Posted on 05/07/2008 6:26 PM
Anyone who knows me learns rather quickly that I've had love affairs with both the Grateful Dead and Phish. But don't get it twisted, it never really went beyond those two. The Dead were pioneers and Garcia is one of music's great legends. Phish was destined to carry that torch, and on their own terms. Terms so much their own I like to consider them punk-rock-like in their defiance against the main stream routes. Both group's virtuosity combined with their respective self contained and sustained "other-worlds" makes them two of the greatest groups of all time, as far as I'm concerned. So when the opportunity arose to attend to this years "Jammy Awards" where Phish would be honored for their "Lifetime Achievement," I figured "why the heck not."

 

This would not be my first time at this annual event. ?uestlove teamed up with Buddy Guy, John Mayer, & Phil Lesh for a session at the 2006 Jammy Awards where they performed a rendition of the blues classic "(I'm Your) Hoochie Coochie Man" (video). However, that year I had a friend on the inside to get all access and free drinks, making (or allowing for it, rather) to be a good time.  This year, my only feasible contact was Chali 2na who was slated to perform. Chali has created a direct link to the jam world by touring the festival circuit with his group, the ever so accessible and safe, Jurrasic 5, as well as with his a long standing relationship as part of the Los Angeles collective Ozomatli.  More recently, Chali joind New Orleans collective Galactic, and he's featured on their 2007 album From The Corner to The Block.  I hit Chali on the text once before the show and a few times during but was unable to connect (Lalo, where you at!).

We arrive at the Garden around 9pm and head to will-call to pick up our tickets only to be told there is a seperate entrance for guest-list on the other side of the building (when I say building, I mean Madison Square Garden, no small structure).  We make the trek to the other side and pick up our tix only to be told we have to now enter through the front, back by will-call. WTF kind of production is this? We head back to 7th ave to go inside having to once again weave and dodge the throngs of people heading into the main arena where Mary J. Blige and Jay-Z's "Heart Of The City" tour is getting ready to begin.  It's a culture clash of Timbs, Fitteds, and plumply filled denim against scraggly, sandal wearing, well, white people.  Needless to say, there were no street-teams promoting Rising Down on either sets.

We finally make it inside and head up to the terrace level of the Garden where The Theater is located.  As we make our way to the seats we are greeted by a cacophony of noodling guitars and B3 organ.  I turn to my friend W.C. and say "I can't be in here right now."  She agrees and we head to the bar for a brew.  That might help us enjoy the night as we are already feeling out of place amongst the crowd.  

We make our way down to the floor close to the backstage entrance to see if we might run into any of our industry friends. To W.C.'s surprise (but not to mine) we don't recognize a soul.  To make maters worse, the music has not gotten any better and its clearly evident that, with no real leader since Phish's retirement in 2004, the scene is depressingly clinging to any last semblance of identity which can mostly be attributed to their mutual adoration for weed, psychedelics, and stories of the good ol' days.  We finish our one drink and agree its time to go.  (Sorry, Chali)

After a mere twenty minutes inside (following about the same amount of time trying to get in) we are exiting the Theater at MSG.  As we approach the escalator to the ground level, the bass from the Mary and Jay-Z concert can be heard rumbling through the concrete bowels of the behemoth Garden. Turning to W.C. I say "I wish we were in there.  We should try and sneak in."  Then it hit me,... we already were in.  As if it were a sign from above, I look to my left and see a door propped, barely open.  Without saying anything to W.C., I head for it and open.  She follows.  We find ourselves inside some sort of a restaurant, but it is empty.  A sharp turn lands us into the kitchen.  We keep walking past some of the clean up crew who look at us oddly but don't say anything.  We follow a narrow corridor until what appears to be a crossroads.  Suddenly, a giant freight elevator opens and a man walks  out.  He, too, looks at us strangely but since we are clearly un-phased, says nothing.  W.C. and I look at each other and  shrug as we get into the elevator.  Hmmm, 3,4,5,6,7. I know we need to go up.  I press 5.  The heavy get crashes shut and we begin our ascent having no clue where we might end up, or who might be waiting to greet us when we get there.  W.C. and I look at each other laugh hysterically.
 
The elevator stops at 4.  Without saying anything, we both agree its time to get out.  The bass from the concert is the loudest yet.  We find ourselves on a parking garage style slope which we proceed to walk up.  An EMT standing outside his ambulance is no threat but the tall lanky man in a suite looks official.  We keep walking as if we belong until we find ourselves directly underneath stage left with Mary killing it right above us.  I look over and we are standing next to who I think is Steve Stout.  Either way, I give him a nod.  W.C. and I proceed to exit the backstage area, up a small set of stairs and into the first section of seats directly stage left.  We find two empty conveniently located in the back row so as not to be those annoying late arrivals who are now blocking the view of someone else who arrived on time.  Home FREE!  W.C. and I look at each other and again start cracking up.  

You know the rest that happened from here.  Jay-Z and Mary J. Blige are the King and Queen of the game and MSG is their back yard.  Hit after hit, they both killed.  ?uestlove's musical direction is apparent in the way the show flows and our man Omar Edwards (A Black Girl Named Becky) is crushing it on the keys.  Yes, Jay "Big Pimped" Beyonce as she came out to shake her fine ass for about 20 seconds before her hubby broke into the aformentioned tune.  Way to turn a bad evening into a great one.  I'll spare you the rest of the show review in favor of the following video from RealTalkNY which sums up the evening nicely... stellar.