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I still miss Jerry - Aug 9th


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I can't believe it's been seven years. I still remember that day like it was yesterday. We were totally pumped at the announcement of two Toronto shows to end the Fall 1995 tour.

It wasn't to be. [Frown]

I picked up McNally's book, "A Long Strange Trip" and am gonna get into it next week. I'll be sure to post a few thoughts on it once I'm done.

9-10-91: Garcia, Marsalis, Hornsby snaking their funky asses through one of the sweetest "Shakedown Streets" you could ever imagine. Thanks for that, guys.


(Hope you dont mind that I editted your post MarcO, I just thought you might like that image)

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I love that one as well as 08-01-94 Detroit.

and 10-01-94

Oh my, speaking of 10-01

how about the So Many Roads?

Best ever there as well, Jerry just SCREAMING!

Paging Greg Betts, see that show above? [Wink]

Its funny, everyone complaining (rightfully so I guess) about shows during that period, BUT, when it was one of those Jerry ballads, he aint never sung 'em with such conviction..........

I loved your 7 years ago post Caution. Beautiful......so was AC/DC Bags.....actually, they are all touching me today......keep 'em coming.

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An Elegy for Jerry

by Robert Hunter 8/11/95

Jerry, my friend,

you've done it again,

even in your silence

the familiar pressure

comes to bear, demanding

I pull words from the air

with only this morning

and part of the afternoon

to compose an ode worthy

of one so particular

about every turn of phrase,

demanding it hit home

in a thousand ways

before making it his own,

and this I can't do alone.

Now that the singer is gone,

where shall I go for the song?

Without your melody and taste

to lend an attitude of grace

a lyric is an orphan thing,

a hive with neither honey's taste

nor power to truly sting.

What choice have I but to dare and

call your muse who thought to rest

out of the thin blue air

that out of the field of shared time,

a line or two might chance to shine --

As ever when we called,

in hope if not in words,

the muse descends.

How should she desert us now?

Scars of battle on her brow,

bedraggled feathers on her wings,

and yet she sings, she sings!

May she bear thee to thy rest,

the ancient bower of flowers

beyond the solitude of days,

the tyranny of hours--

the wreath of shining laurel lie

upon your shaggy head

bestowing power to play the lyre

to legions of the dead

If some part of that music

is heard in deepest dream,

or on some breeze of Summer

a snatch of golden theme,

we'll know you live inside us

with love that never parts

our good old Jack O'Diamonds

become the King of Hearts.

I feel your silent laughter

at sentiments so bold

that dare to step across the line

to tell what must be told,

so I'll just say I love you,

which I never said before

and let it go at that old friend

the rest you may ignore.

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Hope everyone has a safe and strange weekend.

David Gans sent this to another list, but it's so nice it really ought to

be posted twice:

The Minstrel

S J Donnelly and David Gans

He came there in the morning

And stood by at the riverside

Where a truth flowed from the hand of Brother John

He closed his eyes and held his breath

And listened for the word

And a new man made the song to carry on

I was born to be the minstrel

To sing in the streets alone

To plant the seeds of the change and then move on

And never see them grown

Son of a fisherman

He sailed the city streets

Catching a life his father never dreamed

Singing like a blindman

And listening with his eyes

His fingers wove the tale of what he'd seen

I was born to be the minstrel

To sing in the streets alone

To plant the seeds of the change and then move on

And never see them grown

He sang for pennies, not for princes

In the alleys of the mad

And what he said wasn't wrong (wasn't wrong)

And what he thought wasn't bad (wasn't bad)

I looked for him last Saturday

I was downtown with a friend of mine

We checked his favorite spots but he was gone

I closed my eyes and followed him

Back to that river scene

And sang what I remembered of his song

I was born to be the minstrel

To sing in the streets alone

To plant the seeds of the change and then move on

And never see them grown

Never see them grown

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