ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Monday, August 5, 1996 TAG: 9608050102
SECTION: NATIONAL/INTERNATIONAL PAGE: A-1 EDITION: METRO
DATELINE: MANSFIELD, MASS.
SOURCE: CHRISTINE HANLEY ASSOCIATED PRESS note: below
SOME FANS are dropping out of the scene. Some are cleaning up their acts. But some are hanging in there with other groups, though most admit it's just not as much fun anymore.
With a giant purple tie-dyed umbrella shielding him from a grueling afternoon sun, Kendall stirs huge pots of red beans and rice over a makeshift stove next to his orange Volkswagen bus.
As he absorbs the scene around his stand outside the Great Woods Performing Arts Center, Kendall is overwhelmed by the sights, sounds and smells that envelop him in a cloud of nostalgia and deepen his melancholy.
It is hours before the start of the Further Festival, a musical extravaganza billed by some as the next-best thing to a Grateful Dead tour, because it is headlined by two Dead spin-off bands.
Hungry concertgoers with bloodshot eyes queue up for a taste of veggie pitas. And the 42-year-old Kendall, his cheeks wet with tears, remembers Jerry Garcia.
``You really did catch me in a moment,'' Kendall says, red eyes hidden by purple shades. ``I know it may seem pretty weird, but I was really waxing.''
A year has passed since the Dead died with Jerry Garcia. His fatal heart attack Aug. 9 at a Northern California drug rehab center set off one end-of-the-'60s riff after another.
What seemed clear was that his death would bring changes to the Deadhead culture.
What would happen to the Deadhead hordes who followed the Dead from venue to venue, imbibing the music, the fellowship, the drugs?
``The majority of people who followed the Dead are people with lives,'' said Dennis McNally, the band's publicist and historian. ``Their lives haven't stopped.
``As far as the hardest core, there's a possibility they're coming to grips with the fact that they've got to get on with their lives.''
That may be the case.
Some of the diehards are dropping out of the picture. Some are cleaning up their acts. Some, like Kendall, have decided to hang on, trying to absorb as much as they can of what remains in the wake of Jerry's death.
``It's just not as much fun anymore,'' Kendall says. ``You wouldn't believe how many people followed the tour. A lot of them stopped. They said it's not going to be the same. And they're right.''
Many younger fans seem to be gravitating toward similar bands, such as Phish, or splintering off to major, multiact tours. For others, the preferred alternative is Further, which is in the midst of a two-month tour.
The lineup - besides Bob Weir's Ratdog and Mickey Hart's Mystery Box - includes ``unofficial Dead member'' Bruce Hornsby, Los Angeles-based Latino rockers Los Lobos and Jefferson Airplane offshoot Hot Tuna.
``The scene has survived. It's not the Grateful Dead, but for many Deadheads, they're the only show in town,'' says Les Kippel, the founder and president of Relix, the bimonthly Deadhead magazine.
Further will not come close to matching the draw of the Dead, which took in $29 million in concert business during the first six months of 1995. It does offer an abridged version of Shakedown Street, the legendary parking lot bazaar where unlicensed vendors hawk their wares, foods and drugs. At the Great Woods stop, VW buses crowd the Shakedown lot, their windows decorated with tie-dyed, rainbow-hued curtains.
T-shirts quote popular post-Jerry slogans: ``The music never stopped'' and ``Now that the singer is gone, where do we go for the song?''
Nearby, a toddler wearing a wig with purple curls bounces to a primeval beat booming from a set of bongos thumped by three men with shaved heads. Steamy aromas of burritos and garlic grilled cheese linger, slowly conquered by wafts of marijuana.
Mike, 35, says he is giving up selling tie-dyed T-shirts, which he began doing just before Garcia's death. The former stockbroker plans to return full time to Wall Street.
``It's not like the old Grateful Dead days, where you'd camp out for a few days and be able to make a living,'' he says. ``You have to make enough to go on to the next show. They're not selling as many tickets, and nobody's spending money. It's just not the same.''
Inside the Great Woods amphitheater, the jam sessions have begun. Hart is singing ``Down the Road,'' a tune that pays tribute to Garcia.
``I heard a sweet guitar lick, an old familiar sound. I heard a laugh I recognized come rolling from the earth ... It sounded like Garcia, but I couldn't see the face. Just the beard and the glasses and a smile on empty space.''
Timothy Davis is in the audience. At 36, he has seen a couple of hundred Dead shows, the first when he was 14.
``I was doing drugs and alcohol for 24 years. Before Jerry died, I thought it was going to go on forever. I had to do something,'' said Davis, who is dressed in tie-dye and wearing his blond hair in a ponytail.
He's now a member of the Wharf Rats, a support group for recovering Deadhead addicts that holds meetings during shows. He's drying out in Falmouth, Mass., and catching local shows whenever he can.
``The guy was such a big part of a lot of people's lives. He'll never be replaced. Even though they're not the Dead anymore, we'll always be Deadheads,'' says Timothy Davis, 36, who started attending Dead shows when he was 14.
Sean Stone, 32, remembers the days when he would sell beer, food, drugs and ``anything to get to the next show.'' Now, he just sticks to Dead-like concerts close to home.
``We're still here. We all aren't just going to stop doing this. I don't think it will ever die,'' Stone said.
Kippel says the Deadheads are truckin' into middle age. They don't seem to be waning: Circulation of his magazine has increased to 80,000, up from the 50,000 who bought the issue that came out before Garcia died.
Ninety percent of his readers hold full-time jobs, the majority have college degrees, and nearly half have household incomes of more than $40,000.
``Older Deadheads are established. They have families. They are what I call `Couch Deadheads.' They get the magazines. They buy the CDs. Occasionally, they will go to a show,'' Kippel says.
Younger Deadheads, he says, ``are the ones who will withstand the demands of a large venue, such as parking lots, crowds and 100-degree heat.''
Younger Deadheads such as Dan Manning of Tiverton, R.I., who had planned to go see the Dead for the first time last fall, after he turned 16.
``I never got the chance to see them,'' he says, sitting on the lawn at Great Woods. ``And this is the closest I'm ever going to get.''
LENGTH: Long : 122 lines ILLUSTRATION: PHOTO: 1. Jerry Garcia\A big part of many lives. 2. Michaelby CNBMiley drums in the parking lot of the Reno (Nev.) Hilton before the
Further Festival, which features bands led by former members of the
Grateful Dead. "For many Deadheads, they're the only show in town."
said Les Kippel, president of a Deadhead magazine. color.