Miracle of miracles, we got tickets. Not after initially getting rejected and buying from a scalper, though. But Ruby from the Grateful Dead Ticket Service had held Jordan's money in the hopes that something would pop up. Less than a week before the shows, we got notice -- a pair for Friday and a pair for Saturday. I flew to San Francisco on Thursday night, using up my last personal day, and got ready to party.

The Warfield is situated next to the Crazy Horse Gentlemen's Club, and one ticketless phan joked that the strip club was "Plan B." I saw Mariah, Shawn and Dan and couldn't believe how those kids get to every show. Dan lamented how the shows in Japan will be the first he would miss in almost two years. Security was tough at the doors, and I was forced to check my camera. The unbelievable photograph of Phil and Trey above was taken by Andrew Gustin, who has many other fabulous photos on His Site. The photo below, and the other live shots were copied with permission from Robert Minkin's and Susanna Miller's sites.
 

Positioned on Page side (as usual) and about three rows deep, Jordan and I introduced ourselves to our neighbors. We were the most psyched people on Earth, especially Matt, in front of Jordan, celebrating his birthday in grand fashion.  The curtains rolled open and exposed the most insane musical line-up imaginable. Watching Trey sing "Paradise waits..." with Phil on his side and Page in the corner was just too sweet. And the noise that they created was a unique sound with elements of The Dead and Phish, but with a new twist. New life. In short, they were A Band Beyond Description.

The Help>Slipknot!>Franklin's was a thing of beauty. Any jokes of a Help>Hydrogen were merely that. The transitions were done by seasoned professional jammers, and when Page started in with Frankin's Tower, I lost it. Despite being up front, there was decent dancing room; three spinners twirled away beside me. From my vantage point, all I could see were Page's shoes beneath his piano, and his mouth and eyes when he leaned forward into the mic. Making direct contact with Page, watching his expressive eyes squint with each heartfelt lyric, kept me smiling all night long. Page flubbed a line and I'm sure it was killing him all night. I joked that the lyric flub was in Jerry's honor. Then it was Phil's turn to sing.

A few notes plucked and goosebumps shot down my spine. It was, of all things, Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here. Floyd was my first musical obsession and the Wish You Were Here album was a major turning point in my passion for music. In many ways I still consider it the finest album ever recorded.  Written for Syd Barret's drug-induced demise, the song is appropriate to so many people for so many reasons. It was ironic to me and my brother, both Floyd freaks missing each other, and ironic in the wake of Jerry Garcia's death. An obvious homage. It is simply a tragedy that Trey never got the opportunity to jam with Jerry Garcia, and I don't think I've ever missed Jerry more than at that moment.  Some people aren't crazy about Phil's voice. I understand that. He's not really a lead singer (which makes the Phil & Friends concerts interesting), but he's got a nice voice, and always sings from the heart. I always liked the "Let Phil Sing!" signs. Phil sang it triumphantly.

I didn't realize it earlier, but Phil is my favorite remaining member of the Grateful Dead. All I ever knew was that Jerry was my favorite. Face to face with Phil, I quickly understood. With an extended lease on life, Phil was loving every second of it.

The curtains opened for the second set with Donna Jean standing center stage with a nervous smile. Incredible! Then the set opens with Trey singing Bertha, with Donna?  The only thing more insane would be Phil singing the chorus to Prince Caspian, which is exactly what happened next. Phil had a huge grin the whole time, singing "Oh! To be Prince Caspian" with obvious enthusiasm. I know Caspian wasn't everyone's favorite choice for a Phish song, but watching Phil jam one of Trey's personal favorites was enough for me.  St. Stephen, with Phil on vocals. I never understood why the Dead stopped playing it. Into The Eleven, one of the most underrated Dead tunes in my book. This was becoming a greatest hits event.  Unbroken Chain was the song that really hooked me with The Dead. Written by Phil (and Robert Peterson), it showed me the beautiful, mystical side of The Dead.  That they waited 20 years until their final tour to play it strikes me as more than coincidence. I was lucky enough to catch it during my last Dead show, and now I was seeing Trey and Page jam it out with Phil. The design below is off a tour shirt of mine.

After 26 Chalkdusts with Phish, none were as sweet as the one that followed. Phil was having a blast.  It was a fantasy setlist. The Scarlet Begonias> Fire on the Mountain was amazing. Donna re-joined the stage and Trey sang lead for both songs. I think he sang it a little better than on that 12-1-84 tape. It was an intense, highly danceable jam and I understood I was truly seeing the Heart of Gold Band.  The Ripple encore was absolutely perfect. I remember seeing an interview with Phil where he mentions how the line, "There is a fountain that was not made by the hands of man" gives him chills. One of many Dead lyrics that gives me chills.

Stumbling out of the Warfield, I began to scan for a phone. I had promised to call Andy Gadiel with the setlist, knowing that if I was home, I would be waiting anxiously at his page for the update. Besides, I had yet to contribute a setlist for the community. We stop at a corner and Jordan waits while I make the call. Andy, apparently, is a real human being. And super-nice, too. I'm detailing the second set to him when I turn around and see Jordan being harassed by an incredibly scary-looking guy. He's trying to sell Jordan a gold chain and his unblinking eyes were bulging out of their sockets. "Uh, Andy, I gotta go now," I said, rattling off the remainder of the set. I turned and the crackhead had completely vanished.

Jordan and I hopped into a cab, away from the terrifying Tenderloin District. The cabbie smelled us, fresh from the Warfield, and  joked, "Have a good night?" We ended up sharing a session with the cabbie, who didn't charge us a fare in lieu of a phat tip. Yeah, it was a good night. We both slept well after a long, anxious week.
 

With seats in the balcony for Saturday night, Jordan and I explored San Francisco. I hadn't been there in five years, and had forgotten how much I loved it.  Jordan's place was on Bay Street, 2 blocks from Pier 39 and The Wharf. We played tourist and saw the seals, the aquarium, and the Coit Tower. Not to mention the awesome Trans- America Pyramid, left and right. We saved Alcatraz for my next visit. Meeting up with some friends before the show, I got a kick out of seeing a setlist from Gadiel's page (with thanks to me) in a random living room in San Fran. Thank you, Andy. With a 7 a.m. flight back to New York the next day, I decided I needed to stay up all night. It became incredibly ironic that our seats were in Row E of the lower balcony. Dead center, too.

Working as an usher in college, Jordan first saw Phish at the Warfield about five years earlier. It's a great venue and as an usher, Jordan got free admission and free drinks (in the second set) for some prime shows. None touched these pair.

The Dark Star opener took everyone by surprise. It was as if Phish had taught Phil a lesson in setlist creativity. Particularly with The Days Between between the Dark Star. There was a Steve Kimock original somewhere in there, causing loud cheers from the hardcore Kimock fans, but I didn't know that until the end of the set. Kimock had skills -- he hit some nasty cresendos and Trey loved playing with him -- but he didn't sing at all, he rarely smiled, and he sat down for most of the show. The presence of Kimock fans astounded me.
 

I wore shorts under my pants, knowing that I would want to strip down to dance. Great decision. I loved watching the harmonies created with Phil, Trey and Page. They were really grooving together. Page singing Birdsong was definitely the highlight of the first set.  I can't rave enough about the music that was played over the Warfield PA. Before the Friday night show, I was loving Abby Road and some great Marley. Then, during set break, The Band's Music From Big Pink had the entire crowd singing The Weight. For the Saturday night set break, the entire Wish You Were Here album echoed through the Warfield.

I saw Mike Gordon in the balcony during set break and we shared a huge smile. He was enjoying it as much as I was. The Terrapin Station opener for second set had me flying. Trey sang the first stanza, Page sang the second, and Phil sang the third. Donna came back and sang backup for the chorus. I had a radio show in college called Terrapin Station and think of the song every time I see a crescent moon.

Down with Disease was fun, but didn't have the meat to it it usually does. I mean, Phil doesn't slap like Mike does. Still, it was wonderful to see and I think it was paying respect to Mike (the biggest Deadhead in Phish). It jammed out and when it found its way into the second verse of Dark Star, sung by Page, I was in heaven. He has the perfect voice for such a delicate song. I heard a definite The Other Ones tease, but it was not to be. Not with the future of The Other Ones in disarray and Bobby left in the cold. I heard that Bobby and Steve Kimock don't get along, and I don't doubt it.
 

Friend of the Devil was played in the fast, old-school rock, and I was loving it. Phil was spitting out the soulful lyrics to the first song I ever learned to play on guitar. Morning Dew was total meltdown. All I can recall was that I danced like a maniac. Thank god for the shorts.  I looked around and couldn't find my pants anywhere. I stressed for a minute because my wallet was still in the pocket, but realized they were probably pretty safe. Then I laughed out loud with the conclusion that I had literally lost my pants.  The combination of Goin' Down the Road Feelin Bad> We Bid You Goodnight had me teary-eyed. "Lay down my dear brother, lay down and take your rest...." We drank from our water bottles, agreeing it tasted better than wine. Before the encore of each show, Phil talked about his recent surgery and how he was still alive only because of an organ donation. Jordan and I decided after that weekend that we would make the final gift for humanity if the circumstances ever called for it. The Box of Rain encore was predictable, but no less special. Full of heartfelt love, Phil sang his trademark tune and wished us a wonderful goodnight. I found my pants.

Partying with Justin and Sara (who sat in row E with us) back at Jordan's place, I discovered how tight-knit this community truly is. I asked Jordan how he found out about the mail order. It was a one day mail order practically unannounced the day of the postmark date. Jordan pointed to Justin, who heard it from Sara, who heard it from her friend in LA, who happens to be a close friend of Andy Gadiel's. So it turned out that I owed my experience, indirectly, to the word-of-mouth stemming from Gadiel himself. I e-mailed Andy an incoherent note on Jordan's laptop, and thanked him for something he didn't know he did. Thanks Andy, thanks Jordan, thanks Phil. Thank you.