D
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I had gotten a ride from some Rainbow Family People who said they were going to stay outside NYC in Jersey and there was place for my rucksack and sleeping bag. We get to the outskirts of the Boroughs, and I learn the plan had changed. They had a place in the Bowery that was an illegal hotel and they'd decided to chance it because the parties and drugs were supposed to be amazing.
I'd been stranded in NYC before, and I hated it. But I didn't go to the part of NYC they were going to- other complications.
So there was the Nokia Theatre- think it was bought and sold and is probably closed. Wanna say Sony last owned it. It was a weird little music venue. I was racking my brain, and I'd been let off in Manhattan(some Rainbows will fuck you good), and I realize I have maybe 3-4 days left on my burner. I called a guy named Johnny Redbone who I knew was living in the Bronx and we'd met after he got out of the can in 2005, released from El Reno Fed Pen in OK. I picked him up because they tell you if you miss your bus or don't have a ride- then walk and keep on walking and don't stop. Johnny is 6'5 and 325lbs and he got the name "Redbone" because he could sniff out food smuggled from commissary and he was always hungry. I'd give him a ride and helped him get some music gear, because that's what Johnny did before prison.
Johnny come and got me. He told me the Grateful Dead were playing at a place in/near Times Square and the union dudes always had problems with the dudes from the crews the various "Dead-Other Ones" had. He told me it paid good union wages and I didn't need a card because he and I'd be filling in and we could get cash if the promoter took 5% off top. No taxes ? Fine with me.
We were doing heavy lifting and scut work. Lesh's tech was real skiddish with us moving the rack for bass stuff and the amps. He warned us "Get that shit in before Lesh comes around." I had heard Lesh was a dick to people but man, he pushed people around and he acted like he was sure he wasn't just the smartest man in room, he was the smartest man in the world and everyone else was dumb fuck.
Weir had complained at sound check to the guys from Ratdog that he was exhausted. He was barely there. He was wiped out bad, and just seemed like a shell. He kept sitting in the lotus position.
When we got done with the first setup, if they wanted anything moved, rigged, angled, whatever, us non-union lumpers could do it. The Furthur crew was people who were more stadium guys and not small-medium venue.
Tickets were super expensive to these shows. Anything with a surviving member of the Dead in the show had gotten ridiculous expensive and I was of the mindset I'd watch my bootleg DVD transfers of VHS of the complete GD shows synced to soundboards before I'd pay to see one or two members phone it in for $85.
Weir came back and was asking a Further guy to move his amp and get his earbuds or WTF he had from a tour case. The guy didn't know what he was talking about. My and Johnny moved the rack. The amp was a problem because of the fucking terrible positioning of their keyboardist and his kb and the hammond ripoff.
Weir walked around sipping wine. He had taken an Ambien was supposed to be on their bus getting sleep but he was walking around. A Ratdog member warned us- this is not good, Bobby had a lunesta or another ambien and couldn't remember the first one. He had some red wine. He wandered around.
Weir was wandering more and wanting to talk to a Dark Star Orchestra member who wasn't there or even on tour.
I was overweight(still am) had a bushy mustache but didn't have the fu-man chu. I had the last of my long hair because it was falling out. Weir kept asking a Ratdog member if I didn't look like "Ronnie". I had bandelero western hat that I wore with the braid around the brim and some beads that the girl who'd give it to me had made from turquoise.
They didn't formally do much of a run through. They hadn't done much of a sound check.
I got a sinking feeling that the disorganization was why the union guys had booked on working and got us scabs in.
The concert which was either 7/28 or I'm losing it, was just bad. I have a feeling that they'd done parts of that setlist before and when Weir "fell off" they finally plugged in some tape, because there was weird spacing on the last few songs and Weir was just out there and gone.
Tabloid guys and idiots were talking he had stroke because he'd crashed out immediately when it was over.
It was red wine and a double dose of Ambien and maybe a lunesta.
Lesh made some smart remark later that he'd been dosed- which was bullshit.
When we had their gear up, the guy who was Nokia's controller paid us in cash, kept 5%, and told us if we wanted to work , we could could get a card and come back.
Johnny drove me home in his beater 626 and I crashed on the floor.
The Rainbows I'd come in with had gotten evicted from the illegal hotel and were out $400 they paid to stay on the floor. I had warned them about their "One Family" psychedelic paintjob- we'd caught enough shit just riding in it.
Johnny let me stay at his place and the people who'd dumped me off in Manhattan were out a place to stay.
The roles were switched and they were calling me for money. I got real tired, everytime we stopped I paid for gas, and coffee and food for 1100 miles. Then they dumped me because I questioned the wisdom of messing with a hotel the cops were on.
No fault of mine, they tried to sell some blotter paper with no acid on it as acid and two got busted. I worked near JFK for shipping company and bought a beater T-Bird Turbo Coupe that still had working air. I picked up the two who weren't in jail and took them home to UMass. I cruised down the East Coast. I slept in rest stations. Cops would get tired of the Turbo Coupe(this is a fox body T-Bird with a 4cyl turbo) sitting in the rest station and they wake me up at night and ask if I needed directions. My answer was usually that I was looking for America and did they have any good leads ?
In a way, I'm still looking for America.
I'd been stranded in NYC before, and I hated it. But I didn't go to the part of NYC they were going to- other complications.
So there was the Nokia Theatre- think it was bought and sold and is probably closed. Wanna say Sony last owned it. It was a weird little music venue. I was racking my brain, and I'd been let off in Manhattan(some Rainbows will fuck you good), and I realize I have maybe 3-4 days left on my burner. I called a guy named Johnny Redbone who I knew was living in the Bronx and we'd met after he got out of the can in 2005, released from El Reno Fed Pen in OK. I picked him up because they tell you if you miss your bus or don't have a ride- then walk and keep on walking and don't stop. Johnny is 6'5 and 325lbs and he got the name "Redbone" because he could sniff out food smuggled from commissary and he was always hungry. I'd give him a ride and helped him get some music gear, because that's what Johnny did before prison.
Johnny come and got me. He told me the Grateful Dead were playing at a place in/near Times Square and the union dudes always had problems with the dudes from the crews the various "Dead-Other Ones" had. He told me it paid good union wages and I didn't need a card because he and I'd be filling in and we could get cash if the promoter took 5% off top. No taxes ? Fine with me.
We were doing heavy lifting and scut work. Lesh's tech was real skiddish with us moving the rack for bass stuff and the amps. He warned us "Get that shit in before Lesh comes around." I had heard Lesh was a dick to people but man, he pushed people around and he acted like he was sure he wasn't just the smartest man in room, he was the smartest man in the world and everyone else was dumb fuck.
Weir had complained at sound check to the guys from Ratdog that he was exhausted. He was barely there. He was wiped out bad, and just seemed like a shell. He kept sitting in the lotus position.
When we got done with the first setup, if they wanted anything moved, rigged, angled, whatever, us non-union lumpers could do it. The Furthur crew was people who were more stadium guys and not small-medium venue.
Tickets were super expensive to these shows. Anything with a surviving member of the Dead in the show had gotten ridiculous expensive and I was of the mindset I'd watch my bootleg DVD transfers of VHS of the complete GD shows synced to soundboards before I'd pay to see one or two members phone it in for $85.
Weir came back and was asking a Further guy to move his amp and get his earbuds or WTF he had from a tour case. The guy didn't know what he was talking about. My and Johnny moved the rack. The amp was a problem because of the fucking terrible positioning of their keyboardist and his kb and the hammond ripoff.
Weir walked around sipping wine. He had taken an Ambien was supposed to be on their bus getting sleep but he was walking around. A Ratdog member warned us- this is not good, Bobby had a lunesta or another ambien and couldn't remember the first one. He had some red wine. He wandered around.
Weir was wandering more and wanting to talk to a Dark Star Orchestra member who wasn't there or even on tour.
I was overweight(still am) had a bushy mustache but didn't have the fu-man chu. I had the last of my long hair because it was falling out. Weir kept asking a Ratdog member if I didn't look like "Ronnie". I had bandelero western hat that I wore with the braid around the brim and some beads that the girl who'd give it to me had made from turquoise.
They didn't formally do much of a run through. They hadn't done much of a sound check.
I got a sinking feeling that the disorganization was why the union guys had booked on working and got us scabs in.
The concert which was either 7/28 or I'm losing it, was just bad. I have a feeling that they'd done parts of that setlist before and when Weir "fell off" they finally plugged in some tape, because there was weird spacing on the last few songs and Weir was just out there and gone.
Tabloid guys and idiots were talking he had stroke because he'd crashed out immediately when it was over.
It was red wine and a double dose of Ambien and maybe a lunesta.
Lesh made some smart remark later that he'd been dosed- which was bullshit.
When we had their gear up, the guy who was Nokia's controller paid us in cash, kept 5%, and told us if we wanted to work , we could could get a card and come back.
Johnny drove me home in his beater 626 and I crashed on the floor.
The Rainbows I'd come in with had gotten evicted from the illegal hotel and were out $400 they paid to stay on the floor. I had warned them about their "One Family" psychedelic paintjob- we'd caught enough shit just riding in it.
Johnny let me stay at his place and the people who'd dumped me off in Manhattan were out a place to stay.
The roles were switched and they were calling me for money. I got real tired, everytime we stopped I paid for gas, and coffee and food for 1100 miles. Then they dumped me because I questioned the wisdom of messing with a hotel the cops were on.
No fault of mine, they tried to sell some blotter paper with no acid on it as acid and two got busted. I worked near JFK for shipping company and bought a beater T-Bird Turbo Coupe that still had working air. I picked up the two who weren't in jail and took them home to UMass. I cruised down the East Coast. I slept in rest stations. Cops would get tired of the Turbo Coupe(this is a fox body T-Bird with a 4cyl turbo) sitting in the rest station and they wake me up at night and ask if I needed directions. My answer was usually that I was looking for America and did they have any good leads ?
In a way, I'm still looking for America.