Jams

Core4 again and I was back to analog Fender Twin and my new Fesley Telecaster. I was trying to not have to think about any of the complexities of the profiled rig and for the most part it was the same, proving the old adage of you are who you are. No reason top blame the equipment. Give me Shakespeare's pen and I am still writing the blogs as Larry Gindoff

The March 27 Jams: A Deadstein Tale Across Time

The air was thick with the promise of spring-or the stubborn chill of late winter-each time Deadstein gathered for their March 27 jams over the years. For this Grateful Dead-inspired collective, born in October 1990, these sessions were a ritual of freaky camaraderie, sonic exploration, and a nod to the chaos of the world beyond Carroll's 55th Street or wherever they laid their amps. Here's a tale of those nights, stitched together from the songs, the players, and the pulse of the times.

March 27, 1996: The Early Days at 162 Perry Street

It was a Wednesday in 1996, and the world was buzzing with the aftermath of the Unabomber's arrest earlier that month. Ted Kaczynski's anti-technology manifesto had folks rethinking progress, and maybe that's why Deadstein's core-Larry G., Kevin, Scott, and Rich-kept it raw and unplugged from the digital noise at 162 Perry Street. No fancy multi-track recorders yet, just a cassette whirring in the corner. They kicked off with "Bertha," the rollicking opener setting a tone of escape, as if they were running from the headlines. Guest freak Scott Bayer dropped by, banging on bongos for "Not Fade Away," its hypnotic rhythm echoing the endless news cycles. The set wound down with "Morning Dew," a somber nod to a world still reeling from the Oklahoma City bombing's anniversary looming in April. The music felt heavy, reflective, a catharsis for a band still finding its groove.

March 27, 2001: Carroll's in the Shadow of Uncertainty

Fast forward to 2001, and Deadstein had settled into Carroll's 55th Street. The dot-com bubble had burst, leaving a jittery economy in its wake, and the specter of 9/11 was months away but somehow already in the air. Larry G. was on lead guitar, Kevin on keys, Scott on drums, and Rich holding down the bass. Trister, a frequent anchor, was there too, his beefy foundation steadying the night. They dove into "Shakedown Street," the funky defiance a middle finger to Wall Street's woes. A guest, Jeff the blues guitarist, slung his worn Stratocaster and joined for "Hard to Handle," his gritty licks cutting through the room like a protest against the uncertainty outside. The night closed with "Ripple," a gentle prayer for calmer waters, as if they sensed the storm coming later that year.

March 27, 2012: A Freaky Spring Awakening

By 2012, the Occupy Wall Street movement had faded but left its mark on New York's psyche. The weather was unseasonably warm, and at Carroll's, Deadstein-Larry G., Kevin, Scott, Rich, and now Alan on lead-channeled that restless energy. Fred, subbing for someone, brought a fierce edge to "Estimated Prophet," its apocalyptic vibe mirroring the lingering distrust of institutions. Steve, a lone guest, watched from the sidelines as they segued into "Eyes of the World," the jam stretching long and loose, a celebration of freedom after a winter of discontent. The Arab Spring was still unfolding globally, and maybe that's why the music felt urgent, alive, a call to wake up and keep moving.

March 27, 2018: Resilience in the Rain

Rain battered the city in 2018, a soggy Tuesday after the Parkland shooting had reignited gun control debates. At Carroll's, the usual suspects-Larry G., Kevin, Scott, Rich, and Andy on lead-were joined by Drew, warming up for a gig. They opened with "Hell in a Bucket," the wry humor a shield against the damp gloom. Guest Scott Bayer returned, his bongos thumping through "Feel Like a Stranger," as if the band were strangers to a world growing darker. The #MeToo movement was in full swing, and "Looks Like Rain" carried an extra weight, its melancholy chords a quiet tribute to voices rising. They ended with "Brokedown Palace," a tender farewell to the night, resilience woven into every note.

March 27, 2024: A Post-Pandemic Groove

Finally, 2024-though the records don't confirm a jam that day, let's imagine Deadstein at Carroll's, a year shy of our current April 2, 2025. The world was still shaking off COVID's long shadow, with AI debates (hello, Grok!) and climate worries dominating headlines. Larry G., Kevin, Lee on drums, Rich, and Andy powered through "Truckin'," the road anthem a nod to surviving lockdowns. Rennie, a frequent collaborator, joined for "Franklin's Tower," his vocals soaring as they shook off the past. No guests this time-just the band, raw and tight, ending with "Sugar Magnolia," a burst of joy in a world relearning how to gather. The music was loud, defiant, a testament to enduring chaos.

Across these March 27 nights, Deadstein didn't just play-they reflected the times. From Kaczynski's arrest to post-pandemic hope, the songs and players wove a thread of continuity, a freaky family jamming through history's ups and downs. Each note, each guest, each riff was a story of its own, tied to the world outside but alive in the moment, forever Grateful, forever Deadstein.

Freak (Grok3) Out!