The summer/fall of 2019 has been a time of great upheaval in my life. I was glad to have a set of music together to help process these experiences. On Sept. 24, 2019, I presented a set of music by the songwriting duo of Jerry Garcia and Robert Hunter at the Grafton Pub, in Chicago, IL. This is a live recording of essay I read at the top of the show. The text of the essay follows. [soundcloud url=”https://api.soundcloud.com/tracks/706146877″ params=”color=#ff5500&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true&visual=true” width=”100%” height=”300″ iframe=”true” /] Sept. 24, 2019 Some of Jason’s Thoughts about the Grateful Dead By Jason McInnes Hi everyone. Thanks for coming out to the Grafton. And thank you for to the Pickin’ Bubs for inviting me. I am very honored to play for you. I’ve made a lot of music in this room. I basically learned to play back here. And I bet that I’ve become friends with many of you back here. This set of songs is a bit of a musical essay for me. It’s about a collection of songs, a group of musicians and some of the energy that brought me to this show. First a recap. If we do already know each other, you probably know that it’s been a wild few months for me. Recently, I resigned from the Old Town School of Folk Music, ending a 17 year career there. Peggy invited me to play tonight as a sort of parting gig, because I figured I’d be moving out of Chicago. That may still happen, but for now, I’m still here. What will the future bring? It’s hard to know. Do I have to know? Good question and it’s one that I’m trying to get to a clearer answer to, partially through the work of this very gig. Robert Hunter wrote, “Recall the days still left to come.” So here I am, recalling the old days, hoping that their memory weaves a magic spell that conjures up some powerful new days. Robert Hunter also wrote of a road. “No simple highway.” I’m on the highway, I suppose. And the path of that road is for my steps alone. But, while my steps are alone, I know that I am not alone. Which brings me to another event that pulls us together tonight. About two months ago, I fell off my skateboard on a literal path, as opposed to the metaphorical path, and ended up with a broken elbow. I took about 6 weeks off from guitar playing and I’m not fully recovered. That is one of the reasons that you hear this wonderful backing band tonight. They’re here to help me out. Please make them feel welcome. Lindsay Weinberg, Jonas Friddle, John Mead and Andrew Wilkins. Back to my point at hand. Physical and metaphysical metamorphosis. I’ve had a lot of time to look back on life. “How did I end up here? I didn’t even know this was a destination!” The story of what has brought me here has many strands, but I want to focus on only one tonight. I attended my first Grateful Dead concert on August 1, 1994. Aug. 1 was Jerry’s birthday by chance. I did not enjoy the show. “Why aren’t they playing any of the songs I know from the classic rock radio station? What’s with the 20 minute drum solo in the middle of the set?” What was this I was listening to? But I could tell that something was up, something I desperately wanted to be in on, but I just couldn’t grasp. But I self-identiefied as a “classic rocker” and I was determined to enjoy the experience, so I went back again the next year. Nope. Try as I might, I just didn’t get it. Jerry died on August 9, 1995. I was rolling dough and listening to the radio at Pretzel Time; my job at the mall. WDET DJ Martin Bandyke broke the news and then the opening notes of Uncle John’s Band took flight. I burst into tears. I really freaked me out! Why did I start crying? Why did I care so much? At this point, Jerry was far from being a hero of mine and, in fact, and I had just heard him play a few weeks back and didn’t particularly enjoy the experience. What had happened to me? I was a little dazed for the rest of my shift and, when it was over, I walked over to the tape store at the mall. I bought a tape of the only Dead album they had; American Beauty. I popped it into the car stereo on the way home, still very confused as to what had happened. Life went on. I move to Chicago to attend a music conservatory. Two weeks into my new life I freaked out and I dropped out of college. I didn’t really play music for about 5 years, outside of noodling around in my bedroom; stumbling through a few tired classic rock riffs and the intos to Blackbird and Brown-Eyed Girl. I did notice that I started to pick up the chords to some of those Dead tunes on American Beauty; a first memory of learning a song by ear. In the summer of 2001, through a combination of many people, coincidences and a feeling that a depression was taking over my life, I enrolled in classes at the Old Town School of Folk Music; my first music classes since I dropped out of college. Class taught by this unkept guy Steve, with baggy jeans and a white pony tail. He talked about music more like a spiritual advisor than any music teacher I’d ever had. He gave us all these wild handouts, explaining the cosmic aspects of music theory and songs seemed to magically tumble from his fingertips at the mere mention of a title or theme. I was only a couple weeks into class when, during a discussion, Steve mentioned the Grateful Dead song Tennessee Jed. This time,
