Beating A Dead Mule (Part 2: Letdown in the Lobby)

We waited in line a little longer, wishing we'd left an hour earlier so we could have eaten. We both seemed to remember that the Warfield served food close to where we'd be seated, so we weren't too worried. Fending off the occasional panhandler helped pass the time. How many different ways can you tell someone that you have no spare change? In the words (that I never have the guts to use) of the late Robin Harris, "Spare change? Ain't no such thing. I got change...can't spare it. Why don't you get yourself a spare job? Then you'd have yourself some spare change".

The doors opened and we got up to the entrance pretty quickly. Mary went to the shorter, women's pat-down line while I waited for a few guys to get the treatment in front of me. I lost sight of her, but we always meet up right inside the doors when that happens. I was up next and the guy had all sorts of questions about the various items in my pockets. I pulled out my phone, my voice recorder, my pen and paper, my Chapstick and my Sharpie. I've gotten into the habit of bringing the Sharpie just in case I have the time to get an autograph or two. Since we were staying close by, I thought maybe we'd hang around by the tour bus after the show. But as I reloaded my gear into the various pockets of my cargo pants, Door Guy said, "Can't bring in the Sharpie, man."

"Huh?", I grunted, looking over his shoulder for Mary inside. I was still putting stuff away in my pockets and starting to walk past him.

"No Sharpies, dude", he said apologetically. "Sorry".

I must have looked confused because he added, "Graffiti".

"Graffiti?", I asked.

"Yeah, sorry. You can't bring it in", he said and he made a gesture with his hand, guiding me away from the door. What the hell did he think I was going to do, take a pen back to my car or something? Skip the show and go home, maybe? This ain't no camera or knife, kid. It's a pen.

I stared blankly at his arm outstretched in front of me for a second or two and looked back up to his face. I held out the pen and told him to toss it in the trash can behind him. "You sure?", he says.

"Dude, it's a pen", I told him as I passed through the doors and entered the lobby of the Warfield Theater. The walls are covered with posters and photographs from past performances just like the Fillmore, but there was no time for dilly-dallying. We had to score a table! But where was Mary? I looked around and couldn't find her. I was sure she'd gotten in before me, what with the delay I'd just had. I probably looked a little lost there for a minute. I could just hear the announcement over the P.A.; WE HAVE A LOST MAN IN HIS THIRTIES, HE'S WEARING A BLACK T-SHIRT AND CARGO PANTS. HE'S LOOKING FOR HIS WIFE AND HE NEEDS A BEER. HE SAYS HIS NAME IS TONY. PLEASE COME PICK HIM UP AT THE BAR.

I gave up on trying to find her because she probably figured I would get spastic and dart into the theater to get a table without her and saw no point in waiting for me at the door. As I made my way through the lobby, I saw two hippie-chicks asking anyone if they would trade their General Admission tickets for the girls' "good" balcony seats. Another pretty good indication that the Dead were here; these girls found out about it and wanted to get closer to the stage. I went through the doors that led to the main floor and saw Mary there. She was scouting ahead of me. That's my girl! I caught her eye and she shrugged. When I reached her, she told me that all the tables were reserved. I looked around and sure enough, placards were on each table. Then I looked down to the lower tier and saw that there were no tables there at all. They had been removed to make more standing room because of the expected crowd, so we were later told by a manager. There was a brief moment of helplessness, then we took a nice spot on the rail on the second tier. It was a great view of the stage with no obstructions because it stood about 3 or 4 feet above the main floor and we'd have a ledge to put our jackets and beers on, too. A table would have been a nice luxury, but this wasn't so bad. We got a couple of beers ($11--ouch) and smirked to each other as we watched all the people wandering around looking for a spot to watch the show from.

We needed to eat, so Mary ordered us up some grub. It was all pretty much California Cuisine and I'm a pretty picky eater, so I decided on the bratwurst. Eight bucks. That thing better be the best damn brat I ever had. Turns out it wasn't, but it was the biggest and easily the most phallic.

Chris showed up not too long after that and we talked for a bit, all of us excited to be there. Then another friend, Paul Taylor, came around. Paul's a fan of this Blog and I was only too happy to listen to him quote lines from past stories I've written. That was huge for my ego. I think more of you should take a cue from Paul. When you do, I'll act embarrassed, but really I'll be eating it up.

The floor area was beginning to fill up a little and I noticed something I hadn't seen before. On the floor, there was yellow and black tape--the kind you see in crash-test footage--to mark the aisles. If you stood in the aisle, an usher would come over and ask you to move within the taped lines. Who came up with that idea, Les Nesman?

Gov't Mule is a band that allows people to tape the shows from the audience and lets their fans trade these recordings amongst themselves. The only restriction is that the recordings not be sold. It's a pretty cool thing for any band to do. The equipment can be fairly sophisticated and quite pricey. But for the tapers, it's their hobby and something they enjoy. I, for one, am glad for that because I've gotten untold numbers of these recordings and it still kind of blows my mind to hear a show that I attended on a CD---sometimes only a few days later. Our spot on the rail was right above the designated taper's section on the main floor. It was facinating to watch these folks set up for the night, often working in tandem to set up mic stands, label DAT tapes, put in fresh batteries, etc. I was watching and listening to them compare their mics. It was very similar to car buffs looking over each others engines at a car show. The vernacular of the two hobbies seemed very similar to me, because I know nothing of either. At one point, I could have sworn that I heard one taper say he had an Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator and I had no reason not to believe that he did.

The lights went down and drummer Matt Abts took to his kit and started noodling around a bit. The other bandmembers joined him one by one, adding to the building tune until they blasted into one of my faves, "Blind Man In the Dark". This was the beginning of one the best sets I've heard Gov't Mule play. It was also the first show I've seen with the new permanent bass player, Andy Hess. I had a little wishlist of bassists I wanted to see Mule play with and Andy wasn't on it. Not because I didn't like him, but I really didn't know him or his playing. I was thoroughly impressed that night. He also cracked me from time to time because he seemed to stalk his area of the stage like the Crypt-Keeper. He also never straightened up fully. His knees were always bent and he slouched over his bass. I think that if he stood up straight, he must be 9 feet tall. I was really stoked and I looked around from time to time to take in the crowd's reaction. Heads were bobbing and there were smiles all around. It was a very powerful choice of tunes and I was into it.

One taper was dancing very awkwardly. He was grooving pretty good, but he looked like he was operating an invisible telephone switchboard. Mary got a kick out of him and mimicked his moves from our perch right above him. I joked to her that she was missing a good show and she said the show was right in front of her. Then she said, "Watch this, I'm gonna go dance with him", and she started to make her way around the back of me to head down the ramp to the main floor. I flailed at her and caught her shirt. "Ah, ah, ah....No!", I scolded her. She just laughed at me and kept teasing that she was going down there. But I know if I hadn't caught her, she would have done it and I could just envision her knocking over mic stands and stomping DAT tapedecks in the darkness like a bull in a china shop. The look of sheer horror on the faces of the tapers would have made a good story though.

After what I think was about 90 minutes, the band broke for intermission. We caught a bathroom break, got a couple more beers and waited for what seemed to be inevitable. The band came on for the second set with Phil Lesh on bass. Uh-oh. As they started the first tune, the guitarist that we met in line was standing next to Mary on the rail and asked her if the bass player was playing the same song as the rest of the band. She said that she thought so. He just shook his head. Mary was already looking to bail out on this set, but I was going to give it a few more minutes. Then Lesh opened his mouth to sing. We were out of there. I've seen German Shepherds react more slowly to a dog whistle than Mary did to Lesh's vocals. We waved to Chris and Paul that we would be in the lobby. Good time to look at posters.

Photo of me in the lobby taken with camera-phone.

In the lobby, the scene was surreal. I expected us to be the only fans out there. But there were many more people than I would have bet on. As we walked to the bar, a guy caught a look at my Gov't Mule shirt and shook his head, "You believe this shit?" If I wanted to go to a Dead show, I'd go to a friggin' Dead show". I shrugged and told him that it shouldn't have been a surprise. He knew to expect it, he just took it harder than he thought he would. Another couple of guys were walking by and overheard our conversation. One guy had on his new Gov't Mule hat and new 3/4 sleeve Gov't Mule jersey (which I thought about getting just for nostalgic purposes---I haven't worn a jersey style concert shirt in 20 years), both of which he had just purchased before the show. He was livid. He said he was disgusted and was leaving. Mary and I told him that there would be a third set and he would kick himself for leaving, but he didn't care. He motioned to his buddy and they walked right out the door. I was dumbfounded. He seemed sober, intelligent and pretty normal, but man, was he pissed! Chris and Paul, both Dead fans, even joined us in the lobby for a while, mentioning that while it was cool to hear the Dead, they weren't playing anything too exciting or surprising. Just then, Paul stopped talking and listened intently for just a moment to the sounds coming into the lobby from the open doors to the theater. His eyes opened wide and he shot away from us as if he remembered he'd left the stove on at home. Apparently, they were playing something interesting after all, but they had me fooled.

Another merciful intermission came and went. The Mule came on for the third set, but Mary and I had the wind taken out of our sails a little. They played fine, but we questioned the song selection. The first set was so inspired and intense, that this one seemed a little anti-climatic to me. Of course, fatigue was also starting to set in. By the time they played their signature tune, (the song called Mule--which brought us back to life briefly), Mary and I had been up for 22 hours. The third set ended and after some time, they returned for Soulshine which was no surprise at all. In fact, we left upon hearing the first notes. I just didn't have to hear Soulshine again. It's a great song, but it's becoming an albatross around their necks. Stairway to Heaven for the jamband genre.

We walked out and many others were doing the same. I was a little disapointed, but all in all, it was a great show. It was also great to hang out with Chris and Paul. And while I realize that the Dead appearing onstage that night was a big deal for most people, I just can't force myself to swallow it. But as sour as I may have been after the first set, I have a feeling I'll be right back there, wherever Gov't Mule play with whomever they choose to share the stage with. Because like a woman that thinks her man will change someday, I just know the Mule will come around and see things my way and play a full concert with no guests someday. But probably never in San Francisco.