Grateful Dead at Nassau on May 16, 1980

I had been seeing the Grateful Dead for almost 18 months when I set up shop by myself in a cozy side-stage seat at the Nassau Coliseum on the evening of May 16, 1980 — my twelfth Dead show, held 40 years ago today.

It was an interesting time for me, a period of transition. I had decided to leave Fordham University behind and head out west to attend the University of Oregon. I had grown up in the Bronx, and it was time for me to explore a new town, one where, I was told, Kesey, Babbs and Mountain Girl freely frolicked.

As I sat in the Coliseum, rolling a joint and waiting for the lights to fall, I couldn’t help but to rethink my decisions and the life path my life was on. If I had learned one thing about a Grateful Dead concert to this point, it was this: It was a good place to think things through, if that’s what you needed to do. At 21, part of me, on the evening of May 16, 1980, was convinced I was following Plan Nine from Outer Space.

Until the Dead ran through a first set full of not just my favorites, but what I call "good thinking songs," such as "High Time," "Row, Jimmy," "Ramble on Rose" and an electrifying "China Cat Sunflower" > "I Know You, Rider" to close out set one:

https://archive.org/details/gd1980-05-16.111170.fob.glassberg.motb-0164.flac16

The band kicked off the second set with four straight new songs, all from Go to Heaven, great stuff for a relative newbie like me. They went old school with "Eyes of the World" before the drum solo and "Truckin'" coming out of "space."

When I first became a Deadhead, I was aware the Grateful Dead played a song titled “Morning Dew,” vaguely recalling it as part of the long, drawn-out sixth side of Europe ‘72. But I had never heard them play it in the eleven shows I had seen to this point.

I had witnessed numerous guitarists scale mountaintops live, performing their most epic works: Steve Howe of Yes laying it on the line during “Starship Trooper,” Keith Richards torching “Midnight Rambler,” Allen Collins of Lynyrd Skynyrd soaring on “Freebird,” and Zeppelin’s Jimmy Page tearing it up on Physical Graffiti cuts such as “Ten Years Gone.”

Despite those experiences, nothing could’ve prepared me for my first "Morning Dew."

As Jerry drew the opening notes and chords to the Bonnie Dobson composition, I was buried in thought, having spent the night, to this point, reviewing every aspect of my goals for the next few months. It was cathartic to hear Garcia play “Morning Dew.” By the time he wrapped it up with his declaration of “I guess it doesn’t matter, anyway,” I no longer had any uncertainty or apprehension about my plans. I had emerged cocksure and emboldened, a long-haired, shaggy-bearded Davy Crockett in tie dye.

In my short time as a Deadhead, I had witnessed Garcia’s wizardry before but, after the night of May 16, 1980, I realized he was connected to a higher source.

How, or for what purpose, I wasn’t entirely sure. Nor did I need to know. For now, anyway. I was three weeks removed from my 21st birthday and figured I had the next 40 years to get to the root of things.

— Scott

May 16, 2020

💞

Wake of the flood, laughing water, '49

Get out the pans, don't just stand there dreaming

Get out of the way, get out of the way

⚡️ .. ✨ .. 💯 .. ✨ .. ⚡️