Booche

 

 

I like this one alot 
 
 

3 tiered pricing for a third tier festival. Makes sense to me.

I listened to 11.14.73 on a drive from CT to NY on Sunday. I got a fucking speeding thanks in no small part to that Eyes > Other One, Wharf Rat, Me and My Uncle. I was blissfully unaware of everything except the sun shining and the road in front of me until I saw red lights in my rear view mirror.

05-03-1986
 
Cold Rain and Snow opened the show and as it slowly plodded along I couldn’t help but wonder how worried fans were about Jerry Garcia’s well-being at the time. 1986 was a rough year for Garcia. Years of poor diet and even poorer decisions left his body a mess. In July of that year he fell into a diabetic coma that lasted 5 days. As we all know he made a miraculous recovery and one I am selfishly thankful for or else my life never would have changed in the way it did once I saw the band.
 
The Race Is On told everyone in attendance that the Kentucky Derby was underway, or soon to be or had been completed.  By the time They Love Each Other was halfway through I started wondering if this might end up being the weakest show of the set. Garcia just isn’t quite there. Phil was certainly doing his best to keep this ship afloat while moving forward. CC Rider makes another appearance and I soon hoped this might be the turning point in the show since its one of Garcia’s best accompaniment songs.
 
High Time was up next, complete with some cheesy synth from Brent during the intro. Man. The 80’s was one fucked up decade but I love this song so full pass. BIODTL flew right into Promised Land with Phil providing fire charges throughout. A rollicking Deal closed out what had to be the quickest first set thus far clocking in less than 48 minutes. In fact this the first show which only takes up 2 cds. So much for marathon Dead shows that one could potentially hope last up to 4 hrs. Youch.
 
My favourite second set opener featured Scarlet Begonias but with a far too quick intro. I could listen to those chords for minutes on end before Jerry starts to sing. Brent Mydland and Phil came out ready to rock for this one while Garcia’s fingers were back to their nimble selves as they danced around the fret board, especially during his solo and then the segue into Fire On The Mountain. There is some really layered playing going on as they make their way to Fire. This show has picked up a ton of steam and I am starting to understand why it was chosen. Any worries a fan may have had up to this point about Garcia’s health must surely had been alleviated or at the least forgotten. Heck, most were probably concerned for themselves by now. Garcia was forgetting some words and his voice was having technically difficulties but all in all this was a pretty fine version.
 
Man Smart Women Smarter began and I was almost immediately giggling. Which other band would dare offer a massive retrospective of this scale and include Garcia’s issues as well as Weir’s out of tune guitar? God bless the good ole Grateful Dead. Funny enough, my other favourite “Weir’s guitar is fucked and out of tune” moment from all the tapes I gathered over the years also happened in 1986. GDTRFB comes out during the tail end of Women Are Smarter and I have to say, I love it when these intros are as seamless as this one but for my money the early 70’s had the absolute best ones. This one has a really nice spirited finale with Jerry, Brent and Bob giving all the vocals they had.
 
I could still hear some issues with Bob’s guitar and not long after that they left the stage for Drumz which was a touch sad because it seemed like Mind Left Body Jam, or something in that vein, was about to float from the speakers. Drumz was interesting due to what sounded like a loop and some digi-weirdness. I’m not sure how well it ages but at the time I am sure a few heads were exploding. My favourite part about this one is that it inspired me to create a playlist of some of the ones which I find particularly tasty. This stuff always sounds incredible on my main stereo. Bob and Jerry come out to start Space and they create a fantastic canvass of sound together, especially Weir. He sounded perfect to my ears. Great sustain and delay happening from the two of them. By the time Phil had a belly full of wine and joined the stage we were on our way to The Other One. The second verse was really trippy and it was a shame this version ended far too quickly.
 
Comes A Time made an all-too-rare appearance and it’s one damn sweet version. Brent Mydland added the most important colours to Garcia’s solo. I think this was my favourite part of the set but we are definitely heading to the era when his ballads were the best parts of shows that we all waited all night for.
 
Sugar Magnolia inched it’s way out and before you know it we are back into a blazing dance party thanks to Phil getting behind the wheel so he can drive the bus again. Weir’s guitar sounds completely fuckadoozled once again but it’s easy enough to drown him out since everyone else is pounding away. None the less, I could never blame anyone for getting caught up in how bad his guitar sounds here because its almost fun to listen to how shitty it is coming across.
 
Sure enough after Phil hits a note there is a colossal sound of badness. Something bad went down. Before you know it, Bob states “Listen. My guitar is broken. Jerry’s guitar is broken…’and all hell broke loss?’…..we’ll see you all tomorrow” Phil steps up and says “What Bob meant to say was is that Jerry’s fingers are totally frozen his guitar is broken and my mind is blown so I don’t think we are gonna do an encore tonight. We’ll see you all tomorrow”
 
Just like that. Show over.
 
By the way, what were Garcia’s first words when awaking from his coma and seeing a room full of family/friends you ask?
 
 "I'm not Beethoven."
 

05-03-1986
 
Cold Rain and Snow opened the show and as it slowly plodded along I couldn’t help but wonder how worried fans were about Jerry Garcia’s well-being at the time. 1986 was a rough year for Garcia. Years of poor diet and even poorer decisions left his body a mess. In July of that year he fell into a diabetic coma that lasted 5 days. As we all know he made a miraculous recovery and one I am selfishly thankful for or else my life never would have changed in the way it did once I saw the band.
 
The Race Is On told everyone in attendance that the Kentucky Derby was underway, or soon to be or had been completed.  By the time They Love Each Other was halfway through I started wondering if this might end up being the weakest show of the set. Garcia just isn’t quite there. Phil was certainly doing his best to keep this ship afloat while moving forward. CC Rider makes another appearance and I soon hoped this might be the turning point in the show since its one of Garcia’s best accompaniment songs.
 
High Time was up next, complete with some cheesy synth from Brent during the intro. Man. The 80’s was one fucked up decade but I love this song so full pass. BIODTL flew right into Promised Land with Phil providing fire charges throughout. A rollicking Deal closed out what had to be the quickest first set thus far clocking in less than 48 minutes. In fact this the first show which only takes up 2 cds. So much for marathon Dead shows that one could potentially hope last up to 4 hrs. Youch.
 
My favourite second set opener featured Scarlet Begonias but with a far too quick intro. I could listen to those chords for minutes on end before Jerry starts to sing. Brent Mydland and Phil came out ready to rock for this one while Garcia’s fingers were back to their nimble selves as they danced around the fret board, especially during his solo and then the segue into Fire On The Mountain. There is some really layered playing going on as they make their way to Fire. This show has picked up a ton of steam and I am starting to understand why it was chosen. Any worries a fan may have had up to this point about Garcia’s health must surely had been alleviated or at the least forgotten. Heck, most were probably concerned for themselves by now. Garcia was forgetting some words and his voice was having technically difficulties but all in all this was a pretty fine version.
 
Man Smart Women Smarter began and I was almost immediately giggling. Which other band would dare offer a massive retrospective of this scale and include Garcia’s issues as well as Weir’s out of tune guitar? God bless the good ole Grateful Dead. Funny enough, my other favourite “Weir’s guitar is fucked and out of tune” moment from all the tapes I gathered over the years also happened in 1986. GDTRFB comes out during the tail end of Women Are Smarter and I have to say, I love it when these intros are as seamless as this one but for my money the early 70’s had the absolute best ones. This one has a really nice spirited finale with Jerry, Brent and Bob giving all the vocals they had.
 
I could still hear some issues with Bob’s guitar and not long after that they left the stage for Drumz which was a touch sad because it seemed like Mind Left Body Jam, or something in that vein, was about to float from the speakers. Drumz was interesting due to what sounded like a loop and some digi-weirdness. I’m not sure how well it ages but at the time I am sure a few heads were exploding. My favourite part about this one is that it inspired me to create a playlist of some of the ones which I find particularly tasty. This stuff always sounds incredible on my main stereo. Bob and Jerry come out to start Space and they create a fantastic canvass of sound together, especially Weir. He sounded perfect to my ears. Great sustain and delay happening from the two of them. By the time Phil had a belly full of wine and joined the stage we were on our way to The Other One. The second verse was really trippy and it was a shame this version ended far too quickly.
 
Comes A Time made an all-too-rare appearance and it’s one damn sweet version. Brent Mydland added the most important colours to Garcia’s solo. I think this was my favourite part of the set but we are definitely heading to the era when his ballads were the best parts of shows that we all waited all night for.
 
Sugar Magnolia inched it’s way out and before you know it we are back into a blazing dance party thanks to Phil getting behind the wheel so he can drive the bus again. Weir’s guitar sounds completely fuckadoozled once again but it’s easy enough to drown him out since everyone else is pounding away. None the less, I could never blame anyone for getting caught up in how bad his guitar sounds here because its almost fun to listen to how shitty it is coming across.
 
Sure enough after Phil hits a note there is a colossal sound of badness. Something bad went down. Before you know it, Bob states “Listen. My guitar is broken. Jerry’s guitar is broken…’and all hell broke loss?’…..we’ll see you all tomorrow” Phil steps up and says “What Bob meant to say was is that Jerry’s fingers are totally frozen his guitar is broken and my mind is blown so I don’t think we are gonna do an encore tonight. We’ll see you all tomorrow”
 
Just like that. Show over.
 
By the way, what were Garcia’s first words when awaking from his coma and seeing a room full of family/friends you ask?
 
 "I'm not Beethoven."
 

Spent much of the second set last night waist deep in the ocean.  This is just as much fun as it looks, and just a wee bit drunker.

06-24-1985
 
We are now into the start of summer 1985 and Garcia’s health/addiction problems are really starting to take a hold if you solely base things on his first soloing venture during Alabama Getaway to begin set one. He’s slowing down yet he’s still inside the music. By the second solo you get the feeling he has dusted off his rusty strings and there might be a fine night of music ahead. “Hey, maybe nothing is wrong with him so we don’t have to worry!” Greatest Story Ever Told is up next and the sweating has already begun inside the Rivebend Music Center.
 
They Love Each Other slowed things down a notch but not before you can hear someone say “What are you doing?” just before it starts up. God bless The Good Ole Grateful Dead for having little to no plans. Their controlled chaos could lead to magic for most people at the best/worst of times while either saving your soul or sending you to the depths of insanity. Jerry fumbled through some of the lyrics. It’s a little known ‘fact’ that if he got lost in the words he would look out into the front crowd to read lips to help him get back on track.
 
A dancey Minglewood brought back more stinky summer sweat. I will ALWAYS see this bouncy bald half nekkid Deadhead from Buffalo in 1993 in my head when I hear this song. Tripping balls I still remember thinking “There’s gotta be a way I can find my inner stomp like that guy”. Every time I see Gord at any show I think the same thing. I’m sure he is stomping somewhere as you read this. Tennessee Jed came out as I made these thought patterns and writings and then wondered why there isn’t a song about anyone we know but then I realized I had smoked a gagger so my thought patterns are fucking completely off-kilter. Its times like this Velvet has always helped bring me back to where I need to be. Is that metaphorically ironic or what?
 
Luckily another My Brother Esau has made its way into this massive release. Things got weird at the end. Bob tells the crowd that during the set break there will be a raffle and the winner of said raffle will get to hold the rhythm section hostage. It’s an interesting bit because Esau ended somewhat abruptly and you can hear a little argy-bargee going on. Clearly there are some nonplussed folks onstage so what Garcia does what he does best in these moments.
 
He dials up Loser. Moments like these must be cutting if you know who you are, especially if he comes out smoking like he does on this one. Although I suppose if a great song comes out of brotherly bullshit then who cares in the end? Instead of “Everyone’s bragging and drinking that wine” Jerry sang “Everyone is laughing and drinking that wine” so things feel like a Bob Dylan Idiot Wind scenario. Someone is pissed off. I don’t think he made a mistake. I suspect his intention was clear. If I were a betting man I would say that he was plucking his strings angrily.
 
A great Let It Grow with some dirty Garcia tones set the finale to this first set and I am hoping the animosity seemingly brewing between band members boils over into the second set. There’s no better way to dealing with personal issues on a stage then blowing off some fucking steam. Just ask Coventry Phish how that works out for ya.
 
 
So the other night I had a dream about Iko Iko because that’s always been one of my favourite dancey Dead covers and sure enough they opened the second set with it. Always enjoyed this song as a set opener. Turn it up boys because go-time has been activated. Everyone doing their Grateful Dead milkshake dance while Bob Weir sang, what? WTF was that? I was in the kitchen dance my ass off doing the dishes and then that happened which leads into an awesome percussively led intro to Samson and Delilah. This is smoking shit that should be turned up really loud because everyone is everywhere which is where you want them to be. I got sore sitting there listening to them pump this one out after I had come into the living room to get more into being enveloped.
 
He’s Gone led us into the other spots we love in the second set. It’s such a perfect pre-Drumz song. No wonder they ended up placing it there for years to come. “Let’s slow slow things down but not do a full-on ballad” yet when you hear this vocal delay you wish they performed it every show especially when they jump into a blues staple like Howling Wolf’s Smokestack Lighting while somehow bleeding into Cryptical Envelopment? Are you fucking kidding me? This is deep bleed material. One can only wonder what they might do after Drumz.
 
A supremely weirded Space that provided hints you are in a jungle constructed by Dr Seuss, that’s what. I loved this segment of these shows from this era and I am guessing Hunter S Thompson did as well because when the going gets weird, the weird turn pro. Garcia starts throwing around The Other One. Obviously that’s the call here but noooooooo. Somehow the decision to throw everyone off was an interesting choice as Comes A Time makes it’s way onto the stage. Fucking perfection and anyone deeply engrossed in this one can feel Jerry while he sings “and I feel the wind and I taste the rain, never in my life to cause so much pain”
 
And there it is. The segue into The Other One we have all been waiting for. This is the kind of direction Deadheads must have loved where the Dead were heading when it came to these sorts of setlists because it does feel like anything could happen. We look back now post-Jerry and see what Phil/Bob did with all their incarnations but this was a band who seemed lazy when it came to thinking out which songs they should play because as we all know, they had a vast repertoire but songs got slotted and that was that. Having said all that we get to the end of the song which segues back into Cryptical. Thank you. Heads must have been exploding. “I totally forgot they did the first part!”
 
Following Cryptical we get a second post-Drumz/Space ballad from Jerry. Wharf Rat. Again, thank you. Around and Around followed with Bob and Brent having a ton of fun with Jerry doing his standard rhythm guitar but another surprise popped out with a spirited Good Lovin’ with a short Weir speech about the state of the world and why we need to change things. I always love when he invoked Pigpen or was invoked by Pigpen. Fantastic set closer. US Blues was a perfect encore and completely complementary to the speech Weir had just delivered. “Son of a gun, better change your act”
 
God bless the Good Ole Grateful Dead
 

10-21-1983 – Brent Mydland’s 31st Bday
 
A clearly amped up crowd is greeted with The Music Never Stopped and everyone showed their appreciation which is a possible sign of things to come because Phil seems locked and loaded. I was always surprised by the amount of folks arriving late, I know we missed an opener in 1994, and I am feeling sorry for those who decided to have “just one more beer” because the band was feeling great. Loser was up next and we are off to a wonderful start. Jerry’s voice sounds like the tale teller in this one as if he truly lived this one a few times. Loser contains one of my favourite solos. In fact, it was the first things I heard once I learned Garcia had passed away and I couldn’t stop balling. I had maintained my composure for the most part but once his strings started to squeal with just a perfect amount of distortion while letting them ring, well you know the score.
 
CC Rider comes out once again and if you put your face close enough to your speakers you can feel the breeze from Mydland’s leslie rotating speaker during his solo. Bob’s slide playing his really come along by this point, its no longer jarring but I doubt anyone will ever confuse him with Duane Allman although his slide is endearing to my ears because its so unique much like all his voicings.
 
Off we travel to slave away in the mines Cumberland. Where exactly? Well that’s the sort of folklore the Dead liked to toy with much like “Which Springfield do the Simpsons live in?” I always felt it was a shame that Cumberland Blues became such a rare song, only appearing perhaps a few times a year because it is such a fun dance along with the potential for some classic Garcia train lines which you get a taste of here. Cassidy followed and once again I am all in with this first set. Classics mixed with odd rarities. I could listen to the open ended jam that always seemed to surprisingly land on the “Flight of the seabirds” line, as if we just spent our time watching said seabirds fly. For that split second it’s just a perfect combination of music and lyrics.
 
Ramble On Rose is another great call in this set and then My Brother Esau put on his roller skates to roll over the crowd. You can’t ask for more from this first set and if you do then tits/cock or gtfo. Speaking of trains, Big Railroad Blues followed Esau. Phil has had such a great set but the band was starting to sound just a touch spent during it so it came as no surprise that Promised Land sent everyone backstage to refuel. In fact, Bob announcing that they were going to take a short break sounded like Jerry’s. You have to wonder if everyone was fighting off the fall tour flu but you certainly couldn’t tell based on the music.
 
A quick nod of Happy Bday led into Scarlet Begonias which immediately told me it was on and its gonna be go time, especially once I listened to Garcia’s solo. He came out for that second set ready to fire along with Phil. Saddle up boys and girls. I sure hope you secured your strap nice and tight because the transition to Fire was well executed rollercoaster of a journey with the collective fret boards locked in as one instrument. I often find that if this song is uninspired it can drag you through the mud, not unlike what those of us who experienced Coventry had to deal with but this one is not in that category. Everyone is right on top of where Fire needs them to be.
 
Then Uncle John’s Band? Are you shitting me? Fantastic. Especially with Brent in the band but I did always feel for the high part Bobby had to sing yet he slid in perfectly with Brent and Jerry here. In the grand scheme of things none of it was very pretty and they never were going to sound like they did on the album but this 3 part harmony section worked when they got there. They certainly do here, for the most part. While they understood harmonies, having learned from CSN (little known fact) this was not a band known for them. Too many factors worked against them, the primary one being the huge catalogue of songs they employed as well as the fact they didn’t do those songs all the time, let alone practice, which is what a harmony band has to do but they got there during this version. No one can fault them for that but one thing we can all appreciate is a Playing In The Band coming out from insides of UJB. Hell fucking yes we can!
 
Phil is all over the place during this one. It’s a damn shame this isn’t a 20 minute plus version that you might find in the 72-74 era because the ethos from those days is most definitely there even if it doesn’t sound like anything from that time and space. The lead in to Drumz is absolutely magnificent and had I not heard everything up to this point I would have assumed Lemieux included this show just for the final minutes of Playin’ - total must hear as is the Drumz if you are into that sort of thing which I am. I often think I can convert people based on my stupid-ass huge speakers and some of the great versions I have but the only folks who have heard anything on them from this portion of the second set is my six year old son. He fucking digs it so perhaps I am onto something. Come on over. Bring some party favours and let’s test out my theory bitches!
 
Garcia was first to board the Space shuttle this evening and I figured we were in for some kind of treat. Couldn’t you listen to him run through whatever scales/frets/ideas/sounds for an entire night? Bobby quickly joined and I soon thought of the Other One because that’s what I do during the ideas they bounce off one another. They love to dance around that tale but it stands to reason. Bob whammy-bars the fuck out of his guitar and I immediately am reminded of all those times his guitar would go out of tune during the mid-80’s “So that’s why”. You don’t notice as much when the entire band is onstage but while he is pounding on that thing when it’s just the two of them you are able to do the math. None the less it sounds fucking awesome during this segment. This is honestly a must hear Space and a loooooong time is spent with just Jerry and Bob onstage. I can’t recommend it enough. Just as I write that I totally hear where things might be heading but if they don’t come out with Truckin’ or even Miracle then I am gonna guess someone died onstage but I suppose they could still get into the Other One. This is a neat one.
 
Truckin’ it is and perfectly slides in. I love how quiet things were from the audience during that Bob and Jerry segment. As soon as the band gets on and they inform their intentions you remember that they are in fact playing in front of a few thousand people. Meat and potatoes stuff here folks. It’s a frontal lobe change party now folks!
 
Wharf Rat must have destroyed everyone in the house and if that didn’t then surely the I Need A Miracle that vivaciously stumbled on her high heels yet finally came into the fray must have. If you don’t have a boner by now then you aint no friend of mine. Touch Of Grey follows and I figure will sound different to a lot of folks unless you were an avid tape collector. This is how I first got to know it outside of the MTV video hit. At this point it is still in it’s infancy and gained some stature for having been involved for so long prior to making it on an album while becoming the biggest hit the Grateful Dead would have. Many older fans complained about the Toucheads but don’t kid yourselves, every single one of us reading this review (save for a couple who may stumble around here) are a Touchead. I highly doubt I would have come across this band had that video not hit so many people who inadvertently got me to my first show. Luckily I know who my Patient Zero is but I have never chosen to go beyond that simply because the story leading up to it was so influential.
 
Johnny B Goode closed things out and my theory still stands this particular test in time. They knew it was a fucking great show.
 
 

"Shoot da puck Dickie"
 
My former father-in-law attended many a hab game in the '50s and he told me that's what the "Frenchmen" (his word, not mine) would say whenever the puck was on Dickie Moore's stick.
 
When watching games on television with me 45 years later, he would shout "shoot da puck Dickie" at the television several times over the course of the game, even if the habs weren't playing.
 
Good times!

God bless Red.
 
Red Fisher: Remembering great friend and Habs legend Dickie Moore, dead at age 84
 
I am looking for the right words, but where do you start? How do you say goodbye to a dear friend of more than six decades when tears get in the way?
How do you say a final farewell to Dickie Moore, who passed away on Saturday. He was 84.
 
I have known so many of the NHL’s players since the mid-1950s. Almost without exception, I was full of admiration for their talent, but only a few among them were to become friends.
 
Dickie was my closest friend.
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It goes back to his hockey days in the late 1940s when Canadiens GM Frank Selke Sr. anointed him Canada’s best junior. I watched him mature with the Quebec Senior Hockey League Royals and shine as few others in the NHL.
 
Even as a junior, he was all about “team,” a player blessed with a special mixture of courage and on-ice talent surpassed only by his decency as a human being. They were qualities that served him so well at the game’s every level. They were what made him so endearing to so many of us who knew him and those who did not.
 
Who can forget his 1957-58 season with the Canadiens, midway through a dynasty that was to win a record five Stanley Cups in a row? A broken wrist he suffered during a collision with Detroit defenceman Marcel Pronovost threatened to cut short a scoring championship year. Moore, the competitor, wanted to win the Art Ross. He had his eye on the prize, but Moore, the team man, had other ideas.
 
One night, when the Canadiens were travelling on the train, he asked for a meeting with coach Toe Blake and his linemates, Maurice and Henri Richard. At the time, Henri was Dickie’s closest pursuer in the scoring race. Dickie told them he could still play with his wrist in a cast, but for how long? And as long as he played with an injury that would sideline most players, how much could he contribute to the line?
 
“It’s not fair to Henri,” Moore told Blake. “It’s not fair not to allow him to win the scoring title.”
 
The meeting lasted no more than a few minutes. It ended abruptly when Maurice and Henri told Blake: “There’s no damned way he’s going off the line.”
Moore remained on the line. He played with his wrist imprisoned in a cast for the second half of the season. He won the Ross with an NHL-leading 36 goals and 48 assists in a 70-game season. Henri finished four points behind. Moore won it again the following year with 41 goals and 55 assists.
How much did Dickie mean to the Canadiens?
 
In the six-team league, no rivalry was as fierce as the Maple Leafs and the Canadiens. Hardly a game would pass without the benches being cleared.
One night, in Toronto, Henri moved in to check Frank Mahovlich. The latter had all kinds of room. Instead, he fired the puck directly at Richard’s head.
 
Dickie led the charge off the bench.
 
 
After the period, GM Selke hurried to the Canadiens room with a message for Blake.
 
“Don’t start Moore in the next period,” he told Blake.
 
“Why not?”
 
“We don’t need that kind of trouble,” Selke snapped.
 
Dickie started the third period.
 
Moore, the player, was like the Park Extension district in which he grew up: tough and relentless. His heart was almost too big for his own good. Winning for his team was what he loved; losing was what he hated. If fighting was needed, Moore would fight. If playing with pain was needed, nobody on the Canadiens had to ask him twice.
 
Speed wasn’t among Dickie’s strong points, but few players performed with more finesse despite bad knees which plagued him throughout his career — and beyond. He didn’t out-skate opponents, but his strength was in out-thinking them. Few players handled the puck as well as he did, and nobody was as good in a one-on-one with a goaltender.
 
He overcame adversity better than most players, but what he couldn’t handle was the frustration of not playing, which happens to so many players late in their careers.
 
The Canadiens were in Chicago on this night, only a few days before Christmas. The cracks had widened in the dynasty that had won Stanley Cups from 1955-56 through 1959-60. The Rocket had been forced into retirement prior to the start of the 1960-61 season. Dickie’s best friend on the team, Doug Harvey, had been shipped to the Rangers after the 1961-62 season.
 
In the two seasons following their astonishing string of five consecutive Stanley Cups, the Canadiens had finished first in their division, but failed to get beyond the first round. Changes were needed and, as a result, a few of the veterans spent a lot of time on the bench. Against the Blackhawks, Dickie was among them.
 
He knocked on my hotel room door at 2 a.m.
 
“You awake?” he asked.
 
“Yeah, I’m always awake at two o’clock in the morning. What’s up?”
 
“I’m going home in the morning,” he said. “I can’t take this any longer. There’s no point hanging around if I’m not playing.”
 
“Whoa! Did I hear you say you’re quitting the team?” I asked. “Is that the way you want people to remember Dickie Moore? As a quitter? If you leave now, that’s the way you’ll be remembered,” he was told. “And face it, Dickie, right now you’re not doing a hell of a lot out there when you’re on the ice.”
 
“Can’t score sitting on the bench,” he muttered.
 
“Have you talked to Toe about it?”
 
“I haven’t told him I’m going home, but I’ve made up my mind. If I can’t play, I’d much rather be at home with the family,” Moore said. “I can handle anything the fans will say about this. They’re not sitting on the bench. I am,” he added.
 
We argued about it for the next two hours. Finally, Moore said: “OK, here’s what I’m gonna do. I’ll go with the team to Detroit. If I don’t play, I’m gone. I’m playing pretty well when I get on the ice, but I can’t buy a goal.”
 
“Try shooting more often,” he was told. “Whenever you’re on the ice, all you do is pass the puck to Henri.”
 
Moore was in the starting lineup two nights later. Henri won the faceoff and dropped the puck back to Moore. He was only one stride across centre ice when he released a rising shot at Terry Sawchuk.
 
Goal!
 
The press box in the old Detroit Olympia was fairly close to the ice. The instant the puck eluded Sawchuk, Moore raced down the left side of the rink, swept around behind the net and skated along the boards. Then, as he approached the press box he looked up, raised his stick and waved it.
The smile he wore lit up the arena.
 
Later in the game, he scored a second goal.
 
He was to score 24 goals in 67 games in that 1962-63 season, his last with the Canadiens. He stayed out of hockey the next season, returned to play 38 games with Toronto in 1964-65, stayed out of hockey for the next two seasons, but answered Scotty Bowman’s call in St. Louis in 1967-68, when the NHL doubled in size to 12 teams.
 
The Canadiens arrived in St. Louis for their first meeting with the Blues roughly 20 games into that expansion season. Both teams were struggling at the time. The Blues were in last place of the West Division, the Canadiens last in the East. The Canadiens won what had been a tight game — Bowman’s first with St. Louis as head coach. He had a message for me.
 
“I’m bringing in your friend,” he said.
 
“Yeah? Who?”
 
“Dickie.”
 
There was no need to mention the surname. For me, going back to his junior days, there was only one Dickie.
 
The Blues had been attracting only 5,000 fans at most of their games up to that point in the season, but with the addition of Moore and Harvey, they played to sellout crowds and finished the season in third place with 70 points in a 74-game schedule. Dickie scored only five goals and three assists in 27 games.
 
The Blues beat Philadelphia in seven games in the first round. Then, they needed a goal from Larry Keenan 4:10 into the second overtime of Game 7 in a 2-1 victory over Minnesota to move into the Stanley Cup final against the Canadiens. They fell in four, but the Canadiens needed overtime goals in two of the games.
 
Dickie led the Blues with seven goals in 18 playoff games. He assisted on another seven. This time he retired for good.
 
The greatest moment of his Hall of Fame career came on Nov. 12, 2005, when, through misty eyes, he watched his No. 12 raised to the rafters.
 
You wonder what players think about at times like these, but what I knew for certain was that he was thinking about his mother, Ida, and his father, Charles, a city of Montreal employee who worked so hard to raise 10 kids. He was thinking about his brothers Charlie, Bill, Eddie, Bert, Tommy, Danny, Reggie, Jimmy and his sister Dolly — wishing they were all there. Sadly, by then, all gone, except Jimmy, who has since passed away, but he could feel their arms around him.
 
He could feel their love.
 
He was thinking about his son, Dickie Jr., who had died alone in the darkness of an early morning decades earlier in a one-car accident on a road leading to Arundel in the Laurentians.
 
He was thinking about his wife, Joan, who has never fully recovered from her son’s death.
 
He was thinking about his daughter Lianne and his son, John.
 
Laughter always has come easily to Dickie, as it does to all of those marvellous people who have the rare quality of enjoying life to the fullest. Too many people I know don’t regard a day complete unless they can convince themselves and others that life is beating their brains out. They don’t care who knows it. They wear their misery on their sleeves.
 
They depress me.
 
Not Dickie. He always made the day brighter.
 
I can remember a time in 1960 when the Candiens held their training camp in Victoria. One day, we were walking through the halls of the hotel where the team stayed. Not a sound was heard in the hotel’s greenhouse — except for some squeaks.
“What are those strange noises?” he was asked.
 
“Those aren’t strange noises,” he said. “They’re my knees.”
 
Like the rest of us, Dickie had his share of bad times. He could be breaking up inside, but he always regarded tears as private things. It stayed in the family. Joy and laughter were what he shared with others … always trying to make the people around him feel better. He cared for people, young and old alike.
 
I will miss so much about him. His courage. His laughter. His bad jokes. His goodness.
 
Some years ago, Dickie was involved in a life-threatening accident. It happened in Dorion on Aug. 27, 2006, under a pelting rain. He was slowly leaving a shopping mall’s parking area when he was sideswiped on the driver’s side by a truck.
 
Forty-five minutes passed before rescuers were able to remove him from his vehicle. He was rushed to the Montreal General Hospital, where doctors discovered he had suffered spinal and neck injuries. Eleven broken ribs. A knee injury. There were fears his kidney had been punctured. There was massive bleeding.
 
Several days before the accident, Dickie had visited the resting place of his son.
 
“It won’t be long now, Richard,” he said. “It won’t be long.”
 
Dickie Jr.’s death so many years ago had left huge holes that never fully mended in the hearts of those he left behind. A boy: dead at 17. How do you deal with that?
 
Somehow, Dickie did.
 
On Saturday, when so many of us wept, father and son finally embraced
 
 
 

God bless Red.
 
Red Fisher: Remembering great friend and Habs legend Dickie Moore, dead at age 84
 
I am looking for the right words, but where do you start? How do you say goodbye to a dear friend of more than six decades when tears get in the way?
How do you say a final farewell to Dickie Moore, who passed away on Saturday. He was 84.
 
I have known so many of the NHL’s players since the mid-1950s. Almost without exception, I was full of admiration for their talent, but only a few among them were to become friends.
 
Dickie was my closest friend.
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It goes back to his hockey days in the late 1940s when Canadiens GM Frank Selke Sr. anointed him Canada’s best junior. I watched him mature with the Quebec Senior Hockey League Royals and shine as few others in the NHL.
 
Even as a junior, he was all about “team,” a player blessed with a special mixture of courage and on-ice talent surpassed only by his decency as a human being. They were qualities that served him so well at the game’s every level. They were what made him so endearing to so many of us who knew him and those who did not.
 
Who can forget his 1957-58 season with the Canadiens, midway through a dynasty that was to win a record five Stanley Cups in a row? A broken wrist he suffered during a collision with Detroit defenceman Marcel Pronovost threatened to cut short a scoring championship year. Moore, the competitor, wanted to win the Art Ross. He had his eye on the prize, but Moore, the team man, had other ideas.
 
One night, when the Canadiens were travelling on the train, he asked for a meeting with coach Toe Blake and his linemates, Maurice and Henri Richard. At the time, Henri was Dickie’s closest pursuer in the scoring race. Dickie told them he could still play with his wrist in a cast, but for how long? And as long as he played with an injury that would sideline most players, how much could he contribute to the line?
 
“It’s not fair to Henri,” Moore told Blake. “It’s not fair not to allow him to win the scoring title.”
 
The meeting lasted no more than a few minutes. It ended abruptly when Maurice and Henri told Blake: “There’s no damned way he’s going off the line.”
Moore remained on the line. He played with his wrist imprisoned in a cast for the second half of the season. He won the Ross with an NHL-leading 36 goals and 48 assists in a 70-game season. Henri finished four points behind. Moore won it again the following year with 41 goals and 55 assists.
How much did Dickie mean to the Canadiens?
 
In the six-team league, no rivalry was as fierce as the Maple Leafs and the Canadiens. Hardly a game would pass without the benches being cleared.
One night, in Toronto, Henri moved in to check Frank Mahovlich. The latter had all kinds of room. Instead, he fired the puck directly at Richard’s head.
 
Dickie led the charge off the bench.
 
 
After the period, GM Selke hurried to the Canadiens room with a message for Blake.
 
“Don’t start Moore in the next period,” he told Blake.
 
“Why not?”
 
“We don’t need that kind of trouble,” Selke snapped.
 
Dickie started the third period.
 
Moore, the player, was like the Park Extension district in which he grew up: tough and relentless. His heart was almost too big for his own good. Winning for his team was what he loved; losing was what he hated. If fighting was needed, Moore would fight. If playing with pain was needed, nobody on the Canadiens had to ask him twice.
 
Speed wasn’t among Dickie’s strong points, but few players performed with more finesse despite bad knees which plagued him throughout his career — and beyond. He didn’t out-skate opponents, but his strength was in out-thinking them. Few players handled the puck as well as he did, and nobody was as good in a one-on-one with a goaltender.
 
He overcame adversity better than most players, but what he couldn’t handle was the frustration of not playing, which happens to so many players late in their careers.
 
The Canadiens were in Chicago on this night, only a few days before Christmas. The cracks had widened in the dynasty that had won Stanley Cups from 1955-56 through 1959-60. The Rocket had been forced into retirement prior to the start of the 1960-61 season. Dickie’s best friend on the team, Doug Harvey, had been shipped to the Rangers after the 1961-62 season.
 
In the two seasons following their astonishing string of five consecutive Stanley Cups, the Canadiens had finished first in their division, but failed to get beyond the first round. Changes were needed and, as a result, a few of the veterans spent a lot of time on the bench. Against the Blackhawks, Dickie was among them.
 
He knocked on my hotel room door at 2 a.m.
 
“You awake?” he asked.
 
“Yeah, I’m always awake at two o’clock in the morning. What’s up?”
 
“I’m going home in the morning,” he said. “I can’t take this any longer. There’s no point hanging around if I’m not playing.”
 
“Whoa! Did I hear you say you’re quitting the team?” I asked. “Is that the way you want people to remember Dickie Moore? As a quitter? If you leave now, that’s the way you’ll be remembered,” he was told. “And face it, Dickie, right now you’re not doing a hell of a lot out there when you’re on the ice.”
 
“Can’t score sitting on the bench,” he muttered.
 
“Have you talked to Toe about it?”
 
“I haven’t told him I’m going home, but I’ve made up my mind. If I can’t play, I’d much rather be at home with the family,” Moore said. “I can handle anything the fans will say about this. They’re not sitting on the bench. I am,” he added.
 
We argued about it for the next two hours. Finally, Moore said: “OK, here’s what I’m gonna do. I’ll go with the team to Detroit. If I don’t play, I’m gone. I’m playing pretty well when I get on the ice, but I can’t buy a goal.”
 
“Try shooting more often,” he was told. “Whenever you’re on the ice, all you do is pass the puck to Henri.”
 
Moore was in the starting lineup two nights later. Henri won the faceoff and dropped the puck back to Moore. He was only one stride across centre ice when he released a rising shot at Terry Sawchuk.
 
Goal!
 
The press box in the old Detroit Olympia was fairly close to the ice. The instant the puck eluded Sawchuk, Moore raced down the left side of the rink, swept around behind the net and skated along the boards. Then, as he approached the press box he looked up, raised his stick and waved it.
The smile he wore lit up the arena.
 
Later in the game, he scored a second goal.
 
He was to score 24 goals in 67 games in that 1962-63 season, his last with the Canadiens. He stayed out of hockey the next season, returned to play 38 games with Toronto in 1964-65, stayed out of hockey for the next two seasons, but answered Scotty Bowman’s call in St. Louis in 1967-68, when the NHL doubled in size to 12 teams.
 
The Canadiens arrived in St. Louis for their first meeting with the Blues roughly 20 games into that expansion season. Both teams were struggling at the time. The Blues were in last place of the West Division, the Canadiens last in the East. The Canadiens won what had been a tight game — Bowman’s first with St. Louis as head coach. He had a message for me.
 
“I’m bringing in your friend,” he said.
 
“Yeah? Who?”
 
“Dickie.”
 
There was no need to mention the surname. For me, going back to his junior days, there was only one Dickie.
 
The Blues had been attracting only 5,000 fans at most of their games up to that point in the season, but with the addition of Moore and Harvey, they played to sellout crowds and finished the season in third place with 70 points in a 74-game schedule. Dickie scored only five goals and three assists in 27 games.
 
The Blues beat Philadelphia in seven games in the first round. Then, they needed a goal from Larry Keenan 4:10 into the second overtime of Game 7 in a 2-1 victory over Minnesota to move into the Stanley Cup final against the Canadiens. They fell in four, but the Canadiens needed overtime goals in two of the games.
 
Dickie led the Blues with seven goals in 18 playoff games. He assisted on another seven. This time he retired for good.
 
The greatest moment of his Hall of Fame career came on Nov. 12, 2005, when, through misty eyes, he watched his No. 12 raised to the rafters.
 
You wonder what players think about at times like these, but what I knew for certain was that he was thinking about his mother, Ida, and his father, Charles, a city of Montreal employee who worked so hard to raise 10 kids. He was thinking about his brothers Charlie, Bill, Eddie, Bert, Tommy, Danny, Reggie, Jimmy and his sister Dolly — wishing they were all there. Sadly, by then, all gone, except Jimmy, who has since passed away, but he could feel their arms around him.
 
He could feel their love.
 
He was thinking about his son, Dickie Jr., who had died alone in the darkness of an early morning decades earlier in a one-car accident on a road leading to Arundel in the Laurentians.
 
He was thinking about his wife, Joan, who has never fully recovered from her son’s death.
 
He was thinking about his daughter Lianne and his son, John.
 
Laughter always has come easily to Dickie, as it does to all of those marvellous people who have the rare quality of enjoying life to the fullest. Too many people I know don’t regard a day complete unless they can convince themselves and others that life is beating their brains out. They don’t care who knows it. They wear their misery on their sleeves.
 
They depress me.
 
Not Dickie. He always made the day brighter.
 
I can remember a time in 1960 when the Candiens held their training camp in Victoria. One day, we were walking through the halls of the hotel where the team stayed. Not a sound was heard in the hotel’s greenhouse — except for some squeaks.
“What are those strange noises?” he was asked.
 
“Those aren’t strange noises,” he said. “They’re my knees.”
 
Like the rest of us, Dickie had his share of bad times. He could be breaking up inside, but he always regarded tears as private things. It stayed in the family. Joy and laughter were what he shared with others … always trying to make the people around him feel better. He cared for people, young and old alike.
 
I will miss so much about him. His courage. His laughter. His bad jokes. His goodness.
 
Some years ago, Dickie was involved in a life-threatening accident. It happened in Dorion on Aug. 27, 2006, under a pelting rain. He was slowly leaving a shopping mall’s parking area when he was sideswiped on the driver’s side by a truck.
 
Forty-five minutes passed before rescuers were able to remove him from his vehicle. He was rushed to the Montreal General Hospital, where doctors discovered he had suffered spinal and neck injuries. Eleven broken ribs. A knee injury. There were fears his kidney had been punctured. There was massive bleeding.
 
Several days before the accident, Dickie had visited the resting place of his son.
 
“It won’t be long now, Richard,” he said. “It won’t be long.”
 
Dickie Jr.’s death so many years ago had left huge holes that never fully mended in the hearts of those he left behind. A boy: dead at 17. How do you deal with that?
 
Somehow, Dickie did.
 
On Saturday, when so many of us wept, father and son finally embraced
 
 
 

I swear I went into this quick rabbit hole that did not start with the Grateful Dead or anything related as far as I could tell.I looked up....oh yeah.
 
So it was the Grateful Dead themselves and then I stumbled across this Sounds Of Our Own series again (some of it is so fucking wonderful, its like the greatest cover album ever for the Dead). I really enjoyed this verison of Bertha along with the editting. This is a great tip of the hat to Playing In The Band from So Far
 

#Legend

Pretty cool story here..
 
http://www.chron.com/entertainment/music/article/New-photo-of-bluesman-Robert-Johnson-unearthed-6703035.php
 
A newly-analyzed photo purportedly shows Robert Johnson, the mysterious blues legend whose meager recordings became a groundwork for American popular music.
 
Only two such photos have been unequivocally confirmed, and the prospect of another is held as a holy grail in blues society.
 
Johnson was an influential early blues singer and guitarist whose songs have been covered by the likes of The Rolling Stones, Eric Clapton, Led Zeppelin, The White Stripes, Fleetwood Mac and countless others. He also infamously is alleged to have made a deal with the devil, who personally tuned Johnson's guitar at a crossroads in Mississippi, thus giving him his extraordinary guitar skills in exchange for his soul.
 
He wandered the South and earned acclaim picking guitar tunes, but he made just two recordings—in San Antonio in 1936 and in Dallas in 1937.
 
The identification comes from Lois Gibson, award-winning forensic artist for the Houston Police Department and professional analyst of historical photographs. She also announced identification of a Johnson photo in 2008; that one was accepted by the Johnson estate but widely contested by blues historians.
 
The new photograph turned up in an antique Winthrop desk, filled with odds and ends, bought in a 2013 auction by Donald Roark, a 64-year-old retired lawyer and professor in Pensacola, Florida.
 
In a cluttered draw was a three-by-five inch photo of four people seated at a public table, the man in question on the left.
"I guess it was because of the hat," Roark said, recalling his first glimpse of the picture, and his memory of the photo cover of the Robert Johnson album he owns. "I chuckled and thought that guy kind of looks like Robert Johnson."
 
When he asked his wife who the man looked like, she said Robert Johnson. He sat on the suspicion for two years, until reaching out to Gibson's manager online for a professional take on the photograph.
 
It was one of the five-or-so requests for a photo identification Gibson gets each month, she said.
 
"Ninety-nine percent of them I look at and well, I don't laugh in their face, but I shrug it off," she said.
 
But the purported Johnson photo gave her pause. Gibson, who spent the last three decades analyzing and reconstructing faces, said she recognized Johnson's face. But the scene offered further evidence—three people who Gibson identified as known acquaintances of Johnson: Calletta Craft, Johnson's wife from 1931, who bears a marked eye condition; Estella Coleman, who housed Johnson since 1933; and her son Robert Lockwood Jr.
 
That crowd would set the purported image in the mid 1930s, before Johnson made a name as a nomadic guitar player and blues singer, and before was afforded the privilege to record.
 
Two years after his first session, Johnson died in 1938 at age 27 (making him the first great musician in the notable company of the "27 Club," alongside Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison and Kurt Cobain).

I'll take Newbs Discovering Gerry Rafferty In The Wee Hours Of The Morning for 1000 dollars Alex.
 
#401Theme

"Order your pizzas, order your Chinese foods. Five cases of Pepsi, five cases of Coke. Make sure you have your iPads charged, iPods charged, cell phones charged, laptops charged and have your 3G and 4G ready."
 

This guy's the best.  A Nova Scotia gem.

07-31-1982 Austin Texas
 
The minor radio hit Alabama Getaway into The Promised Land set things off to a wonderful start for those looking to boogie. Phil sounded like he was ready to dance especially after it sounded like Jerry sang “I heard you pee in the courthouse?”
 
Candyman is another one of those all-too-rare Garcia ballads that we got to chasing, which seems like a shame missing this song because he takes a particularly drippy solo. It’s fantastic. There is also a wonderful build while Jerry reminded everyone to tell everyone else that they meet that the candy man was in town. Great version here and this show started out pretty searing. Seeing as they were in Austin, El Paso made a bunch of sense in this slot.
 
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, Bird Song…….where have you been throughout this box set? This is one of my favourite songs and it’s a shame there haven’t been enough of them up to this point because it provides such a wonderful avenue for a walk in the woods which the band heartily takes part of during this version. Although to be fair, the song disappeared for 7 or so years so there weren’t very many to pick from. Bird Song segued into Little Red Rooster and this is proving to be a very enjoyable first set. The band is feeling good because this was a powerful 19 or so minutes of music.
 
Another first set favourite of mine, Ramble On Rose, followed things up. I don’t know exactly what it is about this song that I love so much. Whether it are the whimsical lyrics which can be about anything you want, the punchy rhythm you cant seem to nail down even though you have that shit timed to your very breath or the soaring leads Garcia was able to deliver time and again but this song has it all. Speaking of Garcia solos that I always enjoy, It’s All Over Now added to this fine first set. This was a cover also performed at my first show which had me so utterly confused it was a Kinks cover thanks to what I sucked on before the show. I can still feel that anxiety and joy combo from that night but hearing Phil play bass on this one makes me know I am not in that same moment.
 
Another Brown-Eyed Women and yet another eye-opener for me. I am really getting into these early 80’s versions. Phil is just hopping. Perhaps I have finally unlocked the key to enjoying this song. Oooooooooooh yeeeeeeeeeeeeah….a great start to this Music Never Stopped which doesn’t let up. Totally popping version that you wish never ended. Garcia flying all over the place during an all too quick Deal was a wonderful bookend to the boogie-loo that started things off. Some might say the band punctuated a set that was longer than it seemed.
 
“We’re gonna take a short break. We’ll be back in a few minutes so everybody hang loose and get a lot of beer and have fun” – that pretty much sums’er up Bobby. Well done. I am guessing many folks were jacked after this set.
 
For my money, there aint no better chords to open a second set than the 2 that signal Scarlet Begonias and the pace this song provided in 1982 always makes me feel that nip to the air because there is nothing wrong with the love within her eyes. One of the things we all love about this song is whether or not it will be paired with a favourite and whether or not that transition has the capabilities of taking us *there*
 
This most definitely does. There is this really small section whereby Garcia harkens back to his slide days during the Scarlet outro but he isn’t using a slide. I almost fell off the floor of my floor but he continues on and quickly makes you forget he even did it. Ideas are being bounced around from everyone and we are deep inside the Grateful Dead mind. This is what it’s all about if you ask me. It’s a constant segueing tease which finally resolves at Fire on the Mountain when Phil decides it’s time. Everyone is heavily involved at this point and it ends up being another pumping Phil song. He’s the fucking man and helped provide a fantastic 25ish minutes of music to start things off (I looked at my phone when it started)
 
Estimated Prophet follows and you have to wonder again if it might have another wonderfully perfect pairing. “Are they really going to go back to back to back to back?” but as soon as I thought that I realized how deep the tempo was on this Estimated was feeling. She aint tight like they were in 1977 but hot-damn if this aint no other level. The solo sounds soooooo good. Once again, they were nailing a second outro in this set with Bob Weir doing his best to wail his voice to invoke spirits.
 
But then all of a sudden it gets dropped upon us. “Where in the fuck did Eyes of the World come from?” I always wanted to see one of those combos live just to see how they did it that night because that was one of my favourite Grateful Dead wildcards which led to some great weirdness before Drumz which sounds amazing and is making me look more forward to what is coming in the later-day shows during that segment. You can hear things building.
 
Space into Uncle John’s and is about as deep as this band gets into a two song metaphor. If you haven’t got the Grateful Dead yet then it’s time to walk away. This shit is potent and you want to be hanging on for dear life. You want to be afraid. You want to know everything is worth it. You want to wonder “I cant believe there are a number of songs left?” ….while Phil and Jerry are floating inside every cloud during a buck dancer’s choice.
 
We then get blammo’d with a Truckin’ intro suggesting I Need A Miracle until Bobby counts things in and Truckin does it’s thing which is what you always want it to do. Punch you in the face while picking you up. Being the ridiculous Deadhead that I am, I always wonder what that final build will be like. This one softly lands but quickly delves into boom spots we dream of and once again we are within another perfect combo
 
Morning Dew. Had I been to this show ya’ll would be sick of me talking about it for all these years because this is stupid good. Everyone will get it. One More Saturday Night smokes to the end and then Don’t Ease Me In dances us out of the venue. They killed this show. Immediately one of my favorites of the lot.
 
 
In the meantime...............
 

This is how I picture C-Towns trying to sit down during the summer based on Edgar's story