Archive for October, 2009

Fiyo on the Playa: Or “How I Survived My First Burning Man”

by Shady Backflash

You are in the desert. The water bottle that you have been carrying with you all day now contains hot water instead of cool refreshment. You take a swig from it anyway, knowing you can’t afford to get dehydrated. The taste is unpleasant, but welcome. Dirt is in everything you own by now. For a second you question how much more of this desert you can stand. A motorized couch rolls by on wheels. It is followed shortly by a jeep full of rowdy individuals dressed in postal uniforms, brandishing firearms and hurling invective. You are too concerned with the heat to think up a snappy retort to the Disgruntled Postal Workers’ screams. As you struggle to find shade in the 105 degree heat, a stranger pulls up in a brightly painted ice cream truck and offers you a frozen treat… free of charge. Naked people wander by. The first is painted from head to toe in blue body paint. The next is red. The third and fourth are orange and yellow. Welcome to Black Rock City, for one week the fifth largest city in Nevada. Dedicated to “radical self expression and radical self reliance,” it is the home of the Burning Man festival.

Begun in 1986 by Larry Harvey as a personal ritual to come to terms with the difficult end of a relationship, the Burning Man festival has grown to nearly fifteen thousand people and is, arguably, the most creative annual gathering on the planet. For one week a year, the Hualapai Flat, a lifeless desert outside of Gerlach, Nevada is transformed into a psychedelic wonderland, populated by visual artists, performance artists, pyromaniacs, musicians and fringe dwellers. Every square inch of the desert “playa” becomes a blank canvas on which to create. The end result is the complete transformation of a desert floor completely incapable of sustaining life into a visionary landscape. Each participant is invited to generate his or her own atmosphere. In many respects, it is the concrete realization in three-dimensional space of fantasy or hallucination.

One of the festivals central maxims is “No Spectators” and one walk down the Village Way is all that’s needed to see that many of the Black Rock City regulars take this to heart. Ordinary camp sites are not the rule here. Elaborate theme camps are constructed, often PVC pipe and parachutes strung with lights and sound run off generators.

To paint the event in broad strokes as a new Woodstock as the media has done all too often in the past is to miss the point entirely. Burning Man certainly shares elements of the ’60’s counter-culture and the urban tribalism that defined the Woodstock Nation, but it owes as much or more to the San Francisco drag balls, art openings, cyberculture and raves. Festival participants are more likely to have drawn inspiration from Hakim Bey’s TAZ: Temporary Autonomous Zones, Ontological Anarchy and Poetic Terrorism than Tom Wolfe’s The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test.

While similar strains of West Coast bohemianism spawned the Merry Pranksters, the Haight-Ashbury and the Grateful Dead community, Burning Man is not “retro” in either its style or approach to contemporary living. The result is an atmosphere that is so refreshingly creative, diverse and mindblowing that it (thankfully) defies definition. Perhaps it can best be described as a Roscharch ink blot festival wherein every participant perceives its meaning in their own way.

I arrived in Black Rock City on Monday night via a ride I’d arranged with a complete stranger over the Internet. He and I threw up tents on the outer rim of the North side of BRC — the noisy side. Then we ventured inward in search of anyone up and feeling social. The only crew drawing any attention was a group of fire twirlers practicing their art by twirling glow sticks and an impromptu band making music behind them. This camp, I soon found out, was known as “Disturbia.”

The following days picked up momentum slowly, offering many opportunities to make new friends and take in all there was to see. Each day, more of the elaborate art installations would take form and I would watch wide-eyed as Black Rock City’s many theme camps would flower and bloom. A typical day for me went as follows: By ten AM I’d be cooked out of my tent by a blistering sun and lack of shade. I’d spend some time drinking water and refilling my water bottle, forage a bite of food from our cooler, and take a quick wander to see what new sights had sprung up. From eleven ’til two or three the heat would be too unbearable to do much of anything. Often, the wisest course seemed to be take a siesta, find some shade, relax, read The Black Rock Gazetteor Piss Clear (“Black Rock City’s Only Alternative Newspaper”) and chat with the people in our rapidly expanding camp. In the evening I would explore the night life which offered numerous raves, fashion shows, rolling bar cars and plenty of friendly wandering strangers. Around three or four AM, I’d stumble back to my tent, knowing the desert sun would be my alarm clock.

On day three I dropped by the Media Mecca tent, curious to see some of the official press releases for the event. First I found myself pitching in and hanging a series of cardboard eyes to the tent and chatting amicably. That mission accomplished, I found a chair and began to thumb through one of the press packets. It contained a few BM newsletters and a chronological history of the event.

Begun on Baker Beach, San Francisco in 1986 with 20 attendees, it is astounding to witness the approximately fifteen thousand person city that has evolved. Burning Man was, clearly, a far more renegade event in its earliest years. In efforts to reduce the degree of danger that participants might encounter, it is easy to see where the event has also had to become more regulated, restrictive, and, ultimately, sanitized. But even with all that, what takes place is so far outside of the day to day experience of nearly everyone attending that the event can not help but alter ones perceptions and place one in a non-ordinary reality. Those outlaw BM veterans unable to conceive of a Burning Man without discharging firearms or charging rocket cars across the desert floor have had to move further and further out into the periphery to engage in such activities.

“Participate, Integrate, Be part of the adventure” the press packet encourages.

TAZ theory defines the Temporary Autonomous Zone as existing outside the confines of the Society of the Spectacle. While TAZ theory advises avoidance of publicity, encouraging clandestine behavior as necessary for long-term survival, Burning Man recognizes that the media has already arrived. What Burning Man attempts is the creation of a new phenomenon — a Spectacle wherein the Media, often considered the Sense Organs of the Society of the Spectacle, are invited to not merely observe, but join in the generation of the Spectacle. In efforts to discourage reporters from remaining aloof and attempting a detached reporting of events, the Media Mecca had its first ever costume party for the press, served up tasty glasses of absinthe and suggested the press should meet people and make themselves a part of the Black Rock community.

By Thursday night, I felt well steeped in the Black Rock community. A neighbor had opened a bar next to our camp and invited me over immediately for a glass of wine. He had informed everyone within earshot that at his bar it was Happy Hour all the time and that we should feel welcome to drop in for a drink any time.

Perhaps the most impressive event I attended during the week was the Temple of Rudra, a complex performance involving hundreds of fire twirlers, dancers and performance artists.

The event was postponed due to high winds and unpredictable weather conditions. Originally scheduled for midnight, the event didn’t actually get underway until after 3:15. (I later learned that the delay was also due to the fact that the sail on a land yacht had caught a powerful gust of wind during the storm, causing the yacht and its passengers to collide with the clay temple.)

Instead of sitting patiently waiting for the opera, I wandered off and decided to take in a book burning.

The book burning could not be faulted for a lack of diversity. I appreciated the non-discriminatory policy of the burning hosts, and promptly set about hurling a few texts into the blaze myself.

Republic of Plato” I yelled, “Another Dead White European Male!” into the flames he went. Same with a text on Buddhism, a copy of Wired magazine, a Guiness Book of World Records, an Arthur C. Clarke novel and a few romances for good measure.

Glad to have gotten that out of my system, I returned to the opera to find it was still running late. I then wandered off to Bianca’s Smut Shack where I flopped down on one of the many couches there and waited for the event to get underway. Unfortunately, while I was resting comfortably and trying desperately to keep from falling asleep, the Tesla coil went off. Cited by many as one of the most impressive sights there, I was a little bummed to be so nearby and still missing it. Maybe next year…

The opera itself impressed me greatly and was well worth the wait. Originally begun as Pepe Ozan’s Fire Lingham, the performance centered around a large clay structure not unlike the sort of altar one would expect to see Hollywood use for chaining victims who would be sacrificed to three headed fire breathing reptiles. Clay stairs lead from the base up to the flat top and in each of the four corners of the temple were forty foot high columns — unmistakably phallic — with equally unmistakable vaginal openings at the base. Between the columns were exquisitely detailed sculptures of insectoid creatures resembling deities. Dancing Shiva, a seated Cernnunos, perhaps Indra and Rudra… it was difficult to discern precisely which dieties were depicted or whether the figures were merely there to evoke association, but the craftsmanship that went into their creation was remarkable.

A path was cleared so that performers could enter and then an elaborate procession involving hundreds of fire twirlers, dancers and performance artists began filling in the space. Many remained at the base, dancing, twirling fire, and engaging the front rows of the crowd. Others had ascended the temple to the platform top to dance, their forms intertwining behind transparent veils. When the dancers descended from the platform, the bases of the four columns (yoni and lingham respectively) were torched and flames began to shoot from the tops. Dancers continued dancing, drumming began, a chant of “AUM NAMAI RUDRA” (possibly “Praise the Name of Rudra”) ensued and the energy began to raise to a frenzied pitch. In the course of the next hour, first one, then another, and a third column collapsed. The fourth was still standing defiantly when I wandered back to my tent, just before daybreak.

The most difficult night of the week for me was the night of the burn itself.

The Burning Man Project is strongly devoted to the ongoing preservation of the desert. Year after year, they’ve made it a point to leave the playa cleaner than when they’d arrived. Prior to the festival, scores of volunteers are clearing the site, hauling away abandoned cars and vast amounts of discarded garbage left behind by individuals not en route to Burning Man. The site offers theme camps devoted to Alternative Energy and recycling and raises an awareness about the generation of garbage unprecedented at any other event I’ve attended.

But the night of the burn, the crisp blue sky began to look as though the world was on fire. In addition to the Man itself, people were burning art installations, one lightpost was blazing, a piano had been torched, and, undoubtedly, numerous plastic glow sticks. Every few minutes there would be a BOOM! — sometimes mild, sometimes thunderous. People were igniting firecrackers, M-80’s, even M-1000’s.

If the first Burning Man event was a cathartic release for Larry Harvey to bring closure to an intense relationship, it has grown far beyond that. It is not overstating things to say that the moment of the Burn has become a collective catharsis wherein the pains, frustrations, and angers of the festival’s participants are symbolically heaped onto the pyre and burned to the ground. A powerful ritual to say the least.

Watching one cloud of black smoke after another rise up from the playa and into the clouds, I couldn’t help but think that this cathartic release involved purifying ourselves by releasing our toxins, quite literally, into the atmosphere — a contradiction I found myself unable to reconcile.

I wandered amidst this haze of smoke and noxious fumes, and began to think of a neighboring piece of land — the Nevada Test Site. Home to the Western Shoshone people and never legally ceded in treaty, this reservation land has been used by the US government to test nuclear weapons and the Western Shoshone people are considered the most heavily bombed nation in the world. Watching one explosion and toxic cloud after another, I was unable to shake the sense that, in our anger, frustration and alienation, we, the citizens of Black Rock City, had created a microcosm of the culture we were reacting against. “How,” I wondered, “Is this any different than the waste generated by the military and corporate industry?” Of course, the primary difference was that even the most zealous Burning Man pyro didn’t actually kill anyone. But the disrespect for air and earth was there, plain as day, for any and all to see, in many respects undermining the extreme care taken to focus on removal of garbage and “leaving no trace.”

The reconcilliation of this paradox seemed to lie in the fact that whatever its shortcomings, Burning Man is certainly cutting edge. To venture out into unchartered territory requires a certain amount of risk taking and a willingness to allow oneself a few mistakes. Burning Man is not a shrink wrapped finished product. It is a work in progress, concerned more with creating community than with providing entertainment. Nevertheless, it would be a welcome relief to see some of the world’s foremost pyrotechnicians integrating eco-friendly emissions into their repertoire. (I can see it now, “The World’s First Firebreathing Act fueled entirely on Hemp fuel and complying with all EPA emissions standards.”)

Burning Man is a carnival in the truest sense — a festival of carnage. While a carnival tradition such as Mardi Gras is a feast before purification of the Lenten holidays, BM is not so easily explained. While it is not unfair to state that many people who attend the BM event indulge their desires throughout the week and “burn” their unwanted qualities in the fire, there is no central dogma, creed, or belief system attached to the Burning Man ritual. Participants are encouraged to discover their own understanding of the experience.

As I rolled out of Black Rock City, headed to New York via a ride I had hooked up on the playa, I knew that what I had witnessed was nothing less than extraordinary. The art installations were so brilliant, the raves so ripe with digital wizardry, the theme camps so full of good humor and, best of all, this beast was (mostly) benign. We may well live to see a day when art historians of the future stop speaking of new artistic forms as being “post-modern” and begin to acknowledge that for the art world to venture any further out on the cutting edge, it have to become “post-burning man.”

Deadisticism: The Magic and Mysticism of the Grateful Dead

by Matthew Rick

“They’re a band beyond description,
like Jehovah’s favorite choir.
People join in hand in hand while the music plays the band
Lord, they’re setting us on fire”

– “The Music Never Stopped” by John Barlow and Bob Weir

Centuries from now, if someone were to dig through the pages of rock ‘n’ roll history it is doubtful that they would find a 20th century musical act that would generate more mystery, curiosity and misconception than the bizarre entity known as the Grateful Dead, with its tie-dyed legions of the faithful, the Deadheads. Believed by many to be the musical “keepers of the flame” of the elusive “spirit of the Sixties,” the Dead were also, consciously and unconsciously, involved in the creation and continual reinvention of a living, growing mythical universe, filled with images, archetypes and references ranging from the mundane to the arcane.

Since their inception in 1965, the Grateful Dead had always been associated with magic, mysticism, and folklore. Even the band’s former name, The Warlocks, meant a group of male wizards. Through the years, from their legacy as the House Band at the Merry Prankster’s Acid Tests to their disbandment following the death of singer / guitarist and reluctant frontman Jerry Garcia, magic remained a vital ingredient in the Grateful Dead experience.

According to Deadhead lore, Jerry Garcia drew the band’s name from a 1955 Funk and Wagnall’s New Practical Standard Dictionary of the English Language. The definition was as follows:

grateful dead – The motif of a cycle of folk tales which begin with the hero’s coming upon a group of people ill-treating or refusing to bury the corpse of a man who had died without paying his debts. He gives his last penny, either to pay the man’s debts or to give him a decent burial. Within a few hours he meets with a travelling companion who aids him in some impossible task, gets him a fortune, saves his life, etc. The story ends with the companion’s disclosing himself as the man whose corpse the other had befriended. 1.

This definition of the Grateful Dead gives an image of the band that is closely linked to karmic retribution (or, in the more vernacular, “what goes around comes around.”) Such sentiments were evident everywhere at Grateful Dead shows, from lyrics such as “whichever way your pleasure tends, if you plant ice, you’re gonna harvest wind” to the gifting of “miracle tickets” (free tickets handed out — often by complete strangers — to ticketless heads in the lot.)

But what’s in a name? After all, Garcia merely drew the name at random from a dictionary and liked it for its weird appeal. He apparently had no knowledge that the curious moniker had roots which may date back to a passage from the Egyptian Book of the Dead. The passage, included in part on the cover of the band’s first album, today graces the walls of many head shops across the nation. It reads:

Amidst the sullen Darkness there shown a solitary Lite
For it is known ‘Neath the Sands of the Pharoahs
That deep in the Land of Nite,
The Ship of the Sun is drawn by The Grateful Dead.2.

Alone, a name associated with cryptic references is not enough to account for the mystique surrounding the Dead, though. There was no mistaking that they were not America’s standard Top 40 pop music fare. Even during the anti-war ’60’s, the Dead gave little lip service to the protest movements. Their early lyrics, most often the work of Robert Hunter, were more likely to sound like zen koans than New Left political rhetoric, and the music had a style that was too erratic to be easily packaged into commercial radio.

Much of this was due to their bizarre heritage. Coming from backgrounds in a diverse range of musical training and interests ranging from roots music, folk, jazz, classical, bluegrass and blues, The Dead went from being an amateur jug band to plugging in and becoming rock ‘n’ rollers. With the additional perspective lent by the infusion of LSD, and a creative space to improvise and explore new musical terrain, provided by the Merry Pranksters, an iconoclastic cadre of Beat inspired psychedelicists, the Dead began what Garcia would later describe as a thirty year “psychopharmamusicalogical experiment.” The result was a band that was much more interested in exploring their musical potential than in cutting singles.

In describing how the Warlock/GD performances at the Pranksters’ Acid Tests would change to suit the moods of the audience and venue on a particular night, Prankster Ken Kesey said, “They weren’t just playing what was on the music sheets, they were playing what was in the air. That means that the band [had] to be supple.”3.

Then there was the Cassady factor. Through the influence of Neal Cassady, the infamous Dean Moriarty of Jack Kerouac’s On the Road, and, later, the madman who comandeered the Prankster bus FURTHUR from coast to coast, the Grateful Dead became, in many respects, the spiritual legatees of the Beats. Similarly, the Deadheads were the natural descendants of the Dharma Bums, carrying on the rucksack revolution where Kerouac’s little St. Theresa bum left off.

During and after the Acid Tests as the band continued to play off one another’s strengths and weaknesses, they developed a sense of “misfit power” and found their analogues not in music history texts but in the pages of science fiction novels. A particular favorite was Theodore Sturgeon’s More Than Human, in which the main characters comprise an entity that is collectively more powerful than its component parts.

At live performances, the band discovered that this organism was made up not only of themselves, but of the audience as well. In time, a reciprocal agreement developed between them and their audience. At their best, energy was exchanged, raised to higher and higher plateaus, reach a peak or crescendo, and then taper, allowing for a safe re-entry into the trials and tribulations of everyday life, often providing new insights brought about by a change of perspective.

Although unwilling to interpret their role as a vehicle for personal transformation, the band acknowledged that they were interested in utilizing the music as a vehicle for something than extended beyond recreation.

As Jerry Garcia would later say, “I think basically the Grateful Dead is not for cranking out rock and roll, it’s not for going out and doing concerts or any of that stuff. I think it’s to get high. To get really high is to forget yourself. And to forget yourself is to see everything else. And to see everything else is to become an understanding molecule in evolution, a conscious tool of the universe. And I think every human being should be a conscious tool of the universe.” 4.

Some nights the band and audience were capable of achieving this lift-off. Other nights they were not. But year after year, this band beyond description would tour the country, playing more sold-out concerts than any other band in the known history of the universe.

Dead Tour became the natural heir of West Coast bohemianism. The passing of the torch from the Beats to the psychedelicists, through the being of Neal Cassady, is well documented in Tom Wolfe’s The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test. When the Haight-Ashbury district became crippled by floods of homeless children and too many wolves in sheep’s clothing, the Dead moved north to Marin and Mendocino counties and the “scene” continued to thrive where it began — on the road. The road was the central spiritual metaphor that ran throughout the Grateful Dead universe. The band and fans would criss-cross the country two and three times a year, and Dead Tour became the archetypal Fool’s Journey of the Saint of the Circumstance on the Golden Road to Unlimited Devotion.

As many a Tour Head will attest, the magic of the Grateful Dead was in being present — witnessing that moment when one of the band’s legendary space jams would open up and the music would lift off into the unknown. These moments also brought with them experiences of personal revelation and a sense of connectedness, a feeling of being part of a larger whole, not unlike being cells that make up an organism.

Once these feelings began to be articulated, heads began to discover that they were not alone in these sensations and subsequently they developed a language to talk about these shared experiences. Perhaps the most common and easily accessible term was “the groupmind — the collective identity or gestalt created at Deadshows.”5.

With The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, in many ways the definitive book on West Coast psychedelia, Tom Wolfe tried to capture the mojo, the groupmind gestalt, shared between the Merry Pranksters, and, by extension, the people who attended the Acid Tests by describing it in terms of sacred geometry. The phenomena was The Unspoken Thing, which occasionally gave way to kairos — the supreme moment — a time when temporal time intersected with universal time to bring about — COSMO! — a lightning flash of illumination. Zen master satori!

“Every once in a while you get shown the light
In the strangest of places if you look at it right.”

Nevertheless, there was no way to force the mojo. The supreme moment could be coaxed along by band and audience, but there were never any guarantees.

“We can raise the sail, but we can’t make the wind come. ‘Raising the sail’ is preparing to be moved. Spirit is the wind, the sense of musical well-being, of being together. This is a unanimous process.” 6. — Mickey Hart

Magical references abound in the Grateful Dead universe, and heads frequently consult oracles and use synchronicity as signposts. In recalling his earliest travels with Neal Cassady, singer/ guitarist Bob Weir speaks of “Radio I Ching” and the words on the radio corresponding to the spontaneous raps pouring from Cassady’s mouth. In time, the Deadheads began to recognize a similar phenomena as Radio I Ching — hearing the band sing thoughts that mirrored their own consciousness. Or the outer world, as in the case where the Dead played their crowd pleaser “Fire on the Mountain” in Portland, Oregon, at about the same time that Mount St. Helens erupted for the second time in three weeks.7.

Synchronicity, or presence of “meaningful coincidences” abounds in the Deadhead cosmology. There is even an example of one such “meaningful coincidence” in a popular translation of the I Ching text. The fifty-sixth hexagram, Fire on the Mountain, is described “The image of the Wanderer.” As noted in the previous paragraph, “Fire on the Mountain” is a highly popular Dead tune. What could better describe a Deadhead than “the image of the wanderer”?

Similarly, references to Deadisticism appear in other obscure texts. The term Dead Head for example: “In the alchemical process there was a phase called the ‘Caput Mortuum,’ or ‘Dead Head,’ — the ‘Nigredo’ or ‘Blackening’ that was said to occur before the precepitation of the philosopher’s stone.”8. If taken to its natural conclusion, this would seem to imply that the Deadhead phenomena, on a universal scale, is an alchemical phase (the Nigredo perhaps describing the prevalence of self-destructive hedonism on Dead Tour?) necessary before the precipitation of universal enlightenment. (Or simply “furthur” proof of what Prankster Wavy Gravy refers to as “the Cosmic Giggle”?)

On the band’s side of the laminated curtain there are plenty of references to magical symbolism as well. In the early Seventies, band members and extended family began a company to do extensive tinkering with experimental sound equipment (producing such results as their legendary Wall of Sound). For the name of the company, Bear, the band’s resident alchemist, chose Alembic, an alchemical vessel wherein gold is distilled from the dross. In a 1973 Deadheads newsletter, St. Dilbert, the patron saint of Hypnocracy, used Uroborous, the ancient mystical symbol of a serpent swallowing its tail, to describe the bands viscious circle of More Gigs – Larger Halls – More Equipment – Bigger Organization – Larger Overhead – More Gigs… ad infinitum. (If the poor saint only knew how Uroborous’ hunger would grow in twenty years to follow…)

According to the largely unpopular book The Dead by Hank Harrison, Harrison claims that during this period he was making regular trips to the Warburg Institute, home of one of the world’s most extensive libraries of hermetic literature, and bringing back mystic volumes that the Dead were reading voraciously.

In addition, there is evidence that individual members of the band, to varying degrees, were interested in actively exploring and utilizing techniques that have come to be called “magical.” Though reluctant to speak of such things, fearing (perhaps quite wisely) that Tour Heads will mistakenly give unwanted weight and misunderstanding to their words, the Dead venture into specifics on occasion.

Lyrcist Robert Hunter is a poet in the manner described by Robert Graves in The White Goddess. When Hunter speaks of “invoking the muse” to produce his finest works, he insists “the muse is not a trope.”9.

“I’ve got this one spirit that’s laying roses on me. Roses, roses — can’t get enough of those bloody roses. (The spirit) gives me a lot of other good lines too, but if I don’t put the roses in, it goes away for a while. It’s the most prominent image, as far as I’m concerned, in the human brain. Beauty, delicacy, short-livedness… There is no better allegory for — dare I say it? — life, than roses. It never fails. When you put a rose somewhere, it’ll do what it’s supposed to do. Same way with certain jewels — I like a diamond here, a ruby there, a rose, certain kinds of buildings, vehicles, gems. These things are real, and the word evokes the thing. That’s what we’re working with, evocation.”10.

Apparently a similar muse was visiting Alton Kelley and Stanley Mouse when they first discovered the “Skull ‘n’ Roses,” one of the most prominent Grateful Dead symbols. Skull ‘n’ Roses (or Skullfuck as the band likes to refer to it) was originally an illustration by Edmund J. Sullivan in The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, a Persian spiritual text. The design was utilized by Alton Kelley and Stanley Mouse as the center piece of an Avalon Ballroom poster for the band in 1968. “We had been looking for something to use for the Grateful Dead. Kelley and I just looked at each other and said, ‘ There it is, the perfect picture.’ And so we designed a poster around that picture. We knew when it was finished that it was really hot because it felt right. It just fit so good with the name. The skeleton that symbolized death and the roses that symbolized rebirth and love. It just said Grateful Dead.”11.

Throughout their career, the band ventured into numerous unorthodox waters, always pushing the outer limits of what it meant to be a rock ‘n’ roll band. While never espousing a particular philosophy or belief system, they took pleasure in playing “power spots,” often on auspicious dates like solstices and equinoxes. In 1987 during the much publicized Harmonic Convergence, the Dead played Telluride, Colorado, following a set by Babatunde Olatunji. And, of course, the band played historic concerts in Egypt in 1978, where some members of the band’s extended family were even allowed access to see the Ship of the Sun.

Very few, if any, people on the Grateful Dead Tour would admit to believing that they thought Jerry Garcia was God, but the widespread belief that the Deadheads were a personality cult who worshipped Garcia persisted. This was most evident in the rumors and mystery surrounding The Spinners (more formally, The Family of Unlimited Devotion). The Spinners were a communal group of young people in peasant dresses and other austere clothing who would twirl in the hallways of Deadshows and were often seen prostrate on the floor of the venues after Garcia would finish songs.

When asked about the Spinners, Garcia replied, “They’re kind of like our Sufis. I think it’s really great that there’s a place where they can be comfortable enough to do something with such abandon. It’s nice to provide that. That’s one of the things I’m proud of the Grateful Dead for. It’s like free turf.”12.

When asked how he felt about the Jerry is God phenomena, Garcia responded with characteristic humor, “Anybody who thinks I’m God should talk to my kids.” Did he mind being the focal point of a religious group? “Well, I’ll put up with it until they come for me with the cross and the nails.”13.

Caroline Rago, formerly a core member of the Family of Unlimited Devotion, said that the idea that they believed Jerry was God was a misconception. In the Spinner cosmology, she likened him more to an avatar — describing a role similar in many respects to the one attributed to Bob Marley by Rastafarians. “He was the cosmic minstrel who provided the channel,” she said.14.

Well into his eighties, the prominent mythologist Joseph Campbell discovered the Grateful Dead. Not usually a fan of rock ‘n’ roll, Campbell’s interest was piqued by the Dead’s myth making capacity. After attending a concert and seeing the audiences interest and enthusiasm, he claimed that they were “the antidote to the atom bomb.”15.

Expressing and appreciating love and humor are perhaps the most crucial keys to understanding Deadisticism. Any attempt to describe the spiritual or transcendent qualities of the Grateful Dead without mention of the humor present on all levels, is sorely lacking. Humor is, in fact, the single most vital element in the Grateful Dead, perhaps even more crucial than the music itself. The Dead’s roots are in Prankster antics, and it is this sense of benign mischief that has been the social glue holding band and fans together through many a difficult year. “When you lose your sense of humor, it just isn’t funny anymore,” Mr. Gravy reminds.

Why has the Grateful Dead become one of the most cherished myth making faculties in the last half of the twentieth century? Perhaps because they have never tried to impose meaning or belief systems on any of their listeners. Perhaps because they recognized early on that the whole was more powerful than its component parts.

Through it all, very few people in the band’s nucleus or immediate family, were willing to offer definitive statements. If the Dead were dogmatic about anything, it was a dogmatic avoidance of dogma. Perhaps John Barlow summed up the phenomenon best. “[Deadheads] have what I consider to be one of the most positive developments in the history of spirituality: a religion without beliefs.”16.

End Notes

1. Official Book of the Deadheads, Paul Grushkin

2. This passage has often been cited as coming from the Egyptian Book of the Dead, but according to Bob Stone, it appears nowhere in the original Coptic.

3. Video short by Pete Shapiro following the video “Tie-Dyed: Rock ‘n’ Roll’s Most Deadicated Fans.”

4. Garcia: A Signpost to New Space, p. 127.

5. Skeleton Key: A Dictionary for Deadheads. p. 127.

6. Grateful Dead Family Album, p. 227.

7. Grushkin, p.11.

8. Holy Blood, Holy Grail, p.82.

9. Lecture, The Naropa Institute, Boulder, Colorado, July, 1993.

10. Bay Area Music Magazine, cited by Brandilius, p. 150 GD Family Album.

11. One More Saturday Night.179-181.

12. Magical Blend

13. Magical Blend

14. Discussion, Light the Song: A Contemplative Retreat for Deadheads, Northfield Mount Herman

15. Campbell quote — lecture at SF State “Ritual and Rapture: From Dionysus to the Grateful Dead.” (Author’s note: This concept was not unique to Campbell. More than one psychedelicist has noted that LSD was discovered at the same time as the splitting of the atom, intensifying humanities’ spiral into the unknown. And one year before LSD was declared illegal in the United States, the Grateful Dead appeared, singing lyrics penned by a man who’d been introduced to LSD by the CIA funded MK-ULTRA program. The MK stood for Mind Kontrol.)

16. Skeleton Key, ix.

Welcome

The Stanley Mouse “I Need A New Brain” Blotter Art Edition has just been released and we are now accepting orders. To purchase one of these beautiful pieces, email merlinswheel(at)gmail.com.