JIm started off with that old school feel, and while the jam that ensues mid way, typically type one, didn't sprout much past that, Ocelot took that type one jam and extended it with that bluesy saunter that this song exudes bellowing through the amphitheater, or Sonic Sauna, as it were last evening. The heat was turned up once Tube dropped, and thinking, after JB I that I wasn't gonna here this song again, until maybe Dick's, I was thrilled. the groove started early, and with Trey bending those notes into a growl, the band hooked into a four minded onslaught that immediately catapulted into Psycho Killer. With flashbacks of Hartford 09, I knew that this was special, and that the night was early. Bringing the song to fruition and letting it drip into the ether, Tube cam back swiftly, and the band really growled this one out to it's close.
      Set one fire continued to burn through the opening frame, as the boys moved from zany antics, immediately into Stash. Continuing the onslaught, the internal jungle turned swampy and the deeper the we dove into the heat of the song, the murkier this venue got. Watching sweat roll from my brow in drops mixing with the humidity of the venue, the joint got down right grimy before the band finally wrapped up their jungle expedition.
      Needing a breather, the band strewn together some cleanly played tracks to ease, at least, this humble narrator, and before slamming into the last of the improvisational numbers of the first half, Corinna gave Trey a chance to lull the crowd into an emotional high, patiently nailing his solo, with the intensity and precision of a samurai, channeling through his weapon a balanced act of art and destruction. Not letting the totality of the first sets energy die, LUOLMA sprang force as if form the head of Zeus, struck like a thunder bolt, igniting the quietude of our surroundings into a frenzy, At the end of this first half, drenched in sweat, beaming from my upper balcony seat, I was left to marvel in the virtuosity, as well as the communal experience, the weapon the crowd wielded in their excitement at the playing of each note, of each crescendo, of each rise of musical excitement, and basked in the mid set glow, almost worried I may not make it through the second set.
      I was taken aback with the CDT set two opener, not upset, but again, having JB flashbacks and took a double take at my surrounding, realizing in the ever increasing temperature that I was not near the ocean, but instead surrounded by a sea of green and the only water nearby were the already spoke for hot springs, Gideon Putnam had staked his claim on over 200 years ago. Stretching out the ending section of CDT, those sonic loops and other worldly sounds emanated from stage, and the opening licks of Carini rang through the veiled stage, heat, and revolving rhythms dissipating into the rafters. Stepping away from the song proper, the band had a sudden mind meld and surged into new territory yet again, jutting out just beyond previous versons of Carini, and as the band wielded their way through the nether regions, Sand's gritty opening announced itself on stage, and if the brimming anticipation and excitement were equated to discomfort, juxtaposing the brilliance of the stage performance, we were trapped on a beach, wet and hot, rolling around in the sand.
      With jams that knowingly will come to head with their demise, this jam held onto its own, not allowing any of the members of the collective band end its existence. A few times, I bit my tongue, hoping the rhythmic, onslaught and dip into the beyond would remain forever, all of trapped in the dungeon of this venue, aware that we were experiencing blissful torture. AMAZING.
      Where Roses seemed it would spawn another godly amalgamation of everything the band has cerated over almost 30 years (at least about that according to Fishman, nay Friar Tuck) Punch yielded that Punch that kept the intensity thriving. The crowd was in the hands of, not the band, but the higher energy that Trey speaks about, and intends to channel each night he steps on stage; and much more powerful than any drug slung on lot (even Bath Salts) this energy drives the collective whole mad. I admit, I was spastic in my motions as my feet tramped below me, attempting to keep my flailing arms from striking the family next to me. (I could not stop the sweat from careening off me to various bad.
      So now comes the second helping of blissful perfection, Sally. Sally ebbed and flowed like the springs that exist somewhere below us, drifting from the vocal escapades and looming in the murky future, the music blossomed into some serious 4.0 creativity. I bridged it for aerobic relief, and thank goodness, because as Sally forged the limits of her existence, Ghost came through as an apparition of Perfection. Is this the perfect game the band was pitching. If we are talking straight energy with whole band interplay, combining both jam based gems, forged from the natural pressures of the earth, and solid showmanship, couple that with excitement, grief, fear, anticipation, deliberation, amalgamation, painstaking patience, and a shit load of humidity; then yes!
      And Suzy, an Antelope to rival JB's Antelope, and, oh, oh, oh, oh, Loving Cup...this show just wrapped it up, like a christmas present on christmas eve, opening prematurely by an over-zealous little child. (And it was his first pair of Air Jordans, III's in black) MY GOD, I am witnessing the dawning of the age of...(fill in the blank)
      PS let's hope the posters arrive tonight!


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