| Identifier | 524134 |
| Created At | Tue May 23 2023 23:54:00 GMT+0000 (Coordinated Universal Time) |
| Reference Number | 0000731364 |
| Status | 1 |
| Media Type | CDR |
| Media Count | 3 |
| Sound Rating | A+ |
| Note | String Cheese Incident
July 4, 2001 Headwall at Mt. Werner: Steamboat Springs, Colorado Source: SchoepsCMC641>MP-2>AD2K>DA-P1 Extracted using Track Theif on a Macintosh G4 and Shortened by nodrog@continet.com. Disc1 Set 1: 1. intro 2. high on a mountain top* 3. big sciota* 4. hold what you?ve got* 5. born on the wrong planet 6. little hands> 7. jam**> 8. MLT**> 9. jam**> 10. drums**> 11. MLT** 12. Tom Thumb?s blues Disc 2 Set 2 1. shakin? the tree 2. Howard> 3. sittin? on top of the world 4. let it go 5. rivertrance> 6. star spangled banner jam> 7. rivertrance Disc 3 Set 2 continued 1. cheese crew thanks 2. this must be the place (naive melody)> 3. jam> 4. outside inside Encore 5. shine> 6. jam***> 7. I know you rider Notes * acoustic ** with Stephen Chopek and Chris Lovejoy on percussion and John Ellis on saxophone (all from the Charlie Hunter Band) *** w/Fire on the Mountain teases --------------------- July 2001 the following passage is from John Barlow, lyricist for many of the Grateful Dead songs that Bob Weir sang, and several of Brent Mydland's last compositions. powerful stuff from one of the scene's elders, I hope it moves you as much as it does me. -------- A STIRRING CHEEZE INCIDENT IN THE ROCKIES. Since it's now dawn in Wyoming and I have to somehow pack for three weeks on the road, drive 250 miles to Salt Lake, fly to San Francisco, and prepare for this evening's festivities, I am forced to be a good bit more brief that I would prefer in describing my glorious Fourth of July. It was a day when, along with eight or nine thousand of the sweetest, most beautiful kids I've ever seen, I sang the un-singable "Star Spangled Banner" and *meant it*! This was no mere patriotic gesture, since, thanks to that malapropriating corporate toady in the Extremely White House, my patriotism is at an all-time nadir. No, I was inspired to lusty bellowing by an astonishing new Free Association called The String Cheese Incident, who are, along with their audience, Grateful Dead 2.0, and a improved release on both sides of the proscenium, I'd say. I'd been hearing of these guys for a few years, but, to be honest, I haven't been much encouraged by any of the musical or social phenomena that followed the death of the Dead in 1995. Everybody seemed to be waiting for Garcia to turn back up. Which, of course, he didn't. Much as I miss him personally, I wasn't sure this was entirely bad thing either. By the time our long, strange trip finally black petered out, there wasn't much left to admire in it. Just about everybody, whether musician or audience member, seemed terminally messed up on one form of self-indulgence or another. (Not that I was any exception.) As much as I admired the principles we'd all once stood for, it took a lot of imagination to claim that any large number of us still stood for much of anything besides money and intoxication. The Grateful Dead organization itself had become like a Mafia village in some remote Sicilian valley. Not since the Borgia Vatican had there been such time-tangled intrigue. And most of the Deadheads seemed like a Cargo Cult on bad acid. It wasn't that pretty. So I didn't go Phishing. I tried to write for Ratdog, but, when I heard what they'd done to my songs, Mom, I swore off that. But then the Barlowettes, whose instincts are not to be ignored, came back from Jackson Hole one night after having heard something called The String Cheese Incident. They were so pumped that I wondered if some genuine revival might not be taking place. Still, I had my reservations. There's nothing more suspicious of joy than a disappointed old hippie. The next time they went to one of these concerts they came back with a bootleg tape. As soon as they played it for me, they got my complete attention. It seemed these guys could play anything. When they jam - which is pretty much all they do - they toss the goddamnedest fruit salad of musical genres you can imagine. Kinda like Cole Porter doing Bluegrass for Tuvan throat singers. Or Led Zeppelin meeting the Mormon Tabernacle Choir with Yo Yo Ma conducting. Or something. Or somethings. So, when the daughters asked me if I wanted to come along and camp out with them - like the Deadhead I never quite got to be - for two days in Steamboat Springs last week, I jumped on it. (Of course, I would have jumped on it anyway. Any time your teenaged daughters want to bring you along, you don't care if they're off to see Komodo dragons fight to the death in pits of burning tar. You go. And I went.) Now I'm a completely converted Cheesehead, or whatever they call themselves. (Since folks from Wisconsin also call themselves that, a better name is doubtless called for. These kids resemble Packers fans about as much as faeries resemble goblins. Indeed, I believe I don't exaggerate when I say that the audience I saw in Colorado was the most civilized group of young people I've ever been among. They were gentle, tolerant, self-contained, joyous, and utterly responsible without anyone telling them to be. Both the concert site and the campground were entirely litter-free within an hour after everyone cleared out. This just happened. There were no exhortations from the stage, admonishing them to clean up. They didn't even tell each other to do it. They were also incredibly lovely to look at. Such an expanse of human scenery I've hardly ever seen, not even in Paris, France, let alone the central Rockies, where folks can look a little raw. And the music... Zowie! If you aren't moved to dance by The String Cheese Incident and the self-amplifying dervish transports of their co-conspiring audience, there's just no dance in you. But the Main Thing, the Real Deal, is the fact that this band and their audience comprise the new cathedral where dwells that mysterious Holy Creature that sometimes turned up in the space between the Grateful Dead and the Deadheads. Furthermore, it's far more crisply defined. These guys are tighter than God's wristwatch. Everything just works. While, as I say, I was in some ways Grateful when they were, the death of the Dead also meant that my primary religion's central place of worship simply vanished. I used to say that I had three altars in this world: coral reefs, Grateful Dead concerts, and all that is female. It was tough being reduced to two, numinous though they be. And it's great being back up to all three again. Also - and I hesitate to recount this - something marvelous happened to me during the second set on the 4th. At a certain point, it seemed that the spirit of a beautiful woman came into me and began to operate my incongruous old heap of a body. I'm tempted to say it was Cynthia's wraith, since she certainly seemed to have those long, elegant hands and fingers, that slender flow. I must have looked truly preposterous as she wove the air with my blunt paws, but it didn't matter. I didn't care if I looked like least suitable drag queen in San Francisco. I was delighted to lend her my body. I wasn't dancing *with* someone. I was being danced. Even if they couldn't create a zone where this sort of thing can happen, I'd still be in awe of the art that blooms from these guys. They seem to share a lot of my own instincts about how music really works - economically, philosophically, and spiritually. They know that if you give that gift to your best ability, without pride or greed or vanity or proprietary arrogance, it will return itself to you many times over. And every one of them has the kind of lucid eyes that can seem to see forever... from either side of the cornea. They've expressed an interest in getting together with me to see if songs will grow between us. I can't wait to give it a try. I hope very much to be worthy of the opportunity. Ok. Enough. I don't want to induce diabetic coma in any of you. And this is getting pretty saccharine, I admit. But do yourselves a favor. Experience this magic before the world has had its usual ugly way with it. John Perry Barlow, Cognitive Dissident Co-Founder & Vice Chairman, Electronic Frontier Foundation Berkman Fellow, Harvard Law School |
| Source Info | PCP |
| J-Card Comment | String Cheese Incident July 4, 2001 Headwall at Mt. Werner: Steamboat Springs, Colorado Source: SchoepsCMC641>MP-2>AD2K>DA-P1 Extracted using Track Theif on a Macintosh G4 and Shortened by nodrog@continet.com. Disc1 Set 1: 1. intro 2. high on a mountain top* 3. big sciota* 4. hold what you?ve got* 5. born on the wrong planet 6. little hands> 7. jam**> 8. MLT**> 9. jam**> 10. drums**> 11. MLT** 12. Tom Thumb?s blues Disc 2 Set 2 1. shakin? the tree 2. Howard> 3. sittin? on top of the world 4. let it go 5. rivertrance> 6. star spangled banner jam> 7. rivertrance Disc 3 Set 2 continued 1. cheese crew thanks 2. this must be the place (naive melody)> 3. jam> 4. outside inside Encore 5. shine> 6. jam***> 7. I know you rider Notes * acoustic ** with Stephen Chopek and Chris Lovejoy on percussion and John Ellis on saxophone (all from the Charlie Hunter Band) *** w/Fire on the Mountain teases --------------------- July 2001 the following passage is from John Barlow, lyricist for many of the Grateful Dead songs that Bob Weir sang, and several of Brent Mydland's last compositions. powerful stuff from one of the scene's elders, I hope it moves you as much as it does me. -------- A STIRRING CHEEZE INCIDENT IN THE ROCKIES. Since it's now dawn in Wyoming and I have to somehow pack for three weeks on the road, drive 250 miles to Salt Lake, fly to San Francisco, and prepare for this evening's festivities, I am forced to be a good bit more brief that I would prefer in describing my glorious Fourth of July. It was a day when, along with eight or nine thousand of the sweetest, most beautiful kids I've ever seen, I sang the un-singable "Star Spangled Banner" and *meant it*! This was no mere patriotic gesture, since, thanks to that malapropriating corporate toady in the Extremely White House, my patriotism is at an all-time nadir. No, I was inspired to lusty bellowing by an astonishing new Free Association called The String Cheese Incident, who are, along with their audience, Grateful Dead 2.0, and a improved release on both sides of the proscenium, I'd say. I'd been hearing of these guys for a few years, but, to be honest, I haven't been much encouraged by any of the musical or social phenomena that followed the death of the Dead in 1995. Everybody seemed to be waiting for Garcia to turn back up. Which, of course, he didn't. Much as I miss him personally, I wasn't sure this was entirely bad thing either. By the time our long, strange trip finally black petered out, there wasn't much left to admire in it. Just about everybody, whether musician or audience member, seemed terminally messed up on one form of self-indulgence or another. (Not that I was any exception.) As much as I admired the principles we'd all once stood for, it took a lot of imagination to claim that any large number of us still stood for much of anything besides money and intoxication. The Grateful Dead organization itself had become like a Mafia village in some remote Sicilian valley. Not since the Borgia Vatican had there been such time-tangled intrigue. And most of the Deadheads seemed like a Cargo Cult on bad acid. It wasn't that pretty. So I didn't go Phishing. I tried to write for Ratdog, but, when I heard what they'd done to my songs, Mom, I swore off that. But then the Barlowettes, whose instincts are not to be ignored, came back from Jackson Hole one night after having heard something called The String Cheese Incident. They were so pumped that I wondered if some genuine revival might not be taking place. Still, I had my reservations. There's nothing more suspicious of joy than a disappointed old hippie. The next time they went to one of these concerts they came back with a bootleg tape. As soon as they played it for me, they got my complete attention. It seemed these guys could play anything. When they jam - which is pretty much all they do - they toss the goddamnedest fruit salad of musical genres you can imagine. Kinda like Cole Porter doing Bluegrass for Tuvan throat singers. Or Led Zeppelin meeting the Mormon Tabernacle Choir with Yo Yo Ma conducting. Or something. Or somethings. So, when the daughters asked me if I wanted to come along and camp out with them - like the Deadhead I never quite got to be - for two days in Steamboat Springs last week, I jumped on it. (Of course, I would have jumped on it anyway. Any time your teenaged daughters want to bring you along, you don't care if they're off to see Komodo dragons fight to the death in pits of burning tar. You go. And I went.) Now I'm a completely converted Cheesehead, or whatever they call themselves. (Since folks from Wisconsin also call themselves that, a better name is doubtless called for. These kids resemble Packers fans about as much as faeries resemble goblins. Indeed, I believe I don't exaggerate when I say that the audience I saw in Colorado was the most civilized group of young people I've ever been among. They were gentle, tolerant, self-contained, joyous, and utterly responsible without anyone telling them to be. Both the concert site and the campground were entirely litter-free within an hour after everyone cleared out. This just happened. There were no exhortations from the stage, admonishing them to clean up. They didn't even tell each other to do it. They were also incredibly lovely to look at. Such an expanse of human scenery I've hardly ever seen, not even in Paris, France, let alone the central Rockies, where folks can look a little raw. And the music... Zowie! If you aren't moved to dance by The String Cheese Incident and the self-amplifying dervish transports of their co-conspiring audience, there's just no dance in you. But the Main Thing, the Real Deal, is the fact that this band and their audience comprise the new cathedral where dwells that mysterious Holy Creature that sometimes turned up in the space between the Grateful Dead and the Deadheads. Furthermore, it's far more crisply defined. These guys are tighter than God's wristwatch. Everything just works. While, as I say, I was in some ways Grateful when they were, the death of the Dead also meant that my primary religion's central place of worship simply vanished. I used to say that I had three altars in this world: coral reefs, Grateful Dead concerts, and all that is female. It was tough being reduced to two, numinous though they be. And it's great being back up to all three again. Also - and I hesitate to recount this - something marvelous happened to me during the second set on the 4th. At a certain point, it seemed that the spirit of a beautiful woman came into me and began to operate my incongruous old heap of a body. I'm tempted to say it was Cynthia's wraith, since she certainly seemed to have those long, elegant hands and fingers, that slender flow. I must have looked truly preposterous as she wove the air with my blunt paws, but it didn't matter. I didn't care if I looked like least suitable drag queen in San Francisco. I was delighted to lend her my body. I wasn't dancing *with* someone. I was being danced. Even if they couldn't create a zone where this sort of thing can happen, I'd still be in awe of the art that blooms from these guys. They seem to share a lot of my own instincts about how music really works - economically, philosophically, and spiritually. They know that if you give that gift to your best ability, without pride or greed or vanity or proprietary arrogance, it will return itself to you many times over. And every one of them has the kind of lucid eyes that can seem to see forever... from either side of the cornea. They've expressed an interest in getting together with me to see if songs will grow between us. I can't wait to give it a try. I hope very much to be worthy of the opportunity. Ok. Enough. I don't want to induce diabetic coma in any of you. And this is getting pretty saccharine, I admit. But do yourselves a favor. Experience this magic before the world has had its usual ugly way with it. John Perry Barlow, Cognitive Dissident Co-Founder & Vice Chairman, Electronic Frontier Foundation Berkman Fellow, Harvard Law School |
| Tech Note | All |
| Trades Allowed | |
| Attendence | 0 |
Performance
| String Cheese Incident 2001-07-04 Headwall at Mt Werner, Steamboat Springs, CO | |
|---|---|
| Set 1 | High on a Mountain Top^, Big Sciota^, Hold What You've Got^, Born on the Wrong Planet, Little Hands, MLT* > Drums* > MLT*, Tom Thumb's Blues |
| Set 2 | Shakin' the Tree, Howard > Sittin' on Top of the World, Let It Go, Rivertrance > Star Spangled Banner > Rivertrance, This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody) > Jam > Outside Inside |
| Set 3 | Encore: Shine > Jam+ > I Know You Rider |
| Comment | * with Stephen Chopek and Chris Lovejoy on percussion and John Ellis on saxophone (all from the Charlie Hunter Band)
^ acoustic + with Fire on the Mountain teases Setlist courtesy of Friends of Cheese. |