Keep Feeling Infatuation

As an ex-east coast Deadhead, I perhaps have a different calendar than most people. March means more than the NCAA tournament or the equinox. Traditionally, March meant it was time for the first road trips of the year. The Dead's east coast spring tours usually coincided with Bard's spring break; every year from 1988 to 1992 involved me seeing shows then. While the Dead are gone, the tradition remains. String Cheese Incident has given me some March tours to go on. Last year I went to seven shows in the northwest, this year I would be driving down to Eugene as part of a three show run.

The first sign that this run was not exactly going to plan occurred on Thursday. The only way that I was going to get to Eugene in time is if I would leave work no later than 2 PM. As I learned driving to that ill fated Vinyl show, if you don't leave before rush hour, you have traffic all the way to Olympia. So there I am, sitting at work, being bored at noon, when suddenly I get phone calls. All of this work that I could have been doing earlier that day was suddenly coming down. At 1 PM I was told to expect some emails. When, at 1:30, they still hadn't arrived, I decided to just say never mind and leave. Risking your job to get to the show on time, that's always a good way to start a tour.

I have a theory about Eugene. (Aside for those who don't know me: whenever I start a sentence with, "I have a theory," it's going to be a doozy. If you guys are lucky, maybe I'll explain my theory about the real purpose of the Space Needle. It involves a really big crane, the music of the gods, and a giant space record.) Every time I drive there it seems to be a lot further away than it was the last time. Now it could be that I go there infrequently enough that my memory is off, but I have a more probable theory. They keep moving Eugene. Now at first you might think that this is nuts. "Just think about the amount of work that would be required to move an entire town, with stores, houses, I-105, etc. All of that, just to annoy you?" you argue. Well why exactly do you think that the unemployment rate is so low, huh? Perhaps it's all of the people employed to do this that is fueling the economy; maybe www.move-eugene.com is about to IPO. Ok, you're right. That idea is silly. There's no way that there could be a secret plan like that. It must be continental drift! I mean that explains everything. Eugene is just moving away from Seattle at a speed that seems imperceptible, but ends up with it being another 50 miles away after 2 or 3 months. That explains so much.

Upon arrival (FLUUUUUUUUUUUUFFHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAD), I quickly got a room at the Courtesy Inn. Fifty dollars a night cheaper than the Hilton, and only a 5 minute walk away, how could you go wrong there? The theme for the Eugene shows, much to the non-surprise of anyone who knows the Silver People, was "Masquerade." The Hilton Ballroom was decorated with masks. Vendors walked around selling candy, glowrings, and masks. Oh, and yes, there was a show.

I've noticed a pattern with SCI. Whenever they play a two show run, the second show is far better. I wasn't expecting much from the first Eugene night. The end of the second set though had definite moments, especially with the epic "Rivertrance." I walked back to the motel, talked to some fellow Seattlites who I hadn't seen in some time, and then crashed.

Friday was the day I was really looking forward to. After checking out of the hotel, I drove over to Shannon's house to hang and get some work done. While there, I saw some amazing video footage. I didn't know that ABC had aired an entire hour of Big Cypress (the end of DWD through the first 10 or so minutes of "Rock and Roll") for lucky satellite owners. I also saw a fan video of BC. It mainly consisted of people reacting to the best joke that I have ever seen. Someone brought a lifesize dummy of a 8 or 9 year old. They dressed it in clothes and placed it face down on one of the streets, holding a balloon. My favorite reaction to it was the person that said, "He said the money was for Ice Cream."

The second show started off with a bang. "Lonesome Fiddle Blues" followed by "Best Feeling," is my idea of how to get an incident started. I was pumped, and ready to boogie; the rest of the set did little for me though. By the setbreak, a crisis of faith had ensued. I had traveled so far to see this music; was it a good idea?

In 1991, I had a similar crisis. I was seeing the Grateful Dead, at what was then known as the Knickerbocker Arena, and I was hating the show. I was hating the scene. I had no idea what I was doing there. "This is the last time I am ever seeing the Dead," I loudly and frequently announced... which made it quite embarrassing when I found myself at Nassau Coliseum two days later with my finger in the air. "Hey, I thought you weren't going to any more shows!" "Yeah, I know... got an extra?" I was reluctant to talk about my non-interest in these Eugene shows as a result. Maybe it was just an off night or stress over the 300 mile drive coming up, but I was wondering why I had bothered.

Second set gave me a chance to have the question answered. The "Miss Brown's Tea House" was nice. The "Roll Over" was impressive. The rest of the set was, well, there. Then again, my tape didn't come out during the second set. I was upset over that, so that was coloring my views I'm sure.

The drive back home was a rough one. I'm getting old. Usually a stop for a caffeine break will buy me 2-300 miles; this night twenty was all I was getting. I got home around 5 AM, crashed for 3 hours, and then went to pick up Lixa at the airport. It was her 30th birthday and she was going to celebrate it Cheesy style.

I met my other visiting friend Marcia outside the venue and, after getting some food, we went inside. Lixa went to the rail and we hung out in the back. The lights went out, the set started, and boredom set in. I have since listened to the cd's of this show and I don't know why I wasn't enjoying it. I wasn't though, and I was thinking about leaving. Had Lixa not been up against the rail, I just might have - until the excitement of the closing "Late in the Evening" hit.

In March of 1992, I was at the Copps Coliseum in Hamilton, Ontario. I was tired, having driven up from Philly through white out conditions the night before. I was sick. I was in no mood to appreciate the show. I thought about leaving during the set break. The Dead played "Dark Star" in the second set. In June of 1993 at Deer Creek, the Dead followed a weak first set with the not exactly amazing trio of "Samson," "Long Long Long Long Long Long Long Long Long Long Long *gasp* Long Way To Go Home," and "Wave to the Wind." When "Terrapin" appeared, preventing any chance of a jam, I thought about leaving. "Terrapin" was followed by an amazing 15 minute jam and a post-space "Dark Star." I learned my lesson that night. Never leave a show early, no matter how bummed you are about it. On March 10, 2000, I felt like leaving a SCI show at the set break. Set II opened up with "Land's End", the song I call "String Cheese's 'Dark Star.'" No more complaining about the show would be done for the rest of the night.

Unfortunately, the joy of that set wore off quicker than the non-joy of the other 5. There's no getting around it. The infatuation is over. Infatuation is one of my favorite feelings in the world. I love thinking that someone or some band or some place is the best thing in the whole world. No matter how great it is though, the feeling does fade. When I first moved to Seattle, I was so excited to be here, that every time I saw the Space Needle, I called out "Space Needle!" I prolonged that call for as long as possible, knowing that the day would come when I would just see it and not really notice, that being in Seattle, rather than being an exciting new development to be celebrated, would just become part of my life. Every life change, no matter how important, how great, or how terrible ultimately becomes the new status quo.

As much as I love the feeling of infatuation, it must be said that it is an extremely shallow emotion. It's easy to love someone who seems flawless. Since there are oh so few of us without any flaws at all whatsoever, this illusion can't last forever. Once the shortcomings become apparent, where do you go from there? One course is obviously, breaking up. I thought about moving from Seattle last year after an extremely rainy winter (even by Seattle standards) was followed by an extremely chilly summer. Another is to try to recapture that emotion somehow. Last year I took a lot of first timers to concerts so I could see the show through their eyes. While that can be effective, I'm running low on people who I can do this to. The hardest approach, of course, is to love with complete knowledge of their flaws. Being able to do that, to accept that the shortcomings you see are as much a part of them as their good points, even to see that they are needed for the good points to exist (Seattle's rainy winters are what make the ultra-green summers possible; the 4 PM December sunsets come from the same source that keeps it light til after 10 in June), well that's not exactly one of my strengths. It's something to work on though.

Not many people know this per se, but until late 1998, I had basically given up on Phish. Outside of the 10 or so shows I went to a year, I never listened to them. My tape collection was gathering dust in my closet, and I wasn't bothering to burn anything. The Loaded set started to bring me back. The amazing NYE show (the best one since 1995) kept it going, and the new songs (Get Back on the Train, Heavy Things, etc.) caused me to expand and expand my tour plans until, in the wake of Big Cypress, I mail ordered for the entire Phish 2000 Summer Tour. In many ways, my appreciation is stronger for my doubts. I don't expect a great show every night; I'm not disappointed during the off nights. I just wait for the next show.

Mystics have a term for this oncoming of doubts, "The long, dark night of the soul." In order to get to enlightenment, you have to first pass through the time of doubts. The first few steps on the path are there to whet your appetite and to try to convince you that there is something on the other side worth striving for. In 1994, when I was going through this with the Dead, I kind of ran away. I hit up Phish tour and tried to forget about how good Dead shows had been. Almost as a joke though, I took a leap of faith and saw the 95 Seattle shows. I was reborn that weekend; had Jerry not died soon afterwards, I would have gone to many shows afterwards. When I hit the wall with Phish in 97, I had the advantage of not having other musical options. I kept plugging away, seeing the occasional good show, and now I'm as fanatical about them as I ever have been. Despite having a plethora of musical options right now, I expect to continue seeing the Cheese. I may not push them on people as hard as I have. I may not claim - as I did in early 1998 - that they are the best improvisational band in the country. I may not even travel to see them anymore, just going to the northwest shows. However, I have seen that String Cheese Incident can put on great shows, shows that can make me as happy as I can get. Maybe I won't get it every night anymore, but maybe - just maybe - I will appreciate those moments more. Infatuation is over, but that just means that there is a chance for love.