Dancing, Dancing, Dancing in the Pit
The General Admission Pit is like a mirror. By looking at a concert pit, you can learn a lot about the band, as well as the quality of their fans. Some pits are peaceful. Some are turbulent. Some should be turbulent, but for some odd reason the concert goers are satisfied by simply bobbing their heads up and down.
Some are deadly. Literally. If you’ve never heard of moshing, it’s when arrogant kids and good for nothing old men knock into each other violently to overly aggressive music. It’s awful. But moshes like pogos or circle pits are mild compared to the ultimate mosh: the wall of death. In that hellhole of a pit the crowd will divide itself, forming a long line down the middle, then they run at each other at full speed. It’s like a medieval battle but with less knights and more long haired emo neckbeards. People have actually died in walls of death by being trampled. It’s awful.
It’s not common to find a good GA pit. If it’s not a thrash metal pig stie, it’s probably going to be boring. Even amazing bands like Rush have a strange disease where it’s GA pits are home to people that are content with moving their heads up and down and occasionally clapping. It’s not a bad pit, the people there are enthusiastic and love the shows, they just don’t know how to properly express that feeling.
There is one kind of GA pit that manages to rise from the ashes of spiteful metalheads and sleepy hipsters. A good example to this would be the crowd of a jam band. Go to a Grateful Dead show, you won’t find any people pushing and shoving, you’ll find people dancing. They all listen carefully. The band plays a note and the audience will respond. They feel the music, then do whatever their body tells them to do. It’s magical.
To let go of all your worries, all your concerns of how others will see you, and just dance, is one of the best feelings in the world. It sounds cheesy, I know. But being in the kind of environment where people happily dance to improvised music, you can’t help but smile.
You meet a lot of characters there. Once, at a Dead & Company show, I met an old man with a beard and a hat walking around tickling people’s feet. He's a reflection. There are people moving their hands in such strange and random directions it looks like they’re trying to send codes to the band. They're reflections. You’ll see people with large signs of the next song they want to hear - since no self respecting jam band would ever publish a setlist before a show - and every time a jam ends they eagerly lift the signs in the air, praying someone in the band will see it and choose to play it next. They're reflections too.
At these kinds of shows, nothing else matters but the music. It flows through you. A jam had been described like a hose before. The band is the hose, and the music is the water that flows through the tube and out into the garden to the hundreds of dancing fans. It’s a communication. A conversation. A communion. A conversion. The GA pit begs for more, and the band happily delivers.
How to convert your friends to jam bands
There's nothing harder than trying to show your friends just how wonderful your favorite jam band is. Lucky for you though, we've created a step-by-step guide for turning your everyday yuppie to bonefide hippie.
07/23/2016, Chula Vista CA, Sleep Train Amphitheatre
I sit down on my knit blanket and stretch. The crunch of the grass below is a familiar and welcomed feeling. I take a deep breathe of pre-concert air, full of excitement, weed clouds, and the breath of people waited in the too long line to get a drink. It was a good feeling, a good atmosphere. Sometimes, I feel like right here is home. Every other day of my life is a vacation, but a few times each year I get to come home and see the best band in the world create music right before my eyes. Of course, it's starting to become a more costly trip, but I can worry all about that later.
And as if this moment can't become any more wonderful, I see some concert friends walk on up and lay down their blankets next to me. Buck, an older Deadhead I met a few years ago at Wrigley, shares with me some of his rolling paper. He starts telling me about a vision he had last night. Something about him asking Bob about tonight's setlist. I wasn't paying too much attention, though.
Sunny, a lady who always shows up next to me at these shows, asks me if I want some heavier stuff. It's tempting, but I have to decline her generous offer. Last time, I took way too much and left the show not remembering a single song.
Seven o'cklock came, though the band wasn't on the stage yet. That was okay. Most shows, they'd come on anywhere from fifteen to forty five minutes late. That was okay, though. If the band needed some time to relax, they might as well have some time. I waited, chatting with Buck and Sunny every once in a while, though most of the time they seemed to be on another planet.
As I'm sitting, staring at the stage, waiting in grand anticipation, a family sets down a blanket. There's a dad, a mom, and four or five kids. I always love when whole families come. It's good to get the kids on the music when they're young. The kids are restless, of course, and they run around the grass playing tag. I ask the parents how many shows they've been to. They smile and say that they've each gone to over thirty, but this is the first with the whole family. They all look so close and happy, it makes me smile.
The band comes out. The whole crowd is cheering so loud they can be heard in downtown San Diego. The first set is awesome. I can't see well for the most part, since the sun is still up. GA tickets would have been great, and I definitely would have been able to see better, but forking out another hundred or so bucks was out of the question. The grass is still wonderful, though. I'm not sure if the kids in front of me care about the music at all, but they sure dance to it. Kids are wonderful at dancing. They don't care about what others think about them, they just hear the music and their bodies move.
The second set is amazing. The kids got tired and are all laying down, and I feel bad that they can't experience the magic.
The show ends, and I feel like I'm floating. It's not even due to the pot. Anyone that hears music this good feels like they're floating. I walk out of the amphitheater and find my car in the parking lot. It's a bummer the show is already over. Now I need to go back to real life. Or back on vacation. That was the metaphor I used, right? Life won't be as much fun for a while, but at least I'll be able to listen to my tapes of this show whenever I wish I was back.
All Aboard to Terrapin Station
Some rise, some fall, some climb to get to Terrapin.
I wish I had written a line that profound. I mean, I typed it on my computer, but the sentence is taken from the song Terrapin Station by Grateful Dead. It’s from the album, Terrapin Station, which was released in 1977. It’s cover art has two turtles playing bluegrass instruments and dancing in front of a small wooden train station, appropriately named Terrapin Station. Every Deadhead has gone to Terrapin Station. A Grateful Dead concert is Terrapin Station.
Terrapin Station is a long song. 16:22 on the album version; though most life performances are shorter, since the band will exclude a few of the song's man segments. To make a long story short, the song is about a campfire tale. Two men, a sailor and a soldier, encounter a woman they both love, but to win her over they must pass a test of courage. The soldier leaves (being much too ‘wise’), but the sailor for the first time in his life acts on his passion and faces the pains of hell for a beautiful lady. In the end, he wins her heart.
It’s a good tale. The rest of the song goes on about a place called Terrapin Station. A terrapin is a name for a freshwater turtle, and mountain men would call any old turtle they saw a terrapin. There's this one kind of Terrapin called a smiling terrapin. It’s called that because it’s face is stuck in this cute permanent smile. That’s the kind of turtle I think is waiting for you at Terrapin Station.
Terrapin Station isn’t the end, though many are fooled into thinking it is. But rather it is a beginning. Those who wish to go must simply hop on the train, whose compass always points to Terrapin. When the sailor completed his harrowing task, the lady with the fan brought him to Terrapin, and they both continued down the tracks into the night unknown. At least that’s what I think. Terrapin is inspiration, and once we get there we can continue on in whatever direction we choose.
But the final words in the song might be the most interesting.:
You're back in Terrapin for good or ill again
For good or ill again.
Terrapin is a place we want to be, it’s a place we’re all searching for, but once we’re there it’s not necessarily a good thing. The final segment of the song, and segment that contains these last lines, is called ‘At a Siding’. A siding is a term relating to railroads. When one track splits off in two, it’s called a siding. One of the tracks leads to a place where the train carts will stop to be unloaded, the other will lead onwards.
Every Deadhead has gone to Terrapin Station. A Grateful Dead concert is Terrapin Station. Their music bleeds inspiration, and every eager concert goer has felt it. After a Dead concert, there are a few tracks you can go down. Many will go down the track of the hippie life. The fun life. The have jobs only so they can get to the next concert. They live life in the moment, meet plenty of friends along the way, and smoke barrels of weed.
It’s not too bad a track to go down. It definitely sounds fun. Though there's another tack right next to it many forget to see. It's not an easy track. It had a lot of responsibilities, and many who go down it just get too tired. But, if you ask me, that's the path where the true inspiration is. It's a path that has led adventurous travelers to become more than they once where. To constantly be trying to improve themselves, and in turn make the world a better place for all. Of course, you can be jammin' to the Dead the whole way.
And you know, I'm not too sure where that track stops, but I'm sure there will be plenty of smiling terrapins waiting for you.
The General Admission Pit is like a mirror. By looking at a concert pit, you can learn a lot about the band, as well as the quality of their fans. Some pits are peaceful. Some are turbulent. Some should be turbulent, but for some odd reason the concert goers are satisfied by simply bobbing their heads up and down.
Some are deadly. Literally. If you’ve never heard of moshing, it’s when arrogant kids and good for nothing old men knock into each other violently to overly aggressive music. It’s awful. But moshes like pogos or circle pits are mild compared to the ultimate mosh: the wall of death. In that hellhole of a pit the crowd will divide itself, forming a long line down the middle, then they run at each other at full speed. It’s like a medieval battle but with less knights and more long haired emo neckbeards. People have actually died in walls of death by being trampled. It’s awful.
It’s not common to find a good GA pit. If it’s not a thrash metal pig stie, it’s probably going to be boring. Even amazing bands like Rush have a strange disease where it’s GA pits are home to people that are content with moving their heads up and down and occasionally clapping. It’s not a bad pit, the people there are enthusiastic and love the shows, they just don’t know how to properly express that feeling.
There is one kind of GA pit that manages to rise from the ashes of spiteful metalheads and sleepy hipsters. A good example to this would be the crowd of a jam band. Go to a Grateful Dead show, you won’t find any people pushing and shoving, you’ll find people dancing. They all listen carefully. The band plays a note and the audience will respond. They feel the music, then do whatever their body tells them to do. It’s magical.
To let go of all your worries, all your concerns of how others will see you, and just dance, is one of the best feelings in the world. It sounds cheesy, I know. But being in the kind of environment where people happily dance to improvised music, you can’t help but smile.
You meet a lot of characters there. Once, at a Dead & Company show, I met an old man with a beard and a hat walking around tickling people’s feet. He's a reflection. There are people moving their hands in such strange and random directions it looks like they’re trying to send codes to the band. They're reflections. You’ll see people with large signs of the next song they want to hear - since no self respecting jam band would ever publish a setlist before a show - and every time a jam ends they eagerly lift the signs in the air, praying someone in the band will see it and choose to play it next. They're reflections too.
At these kinds of shows, nothing else matters but the music. It flows through you. A jam had been described like a hose before. The band is the hose, and the music is the water that flows through the tube and out into the garden to the hundreds of dancing fans. It’s a communication. A conversation. A communion. A conversion. The GA pit begs for more, and the band happily delivers.
How to convert your friends to jam bands
There's nothing harder than trying to show your friends just how wonderful your favorite jam band is. Lucky for you though, we've created a step-by-step guide for turning your everyday yuppie to bonefide hippie.
- Wear a t-shirt of your favorite jam band. Make sure it’s got plenty of tie dye and a crazy eye catching picture.
- When your friend asks you about the shirt, mention the band and briefly explain what they’re all about. Resist the urge to go into an in depth monologue explaining why that band is better than every other band. If you show them your true passion too early, they’ll be turned off. Be casual and cool about it.
- The next time you drive with this friend, turn on a good song from the band. Give them a little explanation of the song and let them listen. Resist the urge to play a thirty minute long psychedelic jam. Don't play them Kung by Phish, or they’ll think you're a devil worshiper. Don’t play them Row Jimmy by Grateful Dead, or they’ll fall asleep. Start with something exciting, fast, catchy, and with a fiery but quick jam.
- A few days later, send them a video the band playing a live jam. Make sure it’s high quality and can convey the amazing lights and sound. Don’t be offended if they don’t watch all of it. They’re not at the phase yet to appreciate it.
- Bring it up in passing conversation every now and them. Wear different shirts regularly when you see them. But do not push it. This can be the greatest pitfall young jam missionaries make. They’ll need time to get into the right frame of mind.
- When they start expressing any slight interest in the band, it’s time to pull out the list. Make sure you have at least ten songs tailored to their taste. Put some introductory songs on their, but make sure to load it with a few transcendent jams. Again, do not be offended when they tell you they haven't listen to them yet. Remind them occasionally in the friendliest way possible that they really should listen to every single song you recommended.
- It’s time for the final test. When your band comes around, get some tickets for you and your friend. This is the time for you to reel them in. Get them hyped. Get them an outfit for the show. Tie dye, headband, sunglasses, and whatever else will help them blend in with the crowd. When you’re at the show, make sure to dance your heart out. They must feel comfortable fully sinking into the hippie culture.
- If they’re into weed, get them some weed. If they aren't, don’t mention that everyone else will be smoking it.
- Observe them. See how into it they get. Do everything in your power to make sure they can feel how amazing the music is. When a good song starts, tell them how good and rare the song is. Make sure they know they are at a once in a lifetime experience.
- When your walking back to the car ask them what they thought. If they say it was good, then move the conversation onward. Sorry. They aren't and never will be into your jam band. But, that’s not going to happen. They’re going to tell you that it was the most unsurpassable experience they have mortally experienced.
- Congratulations. Your friend is now into jam bands.
07/23/2016, Chula Vista CA, Sleep Train Amphitheatre
I sit down on my knit blanket and stretch. The crunch of the grass below is a familiar and welcomed feeling. I take a deep breathe of pre-concert air, full of excitement, weed clouds, and the breath of people waited in the too long line to get a drink. It was a good feeling, a good atmosphere. Sometimes, I feel like right here is home. Every other day of my life is a vacation, but a few times each year I get to come home and see the best band in the world create music right before my eyes. Of course, it's starting to become a more costly trip, but I can worry all about that later.
And as if this moment can't become any more wonderful, I see some concert friends walk on up and lay down their blankets next to me. Buck, an older Deadhead I met a few years ago at Wrigley, shares with me some of his rolling paper. He starts telling me about a vision he had last night. Something about him asking Bob about tonight's setlist. I wasn't paying too much attention, though.
Sunny, a lady who always shows up next to me at these shows, asks me if I want some heavier stuff. It's tempting, but I have to decline her generous offer. Last time, I took way too much and left the show not remembering a single song.
Seven o'cklock came, though the band wasn't on the stage yet. That was okay. Most shows, they'd come on anywhere from fifteen to forty five minutes late. That was okay, though. If the band needed some time to relax, they might as well have some time. I waited, chatting with Buck and Sunny every once in a while, though most of the time they seemed to be on another planet.
As I'm sitting, staring at the stage, waiting in grand anticipation, a family sets down a blanket. There's a dad, a mom, and four or five kids. I always love when whole families come. It's good to get the kids on the music when they're young. The kids are restless, of course, and they run around the grass playing tag. I ask the parents how many shows they've been to. They smile and say that they've each gone to over thirty, but this is the first with the whole family. They all look so close and happy, it makes me smile.
The band comes out. The whole crowd is cheering so loud they can be heard in downtown San Diego. The first set is awesome. I can't see well for the most part, since the sun is still up. GA tickets would have been great, and I definitely would have been able to see better, but forking out another hundred or so bucks was out of the question. The grass is still wonderful, though. I'm not sure if the kids in front of me care about the music at all, but they sure dance to it. Kids are wonderful at dancing. They don't care about what others think about them, they just hear the music and their bodies move.
The second set is amazing. The kids got tired and are all laying down, and I feel bad that they can't experience the magic.
The show ends, and I feel like I'm floating. It's not even due to the pot. Anyone that hears music this good feels like they're floating. I walk out of the amphitheater and find my car in the parking lot. It's a bummer the show is already over. Now I need to go back to real life. Or back on vacation. That was the metaphor I used, right? Life won't be as much fun for a while, but at least I'll be able to listen to my tapes of this show whenever I wish I was back.
All Aboard to Terrapin Station
Some rise, some fall, some climb to get to Terrapin.
I wish I had written a line that profound. I mean, I typed it on my computer, but the sentence is taken from the song Terrapin Station by Grateful Dead. It’s from the album, Terrapin Station, which was released in 1977. It’s cover art has two turtles playing bluegrass instruments and dancing in front of a small wooden train station, appropriately named Terrapin Station. Every Deadhead has gone to Terrapin Station. A Grateful Dead concert is Terrapin Station.
Terrapin Station is a long song. 16:22 on the album version; though most life performances are shorter, since the band will exclude a few of the song's man segments. To make a long story short, the song is about a campfire tale. Two men, a sailor and a soldier, encounter a woman they both love, but to win her over they must pass a test of courage. The soldier leaves (being much too ‘wise’), but the sailor for the first time in his life acts on his passion and faces the pains of hell for a beautiful lady. In the end, he wins her heart.
It’s a good tale. The rest of the song goes on about a place called Terrapin Station. A terrapin is a name for a freshwater turtle, and mountain men would call any old turtle they saw a terrapin. There's this one kind of Terrapin called a smiling terrapin. It’s called that because it’s face is stuck in this cute permanent smile. That’s the kind of turtle I think is waiting for you at Terrapin Station.
Terrapin Station isn’t the end, though many are fooled into thinking it is. But rather it is a beginning. Those who wish to go must simply hop on the train, whose compass always points to Terrapin. When the sailor completed his harrowing task, the lady with the fan brought him to Terrapin, and they both continued down the tracks into the night unknown. At least that’s what I think. Terrapin is inspiration, and once we get there we can continue on in whatever direction we choose.
But the final words in the song might be the most interesting.:
You're back in Terrapin for good or ill again
For good or ill again.
Terrapin is a place we want to be, it’s a place we’re all searching for, but once we’re there it’s not necessarily a good thing. The final segment of the song, and segment that contains these last lines, is called ‘At a Siding’. A siding is a term relating to railroads. When one track splits off in two, it’s called a siding. One of the tracks leads to a place where the train carts will stop to be unloaded, the other will lead onwards.
Every Deadhead has gone to Terrapin Station. A Grateful Dead concert is Terrapin Station. Their music bleeds inspiration, and every eager concert goer has felt it. After a Dead concert, there are a few tracks you can go down. Many will go down the track of the hippie life. The fun life. The have jobs only so they can get to the next concert. They live life in the moment, meet plenty of friends along the way, and smoke barrels of weed.
It’s not too bad a track to go down. It definitely sounds fun. Though there's another tack right next to it many forget to see. It's not an easy track. It had a lot of responsibilities, and many who go down it just get too tired. But, if you ask me, that's the path where the true inspiration is. It's a path that has led adventurous travelers to become more than they once where. To constantly be trying to improve themselves, and in turn make the world a better place for all. Of course, you can be jammin' to the Dead the whole way.
And you know, I'm not too sure where that track stops, but I'm sure there will be plenty of smiling terrapins waiting for you.