JGB Band Delivers

Took the wife to the Great American Music Hall last night to see the JGB (Jerry Garcia Band) Band. Jerry of course remains gratefully dead, but organist Melvin Seales, those two angelic gospel singers, and the rest of the rippers hit the stage on fire with the life force. My feet and legs ache in a quite soothing ebb fashion. Those notes & voices continue to ride giant guitar skateboards back & forth, up & down and along the edge of the smooth empty pool that dominates the landscape where my massive intellect once took up needless cubic footage. We set up shop toward the back of the dance floor, which worked fine for awhile, but at some point I decided that I had to see Melvin's fingers work that organ, so I snaked my way up to the corner of the stage where he played. I dance pretty fun & well if I do say so myself, but up there I got a shore nuff JGB dance lesson that had me howling with laughter and delight. I'm telling you those folks knew how. You see, one must laugh while dancing, jumping, stretching and pouring love out fingers, toes, eyes, and the top of one's head, leaving self consciousness and pre-conceived notions piled up with all the coats. Not wanting to provoke feelings of abandonment, I returned to the back of the dance floor spot after a couple songs, but the lure of the crazies at the front drew me back when the beat got thumping. Poured my heart and soul into those moves. A lovely young lady promptly rewarded me with a "Shucks, you're the best dancer here." That's a tall compliment to live up to, but I tried, with as much humility as I could muster wearing my unstoppable perma-grin. Shit was fun, crowd was excited, rocked my world, and the wife had a good time too, what more to say.