Editorial
Front Page - Friday, July 31, 2009
Weekly Indulgence
Samara Litvack
Everyone has specific childhood memories that invoke emotion. The smell of water hose water, for example, sends my memory hurdling across my parents’ backyard, belly first, onto a Slip’N Slide. As that picture plays back vividly in my mind, it brings with it great emotion – unbridled happiness, endless merriment and the security that nothing could ever rock the little world in which I lived.
The taste of orange sherbet Push-Up pops does the same, as does the smell of aloe plant (my mother was a stickler for all-natural cures). But the sense imprinted most by my childhood was sound. From that grew my love of music.
I’ve mentioned several times in this column my affinity for bluegrass. I have vivid memories of wearing patchwork dresses, weaving daisy crowns and flat-footing to traditional pickin’ with my cherished rag doll, Suzie. But I’m not sure that I’ve ever mentioned the way a band of another genre lifts me up on a sea of emotion and takes me back to a specific place and time.
Cookouts were a weekly occurrence at my house growing up, and often, much was the same at each gathering: The smell of my dad’s secret barbecue sauce infused the backyard; dozens of kids ran around, singing, dancing and playing make believe; and the sweet sounds of Grateful Dead music filled the air.
Every Grateful Dead song conjures up great emotion for me. I don’t even have to know all – or any – of the words to a song for that unique sound, those soulful, infinite guitar solos to make me feel like a kid again. My dad’s love for the band was a huge influence in my love of their music. Although he wouldn’t be quick to classify himself a “Dead Head,” he saw the band countless times in their 30 years of touring.
When Jerry died in ‘94, I wasn’t yet old enough to hit the concert scene and was devastated to realize I’d never see the legendary band perform. But five years later, Dad surprised me with tickets to see Ratdog – Dead guitarist/vocalist Bob Weir’s new band – at the Tennessee Theater in Knoxville. I was ecstatic. Watching that show with him was surreal. They played an entire set of Dead songs, and I sang alongside my dad to every one. I felt as though I’d died and gone to heaven.
I never thought I’d get to experience that feeling again, until a few weeks ago when my friend Ryan asked me to tag along on a trip to Atlanta with him and his friend, Heath. Ratdog was performing at the Masquerade Music Park, and I couldn’t pass it up.
We arrived a little before 4 p.m. and decided to find a hotel. Right up from the venue, we found a fantastic bed and breakfast, The Highland Inn, in the historic Virginia Highlands district. Built in 1927, the inn has undergone major renovation in the last few years to become a quaint, yet character-filled establishment. I don’t think we could have gotten luckier, as far as accommodations go.
We unloaded our things and decided to have lunch in the café next door. We enjoyed our sandwiches on the patio of Café di Sol; I had the roasted turkey with garlic aioli, sprouts, avocado, red onion, cucumbers and tomatoes on a multi-grain bun. It was wonderful.
When we finished, we walked the half-mile to the outdoor venue, just in time to catch the final few songs of the opening act.
Booths were set up all around. I donated a dollar to nonprofit Wharf Rats for a “This is your brain on hugs” sticker; I entered to win an autographed Ratdog poster by writing a letter to Congressman Zach Wamp at the “What’s your issue?” booth. And before long, Ratdog was taking the stage.
They began the first set with the Grateful Dead classic “Shakedown Street,” and the crowd went wild. We were on our feet, dancing, within the first few bars. Without pausing, they jammed right into “Maggie’s Farm,” another infamous Dead tune, and the entire crowd roared.
After more than 40 years of performing, Bob Weir still knows how to keep a crowd of thousands moving to the music. His band was amazing – the saxophones, the guitars, the piano... It was truly an unbelievable show.
After a fantastically long set, the band took a break. They reopened with “Peggy-O,” rocked straight into “Corrina” and when they played “He’s Gone,” it seemed to take on a different meaning than when Jerry sang it. Lighters and flipped-open cell phones filled the air.
After another short break, the first few beats of a song played that made me want to call my dad – “Me and My Uncle.” That first bar is so recognizable; I wish I could convey it in words. I was up on my feet again, dancing as the sun set, and by the time they played “Sugaree” I wasn’t sure I’d be able to contain myself.
Ratdog closed the show with “One More Saturday Night,” which was only fitting, as it actually was Saturday night. (Cheesy, I know, but I bet everyone in the crowd was thinking the same thing as they screamed in unison.)
We stood in line for about 20 minutes after the show to purchase a CD of that night’s live performance – probably one of the coolest mementos a girl could ever want.
We headed to the after party, where a band called Perpetual Groove was jamming out, but we were so tired from dancing for four hours that we grabbed a cab and headed back to the hotel… but not before we visited The Highland Inn Ballroom Lounge for a nightcap.
My second time seeing Ratdog was as good, if not better than the first. I think I’m finally mature enough to appreciate the emotion invoked by great music, and to understand and value the reasons it affects me so greatly. The next time Ratdog comes within driving distance, I will be there, dancing to the songs that make up the soundtrack of my life.
Contact Samara at samara@hamiltoncountyherald.com
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