Might As Well Page 9
(I want to show you something, can you come over to me? It’s easier than if I fight my way in to you.)
“That’s fine. But we’re getting close. Once Healy and Candace move in to position I have to step back… Excuse me… Excuse me… Okay, what’s your name?”
(You can call me Chuck.)
“Then I shall. What’s up, Chuck? “
(I want to talk to you about Whole Earth Access.)
Uh-oh.
“It’s a store in Berkeley, right? I’m an East Coast Head but when I make the Bay Area pilgrimage for Shoreline or the New Year’s shows, I’ll stop in. Even if I don’t buy something, it’s worth it for the conversations I have on the floor. Where are you from?”
(Norfolk.)
“Scope Arena.”
(April 3, 1982. I was there.)
“You were? You look a little young to have been there—”
(Okay, enough pleasantries.)
“Really? One can never have enough pleasantries.”
(On a time available basis. We’re up against it and we both know that I’m not talking about the Whole Earth Access store. I’m talking about the Whole Earth Access tree. I’m not on it and I want in.)
Uh-oh.
“I don’t mean to me rude but I just don’t know what you’re talking about.”
(Really? Because I have a printout right here and I see your name on this branch. Don’t play games with me. Look over your shoulder, Candace just stepped behind the light board. The soundboard’s still empty but I imagine that Healy’s on his way.)
“How did you get that?”
(Someone printed it out and left it behind last night in the tapers’ section. I was packing up and I found it. At first I couldn’t figure out what it was, although I recognized a few of the names. But I spent some time on it today. I’ve been here for a few years, doing my thing, mostly keeping quiet. Over the past twelve months or so, I’ve heard pieces of a story about how a few tapers acquired a set of original soundboards that had been mixed live by Betty Cantor herself in the 1970s and ’80s. Supposedly they were circulated weekly at the Whole Earth Access Store in San Rafael, not the original in Berkeley, by the way. So I stared at this for a while and then it all came together.)
“And what is it that you want?”
(I want in on the tree. I want you to supply me with all of the shows.)
“If you’ve seen the printout then you should also be aware that I’m not the one with the tapes. I’m not the trunk, why are you asking me?”
(The person on the trunk has a shielded email address. Besides, that individual could always run scared and shut down the operation. That’s not my goal, I want more access to the Whole Earth Access, not less. You on the other hand are one branch away. Plus, I’ve seen you do your thing. You’re not one of these obnoxious, elitist over-the-top tapers.)
“Don’t sell me short, I think I’m pretty obnoxious.”
(Well, from my vantage point, you’re a good man.)
“Well if that’s the case then what’s a good man supposed to do here? What exactly you want from me?”
(I’d like you to pretend that I’m one of the leaves. I’ll give you all the blanks and postage you need. I’m not asking you to dip into your pocket and pay for them. How many shows are there?)
“Ummm… Well…five or six.”
(No, there’s more than that. I have the printout folded up in my pocket. I can pull it out and everyone can have a look.)
“Okay, okay, my best guess is it requires about fifty tapes.”
(I think you’re right. In fact, you’ve jogged my own memory. I believe that each branch or leaf is expected to supply fifty-two unopened 60m DAT blanks. Would you like me to deliver those to you tomorrow night at the show or would you prefer to give me your home address and I can send them to you. I really want to be a mensch about all this.)
“I’m not sure you understand the meaning of the word mensch… And what if I won’t do what you say?”
(Then I’ll expose you all. You’re sitting on the treasure trove of Grateful Dead tapes. Soundboards recorded throughout the 1970s, by the band’s former audio engineer, Betty Cantor, who happens to have the best ears in the business.)
“Shhhh.”
(I’ve had all day to think this through. If you don’t play along I will send messages every hour on the hour to rec.music.gdead and ten different places on the WELL, providing the names and email addresses of everyone on this elitist tape trading tree. Aside from the fact that you will be inundated with emails and bad vibes from thousands of outraged Deadheads, it’s also possible that the Dead’s attorney, Hal Kant, will become involved. Some would say that you’re taking a very cavalier attitude towards the band’s property. Those soundboards you’re exchanging were not acquired legally.)
“Now there you are wrong. As I understand it they were purchased at a collectibles auction. My wife is an attorney, we already looked into this. So long as we don’t attempt to sell them, then we are within our legal rights.”
(Well then I’m within my legal rights to respectfully request copies. Again, I’m not asking you to pay a cent. I will provide you with blanks and postage. There goes Healy. We can sort out the details after the show.)
“This is crazy. What you’re talking about is blackmail.”
(Don’t be overly dramatic. It’s not blackmail, it’s blankmail.)
ZEB
Hey, there’s one of the dudes I saw getting turned away at the door last night with a bogus ticket. I didn’t recognize him but I could tell he knew what was up to. Maybe I should follow him and try to find the countie crew.
I’m not sure if he’s one of them or just someone who’s friendly with them but it certainly seemed like he was in on the scam. Nah, scam isn’t the right word. If you’re making counterfeits for yourself then you’re not the victim or the crime. That’s how the countie crew does it. Then they use the Jedi mind trick when they get to the front of the line.
It’s all a game to them, trying to keep a half step ahead so they can make it to the promised land.
Photocopied tickets, taping two stubs together, erasing the printing on the ticket to some other show and then using a special pen and a real careful hand to turn that into a Grateful Dead ticket. It all can be done.
In the future, I bet ushers will have computers or something to stop all that but right now all you need are cojones.
The foolproof way is the voucher system. Some kid was explaining this to me at Spectrum set break last year. If you order your tickets over the phone from Ticketbastard then you can call them back a few days before the show, tell them your tickets still haven’t arrived and they’ll give you a voucher for the same seats. That means you have a free pass into the show for however many tickets you originally bought. If you have a credit card. And you have credit available to you on the credit card. And you don’t pull that too many times.
At this point maybe all I have left is the countie crew but I’d probably need someone to vouch for me with them. I’m not sure who could do that. Maybe Peggy-O? I haven’t seen her in a few nights, though…
Time to face facts. I could be jonesing tonight. It’s almost time to start thinking about some outside show craziness. At least I’m in tomorrow night.
“Hey now, tomorrow for tonight, tomorrow for tonight. I’ll trade my tomorrow for your tonight.”
No show tonight, show tomorrow.
I’d rather be in there with the Boys but there’s mischief to be made.
“Tomorrow for tonight, I’m looking to trade tomorrow’s ticket for tonight.”
(Wait, which way is that?)
“I have a ticket for tomorrow and I’m looking for a ticket for tonight.”
(So you have a ticket for tomorrow…)
“And I’m looking to trade it for a ticket to tonight.”
(
Well you have found your match. I’ve got an extra for tonight that I will gladly trade you for one more Saturday night.)
“Deal.”
(Comes a time.)
“Please ease me in.”
(Nahhh. No disrespect but I’m going to have to disqualify you on that one. I can give you some license with the song titles but ‘Don’t Ease Me In’ is the exact opposite of what you meant. You gotta chip it a bit closer to the flag. I would have gone with ‘Simple Twist of Fate.’)
“Right on.”
(I was getting worried. I ended up stuck in that traffic. Everyone is willing to buy my ticket but I wanted a trade, you dig?)
“I dig.”
(Here you go… Thanks. Hey, I’m Craig.)
“Thank you, brother, I’m Zeb.”
(The seat’s pretty good if you actually want to sit there. Mail order section too, so people know how to behave themselves. I have to ditch something in my car but hopefully I’ll see you inside.)
“Right on, me too. Dank you very much!”
(That’s why I’m headed to my car…)
BAGEL BOB
(GRILLED CHEESE FOR A BUCK, WHAT THE FUCK? GRILLED CHEESE FOR A BUCK, WHAT THE FUCK?)
(Nice salesmanship, Sal.)
(Well the show’s started and I don’t have a ticket, so it kind of sums up where my head is at.)
(No, hey, pithy, perverse, I love it. Bob?)
“Bob is charmed. Time to move along.”
(Those yellow jackets have you spooked, don’t they?)
“Bob is moderately unsettled.”
(I can see that. You can’t let them rattle you.)
“Rather than discuss Bob’s mental state, Bob would prefer to undertake some heated cribbage competition in your recreational vehicle.”
(Some crib in my crib? So I take it you are not going to participate?)
“In what activity?”
(The Thoreau thing. The book protest.)
“No, Bob will not be a participant. All day long Bob has counseled against this event.”
(Come on Bob, we’re talking about our constitutional rights. These people are taking away our fundamental liberties.)
“They are not. The Constitution only applies to action by the state. The Bill of Rights does not shield individuals from the atrocities of private entities. Your protest may be right-minded but it is certainly misguided. Or perhaps it is left-minded. Bob will leave that distinction to others. What Bob will opine with some measure of confidence is that this initiative is likely to yield harm.”
(Man, I think you’ve got it all wrong on that Constitution crap… Hold on, I forgot. You used to be a lawyer, didn’t you?)
“Barrister Bob was many lifetimes ago.”
(When were you in law school?)
“Bagel Bob was graduated from Columbia Law School in nineteen hundred and seventy-one.”
(Man, I was in grad school down at NYU around then. It would have been a trip to have met you back then rather than what was it? A decade later?)
“Bob feels fortunate to have made your acquaintance in any epoch.”
(Why thank you, Bob.)
“Bob is grateful for the good fellowship.”
(I wish that tonight we both could have been grateful for the Dead…from the relatively cozy confines of the arena. In lieu of that, though, why don’t you join me for another performance. I hear that the Jevushuans have built a bonfire for their full-moon ritual.)
“An apprehensive Bagel Bob will accompany you if cribbage is to follow in short order.”
STELLA BLUE
“Mommy, it’s dark.”
(Yes it is, honey.)
“They turned off the lights.”
(I know honey, I can see.)
“No Mommy, you can’t see because it’s dark.”
(That’s very funny, Stella.)
“I know it is.”
(Well it’s not funny to me, Stella, I’m scared. I’m scared of the dark.)
“Aunt Jenneeeee!”
(Okay, okay I’m not scared, I’m excited. The Dead are about to come on stage. Are you excited, Stella?)
“Uh-huh.”
(Well I’m so excited I think I’m gonna pee in my pants.)
“Aunt Jenny!”
(Jen!)
“Mommy, why is everybody clapping?”
(They’re clapping for the Grateful Dead.)
“But where are the Grateful Dead? I can’t see them.”
(They’re clapping so that the Dead will come on stage so that everyone can see them.)
“Should I clap, Mommy?”
(You should if you want the Grateful Dead to come on stage.)
“I’m gonna clap, Mommy.”
(Good idea honey.)
TAPER TED
I don’t even know how to process that last conversation but I don’t have time to think about it. They’re about to hit.
(Did you miss me, big bro?)
“How can I miss you when you won’t go away?”
(The lights went out as I was walking up the aisle to get my pretzel. Everyone came rushing in and suddenly I was a salmon fighting upstream. All the traffic on the stairs become one-way against me. Not worth the battle. The trick is to surrender to the flow.)
“Are those song lyrics?”
(I figured you could tell me. I saw them on a shirt outside.)
“No clue.”
(A rare admission, which I duly acknowledge and appreciate. Which reminds me, I know how this game is played, what’s the first song gonna be?)
“It should be a Bobby. Jerry opened last night with a ‘Half-Step.’”
(What’s that one called again?)
“Mississippi Half-Step Uptown Tooteloo.”
(Of course it is. So we know what they won’t play. What will they play?”
“I’ll go with ‘Stranger.’ ‘Feel Like A Stranger.’ Could be ‘Bucket’ though. Here they are, if you give me a moment and promise to whisper, I can tell you from the tuning…”
(So what’s it going be? I’m on tenterhooks. To be frank, I think a few people in here are on tenterhooks if by tenterhooks I mean tenderhooks and if by tenderhooks I mean articulated wiggle shanks and if by articulated wiggle shanks I mean, the drugs.)
“Shhh—let me listen and I’ll-‘Bucket.’ Definitely ‘Bucket.’”
(We both know you’re equal parts delusional and obsessive but can you really tell that from a few guitar farts?)
“Shhhhhh.”
(Shhhhhh.)
(Shhhhhh.)
(Ooops, here they go, the tension—)
(Shhhhhhhhhh.)
(‘Hell in a Bucket.’ You called it. Hail to the king. Hail to Taper Ted.)
“Shhhhhhhhh.”
STEVEN
There go the lights.
It is HAPPENING.
I’m buzzing all over this. Here I am in the dark with the Dead. Whoa, In the Dark, that’s the name of the first Dead album I bought. It’s like everything is synched. And with this energy, it’s almost out of control.
Come on, get out here. Come out on stage.
No shit, no shit, there they are. The Dead. The Grateful Dead. All of them up there.
Jerry Garcia. I am in the same room with Jerry Garcia. He gives off these vibes that I can pick up just by standing in the same room with him.
(They look almost lifelike.)
(Ha!)
They do look kind of small. I wish we were closer. No, no I don’t wish it, this is fine, it really is. Although it might be cool if we were closer. No, no this is fine. It really is.
There they are, the Grateful Dead, tuning their instruments.
This is going to be it. I’ve got to prepare myself. Okay, okay, calm, calm. Bake down, that’s what I
need to do.
“Hey, you guys want to bake down?”
(Yeah, sure. Whose herb?)
“I’ve got some. Hey, Shannon, did you bring your bowl? “
(Huh?)
“Did you bring your bowl?”
(Umm, uhhh, no. I left it in the car.)
(I’ve got mine. Let me pack.)
Hurry, hurry, I want a hit. I want to be toking when the music starts. That would be primo. The first note at my first show and I’m baking down with my buds. Buds with my buds.
“Buds with my buds, right, Shannon?”
(Huh? Uh-huh.)
(Here you go, Steven, first show. You can have the honors. Spark up!)
Sweet.
Here go the Dead, and the opener is…
(“Hell in a Bucket!”)
Choice! I know this one. A classic. From In The Dark. It’s like this was supposed to be. That was my first album and this is my first tune.
But wait—shit, shit. I can’t take a hit and dance too.
So should I stop grooving while I toke? How do people handle this at a show?
Okay, okay I’ll slow down. No wait, that must look stupid because everyone else is dancing faster. No, okay I’ll stop. No, then I’ll look like I’m not enjoying the ride. Shit, I wonder if Shannon thinks I look hane.
Alright, I’ll pass the bowl over to Nate.
Now I can do a little grooving… Whoa, he can toke and groove at the same time. Well shit, it probably comes from practice, he’s been to way more shows than me.
When it comes back I’ll try to take a hit while I’m dancing. But for now I’ll just feel the music and let myself go. Look at all those people down there. They’re all grooving and smiling and having a good time-oops here comes the bowl again. Okay, here I go, I’m gonna toke while I dance.
Shit, I spilled.
Mayday, mayday.
I dropped the buds all over the floor.
I can’t believe it’s my first show and I’m already acting like a dork.
ROBIN
They’re out there, I can hear them.
Need some space though, need some space.