The Tree Shepherds

Notes from the Dance Floor..

admin — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 18:25:14 +0000

I made it home just in time to welcome a bit of a cold and a runny nose but I fell pretty good after 4 days in San Francisco, being on the road taxes you, your money, your health.. or at least the kind of travel I’ve been doing lately. Furthur travel, going where ever Phil Lesh and Bob Weir chose to perform, hopefully on the west coast or as close to it as possible, the east coast scares me for good reason but thats a whole other story. I left San Francisco and was on a nice, calm plane ride and with little or no Canadian customs presence and before you knew it I was in a cab riding home, through those familiar streets where I have spent most of my days. Looking around at the people walking the streets I wondered where they were last night and mused about how oblivious we all are about what other people do with their time. I was in a big hall with lots of friends dancing till the early morning hours. Its always a bit sad having to leave but we just can’t stay there forever, those timeless moments of the fusion of mind, body and spirit in some of group revelry’s highest moments and when my knee and back reel me back in to mortal reality. I take in as much as I can with my eye’s, the glow of the green exit sign illuminating us in a dim spacy glow where the floor disappears and from the ceiling ancient patterns of multicoloured fractal ribbons rain down on us. The constant negotiation of personal space where one persons dance is absorbed into anothers by sharing, collaborating and improvising with out words, just rhythm and dance. I do best dancing around my friends, some I know, others I don’t but we all end up in the same place, out of site from the band where we can be free to celebrate our personal expression with what the band has given us. Going into these shows I was a little worse for wear, my knees especially were giving me a bit of trouble but as the shows wore on I became once again like that coiled spring, ready to jump and pounce to the lovely, tribal bass notes of “Fire on the Mountain” or to the intense force of the instrumental refrain prior to the last verse in “St. Stephen”.. I was in heaven, wanting to be nowhere else on earth, surrounded by my Grateful Dead family but nothing lasts.. the lights have to come up eventually and we all have to go home too. I am now back in rainy Vancouver, Canada, a few short hours after all this went down, back home, resting my poor knees as I look out at the wet, grey sky with a big smile, see you all real soon I hope.. “Mama mama many worlds I’ve come since I first left home”..

Furthur on again

admin — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 10:07:43 +0000

Where do I start?, last night I struggled a bit, with my physical ability and my mental strength, on the dance floor created by the Grateful Dead I made my best effort to go where I had been in the past, that space where I shared moments that I could never really explain to anyone, but how did I get there? Its a precious place, only able to exist when a band, their music and community come together and create that magic. Tonight it happened effortlessly, I became whole, like a coiled spring I bounced, jumped and rose up together with my community in holy moments, one after another for hours and hours until all of a sudden it was time to go home, or at least out onto Market street here in San Francisco where we all laughed and smiled at each other and lovingly tried to put into words what just happened.. but thats something that so many of us have been trying to do for 47 years now… try to explain the magic of the live Grateful Dead experience, wether it be with the original band or what is left of them. I for one stand here together with all of my friends, known and unknown, happy to be alive, hearts beating together in unison, to the rhythm of the grateful dead, I love you all, I really do…

Furthur on..

admin — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 01:27:00 +0000

There I was, back in that familiar place, the floor at a Furthur show at the Bill Graham Civic off Market street in San Francisco. After a day of walking and hanging around we were back. I always go to the same area, off to the left if your looking at the stage, right in the corner, you can’t really see much of the band but thats were the dancing goes down, my favourite part. The familiar faces and friends began to flow in, the Santa Cruz crew, my buddy from Tahoe, the dancers. I only see them here, after 47 years Bob and Phil still bring us together, pretty special, celebrating this music, Grateful Dead music. I don’t care much for any other of the ensembles of former members or any other of the jambands so this is my one and only place to gather with these people, the last bastion of communal gathering for deadheads, old and new. We all know it too, we connect and chat after the months between shows and we almost always touch on how we’re happy to be here and when its time to go we walk out of the hall not knowing if we’ll ever see each other again. I think about that stuff a lot, how were all here for a little while, we make our way through life, riding the highs and lows. I am feeling my age, I got tired dancing, my back started to hurt, I watched Bob Weir bend over to twist his dials as he always does and can see how he tires and is worn.. shit, after 47 years man, thats a long time on the road. So the lights went down, the amp lights flickered and blinked and the show began just like it always does. I have been in that particular space hundreds of times now, I feel like a old veteran after 27 years of my own personal grateful dead history and there are many there much older than me, then I looked up at the stage and watched Phil Lesh throw his bass strap over his head like he has now for almost 50 years, running his hand up and down the neck, playing a lick or 2, pushing his deep tone out of his amps and into my ears, god I love him, his unmistakable style and feel pouring over me, I take it in. When I get to a place in the show where some distraction takes me away from estatic dance I can just focus on him, he always brings back onto the moment, back right into the present now. There he is, there they both are, Weir and Lesh, still playing to us. I am so grateful to be here, to have tickets, to see them again.

Music Update

admin — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 18:29:43 +0000

A little music update is due I figure, I moved a few months back and as a result I lost my beloved barn, my musical, creative space where I created, played or just plain old hung out and this led to no playing and no focus on the upcoming record which is pretty much done besides a few vocals I need to redo. I made another record which is pretty big sounding with a full band, pedal steel, a string quartet, etc. but the funny thing is I have seen my future and it is not with a full band. I enjoy the many sounds and textures but I do not enjoy the logistical and financial strains that come with so many musicians. When you have 3 or 4 hired guns in your band try to book them all on the same night and be able to cover their wages at the door.. not so easy for me. Last year at the Oregon Country Fair I saw two acts, one with two people and the other with three, they were both captivating and great and easy to move around with, book and most importantly for me, the space between the notes was so vast, the music was roomy and spacious. The ironic thing is too that Jay and I are essentially the band anyway, we rehearse, week in and week out for many years now, this actually is our 25th year of playing together so this is what we do best anyway, or at least thats what we do the most.. We played a little show the other night, downtown at a dead little bar called the Corner, there was maybe 15 people there and thats being generous. Jay and I were joined by Terry Townson on trumpet and it was great, we played one of the best performances we’ve ever played. I personally got lost in the delivery of my songs, fearless and well supported by Jay and Terry. Afterwards I was approached by the members of our vast audience and received some pretty amazing compliments like “I feel like I know you” and “we hung off of every note” When we played there was no talking, silence beyond what come from our instruments and my voice. These are the people I want to play to and this is what you will all see more of coming from the Tree Shepherds in the coming year, our 25th anniversary. As far as the record goes, it will come out soon and it will be big sounding and you’ll probably hear from the big band again too. I rented a old, scrappy garage in east van and have been slowly transforming it to become “the shack”, our new home for the next while. So happy holidays to you and see you next year, our 25th year..

Going a little bit Further, heading home..

admin — Tue, 18 Oct 2011 16:33:13 +0000

I finished that tour a few days back, after 2 shows at the fabled Monterey fairgrounds where in 1967 Jimi Hendrix lit his guitar on fire and Janis Joplin tore her heart out at the Monterey Pop Festival, the music of the Grateful Dead bounced and vibrated off all of our bodies in the spirit of that great festival, 44 years prior. I woke on that Sunday morning coming down, it was time to hit the road and I had it in my mind that I was going to be 18 again and drive clear back to Vancouver from where I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of the cheap motel. As usual in the first moments of the morning after the last show I was on my feet promptly, packing and washing, gearing up for the long journey home. My tour mate Jay, the lucky bastard, only had to endure a 2 hour drive north to San Francisco International to then board a noontime flight and in another 2 short hours land in Richmond BC, well oiled up with a few beer along the way.

But me?, nope, I was driving I-5 north until it hurt and god damn it I was was going to make it all the way just like we did after the Cal Expo shows in 1989, where I was dropped safely at the head of the driveway of my parents home at 2 in the morning, after which I quietly tip toed up to my bedroom, giggling with delight and youthful exuberance of what just went down in California and what lay ahead. Fast forward 22 years and there I was again, on the road driving up the 101 through the towering glory of old San Francisco and over the bay bridge, breaking through the fog banks the old clock tower on the U of Berkeley campus taunted me as the hands fell to the south.. I can make it, if I do 79 miles per hour, the tolerated speed limit, that’ll roughly land me in Vancity round 1 am.. 17 hours total driving time from Monterey to Vancouver, with the help of Red-bull and other things of the like I will push through.

The density of the bay area gave way to the flatness of the Sacramento Valley and the deep, stoned faced compass reading of due north, almost a straight line ‘cept for the last strains of northern California and the early bits of Southern Oregon. By then the sun was on my side, shining bright and warm like it should do in California, positioning itself to my right, falling down into the west. I pushed on, it took no time at all to see the great Mount Shasta looming in the north, so big you can see it hours before you even begin to arrive at its foot hills, a magical mountain where a few tours back I found it necessary to stop and cleanse and baptize myself in its headwaters to assure my return cause I wasn’t right sure at the time if I was ever going to come back at all and this is what I was told to do by a wise local woman..”touch these waters with love and good intention and you will then be back here another day..” and she was right…

Once you get pass Shasta, just beyond Weed, California, look back over your tired and sore right shoulder to one of the most splendid views of that great mountain valley, for those few that choose to live around there, what a landscape to live and die in, heavy resonance of ancient native tribes caring for themselves and the earth in the most inspiring, spiritual and sustainable way.. how did we lose our way so far? Looking out due north was my heading while I listened to a CD I bought at City Lights Books in San Francisco, a talking book.. “The Original Scroll.. On The Road by Jack Kerouac..” This was the unedited version with the original names so Sal was Jack and Dean was Neal..etc. I was on the road while I listened to on the road dreaming of being on the road while I was on the road, lost in great vista’s while being wooed by Jack and his wild tales and insightful musings of a long, lost America, all the while meditating on the lines on the freeway.. “I’m going to make it!! all the way home!!”

California melted into Oregon while the sun began to fall deep to my peripheral left, clouds began to gather and the temperature began to drop, reminding me that I am from Canada and its fall I am heading into. Night was coming, I could feel it, I could see it, suddenly the the road became more desperate, more violent. No longer could I daydream with Kerouac, I had to prop up my chair, sit straight and focus boy! focus! It happened so quickly, night fell and I was all alone! Still I found comfort in those familiar landmarks, like the glowing red towers of Eugene, the half way point from the the bay to the border pretty much, coming either way you know your in good shape but for me in that moment I still had another 7 hours and I was already on the road at that point for 10!! I was beginning to figure maybe I should shorten my sights a wee bit, point those cross hairs down a taste, I figured from Eugene I was a hour and a half away from Portland and I could make that easy so what about Seattle?!

I pushed on, I talked on the phone a bit, I shuffled my Steve Jobs playlist a bit, downed another energy drink and chomped on some peanuts, I drove man, I drove and drove while the numbers on those big green signs got smaller and smaller. I began to fantasize about waking up in my sweet Seattle hotel room, with a little paltry 2 hour drive to do the next morning. I called my cohort and said, “text me my hotels number so’s I can calls them and commit to a room tonight so i HAVE to drive to Seattle or chuck some money down the toilet if I don’t make it!!..”. He did I and then had a delightful conversation with this gal who hooked me up and bam! I was committed.. The darkness of Southern Washington took away the boring familiarity of the rural landscape of rolling hills, mills and little depressed towns, it became a video game, dodging tractor trailers and speedy pickups, keeping pace with the help of my increasingly weary, heavy foot on the gas pedal.. shit, I wasn’t holding and I’m going as fast as everyone else so I’m good right?.. A bad attitude where bad shit happens when you’ve been on tour for 3 weeks, you just finished 5 shows in a row and you’ve been driving for 13 fucking hours, slow down man!

Urban density began to gather and I was on the home stretch, Olympia was beginning to give in to Tacoma and the triple digits were becoming double digits on the mighty green signs and that drink I promised myself in my hotel room I could practically taste and I could feel the Pacific North West in my bones, the cold air and fog banks howled by me until boom!!.. there it was, mecca, babylon, the skyline of Seattle rose up in the distance, my spine felt like I had screws drilled into it, my knees and ankles ached as I drove those last miles with humble grace.. “I got lucky again!!” I made it, 15 hours and just under 1500 kms of driving with stops, re-fills, stretches and vista take in’s, I was close to home and moments away from a sweet hotel room, a drink and a bed. The streets of Seattle were quiet, I knew my way to the hotel and was in my room in what seemed like a few short breaths.. I could almost see the lights of the north shore mountains of Vancouver from my room, illuminating the clouds in the north, or at least thats what I wanted to believe, I could feel home, so close, just a little, short drive in the morning. Another tour over, back to life in my home town, I drove in to the city, everything was the same, just like I’d left it, but man.. “momma, momma many worlds I’ve come since I first left home.”

Arcata to Mendocino County

admin — Fri, 30 Sep 2011 21:49:15 +0000

Two days rest in Arcata and then I was back on the highway to head south on the 101. Arcata was a nice rest, its a town filled with hippies, lot rats and drifters but it was still clean and quaint, a little Nelson up the northern coast of California. I drove through the majestic Redwood forests, or whats left them, along the Avenue of the Giants, where a small 2 way road weaves through groves of these amazing tree’s where your so close to them at times you could reach out of the car window and touch them as you drive by. I drove through little towns dotted along the 101, beautiful country side with ranches and vineyards, the more mountainous parts of the northern 101 was turning into wider valleys and hotter temperatures. I had a destination today though, another place I had heard of from my friends for many years, Harbin Hot Springs. I finally made it and my god I found heaven again. The place is set up with beautiful hand crafted buildings for eating, sleeping, doing yoga and of course, soaking. The springs are open 24 hours a day so at anytime you get the inkling to go for a soak you can. Clothing is optional of course which means everyone is naked, moving in and out of the varying degree pools, steams and sauna’s and the cold dip. Most of the pools are silent so you just absorb the healing waters while listening to the crickets and looking up into the star filled sky. Surrounded by kindred spirits, seekers and lovers the energy and mood here is so peaceful and lovely, this place is the shit I have decided and will come back here again for a much longer stay than my brief 24 hours, but it was time for me again to hit the road. In a few short miles I ended up in Guerneville, a town relatively short drive from San Francisco but deep enough in the hills of Mendocino county to feel like your far away from it all. Vineyards are all the eyes can see but up in those hills, behind those endless fields of grapes lay the real cash crop, Ganja, state sanctioned medicine. I was here to see Dark Star Orchestra play in a sweet old movie theatre that at one time seen Jerry Garcia and John Kahn playing shows, so close to there homes and another 25 grand for some serious powder abuse. I was in heaven again as a writer, watching what seemed like the wild west, where the lead characters where endless in supply.. young dread heads and older weathered growers, all with tanned skin and huge spliffs hanging out of there mouths.. This region as is our community is ancient, its been around for a long time. Not to say its all easy street, I saw a lot of desperation and disfunction too, but it had, to my eyes, this frontier feel, this is California.. in its awesome beauty and harsh reality where the economic climate instills a fear that everyone here would rather forget with another ice cold Sierra Nevada, a dank spliff and some good old Grateful Dead music..

Arcada

admin — Tue, 27 Sep 2011 02:19:14 +0000

Arcata, California.. I woke this morning after last nights show to gather mythings to move out of another hotel room to head out to California. Jay headed home so now I am on my own until we meet up in Los Angeles in a week for the next batch of shows. I drove down I-5 once again for a long while until I reached Grants Pass, there is where I had to decide same old same old? or the Redwood highway to the coast, I veered right and headed down the much slower but amazingly beautiful, awe inspiring road to the coast. I have done it in the past a few times; in 1988 going to Grateful Dead shows and in 1993 going to Grateful Dead shows, the first trip in my ’72 VW van and the second in my 1965 Bluebird school bus, a long time ago indeed. This time I was in a far newer car so the ride was smooth and quick, with a nice stereo and no fear about a potential looming breakdown. As I got closer to the coast I began to hit the majestic Redwoods, these groves of trees are so mind numbingly beautiful and huge I am left trembling in their awesomeness. I have a deep connection to tree’s, having been a member of a massive forestry family we have lived and died by the tree. They have given me safety and security as well as and grief and despair. There I was standing among these graceful, ancient giants in silence, the occasional wisp of wind triggering a dusting of needles and twigs falling like snow from above, illuminated by the falling sun in the west. I got back on the road feeling energized from the tree’s energy but a little tired from 3 nights of deadhead aerobics so I began to envision my resting place for the evening, Arcada, a small hippy town just north of Eureka. I drove what seemed like a few brief moments and the sky suddenly opened up from the dense forest to reveal the Pacific Ocean, glistening in the sparkled sunlight. I stopped my car, made my way to the beach and fell to my knees, California!, prophet on the burning shore. I sat on a log and watched pelicans dive into the huge waves while the salty wind strained through my soul and spirit, once again the natural world cleansed and refreshed me reaffirming how lucky I feel to be alive and to have the means and drive to be able to be there at all. I love California, if I could live here I would, I am a big believer in Cascadia, the new country that combines British Columbia, Washington, Oregon and California.. yes, I am in.. no more borders, it just makes the world of sense to me. I eventually made it to Arcada, settled into my home space for the night and had some sushi and wine for dinner. I am all by myself but I’m good, I do well with my own company. The days ahead are filling up with music, friends, the road and unknown adventures.. I am so grateful to be alive, to be healthy, to be free, to be ready, willing and able to rise above and fall behind.. I just want to be here, with you all.

One More Saturday Night

admin — Sun, 25 Sep 2011 17:33:32 +0000

Sunday morning in Eugene, yet another celebration of life and dance last night, I must lose a good few pounds each night I swear, my body limber and responding like a rubber band or a coiled spring, I like! Another show tonight and so far the weather is holding. The forecast is calling for rain but we’re hoping that the magical, mystical properties of grateful dead music will part the clouds and prevent the rain falling on the Amphitheater. Right at my feet are my teva’s, covered in dust from the night before ready to be strapped on again for another marathon dance freakout. The hotel has turned into our nest for the weekend, the band and crew are staying here and freely wondering about the hotel. Last night I was finding comfort in the fact that we’re all safe here in our little rooms, band, crew, deadheads, all sheltered from the night. Bob Weir wondered in while chatting on his phone and dragging is little rolling suitcase, gearing down after the show. I love transforming and launching into the experience of the show but I also love to sleep and rest. I am no longer the young, invincible boy with mass reserves of mental and physical energy, now I need lots of rest, for my mind and body. Tomorrow will find me heading south to California alone, I have over a week off until the next shows in LA so there’s no hurry, no reason to bust my ass driving, slow and steady into the California sun.

set list from last night: Playing in the Band>Crazy Fingers, Big Bad Blues, Brown Eyed Women, Just Like Tom Thumbs Blues, Catfish John, Throwing Stones, Casey Jones. Set 2: Jack Straw, Bertha, Estimated Prophet>Darkstar>Caution>The Eleven>Eyes Of The World>Black Peter, China Cat Sunflower>I Know Your Rider E:One More Saturday Night

day 2

admin — Sat, 24 Sep 2011 19:44:50 +0000

Hilton Eugene, day 2.. where do I start.. I am sitting 4 floors up from the streets of Eugene in my hotel after another fucking great night of music at the Cuthbert Amphitheater with Furthur, the best damn thing thats happened our cherished Grateful Dead music since I would dare to say a few years before Garcia died even. I danced so much that my hair was wet, my knees and back were sore and my spirit and soul soared out into the night sky, surrounded by the brothers and sisters for whom I knew few but loved them all anyway in those precious moments in time that we all shared, together, totally in the moment. Truly the ultimate workout, my eyes closed, bouncing, jumping and swaying surrounded by many familiar smiling faces. Heaven..

I-5 south day 1

admin — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 17:01:56 +0000

We left around noontime from a standard rainy day in Vancouver, I was wearing pants, shoes and a jacket, items that have been out of my outfit loop for a few months but we heard that warm summer weather was waiting for us in Oregon so my cut offs and ratty dead shirt were close by. We arrived at the border and had a bit of a wait but nothing too crazy and once again the actual crossing was smooth and friendly. With my official documents stating my accepted rehabilitation from the department of homeland security most of the time I have no trouble crossing into the states. I always answer their questions the same way.. “We’re going to see a band”, “Furthur”, the inevitable question “Who?” then I say “Its a band containing two former members of the Grateful Dead” At that time I smile slightly and wonder what their preconceptions about them and me might be but as I mentioned earlier, they are almost always nice, polite and funny even. Today the guy said “oh…” then handed our passports back and instructed us to have a good time.. ok! We stopped at the Blaine Chevron like we always do to fill up with gas and get the ceremonial six pack of Sierra Nevada Pale Ales and we were off. This trip down the I-5 had a wonderful deviation compared to most other trips down that old freeway. As we neared Portland we veered off to the left and visited some good friends lovely home and vineyard just east of Portland. This was my first time there and after hearing about it many times from mutual friends but none of their descriptions could have ever painted a proper picture of what I saw. A beautiful craftsman home built by the previous owners with love and a conscious eye for the lay of the land and with the earths best interest in mind. On the front side of the property on a gentle slope facing west was a the vineyard, we walked over as the sun began to set while my host shared his experience with me and answered my many rose colored questions about life on a organic vineyard. After a wonderful dinner around a big beautiful wooden table it was time for us to go so back to I-5 south we went. We drove down into the flat lands that make up most of the road from the Portland area to Eugene, for most of the drive I swear we might have turned the steering wheel only a few times, flying straight and narrow, like a broken arrow, all the way to Eugene. It was night time at that point and as we neared our destination I looked for the red lights on the radio towers that rise above the hills in south Eugene, you can see them from so far north, like beacons guiding us in to the deadhead mecca.. sweet, little old Eugene. Driving through the town I could feel the presence of the Lesh and Weir, many of the surviving Pranksters and all the generations of kindred spirits that have called this area home. We checked into our hotel, went up to our room to lay our travel weary bodies down for some rest but I can’t sleep though, there’s a show tomorrow!