Dead Education in Grateful Community
Tribute bands bring familiar faces to different places
I’ve always been a bigger fan of The Allman Brothers Band than the Grateful Dead. Yeah, not the smartest way to begin this piece, but I was exposed to ABB earlier in life. Plus, they were my entry point to a second group from Georgia: Widespread Panic. The path is linear.
It’s different with The Dead. Saw them once with Jerry, but I bought that ticket to Giants Stadium in 1994 because of Traffic. Except for Billy & The Kids headlining one night at Peach Fest—oh, the irony—with Bobby in 2015, I’ve never seen another offshoot. Chalk it up to priorities, but many of those possess the DNA and, unknowingly, have brought me here.
Not that I’m coming in blind. Hung around Deadheads as well as read and watched enough to get the skeleton story and then some. Understanding why and how evolution happened accelerates context, and over the last nine months, layers of detail have been served to me by musicians who, frankly, can flat out play.
Further education, and I could use the direction.
December 9, 2025. Apparel launch party, OG Brooklyn Bowl. Soundtrack by Bearly Dead. Familiar, of course, but more so, it wound up gifting me something else to…consider. Explore. Mine. Isn’t that the way it goes with great art? Experiential learning offers depth, and Bearly Dead is aces at delivering a quality time. Meaning leaps off the stage. They tour nationally, and the vibe was so fresh that night that I ran it back with them at the same venue six weeks later, and again six weeks later in Yonkers.
Workingman’s Jed. Jersey, not Tennessee, Dead. Bunch of professionals who can get after it after sliding down the dinosaur’s back. An honest day’s pay. Relatable, like the music they’re steeped in and the places—Tierney’s Tavern in Montclair, site of their 100th show, for one—they hit. Jed and the gang work, they play, it’s impressive, and I haven’t had to deal with bridges and tunnels while driving to catch them. It’s to the point where if I don’t see them once a month, I feel a little off. No joke.
Heard positive things about Shakedown Citi, so off I cruised to the Homestead Bar & Kitchen in Morristown for a Wednesday freebie. I don’t want to take the spotlight away from them, this is a damn fine band, but before kickoff, I was standing by the stage when a glass overturned, resulting in a puddle behind me. No immediate action to clean it up. The guy next to me and I ensured no one walked into it. “Appears we’re the Guardians of the Spilled Beer,” I said. He’s now my setlist guru. Shakedown Citi.
Joe Marcinek’s Dead Funk Summit. That F word was the X factor with this stacked lineup, including the double-drummer recreation I’d been hoping for somewhere along the way: Bearsville Theater, Woodstock. Jelly Bread’s Cliff Porter and moe.’s Vinnie Amico with the Kreutzman-Hart groove and nuance. Four sticks moved at once. I didn’t comprehend the effect for a while, same with The Allmans, but polyphonic listening of multiple kits live is happy headspace for this rusty drummer. What a gathering.
The Days Between celebrations prove that August isn’t a dead month. Attended two myself, with Dobbs’ Dead at the Homestead the last in their three-night trek. From his homebase in Vermont, keyboardist and musical director Josh Dobbs operates a recurring cast of cats that produce, like the mountains in that state, a green tone. Versatile. Brian Murray, thumb-picking guitarist of Dogs In A Pile, and Goose drummer Cotter Ellis were featured. A rare Monday show deserved this level of risk-taking talent.
Crickets & Cicadas. No keyboards had me a bit worried to start, but no problem. With a couple of guitars, bass, and drums, not to mention the faster, heavier style, I reframed them as a pedal-to-the-metal-here’s-a-rose quartet, and all was awesome. Shredding through the songbook. If I lived in the southern hemisphere of The Garden State, I’d constantly be at their shows. But as it was, they dominated The Orange Lantern in Paramus. Horns, not peace signs, at the end. Jersey hearts bleed loud.
Turmoil. Strife. Nonsense. Do we ever escape from them? Does peace throughout the land exist? I’d say intermittently at best even if we cling to hope and hope for more, but the music is always present to extract any emotions. So the feelings can speak to us. To raise clarity as well as guide.
People also have that ability and, wouldn’t you know it, they’re present. At Grateful Dead tribute band shows, it’s a case of familiar faces in different places, especially in the local scene and that granular root of community. Nothing profound, I’m not that good, but the conversation needs to be ongoing. Persistent. Maybe with dancing bears to bring some gravitas to the situation.
There’s a new adventure every time out, through those songs of wonder and the people who just show up. Best to pay attention, ears open nice and wide, because the next story you hear might be the greatest one ever told.
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Joe Marcinek’s Dead Funk Summit
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