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Conference rdvax::grateful

Title:	Take my advice, you'd be better off DEAD
Notice:	It's just a Box of Rain
Moderator:	RDVAX::LEVY::DEBESS

Created:	Wed Jan 02 1991
Last Modified:	Fri Jun 06 1997
Last Successful Update:	Fri Jun 06 1997
Number of topics:	580
Total number of notes:	60238

520.0. "Robert Hunter's personal archives homepage" by QUOIN::BELKIN (but from that cup no more) Tue Mar 26 1996 12:09

Robert Hunter has a ""personal archives" homepage, at:
  http://grateful.dead.net/RobertHunterArchive.html/hunterarchive.html

In there you will find:
	Also in this introductory batch is a reply to
	Jurgen Fauth's very literate essay "The Fractals of
	Familiarity and Innovation: Robert Hunter and the
	Grateful Dead Concert Experience" in which your
	humble writer responds to charges of (gasp!)
	meaninglessness in his work, leveled by a
	semiotician. It's all good fun and I cranked out a
	detailed explication of "Franklin's Tower" plus
	clearing up an obscurity regarding Sweet Jane of
	Truckin' fame. Push this button to get there: 
	[Fractures]
which gets you to:
  http://grateful.dead.net/RobertHunterArchive.html/misc.html/fauthreply.html

It's great reading... here it is:
===============================================================================

Fractures [go to homepage]


Reply to to Jurgen Fauth's essay: "The Fractals of
Familiarity and Innovation: Robert Hunter and the
Grateful Dead Concert Experence" available at
http://www.uccs.edu/~ddodd/jurgen.html


Fractures of Unfamiliarity & Circumvention in
Pursuit of a Nice Time

Dear Jurgen,

meaning is not an irreducible Ur-language. A good
lyric is allusion, illusion, subterfuge and
collusion. A poor lyric is information about its
own paucity of resource. That doesn't mean the
latter cannot be a great song. There is nothing
inherently better about a dumb song than one which
calls attention to the intelligence of its writer.
It's a matter of taste, but meaning is often a
subterfuge to distract the listener's attention
from a writer's lack of multiple resources. This is
often true of blatant "message" songs. 

How does a song mean? 


As long as allusions can be codified, the
semiotician is content, knowing that "meaning" is a
case-sensitive term with scant referentiality
outside implementation of primitive needs. When the
semiotician suspects allusiveness without
corresponding exact reference, he charges the poet
with nonsense. Nonsense is a loaded word, the
meaning of which is unclear. If it is understood as
"intentional multi-referentiality without
predetermined hierarchy" rather than "meaningless
blather" one would find no fault with the term. But
it isn't, so the charge of "nonsense" and
"meaninglessness" levied by a scholarly and
plausible source, does much to put people off
exploring further.

"The repair sad mutthead forkbender orange in the
how are you, did they?" is nonsense without
reference, hence not allusive. Had it discernible
rhythm, it might be termed 'rhythm allusive' but my
example lacks even that. The only way on earth such
a sentence would likely get written is as an
example of a null allusive set. Bingo! An allusion!
To Set Theory! The exception that proves the rule. 

How does a song mean?


The meaning(s), or lack thereof, ascribed by others
to an example of lyric work are not part of the
work. The interpretations are separate "works". The
manner in which an audience receives the work, what
they, collectively and individually, make of it,
can indeed provide potential data for the
allusiveness (referentiality)of future lyrics,
gainsaid, but cannot be ascribed as a
characteristic of the particular work, per se, with
validity without "insider information" which is, in
any case, no part of the song. That way lies true
nonsense, even unto deconstruction. Yet the little
bugger of a jingle persists and seems to move
hearts. Why? Is there something which semiotics, by
its nature and presuppositions, must exclude from
the sphere of "meaningfulness" due to the limited
nature of its tools? 

How does semiotics mean?


Since the concluding remark of your essay stated
that the Grateful Dead songs are "meaningless" I
choose to reply by explicating one of your
examples: "Franklin's Tower." I do this reluctantly
because I feel that a straightforward statement of
my original intent robs the listener of personal
associations and replaces them with my own. I may
know where they come from, but I don't know where
they've been. My allusions are, admittedly, often
not immediately accessible to those whose literary
resources are broadly different than my own, but I
wouldn't want my listeners' trust to be shaken by
an acceptance of the category "meaningless"
attached to a bundle of justified signifiers whose
sources happen to escape the scope of simplistic
reference. 

How does the song go?


FRANKLIN'S TOWER

In another time's forgotten space
your eyes looked through your mother's face
Wildflower seed on the sand and stone
may the four winds blow you safely home 

4x: Roll away... the dew

You ask me where the four winds dwell
In Franklin's tower there hangs a bell
It can ring, turn night to day
Ring like fire when you lose your way

Roll away... the dew . . . 

God help the child who rings that bell
It may have one good ring left, you can't tell
One watch by night, one watch by day
If you get confused just listen to the music play

Roll away... the dew . . . 

Some come to laugh their past away
Some come to make it just one more day
Whichever way your pleasure tends
if you plant ice, you're gonna harvest wind

Roll away... the dew . . .

In Franklin's Tower the four winds sleep
Like four lean hounds the lighthouse keep
Wildflower seed in the sand and wind
May the four winds blow you home again

4x: Roll away... the dew
You better roll away the dew
--------------------------------- 

What's it about?


EXPLICATION:

In another time's forgotten space
your eyes looked through your mother's face
Wildflower seed on the sand and stone
may the four winds blow you safely home.

<surface intent>
[You have your mother's eyes, child,
the very shape, color and intensity
of the eyes that looked through
her face so long ago. Borne on the
varied winds of chance and change,
like a dandelion seed, you may find
yourself deposited on barren soil. 
My wish for you is that the forces 
that brought you there may sweep
you up again and bear you to fertile ground.]

<deeper intent>
"In another time's forgotten space
your eyes looked through your mother's face."
[Relative immortality of the human 
species is realized through reproduction.
Dominant traits inherited from an ancestor,
the lyric suggests, share more than mere
similarity with those of the forebear,
but are an identity, endlessly reproducible.
In other words, when someone says
"You have your mother's eyes"
they are not speaking in simile
nor would it be incorrect to say
that "your mother has your eyes,"
if, in fact, possessiveness is 
an appropriate term in the context.
Poetic license will assume it is,
if only for the sake of moving on
to the next couplet.]

You ask me where the four winds dwell
In Franklin's tower there hangs a bell
It can ring, turn night to day
Ring like fire when you lose your way

[note that this song appeared in 1975,
the year after my son was born and the
year before the American Bicentennial.
Both facts are entirely relevant. The
allusion to the Liberty Bell and the
situation of the Philadelphia Congress
in the hometown of Ben Franklin has not
gone unnoticed by other commentators.
This song is a birthday wish both for 
my son and for my country, each young 
and subject to the winds of vicissitude.
Individual and collective freedom, 
liberty, conscience, all that is conjured
by those concepts, is suggested
in the image of the tolling bell.]

God help the child who rings that bell
It may have one good ring left, you can't tell
One watch by night, one watch by day
If you get confused just listen to the music play

[The Bell, rung once, cracked and could not
be safely rung again. From an actual bell,
it therefore became a symbol of the
potential to ring. The single toll, signaling 
birth, can now be heard only in its 
reverberations in our history and ideals.
Some have had to bear those ideals in
difficult circumstances (war, the Great
Depression and general benightedness) 
others have had the more enviable task 
of keeping watch (eternal vigilance)
during periods of conscious and dynamic
change: the full light of day. The sixties,
the writer assumes, were such a time.
You can't tell if ringing that bell
a second time would destroy it in 
the act of producing another mighty 
peal and it might be foolish, if courageous, 
to try. Perhaps the "music"of 
the original ideals symbolized by
the first and only toll should be taken
to heart and implemented, rather than
obviated by a new source of ideation
(communism, anarchy, religion based
governmental apparatus. etc.) To resolve
this confusion, pay attention to the 
original inspiration (the Constitution,
the Bill of Rights, collectively.
Individually, maintain awareness of
conscience and one's own early ideals.]

Some come to laugh their past away
Some come to make it just one more day
Whichever way your pleasure tends
if you plant ice, you're gonna harvest wind

[This verse scarcely needs commentary
in light of the above remarks. The precursor
to the 1st couplet is "I Come for to Sing" as
performed, possibly written, by Pete Seegar. 
The 2cnd couplet source is the biblical
"Who sows wind reaps the hurricane."]

In Franklin's Tower the four winds sleep
Like four lean hounds the lighthouse keep
Wildflower seed in the sand and wind
May the four winds blow you home again

[We assume a bell tower for the great bell.
By the trope of simile, we see the bell tower
(the day watch) turned to a lighthouse 
and the four winds become sleeping hounds,
(the night watch) worn out by the events 
of such a metaphorical day as related
by e.e.cummings in his familiar lyric 
"All in Green Went My Love Riding"
(Poem 6 from TULIPS AND CHIMNEYS)
"four lean hounds crouched low 
and smiling . . ." By the use of quotative
allusion the lyric attempts to borrow
some of the emotive spark of cumming's 
poem, providing a kind of "link button"
into a different but complementary space. 
Allusion here functions as a sort of 
shorthand cross-patch into a series
of metaphoric events which, with 
a double-clutch shift of simile, 
access a downloadable description of
the kind of day it's been for a 'wildflower
seed' in its adventures in the wind. 
There may be some objection to the
elastic interchangeability of the similes 
of hounds and winds in this set of couplets, 
but the test of the allusion, as I see it, 
is whether or not the appropriate emotions 
are evoked to lead to satisfying closure
and an opening door on other possibilities.]

[Now to the real stretch: "Roll away the dew."
The line is appropriated from a fairly 
well known sea chantey whose chorus goes: 
"Roll away the morning dew
and sweet the winds shall blow."
As surely everyone knows by now,
Tim Rose's song "Morning Dew"
(made famous by Garcia's singing of it)
is set in the aftermath of nuclear war.
Reason he can't "walk you out
in the morning dew, my honey" 
is because of fallout, though Garcia
has wisely dropped the verse
containing this denouement, allowing
the song a heightened romantic mystery,
achieved through open-ended ambiguity.
For generations now alive,
the nuclear specter personifies 
the forces which most threaten our
attempt at Jeffersonian democracy.
With the song's sub-allusion to 
"Roll away the Stone," an anthem 
of joyous Eastertide resurrection,
a resultant combination message
of dire necessity (as in the final: 
you've got to roll away the dew) 
and promise of renewal, in case 
resolution is effected, are enjoined. 
Should this hyper-allusive train 
of thought become too confusing 
to process, the invitation to just 
"listen to the music play"
acknowledges both the melody 
and performance context of the lyric
and the metaphoric bell described above.]

Well, now that you know what I meant by it, 
it's no great shakes is it? Mystery gone, 
the magician's trick told, the gluttony 
for "meaning" temporarily satisfied,
one can now take issue with my intent
and avoid the song itself, substituting
the assignable significance for the music.

Attempts by language to overdetermine language are
doomed out the door, so I content myself with
providing these clues for threading the maze of
"Franklin's Tower" and as a grudging key to my
methods. I feel that much of what you've said in
your essay is rich, correct and thought provoking
and appreciate your accurate estimation of the
concert context as adjunct to the lyric, and vice
versa. The contextual sub-meaning (the way the song
manifests itself in concert) is certainly a factor
which occasionally determines certain choices in
subsequent material. Too much of that would be a
striving after sameness of effect, though (even if
it does all sound the same to an uninitiated ear.) 

Oh, one other thing: you labeled "what a long,
strange trip it's been" as "cliched." Aren't you
putting the cart before the horse? "Truckin'" was
the originating vehicle of the phrase, which had
not, to my knowledge, been coined before. The fact
that it has entered the catchphrase banks of the
language in a ubiquitous way may render subsequent
usage cliched, but surely not the invention itself,
unless all widely adopted phrases are deemed trite
by virtue of their durability. You also mentioned
that the "What in the world ever became of Sweet
Jane?/She's lost her sparkle, you know she isn't
the same" verse was probably an in-joke not meant
for a broad audience to grasp. The intention was a
parody of the '40's warning-style of singing
commercial, specifically "Poor Millicent, poor
Millicent/ She ne-ver used Pep-so-dent/ Her smile
grew dim/ And she lost her vim / So folks don't me
like Millicent / Use Pep-so-dent! " I'm sure that
the allusiveness, not that entirely outre in the
'60's, is well lost here in the '90's. So, it's
perhaps an in-joke, but not one meant for private
consumption. Just a bit of black humor that fails
to fire and emerges, instead, as an enigma. I guess
the question here is whether an allusion must be
blatantly perceivable as such in order to avoid the
uncharitable label of "nonsense."

Thank you for taking my work seriously enough to
spend considerable effort in explicating it
according to your lights.

Robert Hunter 3/4/96

p.s.
Disorient slow quill to provide
Dense unsingable margin 
Dispersing in tonal cluster under
A lilac roof of chintz Vermeers
Incorporate chance nomenclature
Corresponding to a netting of wind
Revolving in unintentional resolve
Interrogating with no question mark
Non-circular limited clock of the day
Before rude lingual enforcement
Immerses momentos of dux redux
More given to flux than flight in Shank's aviary
Where no one spits in the beer of slumber
With less reluctance than an attested breeze

(from the Collected Sonnets of Cosmo Nitram, 
soon to appear on these pages)

[go to homepage] 

&copy;1996 by Robert Hunter. Downloads
for private circulation gladly permitted.

T.R	Title	User	Personal Name	Date	Lines
520.1		TOLKIN::OSTIGUY	Ripples never come back	`Tue Mar 26 1996 12:48`	3
	COOL Franklin's Tower as a birthday wish to the country...interesting
520.2		STAR::OCTOBR::DEBESS	such a long long time 2B gone	`Tue Mar 26 1996 12:52`	36
	cool reading! I hope he doesn't do it too often though - even he says it's best to leave the interpretation up to the listener - we all take our own meaningfulness out of it. as I was reading what he had to say about Franklin's Tower, I was reminded of a tongue-in-cheek interpretation someone (Andrew Shalit) had done about it on r.m.gd...he actually hit the mark, afterall, kindasorta! [on a related digression, during one Boston Garden run, I mailordered and sat near the same people every night. Maybe the last night, I was looking down at the seat numbers as I went along the row looking for my seat, but the people who had sat next to me the 2 previous nights saw me coming and yelled out my name. I looked up, and at the same moment someone in the row in front of me also looked up upon hearing my name. He told me my name seemed familiar, did I ever post to r.m.gd, and then he told me his name was Andrew Shalit. I said "I know you! Franklin's Tower!"] I never before interpreted Franklin's Tower as being about liberty, freedom. Interesting that that had been an important subject/lesson from Hunter even back then and that it still could be found in his latest songs. His inclusion of religious-based politics in the interpretation makes me think he is updating his message. It applies now more than ever. I love it that it means something on a society level and something on a personal level. Very cool. oh and I have to know - what is "Ur"? Scully used that word over and over in his "Living with the Dead" and I never did know what it meant! Debess
520.3	it's in Palestine	NETCAD::SIEGEL	The revolution wil not be televised	`Tue Mar 26 1996 13:20`	11
	re: <<< Note 520.2 by STAR::OCTOBR::DEBESS "such a long long time 2B gone" >>> > oh and I have to know - what is "Ur"? Scully used that word over > and over in his "Living with the Dead" and I never did know what > it meant! Ur is the city that Abraham (the first Jew, supposedly) was born. I knew Hebrew school would pay off eventually! :-) adam
520.4	I might be way off here...	NETRIX::dan	Dan Harrington	`Tue Mar 26 1996 16:08`	20
	> oh and I have to know - what is "Ur"? Scully used that word over > and over in his "Living with the Dead" and I never did know what > it meant! I'm not sure how it is used in that book...it might well refer to the ancient city. But the first sentence in Hunter's response is: "meaning is not an irreducible Ur-language." I've seen this prefix usage before, and I believe it signifies the fundamental abstraction of the word to which it is affixed. One example I recall had to do with wolves...there are real wolves in the world, and pictures of wolves, and wolf costumes, and so on, but lurking behind them all is the Ur-Wolf, the real Wolf essence which cannot be captured or defined. Or perhaps I don't grok fully...could you give an example of Scully's writing with "Ur", Debess? Thanks, Dan
520.5		STAR::OCTOBR::DEBESS	such a long long time 2B gone	`Tue Mar 26 1996 16:18`	14
	>Or perhaps I don't grok fully...could you give an example of Scully's >writing with "Ur", Debess? Thanks, Hi Dan - no I can't give an example because I read the book a while ago, and returned it to the library...BUT, if I remember correctly, it was used like an adjective AND what you're saying about the wolf essence and all ;-) seems to click with what I do remember... Thanks! Debess
520.6	have you had Ur dead today?	QUOIN::BELKIN	but from that cup no more	`Tue Mar 26 1996 16:19`	8
	I think Dan is right. I don't have a precise definition but I get the gist of it as meaning "prototype" or "root". I think Scully uses the term "Ur-Dead" when refering to the basic GD (band-member) configuration of, say, 1965 ? Or when saying, say, that "Dark Star > St. Steven > The Eleven" was the Ur-Dead of 1968. - josh
520.7		SPECXN::BARNES		`Tue Mar 26 1996 16:28`	3
	hey dan, shouldn't that be dire-wolf??? %^) rfb
520.8		NETRIX::dan	Dan Harrington	`Tue Mar 26 1996 16:39`	20
	> "meaning is not an irreducible Ur-language." Yes, if I had taken the time to read the essay before replying to the Ur question I would have comprehended the statement more clearly. Language does not exist solely to express meaning...meaning is not the pure and fundamental basis of language. Emotion finds a major outlet in language, for example. I enjoyed the critique of deconstructionism...it's something that we (humans) have become damn good at, once we figured out the scientific method. Unfortunately taking something apart does not necessarily yield insight on why something was put together a certain way in the first place. That's why I so enjoyed reading the book about the Gaia hypothesis...it becomes clear that while great strides have been made in understanding biology further and further "down" the scale, there is still a lot of work to be done in the other direction, figuring out how all the organisms and ecosystems of this planet interact. Dan
520.9	600 pounds of sin...	NETRIX::dan	Dan Harrington	`Tue Mar 26 1996 16:46`	9
	> hey dan, shouldn't that be dire-wolf??? %^) No, but now that you mention it, I've been dying to tell somebody about my recent visit to the La Brea tar pits in LA...they've got one wall covered with 404 dire wolf skulls (about a quarter of all that they've pulled from the pits). It's one hell of an impressive sight...and they've got some full skeletons too. Dan
520.10		STAR::OCTOBR::DEBESS	such a long long time 2B gone	`Tue Mar 26 1996 16:48`	4
	you mean there really is such a thing as a Dire Wolf?!? tell us more!
520.11	I'm afraid I don't know much more...	NETRIX::dan	Dan Harrington	`Tue Mar 26 1996 17:06`	8
	> you mean there really is such a thing as a Dire Wolf?!? Whew! I felt silly when I realized that the Dire Wolf was an actual species...I had assumed it was just a particularly nasty canus lupus. I don't recall any details about them, except that they were (are?) rather large... Dan
520.12		FLUME::petert	rigidly defined areas of doubt and uncertainty	`Thu Mar 28 1996 15:49`	8
	Just for kicks, I decided to enter "dire wolf" in a search in Alta Vista. Came up with about 200 entries, about 95 percent of which appear to be references to set/tape lists ;-) A few seem to be about the MechWarrior game with the Dire Wolf Mech. And 1 or 2 actually seemed to reference the real Dire Wolf. It was a pre-historic mammal, somewhat on the larger size, as many prehistoric animals seem to be. PeterT
520.13	personal proof point for that hypothesis :^)	NECSC::CRONIC::semi3.hlo.dec.com::notes	the storyteller makes no choice...	`Thu Mar 28 1996 16:16`	5
	i know that i was larger in prehistoric times.... i'm definitely much smaller now... :^) da ve
520.14		EVMS::OCTOBR::DEBESS	such a long long time 2B gone	`Mon Apr 15 1996 10:29`	40
	Here's the message that Robert Hunter wrote for the Ganges ceremony. Last Words for Jerry Garcia Go naked in the world, wind for your cloak and coverlet. Whom the Gods love best they reward with early death, gather them into the sun, reflect them in moonlight, crown them with comets, anoint them with shooting stars. Go naked to the Throne of Love, go as the stars go, arrayed in their own incandescent light. Go and our hearts go with you. Return to the source of the soul by way of the Sacred River, royal road to the sea where all shall be music and dreams shall be dreams no more, but visions of the World's foundation scattered among the stars. Dust shall be dust and the voice of dust shall be music, pleasing to God who sent it forth in search of melody to crown His silence with eternal song. [(c) 1996 Robert Hunter]
520.15		MKOTS3::JOLLIMORE	Always stop at the top	`Tue Apr 16 1996 09:10`	10
	for those of you that know my buddy reilly, also found on Robert Hunter's page is this story, The Pig Who Found The Song In Her Heart by Patricia Platt http://grateful.dead.net/RobertHunterArchive.html/files/portia.html :-)
520.16		SPECXN::BARNES		`Tue Apr 16 1996 12:18`	6
	reilly...what a trip! care to enlighten those of us that don't have web access??? Is Patricia his wife, daughter, or ??? rfb
520.17		MKOTS3::JOLLIMORE	Always stop at the top	`Tue Apr 16 1996 12:52`	7
	doh. sorry. patricia is his wife (actually, reilly refers to her as his 'lady'). she wrote a children's book, which reilly mailed to Hunter, and hunter added to his webpage. i'll post the story somewhere in here. (it's not too long.)
520.18		EVMS::OCTOBR::DEBESS	Black dirt live again!	`Wed Apr 24 1996 12:05`	28
	want a cheap thrill?!? write to Robert Hunter at [email protected], and he -will- answer you! Not that he will necessarily start conversing on a regular basis ;-), but he does respond the first time to every mail message he gets. (mark it "personal" if you don't want to see it end up on his homepage!) he's really, -really- into this webpage stuff, and continuing the deadhead sense of community via computer. For his part, he has created this page, includes his journal on a weekly basis (get the inside scoop!), posts interesting mail he receives and encourages us to correspond with anyone that has mailed him something that interests us, includes stuff he's currently writing and, oh, just -lots- of stuff. I encourage you to check it out. he wants us to survive as a community and is trying to help keep it going in a way that a writer can - using the internet and computers to keep us connected. Cool guy! (but we already knew that ;-) I guess he has resurrected the Official Grateful Dead homepage too...haven't looked though. Debess
520.19		MKOTS3::JOLLIMORE	quick beat of an icy heart	`Mon May 13 1996 14:35`	8
	anyone else following Hunter's Personal Journal?? Very interesting readin, imo. if those w/o web access want, i'll post it here. it's updated every 10 days. it's not very long. it's daily entries into a diary.
520.20	From the 5/19/96 entry...	NETRIX::dan	Dan Harrington	`Tue May 21 1996 12:29`	23
	> anyone else following Hunter's Personal Journal?? I've started to...it is fascinating, as are most of the on-line journals I've tripped across. An interesting message in the latest: My suss is that there's a lot more strength than dependence "out there." Sure, everybody misses the band and everybody knows it can't be replaced. I have a feeling we'll be parting ways with a lot of folks. That doesn't mean they're lightweights, they just know what they want and we're not it. Irreconcilable differences as they say. Those who elect to hang in there will be doing so more from a sense of community than from a yen for electrifying entertainment. Also, the following seems to answer Debess' earlier question: Another request: if folks would enter the Archive through the www.dead.net address, rather than bookmarking the Archive URL, it would demonstrate via the counter that a fair number of hits are taking place. Dan
520.21		EVMS::OCTOBR::DEBESS	Listen2theRiverSingSweetSongs	`Tue May 21 1996 13:21`	7
	somewhere in there this week - probably the mailbag - someone posted about seeing Billy K in Hawaii...playing with a band! It said that he looked pretty happy up there on stage :-) Debess
520.22		EVMS::OCTOBR::DEBESS	Listen2theRiverSingSweetSongs	`Tue May 21 1996 18:05`	24
	well, I just had a bit of coolness occur - while I was writing my last reply about chicken pox, I got an indication that I got some mail, so I popped over to another window to check it out - it was from Robert Hunter! when he first put up his homepage and inviting people to send him mail - I did. It was easy to put together a long letter cause I just copied some of the stuff I've put in here - in particular, I wrote to him about those spiritual communications that I've had with Jerry since he died, and asked him if he had anything like that happen to him. the next week my letter showed up in his mailbag but I never heard back from him. It turned out that the reply address was bogus and I never rec'd his reply. What a bummer! That was weeks ago. well, just now I got a message from him - he found his reply to me and sent it...and in it he says he -did- have a visit from Jer the night after he died...beyond that, I don't think I should post what he had to say to me since I don't have his permission... Debess
520.23		EVMS::OCTOBR::DEBESS	Lilac rain unbroken chain	`Mon Jun 03 1996 13:30`	27
	from Hunter's journal - what everyone's up to: 5/21 Bob and Mickey have agreed to do projects with Grateful Dead Productions. Phil is retiring from full time performing, but will appear on stage now and again for pleasure. Bill doesn't answer the phone but is known to sit in on sessions in Hawaii where he lives.Vince plays regularly in various groups, including his new MMF (Missing Man Formation). Rock writes books. Danny Rifkin co-ordinates Rx Foundation. Ramrod slings equipment for Mickey & Robbie stage manages. Parrish manages MMF and advises GD management as the band's rep. Alan manages Ice 9 and works on DeadNet.Latvala & Cutler mix continuously in the vault and Phil oversees the projects. Dennis is on the phone. Eileen is writing letters. That's about the disposition of the band and the old stage, sound and management crew.If I didn't mention someone, I don't know what they're up to. So far, no one's joined the religious right. [end of journal excerpt] now as far as Phil "retiring", and how permanent that will be, this quote from the article Jeff entered last week caught my eye: "I think there's a very good chance that we'll be playing together again," says Lesh. "But I think now that it's really time for everybody to manifest what they want to do as individuals."
520.24	cross-reference (sort of)	NETRIX::dan	Dan Harrington	`Mon Jun 03 1996 14:09`	17
	Hey Debess, I was just reading the latest journal entry and thought of you...a while back you mentioned getting e-mail from RH: > well, just now I got a message from him - he found his reply to > me and sent it...and in it he says he -did- have a visit from Jer > the night after he died...beyond that, I don't think I should post > what he had to say to me since I don't have his permission... And his latest (6/1/96) entry includes this: Then there's the PERSONAL mail which is, half the time, some of the best stuff I get and I can't print it! Have a heart folks. If it's gotta be personal, at least make it lousy. Bitch, bitch, bitch. I grinned...you got the good stuff! :-) Dan
520.25		MKOTS3::JOLLIMORE	quick beat of an icy heart	`Thu Jun 13 1996 09:56`	133
	New Journal entry 6/12 excerpts: 6/5 Interesting proposition from MTV yesterday.They want to use "Dark Star" in their "Sex in the 90's" series, part IX: "The Safest Sex of All." You guessed it. "The half hour special will involve a frank discussion about masturbation as a safe sexual alternative in the age of AIDS and teenage pregnancy." They want to use the full song. I wonder which version? Wouldn't leave much room for any other background music, would it? I'm of two minds about this. I must say, it wasn't what I had in mind when I penned the lyric, and I'm a wee bit concerned about the possibility of it becoming the National Anthem of Solo Sex. A ridiculous attitude, gainsaid. On the other hand, as they say, if you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem." 6/6 Went to the John Kahn gathering last night. Packed out. There was a good feeling of easy camaraderie. John was one of those guys everybody just naturally liked. An ace humorist. A book of photos of his art work was on the table. Just amazing. That guy could draw his ass off, though most were unaware of this side of his talent.He wasn't exactly a self-promoter. If I started listing who was there, I'd be at it all day, so I won't even start. A poem was passed around which really hit the nail on the head. I don't know who wrote it, it was just signed SR. Hello, this is John "Hello, this isn't that other schlemozzel- it's John. I don't know who that other guy is, so if he calls again, tell him to forget it." Affable & friendly & responsive Never not seriously funny John died this morning in his sleep. Linda was there. It really should have been that other schlemozzel, a mythical character John always riffed on when he wasn't riffing on the bass that gave form to his narrow body In a circle of bent Anglophiles John was the voice of pastrami, his L.A.skin pale against San Francisco like a color in one of his whimsical paintings. His Yiddish was comforting against the cackle of Garcia & company & Garcia thought so too. Kahn was his musical pal in a different world from the world of his other pals who thought their world was much better They may have been right... John and Jerry are both suddenly gone and a million other schlemozzels are running the world. SR 5/30/96 --------------------------------------------------------------------------- After reading SR's insightful piece, I felt moved to write this little ditty this morning: Song For John Kahn John Kahn He's gone John Kahn Movin' on We always ask which one of us Is next in line to go Every time some one of us Turns up six feet below We never guess exactly right We're never far from wrong I woke up the other night To hear John Kahn was gone I should have said "the other day" But hell, it wouldn't rhyme With "over where the angels play Somewhere outside of time" The sheriff came to check it out And bust John's wife for dope Turned his deathbed inside out And found a gram of coke Damn that deputy to Hell What more can you say? He threw her in a holding cell And carted John away John Kahn He's gone John Kahn Movin' on 6/11 Today is release day for "Mystery Box." Just talked to Mick on his car phone, he's heading into SF for the symphony gig rehearsal. He was pretty excited, said the record is walking out of the stores - immediate sell outs - number 1 programming addition on AAA radio stations. He said some magazine called 'Entertainment Weekly' raved it up, saying he'd done the impossible: World Beat Pop Music. "Unfortuately, they slammed you," he said, "called your words cosmic mumbo jumbo. But I guess you can handle that" I asured him I could. I'm a big boy. I can take it. Those I write for seem to dig it, and the others have the Top Ten to believe on. Oh, all right, it smarts a bit. Be a liar to deny it. Not to let that detract from the sense of pleasure that the group effort is making a mighty big first day splash. Just got a fax of the review. The cosmic mumbo jumbo is: "I don't spit in the beer of the devil / If the devil don't spit in mine." Then this yahoo describes "Down the Road Again" as "a sappy homage to deceased bohos from Jack Kerouack to Jerry Garcia." Deceased bohos such as: labor organizer Joe Hill, President John Kennedy and John Lennon? Where did Kerouac come from? Not that song. Well, I feel better now that I've seen the slight in context. The guy doesn't like the Grateful Dead and he doesn't like me. But he likes Mystery Box, and that's what counts!
520.26	interesting proposition indeed	WMOIS::LEBLANCC	All good things in all good time	`Thu Jun 13 1996 10:00`	3
	re masturbation and dark star i don't know about anyone else but i am more of a cryptical envelopment guy myself
520.27	:^)	NECSC::CRONIC::semi3.hlo.dec.com::notes	i believe in Chemo-Girl!!!	`Thu Jun 13 1996 10:04`	4
	he he he hehe he hehe... he said "envelopement"... da ve
520.28	Shall We Go, You And I While We Can	BINKLY::CEPARSKI	May Your Song Always Be Sung	`Thu Jun 13 1996 10:11`	4
	>>re masturbation and dark star so am i being stupid this morning or what - where's the connection here?
520.29		GRANPA::TDAVIS		`Thu Jun 13 1996 10:34`	1
	YEa.. I am also drawing a blank regarding the connection
520.30		MKOTS3::JOLLIMORE	quick beat of an icy heart	`Thu Jun 13 1996 10:46`	7
	it's obvious to me: eMptyTV!! ;-) ;-)
520.31		DELNI::DSMITH	Can you see the real me	`Thu Jun 13 1996 10:47`	6
	re - m & ds Hummm, maybe they know something we don't!!!!
520.32		SPECXN::BARNES		`Thu Jun 13 1996 10:58`	7
	i can think of some better songs for that , umm, topic...BIODTL comes to mind quickly...%^) I liked the poetry for Kahn...Hunter's one with the lines about throwing his wife in jail and carting poor john away...weird... rfb
520.33		STAR::64881::DEBESS	she lays on me this rose	`Thu Jun 13 1996 11:01`	8
	someone had posted to r.m.gd the day after JKahn died an newspaper article that said while the cops and emts were there trying to revive John, etc., the cops searched the bedroom and arrested his wife for possession of a gram of coke. nice.
520.34	sad	TOLKIN::OSTIGUY	Ripples never come back	`Thu Jun 13 1996 11:38`	5
	I think that police officers have a generally thankless job, and they do serve a good purpose, if they would stick to that purpose, instead of being power tripping ego-maniacs...Unbelievable...a guy is lying dead, and they bust his wife...heartless bstrds
520.35		TEPTAE::WESTERVELT		`Thu Jun 13 1996 11:40`	4
	Gee, I thought their purpose was to arrest people.
520.36	re-2	FABSIX::T_BEAULIEU	Like A steam Locomotive	`Thu Jun 13 1996 11:43`	8
	>> i can think of some better songs for that , umm, topic...BIODTL comes >> to mind quickly...%^) Good one I'll be laughing all day over this one! Toby
520.37	that should be re- rfb	FABSIX::T_BEAULIEU	Like A steam Locomotive	`Thu Jun 13 1996 11:44`	2

520.38		SPECXN::BARNES		`Thu Jun 13 1996 11:46`	6
	jeez and to think that for a minute I thought the pun patrol was off work today.... %^) rfb
520.39		UCXAXP::64034::GRADY	Squash that bug! (tm)	`Thu Jun 13 1996 11:58`	4
	rfb, BIODTL...;-) ;-) ;-) That's hilarious.
520.40		SPECXN::BARNES		`Thu Jun 13 1996 11:59`	2
	maybe some of ya'll with net access should send Hunter that suggestion????
520.41		AWECIM::HANNAN	Beyond description...	`Thu Jun 13 1996 12:07`	1
	They could start the show off with "Let It Grow" ;-)
520.42		JARETH::LARU		`Thu Jun 13 1996 12:13`	1
	closer: "It's all over now, baby blue"
520.43		SPECXN::BARNES		`Thu Jun 13 1996 12:15`	6
	I just went thru a whole sh*t load of song titles that could apply here...then I started thinking about the lyrics in those songs and said "naaaahhhhhhh" rfb
520.44	1 adam 12	WMOIS::LEBLANCC	All good things in all good time	`Thu Jun 13 1996 12:17`	1
	does this fall under jurisdiction of the local pun police precinct?
520.45	Get me outta here	BINKLY::CEPARSKI	May Your Song Always Be Sung	`Thu Jun 13 1996 13:52`	1
	I hate to say it - but what about Morning Dew? ;^)
520.46	ouch!	SMURF::HAPGOOD	Java Java HEY!	`Thu Jun 13 1996 14:11`	8
	Hand Jive is my personal favorite... ba dum! They could always rework the Who's "pictures of Lilly" And come to think of it, Hart looks like he's "Turning Japanese". I think so....
520.47		UCXAXP::64034::GRADY	Squash that bug! (tm)	`Fri Jun 14 1996 16:18`	4
	The Who's Squeeze Box comes to mind (no pun intended...ok, well maybe a little)..;-) tim
520.48		STAR::64881::DEBESS	she lays on me this rose	`Mon Jun 24 1996 11:45`	47
	a few excerpts from Hunter's journal: 6/22 My personal situation with Virgin-Atlantc resolved. They're going to pay the extra bread to put us on a British Airways flight tonight. All's well that ends well, and besides I have a story to tell. Still at home. With an interesting twist. No email to answer. Not more than half a dozen anyway. I actually had time for . . . anything I wanted! Haven't read a book, watched a tv program or seen a movie in four months! So what did I do? I spent a couple of hours breezing through rec.music.gdead on usenet. First time I checked it out since I started the Archive. Wanted to see what was happening on the tour. Most of the reports were good . About a quarter paid more attention to who wasn't there than who was. A major realization: what a small percentage of usenet readers see DeadNet. I'd just assumed that if you had a computer and read the newsgroups, you would also deploy the net, but obviusly that's not so. . . . As I read through messages, I was struck with how far the readers of this Archive have come in resolving their grief over Jerry's death. We've addressed it, talked it through as a group, provided support for one another. Of course, this is just a subjective estimation, but the usegroup seems further back in the process of resolving grief than we do. I tentatively estimate that the focused support we've given one another has not been unsuccessful. We seem to have moved on to a more affirmative stage. The love and sense of loss is still there, but the healing is proceeding beautifully. I felt very validated - the time spent at this Archive has been well spent. . . . One thing that is particularly disturbing in the usegroup is a tendency to scapegoat Bob Weir. In his own grief, Bob has made a few admittedly clumsy statements which the press has scooped up and which some sensitive folks have decided to put their own interpretations on. If they understood how intense Bob's grief was they'd cut him some slack and stop adding insult to injury. But the urge to strike out at someone visible is strong and they do it with glee and gusto. This mob mentality is stupid and hateful. They are mourning the death of a star to whom they felt very close. Bob is mourning the death of a companion and mentor. He wasn't a star to us. He was a complex individual who pissed us off as often as he delighted us. All I can say is: consider the difference and hold your peace. When it's done and over, a man is just a man.
520.49		SPECXN::BARNES		`Mon Jun 24 1996 12:07`	1
	very good stuff about Bobby there......
520.50	Dionysiac currents can have strong undertows...	NETRIX::dan	Dan Harrington	`Mon Jul 15 1996 14:24`	43
	The following quote from the mailbag jumped out at me: [letter from Charlie] Also, I was reading your journal entry from 6/15, where you address being referred to as a "psychedelic writer," and a few thoughts popped into my head. First thing I thought of was, "Well sure, Robert Hunter ain't no 'drug' writer, he's a folk poet." Then this prompted me to recall Nietzsche's statement in _The Birth of Tragedy_ that goes: "...every period which abounded in folk songs has, by the same token, been deeply stirred by Dionysiac currents. Those currents have long been considered the necessary substratum, or precondition, of folk poetry. But first of all we must regard folk song as a musical mirror of the cosmos, as primordial melody casting about for an analogue and finding that analogue eventually in poetry. [....] Melody gives birth to poetry again and again." I would say that "psychedelic" drugs are effective in bringing about this stirring of Dionysiac currents because that is their nature, to induce ecstasy. Although I wasn't there, it seems to me that the sudden dropping of millions upon millions of doses of LSD on the public during the 1960s caused a big unexpected stirring of Dionysiac currents. Anyway, that is part of what the Grateful Dead represents to me, a unique expression of folk poetry and song combined with occasional musical forays into the uncharted, chaotic & eternal realms of the Dionysiac. Hunter responds: Charlie, the Neitzche quote was on target. The Dionysian substance in the Appalachians was moonshine. I have to believe there's something more important in the urge to communicate experiences out of the ordinary than the penchant for telling fish stories. It always seemed critically important to get that stuff across so it could be expanded upon. I think it might be that if we learn how to speak about it, we're another step closer to inheriting what may be natural dimensions for us. On the other hand, it might be a red herring. But I have to go by my internal ruler, which is to say: if it feels right to say and the urge is strong to say it, well then SAY IT and damn the consequences.
520.51		STAR::64881::DEBESS	Nok'n on the Golden Door	`Mon Jul 22 1996 14:44`	143
	a few excerpts from Hunter's journal: 7/19 I have to smile when someone, with the best of intentions, tells me I'm as much a part of the band as any of the musicians. Ever hear of lost wax casting? The wax mold is melted away leaving only the casting. That is, I found through long experience, the proper stance for a writer of words in a musical situation. If you think of the writer when the singer is singing, something is wrong with the words. . Here's how I came, unwillingly, upon that realization - it took a couple of decades to resign myself to it. I rejoined the latest version of our long evolving band, now the Grateful Dead , right after the release of the first record, and subsequently wrote all the new lyric material other than "Operator" for the next three records and most of the next few. In most cases new songs originated from the lyric, with notable exceptions. I was listed on the backs of the record albums as a member of the band. One day we went out for a photoshoot for the cover of Workingman's Dead. That's me on the far left in an overcoat with a cigarette. A couple of days later we went for individual photoshoots at Kelly & Mouse's studio in the Bank of America building on the corner of Castro & Market. A few weeks later they presented us with the album mockup, due to be rushed into production. On the back were six pictures. Where, I objected, was mine? Seven didn't fit, Kelly told me, There was no way to balance seven frames on a square jacket. Since I didn't play an instrument, my picture was excluded. A victim of the square. I was quietly livid, but contained myself. Odd man out. All right, I decided. No more pictures, damn it. My ego was so bruised that I left my gold record at the awards party, rather than following the impulse to take it partway home and chuck it off the Golden Gate Bridge. I continued to be listed as a band member on the backs of several more releases. I did my work, but attended no more photosessions. And no interviews. I'd found my niche: the invisible member of the Grateful Dead. I'd play it that way. When Weir brought his school friend Barlow around to write for him, after we experienced difficulty working together, my name disappeared from the band credits - on who's say so I don't know, but I'm sure it wasn't Bob's doing. I think it was managerial. The thing was, we just couldn't be listing everybody, now that there were two lyricists. Feeling mightily excluded, I moved to England for awhile while they recorded Mars Hotel. During this time Grateful Dead Productions was formed and I wasn't included. Years of relative insolvancy sent me on the road with my guitar through the necessity of supporting myself. Three or four tours a year. Though my work output for the band didn't decrease, my invisibility grew. I'd become an independent contractor despite myself. Content follows form. I suppose I was strong headed and problematic to work with. Change a word of one of my songs and you had a fight on your hands. And I didn't like the directions the business was headed. Though quietly eased from "membership" I wasn't afraid to speak up - making myself somewhat challenging at times. I felt we should live the life we sang about. They had their notes, music and personas to stand behind. I had to stand behind what was said. The strands of interest diverged seemingly beyond hope of recall. After six years of no new studio recordings, I decided to accept what had befallen me and turn my attentions to being a full time writer.The band was basically unproductive as far as development of new material goes and I'd decided to stop plying them with sheaves of new material to choose from. If they wanted something, they could ask. The feeling that they were satisfied with what they already had was pervasive, not that it was ever said aloud. And I could no longer speak for 'us'. I was ready to work when requested, showed up to rehearsals with my yellow pad and ballpoint, and a few songs came out of those years, but the feeling of dismissal was strong. Personal problems became the main order of business. At the point where it looked like nothing more could come from the Grateful Dead, financial ruin impending, Touch of Gray suddenly pulled the fat out of the fire (or threw it in, depending on your viewpoint) and mega-popularity descended to mark "Paid" to everything. Paradoxically, Touch of Gray was an expression of the intense alienation I felt which drove me to move to England with every intention of separating from the band physically, if I could not quite make the jump mentally. That's why it brings a smile when I'm told that I was as much a part of the Dead as the musicians. from my journal of August 27, 1995: Garcia called August 4th, four days before his death. The call was a surprise because I knew he was in the midst of rehabilitation. I'll write down what he said three weeks ago, while his voice and words are fresh in my mind. Maureen brought me the wireless phone after speaking with Jerry for a minute. I heard her say "Well, you don't want to talk to me Jerry, I'll get Bob for you," to which he replied "I always want to talk to you, Maureen." RH: Hey, Bozo! JG: Hey Hunter, it's Garcia. I just got out of the Betty Ford Center! RH: How was Betty? JG: She was a great fuck, man! RH: Did they wean you off or what? JG: Naw, it's strictly cold turkey. They give you some pills to help you sleep and control the convulsions, but basically it's the shits. And the food - arrgh &shyp; it makes airplane food seem like gourmet dining. It's a good thing I wasn't hungry! I think the plan is to make you so miserable you don't ever want to go back. The only good thing was this old guy who watched the ward at night - he used to play with Django man! You shoulda heard his stories. I sat up all night talking with him a couple times, I couldn't sleep anyway, and it was incredible! I'll tell you about it later. What you been up to? RH: I've been writing my memoirs. JG: Aren't you a little young for that? RH: I want to get it down before I'm senile. It's mostly about my life in the early sixties, that crowd I hung around with while I was speedfreaking. I don't think I'll publish it, I'm just trying to figure out what happened. JG: Oh yeah? How do you go about it? RH: I sketch what I can remember, then keep coming back and filling in the holes. It all comes back eventually. JG: Far out &shyp; I'm writing a book too, about my childhood memories. I've never tried writing seriously before and it's a gas. RH: How are you doing it, stream of consciousness? JG: No, I lay on the bed and go through an incident, just kinda relive it, until I get the whole thing in my head, just the way I want it, then I get up and transcribe it. I got about fifty pages now. RH: That's great if you can do it. Most of my details come in the act of writing. It keeps me focused &shyp; my mind wanders if I try to think without actually writing. What kind of stuff are you getting down? JG: I got this one part I'm really happy with. I was about five and this drunk picks me up and throws me in the swimming pool. I don't remember the circumstances too well &shyp; I know my dad punched the bastard, but that's not what it's about...what I remember clearly was the sensation of sinking in the water, the interesting way things looked as I was going down ... I didn't have any thought of drowning, it never crossed my mind &shyp; I didn't struggle or anything, there was just this real sweet sensation and the light kept getting brighter and brighter &shyp; anyway, you can read all about it in my book! What I called about was I'm feeling real creative and I'm hot to get writing. I got to thinking about all the stuff we've done while I was at Betty Ford &shyp; I don't seem to be able to get to it without you - somehow when we get together the ideas seem to start coming. You know, I've been singing some of those songs for over twenty five years, and they never once stuck in my throat, I always felt like they were saying what I wanted to be saying &shyp; it's like they're...it's like they're ... RH: Real songs? JG: Yeah, that's it! Real songs! And besides, I miss you, man. RH: Hey, don't get sentimental on me ... get your ass over here and let's start crankin'. JG: All Right! I'd come over now but I think the wifey has some plans for the weekend. RH: What's a couple more days? We got forever &shyp; get home first and come on over when you find a window. JG: I will &shyp; probably about the middle of the week. I've even got a few ideas! RH: Hey man, good to have you back. JG: What can I say? It's good to be back. See ya real soon. RH: OK! Bye now. JG: Bye.
520.52		STAR::64881::DEBESS	Nok'n on the Golden Door	`Mon Jul 22 1996 14:51`	61
	a couple letters from Hunter's Mailbag: THE MAILBAG 7.21.96 [Tom writes long letter, which in part says the "magic" is missing from Furthur, and Hunter replies:] Tom, good to hear from you again. The magic was that we were us, not some pickup band composed of good parts but no evolved "group" identity, such as can experience loyalty through thick and thin and all that good stuff. The fact that it was "us" was the magic which the music only reflected. As bits of us died and were replaced, there was less of that, but still enough to get by on considering that you all had become a part of "us" too. Now the band is "them." Some great parts of other bands, some great songs. But a band must go through a lot together, stay together a long time, make sacrifices and collect rewards together, for the spectrum of magic to form. This is not often done. What we had was a natural phenomenon. It cannot be manufactured. It may or may not happen again in our time. And over and above all that, you and your friends are all tuned into the sound of Jerry missing. You're hearing the sound of one hand clapping. Would you do that to a bar band? Try it. Go hear somebody good playing and imagine Jerry missing from the mix. Good practice for getting used to it. The rest of the members will rise or fall in their individual formations depending on the love and time they devote to it. Don't count anybody out just yet. From: [email protected] (Gregory Holtz) I read your words and my stomach flips, my heart aches, and I yearn for days gone by. Thoughts and feelings as communicated through Grateful Deadness told me how to be, where to go, and why for many years, and sometimes I find myself alone with fading memories wondering how to keep it together and get ahead......I have a certain stabilizing peace when I read your journals and reflections on the web, and you bring to me a part of something that was surely lost forever. My sadness still runs deep when I listen to Jerry sing and play those mournful sounds, Stella Blue, So Many Roads...........I needed the Grateful Dead when I found it, and I will always love all of you who helped make it a reality. i don't want to drag around what is gone already, but my soul will not allow me to leave behind what has left this world. Happy travels to you and yours, and I hope make it furthur with all who care........ Peace Greg Holtz Greg, listening to Miles Davis the other night, I realized I hardly thought of him as dead and gone anymore. I was able to listen past that and get back to what it is: the music, the true tone, the predictible/unpredictible phrasing. The live horn calling out from amongst the arranged trumpets. We're coming up on the first anniversary of Jerry's death and I feel it will be (and is) a solemn time for most of us. But one day, sometime, if not soon, the music will break free of the funereal trappings our knowledge imposes on it and communicate its joy without the deep shades of sorrow we now hear overlaid. It works that way with people we have loved and who are parted from us. It's that way with music too.
520.53		GRANPA::TDAVIS		`Mon Jul 22 1996 17:00`	1
	Good stuff, please keep posting...
520.54		TEPTAE::WESTERVELT		`Tue Aug 06 1996 15:03`	402
	A letter from Robert Hunter to JJG off the www, provided courtesy of ChrisFields. Pretty interesting esp in light of the 33.* string Tom -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dear JG, it's been a year since you shuffled off the mortal coil and a lot has happened. It might surprise you to know you made every front page in the world. The press is still having fun, mostly over lawsuits challenging your somewhat ...umm... patchwork Last Will and Testament. Annabelle didn't get the EC horror comic collection, which I think would piss you off as much as anything. Nor could Dough Irwin accept the legacy of the guitars he built for you because the tax-assessment on them, icon-enriched as they are, is more than he can afford short of selling them off. The upside of the craziness is: your image is selling briskly enough that your estate should manage something to keep various wolves from various familial doors, even after the lawyers are paid. How it's to be divided will probably fall in the hands of the judge. An expert on celebrity wills said in the news that yours was a blueprint on how not to make a will. The band decided to call it quits. I think it's a move that had to be made. You weren't exactly a sideman. But nothing's for certain. Some need at least the pretense of retirement after all these years. Can they sustain it? We'll see. I'm writing this from England, by the way. Much clarity of perspective to be had from stepping out of the scene for a couple of months. What isn't so clear is my own role, but it's really no more problematic than it has been for the last decade. As long as I get words on paper and can lead myself to believe it's not bullshit, I'm roughly content. I'm not exactly Mr. Business. I decided to get a personal archive together to stick on that stagnating computer site we had. Really started pouring the mustard on. I'm writing, for crying out loud, my diary on it! Besides running my ego full tilt (what's new?) I'm trying to give folks some skinny on what's going down. I don't mean I'm busting the usual suspects left and right, but am giving a somewhat less than cautious overview and soapboxing more than a little. They appointed me webmaster, and I hope they don't regret it. There are those in the entourage who quietly believe we're washed up without you. Even should time and circumstance prove it to be so, we need to believe otherwise long enough to get some self sustaining operations going, or we'll never know for sure. It's matter of self respect. Maybe it's a long shot, but this whole fucking trip was a longshot from the start, so what else is new? Your funeral service was one hell of a scene. Maureen and I took Barbara and Sara in and sat with them. MG waited over at our place. Manasha and Keelan were also absent. None by choice. Everybody from the band said some words and Steve, especially, did you proud, speaking with great love and candor. Annabelle got up and said you were a genius, a great guy, a wonderful friend, and a shitty father - which shocked part of the contingent and amused the rest. After awhile the minister said that that was enough talking, but I called out, from the back of the church, "Wait, I've got something!" and charged up the aisle and read this piece I wrote for you, my voice and hands shaking like a leaf. Man, it was weird looking over and seeing you dead! A slew of books have come out about you and more to follow. Perspective is lacking. It's way too soon. You'd be amazed at the number of people with whom you've had a nodding acquaintance who are suddenly experts on your psychology and motivations. Your music still speaks louder than all the BS: who you were, not the messes you got yourself into. Only a very great star is afforded that much inspection and that much forgiveness. There was so much confusion on who should be allowed to attend the scattering of your ashes that they sat around for four months. It was way too weird for this cowboy who was neither invited nor desirous of going. I said good-bye with my poem at the funeral service. It was cathartic and I didn't need an anti-climax. A surreal sidelight: Weir went to India and scattered a handful of your ashes in the Ganges as a token of your worldwide stature. He took a lot of flak from the fans for it, which must have hurt. A bunch of them decided to scapegoat him, presumably needing someplace to misdirect their anger over the loss of you. In retrospect, I think Weir was hardest hit of the old crowd by your death. I take these things in my stride, though I admit to a rough patch here and there. But Bob took it right on the chin. Shock was written all over his face for a long time, for any with eyes to see. Some of the guys have got bands together and are doing a tour. The fans complain it's not the same without you, and of course it isn't, but a reasonable number show up and have a pretty good time. The insane crush of the latter day GD shows is gone and that's all for the best. From the show I saw, and reports on the rest, the crowd is discovering that the sense of community is still present, matured through mutual grief over losing you. This will evolve in more joyous directions over time, but no one's looking to fill your shoes. No one has the presumption. Been remembering some of the key talks we had in the old days, trying to suss what kind of a tiger we were riding, where it was going, and how to direct it, if possible. Driving to the city once, you admitted you didn't have a clue what to do beyond composing and playing the best you could. I agreed - put the weight on the music, stay out of politics, and everything else should follow. I trusted your musical sense and you were good enough to trust my words. Trust was the whole enchilada, looking back. Walking down Madrone Canyon in Larkspur in 1969, you said some pretty mindblowing stuff, how we were creating a universe and I was responsible for the verbal half of it. I said maybe, but it was your way with music and a guitar that was pulling it off. You said "That's for now. This is your time in the shadow, but it won't always be that way. I'm not going to live a long time, it's not in the cards. Then it'll be your turn." I may be alive and kicking, but no pencil pusher is going to inherit the stratosphere that so gladly opened to you. Recalling your statement, though, often helped keep me oriented as my own star murked below the horizon while you streaked across the sky of our generation like a goddamned comet! Though my will to achieve great things is moderated by seeing what comes of them, I've assigned myself the task of trying to honor the original vision. I'm not answerable to anybody but my conscience, which, if less than spotless, doesn't keep me awake at night. Maybe it's best, personally speaking, that the power to make contracts and deal the remains of what was built through the decades rests in other hands. I wave the flag and rock the boat from time to time, since I believe much depends on it, but will accept the outcome with equanimity. Just thought it should be said that I no longer hold your years of self inflicted decline against you. I did for awhile, felt ripped off, but have come to understand that you were troubled and compromised by your position in the public eye far beyond anyone's powers to deal with. Star shit. Who can you really trust? Is it you or your image they love? No one can understand those dilemmas in depth except those who have no choice but to live them. You whistled up the whirlwind and it blew you away. Your substance of choice made you more malleable to forces you would have brushed off with a characteristic sneer in earlier days. Well, you know it to be so. Let those who pick your bones note that it was not always so. So here I am, writing a letter to a dead man, because it's hard to find a context to say things like this other than to imagine I have your ear, which of course I don't. Only to say that what you were is more startlingly apparent in your absence than ever it was in the last decade. I remember sitting in the waiting room of the hospital through the days of your first coma. Not being related, I wasn't allowed into the intensive care unit to see you until you came to and requested to see me. And there you were - more open and vulnerable than I'd ever seen you. You grasped my hand and began telling me your visions, the crazy densely packed phantasmagoria way beyond any acid trip, the demons and mechanical monsters that taunted and derided, telling you endless bad jokes and making horrible puns of everything - and then you asked, point blank, "Have I gone insane?" I said "No, you've been very sick. You've been in a coma for days, right at death's door. They're only hallucinations, they'll go away. You survived." "Thanks," you said. "I needed to hear that." Your biographers aren't pleased that I don't talk to them, but how am I to say stuff like this to an interviewer with an agenda? I sometimes report things that occur to me about you in my journal, as the moment releases it, in my own way, in my own time, and they can take what they want of that. Obviously, faith in the underlying vision which spawned the Grateful Dead might be hard to muster for those who weren't part of the all night rap sessions circa 1960-61 ... sessions that picked up the next morning at Kepler's bookstore then headed over to the Stanford cellar or St. Mike's to continue over coffee and guitars. There were no hippies in those days and the beats had bellied up. There was only us vs. 50's consciousness. There no jobs to be had if we wanted them. Just folk music and tremendous dreams. Yeah, we dreamed our way here. I trust it. So did you. Not so long ago we wrote a song about all that, and you sang it like a prayer. The Days Between. Last song we ever wrote. Context is lost, even now. The sixties were a long time ago and getting longer. A cartoon version of our times satisfies public perception. Our continuity is misunderstood as some sort of strange persistence of an outmoded style. Beads, bell bottoms and peace signs. But no amount of pop cynicism can erase the suspicion, in the minds of the present generation, that something was going on once that was better than what's going on now. And I sense that they're digging for "what it is" and only need the proper catalyst to find it for themselves. Your guitar is like a compass needle pointing the strange way there. I'm wandering far afield from the intention of this letter, a year's report, but this year wasn't made up only of events following your death in some roughly chronological manner. It reached down to the roots of everything, shook the earth off, and inspected them. The only constant is the fact that you remain silent. Various dances are done around that fact. Don't misconstrue me, I don't waste much time in grief. Insofar as you were able, you were an exponent of a dream in the continual act of being defined into a reality. You had a massive personality and talent to present it to the world. That dream is the crux of the matter, and somehow concerns beauty, consciousness and community. We were, and are, worthy insofar as we serve it. When that dream is dead, there'll be time enough for true and endless grief. John Kahn died in May, same day Leary did. Linda called 911 and they came over and searched the house, found a tiny bit of coke and carted her off to jail in shock. If the devil himself isn't active in this world, there's sure something every bit as mean: institutional righteousness without an iota of fellow feeling. But, as I figure, that's the very reason the dream is so important - it's whatever is the diametric opposite of that. Human kindness. Trust me that I don't walk around saying "this was what Jerry would have wanted" to drive my points home. What you wanted is a secret known but to yourself. You said 'yes' to what sounded like a good idea at the time, 'no' to what sounded like a bad one. I see more of what leadership is about, in the absence of it. It's an instinct for good ideas. An aversion to bad ones. Compromise on indifferent ones. Power is another matter. Power is not leadership but coercion. People follow leaders because they want to. I know you were often sick and tired of the conflicting demands made on you by contentious forces you invited into your life and couldn't as easily dismiss. You once said to me, in 1960, "just say yes to everybody and do what you damn well want." Maybe, but when every 'yes' becomes an IOU payable in full, who's coffer is big enough to pay up? "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke!" would be a characteristic reply. Unfortunately, you're not around to explain what was a joke and what wasn't. It all boils down to signed pieces of paper with no punch lines appended. I know what I'm saying in this letter can be taken a hundred ways. As always, I just say what occurs to me to say and can't say what doesn't. Could I write a book about you? No. Didn't know you well enough. Let those who knew you even less write them. You were canny enough to keep your own self to yourself and let your fingers do the talking. Speaking of 'personal matters' was never your shtick. Our friendship was testy. I challenged you rather more than you liked, having a caustic tongue. In later years you preferred the company of those capable of keeping it light and non-judgmental. I think it must always be that way with prominent and powerfully gifted persons. I don't say that, for the most part, your inner circle weren't good and true. They'd have laid down their lives for you. I'd have had to think about it. I mean, a star is a star is a star. There's no reality check. If the truth were known, you were too well loved for your own good, but that smacks of psychologizing and I drop the subject forthwith All our songs are acquiring new meanings. I don't deny writing with an eye to the future at times, but our mutual folk, blues and country background gave us a mutual liking for songs that dealt with sorrow and the dark issues of life. Neither of us gave a fuck for candy coated shit, psychedelic or otherwise. I never even thought of us as a "pop band." You had to say to me one day, after I'd handed over the Eagle Mall suite, "Look, Hunter - we're a goddamn dance band, for Christ's sake! At least write something with a beat!" Okay. I handed over Truckin' next. How was I to know? I thought we were silver and gold; something new on this Earth. But the next time I tried to slip you the heavy stuff, you actually went for it. Seems like you'd had the vision of the music about the same time I had the vision of the words, independently. Terrapin. Shame about the record, but the concert piece, the first night it was played, took me about as close as I ever expect to get to feeling certain we were doing what we were put here to do. One of my few regrets is that you never wanted to finish it, though you approved of the final version I eked out many years later. You said, apologetically, "I love it, but I'll never get the time to do it justice." I realized that was true. Time was the one thing you never had in the last decade and a half. Supporting the Grateful Dead plus your own trip took all there was of that. The rest was crashing time. Besides, as you once said, "I'd rather toss cards in a hat than compose." But man, when you finally got down on it, you sure knew how. The pressure of making regular records was a creative spur for a long time, but poor sales put the economic weight on live concerts where new material wasn't really required, so my role in the group waned. A difficult time for me, being at my absolute peak and all. I had to go on the road myself to make a living. It was good for me. I developed a sense of self direction that didn't depend on the Dead at all. This served well for the songs we were still to write together. You sure weren't interested in flooding the market. You knew one decent song was worth a dozen cobbled together pieces of shit, saved only by arrangement. I guess we have a few of those too, but the percentage is respectably low. Pop songs come and go, blossom and wither, but we scored a piece of Americana, my friend. Sooner or later, they'll notice what we did doesn't die the way we do. I've always believed that and so did you. Once in awhile we'd even call each other "Mister" and exchange congratulations. Other people are starting to record those songs now, and they stand on their own. For some reason it seems worthwhile to maintain the Grateful Dead structures: Rex, the website, GDP, the deadhead office, the studio ... even with the band out of commission. I don't know if this is some sort of denial that the game is finished, or if the intuitive impulse is a sound one. I feel it's better to have it than not, just in case, because once it's gone there's no bringing it back. The forces will disperse and settle elsewhere. A business that can't support itself is, of course, no business at all, just a locus of dissension, so the reality factor will rule. Diminished as we are without you, there is still some of the quick, bright spirit around. I mean, you wouldn't have thrown in your lot with a bunch of belly floppers, would you? Let me see - is there anything I've missed? Plenty, but this seems like a pretty fat report. You've been gone a year now and the boat is still afloat. Can we make it another year? What forms will it assume? It's all kind of exciting. They say a thousand years are only a twinkle in God's eye. Is that so? Missing you in a longtime way. rh
520.55		MKOTS3::JOLLIMORE	Always a hoot!	`Tue Aug 06 1996 15:49`	16
	Wow. there's so much to that letter. >Not so long ago we wrote a song >about all that, and you sang it like a prayer. The >Days Between. Last song we ever wrote. I've been obsessed with this song lately. I've thought of writing to Hunter to ask him what he remembers of writing it. He did sing it like a prayer, too. :-( '
520.56	vultures	WMOIS::LEBLANCC	All good things in all good time	`Tue Aug 06 1996 15:55`	8
	speaking of parasites with the will i heard on the radio yesterday that a former girlfriend of jerry's no wants a piece of the pie... after he reportedly broke off an engagement..he "promised" her 3 thousand a week or some such absurdity..... too bad all these espousers of hippie idealisms/hangers on of the band have come clean as nothing more than losers looking for a free ride
520.57		TEPTAE::WESTERVELT		`Tue Aug 06 1996 16:02`	6
	> too bad all these espousers of hippie idealisms/hangers on of the band > have come clean as nothing more than losers looking for a free ride Probably part of the process.. Tom
520.58	Days Between	DELNI::DSMITH	Can you see the real me	`Tue Aug 06 1996 16:57`	26
	I got this note from Hunter in response to me asking about what are the Days Between. His reference to "performances" was in response to me asking about his future plans. I Wouldn't be surprised if if you see Hunter on the road soon. >From: US1RMC::"[email protected]" >To: delni::dsmith >CC: >Subj: 6/16 > >Deane, > >Not anticipating an performances in the near future. > >Nothing leads me to put together songs. They come or they don't. "Days >Between" is about a thousand things. The days between our beginnings >and our >ends. > >rh
520.59	question from DC-mon .....	MKOTS3::JOLLIMORE	Always a hoot!	`Wed Aug 07 1996 14:57`	13
	thanks, deanne-o. > But the next time I tried to slip you the heavy >stuff, you actually went for it. Seems like you'd had >the vision of the music about the same time I had >the vision of the words, independently. Terrapin. >Shame about the record, but the concert piece, the >first night it was played, took me about as close as >I ever expect to get to feeling certain we were >doing what we were put here to do. anyone know the first-time-played date for Terrapin?
520.60	?	WMOIS::LEBLANCC	All good things in all good time	`Wed Aug 07 1996 15:07`	4
	From memory 2/26/77 san bernadino?
520.61	re: .60	NECSC::LEVY	Half-Step Mississippi Uptown Toodleoo	`Wed Aug 07 1996 15:23`	1
	Correct!
520.62		MKOTS3::JOLLIMORE	Always a hoot!	`Wed Aug 07 1996 15:48`	7
	whoa!? you still got brain cells, leblanc? ;-) tanks to da boat of u.
520.63		HELIX::CLARK		`Wed Aug 07 1996 15:49`	7
	> Correct! Yeah, also the first-played date for Estimated Prophet. Also the show that has been slipping fastest from tapers' 20-best lists (Deadbase IX). Expect Hunter's comments will make folks take another listen...? I do. - JayC.
520.64	AHHHHHH no jay...none	WMOIS::LEBLANCC	All good things in all good time	`Wed Aug 07 1996 15:51`	1
	can someone tell me what i had for dinner last night?
520.65	Journal 8.20.96	NETRIX::dan	Dan Harrington	`Tue Aug 27 1996 11:01`	49
	8/10 When I was younger I fought mightily to keep from being entirely subsumed in something so large it threatened to chew me up and spit out the remains of my digested husk. Out of that continuous battle came a sometimes canny manual of survival. Personal survival. It was survival in the belly of a beast I helped to empower by my very struggling to survive within it. The thing most necessary to survive was a very defined sense of personal identity, since the identity of this monster already, and for all time, wore faces other than mine. That being the case, it seemed canny to go faceless. My identity would need to be defined by the way I thought and felt about fighting for that identity. Each time I succeeded in a skirmish, the beast would appropriate all my latest ruses and protective colorations. My methods of coping would become its own apparent stratagems. So I needed to find continuously new approaches. Somewhere, too far along the line to turn back and choose another life for myself, the beast decided it had all it needed of me and could proceed on its own. It wanted surrender, not attitude. My strategy was to withdraw and let it rage as it would with its accumulated momentum while I tried to fashion an entirely separate identity, only to find that the sole value the world would concede to me was in terms of the beast. This realization made me more determined yet to do what seemed right for me to do, regardless of consequence. There is much reference to this stance in my manual. Oddly enough, the beast could also accommodate and thrive on this stance. There was no direction I could take, it seemed, that the beast couldn't appropriate. My struggle was partially to keep myself from believing that I was irrevocably part and parcel of the beast. After all, it was mythological and I was a human being. The beast began to speak with other voices. Once thoroughly established, it could do what it wanted. Its followers were largely accepting: whatever the beast said currently was as worthy as anything the beast had spoken before. It was the beast, how could it be otherwise? This being the case, my work became devalued in my own eyes since my strategy had been faulty from the start - and strategy was the essence of my creations. People would say to me "Your words are strangely resonant but we can't really figure out what a lot of them mean." No. They record my personal strategies of engaging, or trying to disengage, the beast. They are fraught with it. Were one to engage such a beast in a struggle to the death, they would be even more meaningful but I had no such intent. So why do I honor the stricken beast and encourage others to do so? It was a sad thing, even tragic looked at up close, but it was the incarnate hope of a better world gone awry - OUR hope. My hope. Yours, perhaps. I honor the impulse. I honor the faith placed in it, often pure in its essence, and I honor the grief at the inevitable outcome. I honor youth and its endless strategies for preserving identity.
520.66	Journal 9/1/96	NETRIX::dan	Dan Harrington	`Thu Sep 12 1996 14:27`	57
	What moves me to write in the journal today is the notion that I have at least half a dozen major points I keep trying to examine, define or drive home in the last half year's spate of writing. I thought it might be interesting to isolate them, if only for my own amusement. First and foremost, I operate under the assumption that clear communication of ongoing situational difficulties will dispel rumor and misunderstanding. If you don't read something, at least a clue, about it here, it's probably a lie or wishful thinking. Secondly, I think that communication is good in and of itself, utterly apart from the information and problem solving aspects of the page. We've all had a rough year and need a place to talk sensibly and philosophically about who we are, where we're going, and how we propose to get there. By "us" I include all who read and/or interact with the process, whether responding verbally or not. I get enough letters saying "I've been following the dialogue since the beginning and just finally felt I'd like to say something . . ." to understand that there's a deeper breadth of interest in what's going on here than is immediately apparent. Takes time to twig on to that one. Thirdly, I just enjoy riffing on the internet for its own sake, indulging in spontaneous writing and encouraging others to do the same. Fourthly, and connected with thirdly, I think -no, I know - that this is a new form which the net makes possible and I enjoy the feeling of being among the first to delve in depth into what can be done with it. It requires a lot of self revelation to keep the ball rolling, but it gets easier and easier as response shows that it does cut through and things are, by and large, taken as I intend them. I'd like nothing better than to see others take up the challenge of developing a new kind of network, a humanistic approach to engaging our (dare I say) digital heritage. Some argue that the internet, by its very nature, is the natural tool of postmodern expression. Well, yes, but that doesn't preclude its use as a forum for more traditional human concerns such as: who are we, what are we, where did we come from and where are we going? Or "What is possible and what should be done about it?" The point is not just to ask the questions, but to provide the answers out of our own experience and desires. Fifthly, to learn and grow with developing technology through direct application and thus create a supply/demand situation of our own for the suppliers to consider. Sixth, to beat our own drums and toot our own horns and generally be jolly as befits the outrageous and life affirming lunatic fringe we joy to be part of. Seventh, to thumb our noses at censorship attempts by political and religious organizations who feel they have a right to constrict our own good sense of what's decent and proper to say in a public fashion - stopping short, I must add, at springing on an unsuspecting audience what any right thinking person knows to be criminal, violence provoking and/or ultimately debasing. My suss is that true obscenity is a problem we will always have with us, like air pollution and planned obsolescence, and that certain groups will always use this fact as a lever to obstruct liberal ideals.
520.67	One more tidbit...	NETRIX::dan	Dan Harrington	`Thu Sep 12 1996 14:30`	10
	One more tiny snippet from a particularly rich entry...the final paragraph was accompanied by a photograph of a London streetscape: "Most incredible brilliant yellow sky I've ever seen over London last night. Took some pictures but my little camera can hardly do it justice. The sun was probably blue, don't know, it had already sunk beneath the city horizon. Thanks England! " Dan
520.68	the end of GDP	STAR::64881::DEBESS	full of cloudy dreams unreal	`Mon Sep 16 1996 10:37`	78
520.69		SPECXN::BARNES		`Mon Sep 16 1996 11:49`	6
520.70		STAR::64881::DEBESS	full of cloudy dreams unreal	`Mon Sep 16 1996 12:39`	68
520.71		WMOIS::LEBLANCC	All good things in all good time	`Mon Sep 16 1996 12:45`	5
520.72		SPECXN::BARNES		`Mon Sep 16 1996 12:56`	1
520.73	what I see	STAR::64881::DEBESS	full of cloudy dreams unreal	`Mon Sep 16 1996 15:06`	3
520.74		SPECXN::BARNES		`Mon Sep 16 1996 16:57`	1
520.75		MKOTS3::JOLLIMORE	Always a hoot!	`Tue Sep 17 1996 09:23`	34
520.76		EVMS::OCTOBR::DEBESS	seeking all thats stil unsung	`Thu Oct 03 1996 11:28`	46
520.77	WWW status (for Dorothy :-)	NETRIX::dan	Dan Harrington	`Wed Oct 09 1996 11:06`	17
520.78	Thanks :-)	POWDML::PHILBRICK		`Wed Oct 09 1996 12:47`	2
520.81		EVMS::OCTOBR::DEBESS	seeking all thats stil unsung	`Mon Nov 18 1996 10:35`	80
520.82		EVMS::OCTOBR::DEBESS	seeking all thats stil unsung	`Mon Dec 02 1996 16:20`	24
520.83		EVMS::OCTOBR::DEBESS	seeking all thats stil unsung	`Wed Dec 18 1996 10:10`	136
520.84		DELNI::DSMITH	In a minute I'll be free	`Wed Dec 18 1996 11:04`	4
520.85		HELIX::CLARK		`Wed Dec 18 1996 11:31`	5
520.86		CRONIC::sms53.hlo.dec.com::notes	i believe in Chemo-Girl!!!	`Wed Dec 18 1996 12:41`	6
520.87		SMURF::HAPGOOD	Java Java HEY!	`Wed Dec 18 1996 12:44`	6
520.88		SMURF::HAPGOOD	Java Java HEY!	`Wed Dec 18 1996 12:46`	9
520.89	When The hunter Gets Captured...	BINKLY::CEPARSKI	May Your Song Always Be Sung	`Wed Dec 18 1996 14:36`	3
520.90	Maybe he could open for a Spring MMF shows	SMURF::HAPGOOD	Java Java HEY!	`Wed Dec 18 1996 16:50`	13
520.91		EVMS::OCTOBR::DEBESS	seeking all thats stil unsung	`Thu Jan 02 1997 12:32`	145
520.92		SPECXN::BARNES		`Thu Jan 02 1997 13:11`	8
520.93		CRONIC::sms53.hlo.dec.com::notes	i believe in Chemo-Girl!!!	`Thu Jan 02 1997 13:19`	15
520.94	Money - It's a hit	DELNI::DSMITH	In a minute I'll be free	`Thu Jan 02 1997 13:32`	10
520.95		GRANPA::TDAVIS		`Thu Jan 02 1997 13:36`	1
520.96		AWECIM::HANNAN	Beyond description...	`Thu Jan 02 1997 14:01`	11
520.97	I don't get it....	SPECXN::BARNES		`Thu Jan 02 1997 14:17`	8
520.98		EVMS::OCTOBR::DEBESS	seeking all thats stil unsung	`Thu Jan 02 1997 14:28`	10
520.99		SPECXN::BARNES		`Thu Jan 02 1997 14:33`	4
520.100		CRONIC::sms53.hlo.dec.com::notes	i believe in Chemo-Girl!!!	`Thu Jan 02 1997 15:19`	19
520.101		CRONIC::sms53.hlo.dec.com::notes	i believe in Chemo-Girl!!!	`Thu Jan 02 1997 15:24`	23
520.102	didn't even bury him to his own wishes... :^(	CRONIC::sms53.hlo.dec.com::notes	i believe in Chemo-Girl!!!	`Thu Jan 02 1997 15:28`	11
520.103	Deborah LOON Garcia	WMOIS::LEBLANCC	All good things in all good time	`Thu Jan 02 1997 15:28`	1
520.104		STAR::EVANS		`Fri Jan 03 1997 10:12`	7
520.105		SPECXN::BARNES		`Fri Jan 03 1997 10:25`	4
520.106		GRANPA::TDAVIS		`Fri Jan 03 1997 10:32`	1
520.107		CRONIC::sms53.hlo.dec.com::notes	i believe in Chemo-Girl!!!	`Fri Jan 03 1997 10:50`	21
520.108	just my 2 cents worth...	SMURF::PETERT	rigidly defined areas of doubt and uncertainty	`Fri Jan 03 1997 11:57`	17
520.109		NETCAD::SIEGEL	The revolution wil not be televised	`Fri Jan 03 1997 12:48`	28
520.110		GRANPA::TDAVIS		`Fri Jan 03 1997 13:08`	6
520.111		CRONIC::sms53.hlo.dec.com::notes	i believe in Chemo-Girl!!!	`Fri Jan 03 1997 13:14`	6
520.112	in a nutshell...	JARETH::LARU	au contraire...	`Fri Jan 03 1997 13:16`	3
520.113		NAC::TRAMP::GRADY	Squash that bug! (tm)	`Fri Jan 03 1997 13:19`	10
520.114		SPECXN::BARNES		`Fri Jan 03 1997 13:21`	6
520.115		STAR::EVANS		`Fri Jan 03 1997 13:36`	4
520.116		SPECXN::BARNES		`Fri Jan 03 1997 13:38`	7
520.117	another benefit to purposeful poverty... :^)	CRONIC::sms53.hlo.dec.com::notes	i believe in Chemo-Girl!!!	`Fri Jan 03 1997 13:52`	8
520.118		GRANPA::TDAVIS		`Fri Jan 03 1997 14:20`	5
520.119	Ok Deano,I'll will ya the NOVA! :-)	LJSRV2::JC	I'm the Pox Mon, yeeeah the Pox Mon	`Fri Jan 03 1997 16:41`	5
520.120		STAR::EVANS		`Fri Jan 03 1997 17:36`	5
520.121		SPECXN::BARNES		`Tue Jan 07 1997 11:00`	15
520.122		EVMS::OCTOBR::DEBESS	seeking all thats stil unsung	`Tue Jan 07 1997 11:21`	17
520.123		SPECXN::BARNES		`Tue Jan 07 1997 12:24`	6
520.124		SMURF::HAPGOOD	Java Java HEY!	`Tue Jan 07 1997 12:33`	14
520.125		NETCAD::SIEGEL	The revolution wil not be televised	`Tue Jan 07 1997 14:48`	8
520.126		DELNI::DSMITH	In a minute I'll be free	`Tue Jan 07 1997 15:13`	7
520.127		JARETH::LARU	au contraire...	`Tue Jan 07 1997 15:22`	6
520.128		EVMS::OCTOBR::DEBESS	seeking all thats stil unsung	`Tue Jan 07 1997 15:33`	3
520.129	:-)	JARETH::LARU	au contraire...	`Tue Jan 07 1997 16:58`	11
520.130		EVMS::OCTOBR::DEBESS	seeking all thats stil unsung	`Fri Jan 17 1997 09:56`	101
520.131		CRONIC::sms53.hlo.dec.com::notes	i believe in Chemo-Girl!!!	`Fri Jan 17 1997 10:26`	6
520.132	?\	WMOIS::LEBLANCC	All good things in all good time	`Fri Jan 17 1997 10:36`	5
520.133		BINKLY::CEPARSKI	May Your Song Always Be Sung	`Mon Jan 20 1997 08:04`	9
520.134	close enough to my b-day for a party... :^)	CRONIC::sms53.hlo.dec.com::notes	i believe in Chemo-Girl!!!	`Mon Jan 20 1997 09:43`	5
520.135	Hunter tix on sale NOW!	SMURF::MROGERS		`Mon Jan 20 1997 15:27`	6
520.136		CRONIC::sms53.hlo.dec.com::notes	i believe in Chemo-Girl!!!	`Mon Jan 20 1997 17:23`	12
520.137		SPECXN::BARNES		`Tue Jan 21 1997 12:33`	4
520.138		ALFA2::DWEST	i believe in chemo girl!	`Fri Jan 31 1997 16:13`	8
	i don't remember where the hunter ticket discussion was going on, but my tix came in the mail last night... Row I... seats 8 and 9... seems to me like they're a bit more to the side than the "center orchestra" they talked of on the phon... still, i'll take 'em... :^) da ve
520.139		MKOTS3::JOLLIMORE	The blossoming is to come.	`Mon Feb 03 1997 08:02`	12
	yabut, what section? doughnit say on the ticket?? there's 3 sections down front ORCH L ORCH C ORCH R all have rows A - P with seats 8 + 9 it looks like you're in orch center the left has odd number seats only and the right has even only there's only 12 seats in the row. what'd you want? seats 5+6 ;-) http://www.ticketmaster.com/directory/venues/ny2/46/seat1.html this is the sommerville theatre map
520.140	excerpts from Hunter's 2/1 journal	EVMS::OCTOBR::DEBESS	seeking all thats stil unsung	`Mon Feb 03 1997 09:45`	119
	Robert Hunter's JOURNAL 2/01/97 . . . 1/22 Another set of heavy storms. Flash flood warnings - looks like the Russian River is gonna do it again. What's with the gloabal weather? The forecasters say the next ice age isn't due for a couple of hundred years, but when have they ever been known to be outstandingly accurate? Recent federal government re-authorized clear cutting in Oregon turning large denuded areas into mudslide city, making dwindling ancient salmon spawning grounds into mud baths, according to Kesey. "They" say it's to clear up fire hazards. Un-huh. Bastards. . . . 1/23 Seems every week DeadNet gets another award. They're like platinum records, nobody really gives a shit for them but if you don't get 'em you wonder "why not?" Speaking of which I heard the Neville's version of "Fire on the Mountain" is up for a Grammy! Now that's a whole 'nother world ... In 30 years of making records the GD never got one, though "Unbroken Chain" was nominated. I guess that's what you get for being a creepy cult band. A lot of people are under the impression that we never made a decent studio record. Maybe the canned works don't compare to live recordings, but, without that insurmountable basis of comparison, they sure did sound sweet to us when we cut them. . . despite all the self-deprecating remarks of hindsight. . . . 1/28 6:15 a.m. Rilke noted that we spend our lives in an attitude of farewell. Waving goodbye. That moment is the aspect of eternity. The threshold. As you wave, those departing are still present, but becoming less so. That moment connects with all such moments in a continuum of its own, me standing in the driveway a moment ago waving as my wife, mother and daughter drove off in the dark and rain, the headlights so bright I couldn't see into the car. Coming back into the house, there is still evidence of their presence of a few minutes ago, the flurry of last minute packing, a little whirlwind that still seems to be spinning. It will take a while to feel alone. Eleven days of it to bear down on my work and get in touch with that other part of myself of which I see so little, the solitary side. For Maureen, a respite from housework - for my mother a chance to get away from the omnipresence of my father's death two weeks ago - for Kate, days of endless beaches - for me, rain and rehearsals. Departure for the tour only a month away now. Comes up fast! Going on the road is a study in farewells. A few hours with people, long planned, the welcoming and then the last song of the set and goodbye. Ave atque vale. Hail and farewell. Back into the machinery of travel. First dark blue light of dawn above the clouds. Gibbous moon visible, so I think the ladies will be spared taking off in a storm. If the forecast is correct, the soaking isn't due until this afternoon. 1/31 My fingers didn't hurt at all during rehearsal , nor afterwards nor this today. Goes to show. Went to a "Terrapin Station" meeting this morning. Saw a presentation of a potential building plan. A festive 'Wall of Sound" display outside - two theaters, one with a floor revolving around a giant tube where holograms are projected onto fog, with concert footage & all kinds of visual effects devices on the walls. The larger theater will do for live concerts and events, and be the main attraction with full GD concerts being featured with multimedia, light shows and highly processed concert video. They say they can take a ratty video tape of a performance and make it sparkle with computer enhancement and projection techniques - even, I think they said, though I'd have to see to believe it - get a hologram effect. Candace was at the meeting and will most likely have a big hand in lighting concepts. She seems very intense and visionary about the project. There's to be a museum & display room - and a backstage room, replete with funky furniture and unmatched couches, where you can hang out before and between sets. Also a nightclub/restaurant affair with computer terminals where you can make your own composite CD's from the archives, a roof garden, a simulated parking lot with vendor space, and a Rhythm Devils room for spacing out and banging drums. Weir came in at lunch time and we rapped awhile. He thinks I oughta come on the Further Tour, says it'll be easier than the tour I have planned, though I don't see how that could be now that I'm starting to pick up my 2cnd night option dates on the tour & it looks like a straight 2 on, one off, affair. Weir said he'd met Jeanne Dixon once and she told him he had the longest life line she'd ever seen! It is, in fact, pretty damned long. He figures he has 30 good music years ahead of him. Wish I had that kind of forecast. He's got an idea for building "Terrapin Stations" in several locations besides SF (New York, Tokyo, etc.) and linking them with ground connections (sattelite too slow) in order to do live performances with other musicians in those various locations, broadcasting the combined virtual band on a screen in each place simultaneously! That's the stuff!! I had a ham sandwich and split. Alan can fill me in on what else went down. The rest of the day was for brainstorming and financial talk - I was topped up on what I'd already seen and have much work to do at home. Bound to get the Archive up tomorrow or the next day and haven't had time to do anything but rehearse, work evenings on a dozen new songs, keep the journal together, consult on tour details, and relax with a book now and then to quiet my head. And you know what? I still feel lazy. Must be the reading. 1/31 7:15 a.m. Up before dawn, went into the kitchen to make my instant coffee (still sticking to one cup w/caffeine a day, though fudging some with additional cups of decaf) and picked up my guitar where I'd left it leaning against the stove last night. Ran through "Reuben & Cherise," "Rum Runners" and Jack O'Roses. When I put the guitar down, I realized all the doves & parakeets in the dovecote, right outside the kitchen window, were singing the dawn up in full voice along with me. . . .
520.141		EVMS::OCTOBR::DEBESS	seeking all thats stil unsung	`Mon Feb 17 1997 10:26`	49
	Excerpts from Hunter's JOURNAL 2.15.97 . . . 2/5 9am A fine morning, to be sure. 11 o'clock rehearsal. Show coming together nicely and should be ready just when it's time to take it out. Getting over forty tunes worked up so I have a broad field of choice. Been thinking a lot about the Further Fest the last couple of days. A large part of me wants to aim for doing my performances in the ideal context of a full evening's show in good halls. Turns out we underestimated the appropriate hall sizes for the shakedown cruise, but promotion is a conservative game and draw must be proved, so it's what it had to be. The upshot, hopefully, is that I'll be able to pick and choose more readily among good stages of appropriate capacity. My concern about Further has to do with the desire to proceed at my own pace for a year, rather than give a stripped down version of the show in the context of seven hours of music and a mega-schedule. It's burnout I fear. . . . 12/14 Maureen tells of walking down the Maui shoreline several days ago, the red danger flags hoisted, as always, at the unguarded beach outside the hotel. A sudden steep shelf and strong undertow make the inviting beach a risky place to swim. She noticed a gathering further down the beach. The setting sun lent a golden glow to the scene; the rhythm of Hawaiian drums carried by a brisk warm breeze. Suddenly a woman in a streaming white veil and gown approached the gathering, looking for all the world as though she'd just stepped out of a dream in the golden light faced by the sea. It was one of those perfect moments, as Maureen tells it, where the distinction between reality and fantasy blur. It was a marriage ceremony - the woman was the bride. Nature conspired to create a surreally beautiful moment for the nuptuals. The next day, there was an uproar down on the beach. A man had just been carried out by the current and drowned. His cry for help could not be heard on the beach, due to the pounding of the surf, though they could be heard higher up in the hotel, as a resident on the eleventh floor testified. She could hear clearly, yet see that none of the crowd luxuriating in the sunshine of the beach were at all aware of it. The victim was the groom. . . .
520.142		SPECXN::BARNES		`Mon Feb 17 1997 10:31`	4
	now that's sad...really sad.......leave it to Hunter to portray something like that in his weird way.... rfb
520.143		SPECXN::BARNES		`Mon Feb 17 1997 10:41`	3
	...but then I go in and read the whole post....wonderful... rfb
520.144		EVMS::OCTOBR::DEBESS	seeking all thats stil unsung	`Wed Mar 26 1997 10:10`	42
	someone put this into r.m.gd - thought I would share it with you guys Debess ************************************************************************ This is from Hunter's new book of poems, Glass Lunch: Black Rose Cups of cloud beneath a summer sky too blue for such mortality the wind should flay trees double, rain and sleet sting, forks of electric fire inscribe the black slate of the sky, leaving vivid after-images on the membrane of the eye but no, you chose a lovely day to die, before its dawning parted the curtain of what you knew but could never prove, however often you opportuned eternity, how time is the flavor and space the scent of a splendid Black Rose of Night, Mother of Light. August 10, 1995 ... FOR J.G.