how much I missed the omnipresent and unmistakable sound of Jerry in the air (the local FM doesn't really program them in the California Southland). And yet, I find I'm still a little nervous to admit to my new friends that I find much to admire about the good ol’ Grateful Dead for fear that even the freest thinking ones will stereotype me as some SF hippie chick. As I get adjusted to this new me, I thought I'd go in search of stories from other latecomers, reluctant converts, certified Heads, and the Dead's fellow musicians to see just what they had to say about the timeless and mystical push/pull of the ultimate jam band, and its impact on their lives.
