It was recorded and we can re-live it over and over and over. Why not? they are all on 'Orange Sunshine'. His guitar still shooting off jizz like an orgasm half over. Now what the fuçk is going on at 11:10? Bobby hinting at 'Lets get back to the song.? **Please** Jerry, I can't take your shite anymore. Complete band hook-up on all levels and brain melting synchronicity. This song OWNS so much, I can listen to it 15 times in a row and never get sick of it, even if the office members look at me funny.ĭig the Phil Bombs at the 10:30 mark. I have pinpointed the moment when the shite hits the fan to the 8:32 mark.įuçk!!! Why was I only 7 years old? I should have made it to that show. WTF!?!?! It is impossible for humans to play like this! Guitars can't sound like this. You don't need drugs to be high with shows like this to listen to. This has to be the greatest example of The Hose fully on. Ahhhhh You just can't fuçk with this song, this show. When they took the stage on the next night at the War Memorial, Bobby and Jerry walked over to the lip of the stage, spotted us in our seats and waived.ĭancin in the streets. “See you tomorrow' he said though his laughter. We could hear them laughing riotously as Bobby's arm emerged holding the tickets, splayed out like a hand of cards. After a few yards, the limo stopped and the rear window dropped down as we caught up. Bobby slid in behind them, closed the door and they started to speed off, with our tickets! We ran after them yelling for them to stop. Jerry and Phil said goodbye and piled into the limo. Bobby said: “Let me see all those' and he gathered them up. I told them what a great show this night was and, for some reason repeated that the tickets that they were holding are for the first row in Buffalo tomorrow night. Commenting to the others, Jerry remarked: “Well at least something's working' They all chuckled. Phil had handed a couple of them around to Jerry and Bob. Looking them over, he asked: “Did you get these from our office?' “Yeah, we did. Bill, Keith and Donna had gotten into one of the stretches and left. None of us were speaking up as they exited so I did: “We've got first row for Buffalo tomorrow night!' I blurted out to none of them in particular as I held them up. The Dead office didn't mark up the prices either. Bulk ticket distributors seldom sold seats for the smaller, more obscure venues. My friends and I had all been on the Dead's mailing list for years at this point.

The band's initial response was to contract for blocks of tickets for each show they could get them for on a tour. Scalping had already become a very real problem and Dead tickets were some of the earliest concerts targeted by those creeps. These were not the custom made tickets that would be the norm about five years later. The band had been running their own label for awhile by now and we'd bought most of our tickets for this tour mail-order through the Grateful Dead office in San Francisco. Each one of them was carrying a black attaché case. The rear doors swung open and they all tumbled out. There weren't any other fans around, just some crew and university officials. Two black stretch limos were idling by the door. A light snowfall was swirling around, big billowing flakes blazed like white fireflies as they caught the parking lot lights. After the show we went back to the rear entrance and waited for them to come out. About the size of an indoor basketball court. The night before this War Memorial show was in Barton Hall at Cornell, which was basically a glorified gymnasium. Me and a couple of friends had been following the band on this tour since the Spectrum shows in Philadelphia.

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