![]() ![]() He was young then, and vital, and vigorous. ![]() At the end of the first set, he reprised “Sugaree” - that’s right, played the rave-up and conclusion again - and the climbing crescendo in Sugaree left us both overpowered, the impossibly emotional experience of his ascension of that towering peak, building and fanning and rebuilding, excruciating melodies, surfing a powerful rhythm wave that lifted him higher and higher - and then diminuendo to a hush. The horrible tape in circulation does not fully correspond with the cortical records on file in our sensorium: We looked at each other after “Sugaree,” and both had wet cheeks - shining ecstatic wondrously wet cheeks: “What in the world was that?” Standing on folding chairs in the front section, dead center, eye level with the stage, Garcia peered at us, over his dark glasses, as he probed our teenaged souls on the opener - “Sugaree.” He watched us watching him, first time up so close, and he was just watching us, not very far away, looking right into us, playing right to us, and rogering the almighty bejeezus out of our brand-new hipster minds. We were strong in the holy goof as we entered, and easily positioned in an ideal pair of seats on the floor. Here’s the brief actual truth, even if it didn’t happen: My girlfriend and I had gotten religion at our first Grateful Dead show, at Roosevelt Stadium on August 4, 1976, so we bought tickets to see the Garcia Band at Seton Hall. At Walsh Auditorium, Seton Hall University, South Orange, NJ: The category is Shows I’ll Never Forget, and certain shows have a radioactive half-life, so what’s 37 years among friends? 37 years ago this week, in fact. ![]()
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