When I got up on the morning of August 9, 1995, I turned on the radio. That was a very unusual thing; I never listened to the radio in those days. For some reason, I tuned in KZSC, the student radio station from the University of California at Santa Cruz. This was even stranger. If I were to listen to a radio station, that would not have been the one I would normally have chosen. I felt compelled somehow to do so.
They were playing a recording of the Grateful Dead's version of the great Traffic song, Dear Mr. Fantasy. The Dead had done that song as a powerful duet between Jerry Garcia and their troubled but talented keyboardist, Brent Mydland, who had passed away in 1980 from a drug overdose (the third keyboardist that the Dead had lost; it was definitely a hot seat).
Dear Mr. Fantasy play us a tune
Something to make us all happy
Do anything, take us out of this gloom,
Sing a song, play guitar, make it snappy
You are the one who can make us all laugh
But doing that you break out in tears
Please don't be sad, if it was a straight life you had
We wouldn't have known you all these years
As soon as I heard this, I knew. A few tears started to in my eyes. Sure enough, when the song ended, a somber DJ came on said that they had unconfirmed reports that Jerry had passed away that morning. The reports might have been unconfirmed, but I knew that it was true. I could feel it in my gut, in my bones, in my heart and in my soul.
By that afternoon, a group of people had gathered in downtown Santa Cruz, finding solace in their shared grief. For many of these people, the Grateful Dead was their entire life, and Jerry the star around which they orbited. I'll never forget the lost, vacant expressions that I saw in some of their faces.
For us, our involvment in the Grateful Dead scene had been greatly curtailed in the previous several years. The scene had become inundated with young newcomers. There was a new, aggressive energy that was contrary to the respectful, courteous atmosphere of one large family that had made the scene so attractive. The music too had become much more uneven, particularly as Jerry continued to struggled with the demons of drug abuse and his unwanted deification. Plus, we had become more and more interested in African percussion, and dedicated more and more of our energy to our own musical pursuits.
However, on the morning of the Dead's last Bay Area appearance in June of that year, Beth and I both woke up with the same feeling that we had to go to that show. We hadn't been to one in almost two years. We actually had a rehearsal for a gig of our own scheduled that evening, but once it become clear that we had the identical feeling compelling us to go to the show, we managed to reschedule the rehearsal and went to the show. There was only flashes of the old magic, but in restrospect, I'm so glad that we made it.
In those days, I looked ALOT like a younger Jerry Garcia, before his hair went grey. I had the unruly curly hair and beard, the big nose and warm, ugly face. Heading to that gathering in Santa Cruz that afternoon, more then one person did a double take seeing me; as if they were seeing a ghost. It was not a pleasant feeling. To this day, I am uncomfortable whenever someone observes how much I look like Jerry (and not just because I think he was a particularly ugly-looking man).
On August 13, a Memorial Service was held in Golden Gate Park, near where the Dead had done so many free shows in the hey day of the "Summer of Love". When we got there, we heard the unmistakable sounds of our mentor, Babatunde Olatunji (who we had first encountered at Grateful Dead New Years Eve show 10 years prior) chanting "Ajaja" a call to the ancestors -- welcoming Jerry to their realm, with the beat of the drums pounding behind him. It was a powerful day of speeches and music, but for me nothing equalled that first moment of hearing Baba (who himself entered the realm of the ancesters ten years later) chanting from a distance as we approached the gathering, the drums like the heartbeat of the universe.
The following days and weeks, a particular picture appeared in newspapers and magazines accross the country, of Jerry's musical partner, Bob Weir, with his arms stretched to the sky, urging everyone in the crowd to do the same, to send a message of love to Jerry, whereever he was. In front of him is a large drum, still on the stage from Baba Olatunji's invocation. That drum was made for Baba by Beth and I. I've always been very proud that something so precious that we had created was immortalized by that moment.
Ajaja E E
Emi Lo
Ajaja E E
Olo Mi O Baba Sike
Olo Mi O Baba Raba
Ajaja E E
Emi Lo
"Spirits in the shape of hawks and eagles flew ever to and from his halls; and their eyes could see to the depths of the seas, and pierce the hidden caverns beneath the world."