I love adventures. To me, there’s nothing better then stepping out of my comfort zone into unknown territory. Put me in any party, scene, or situation and I will adapt and make friends. However, after all these years with my chin confidently pointed at the sky, there is still one crowd I simply can’t identify with: hippies. I could never buy into peace, love, and understanding. The world is a scary place. Gobbling psychedelics and trying to ignore the cruelty of man never seemed appealing. After living in Eugene for three years, the rift between the flower people and I only grew. While I was there, I learned that “jam” is a four-letter word, patchwork clothes flatter no one, and that the deepest, most fiery depths of Hell most likely have live Phish concerts piping in 24/7.

Upon receiving word from Ezra “the Great Inquisitor” Ace that my torturous challenge was to attend a Dark Star Orchestra show, needless to say, I cringed a little. DSO is a Grateful Dead tribute band that plays two to three marathon sets a night, typically mirroring playlists from historic Dead shows. I assumed the crowd would be stocked with hippies young and old. So, in order to maintain sanity on this adventure, I chose to bring a 57-year-old “Deadhead” from my work. I figured he could be somewhat of an ambassador and answer any of my immediate questions. My dad also insisted on coming to ensure my review was unbiased.

Upon arriving to the Crystal Ballroom, my suspicions were immediately confirmed: the door leading into the venue was like a swirling portal of tie-dye that would no doubt lead to my darkest nightmares. I saw long, flowing skirts, flower headdresses, and a row of stoned, wandering-eyed hopefuls pining for tickets. I was asked if I need any “doses”; I declined and pressed on into the Ballroom.

There were many children in attendance. Unlike the occasional bewildered, dirty, and neglected children that attend metal shows, these children looked fresh and well-loved. Of course, there was also a lot of thinning grey hair too. The range of age was probably 6 to 66 (see, still metal). Towards the rear of the venue was a table covered with candy and a tie-dyed banner that read “Wharf Rats.” My ambassador informed me that the Wharf Rats are an organization that works with recovering alcoholics and drug addicts at shows like these. They also help folks having bad trips come down safely. Despite their cause, we thankfully headed toward the bar so I could appropriately prepare myself for musical punishment.

Halfway through my first drink, DSO mounted the stage and commenced the first of the evening’s two sets. They had the complete Dead set-up, two drummers and all. The guy playing Jerry Garcia’s parts was chubby, bearded, and wearing glasses. Their version of Bob Weir even looked like him. DSO has a constant revolving line-up, so maybe looking the part helps when auditioning?

Plumes of pot smoke began rising from every corner of the room. Security didn’t bat an eye. “I love that smell at a concert,” said my dad. I never saw one person get hassled for the rest of the evening.

During the second song, “Sugaree,” something horrifying started happening. My foot began to tap and my head was bobbing. I was very torn, but honestly, how can you turn your back on catchy melodies and three-part vocal harmonies? I decided to turn the pressure up and abandon my companions to venture into the crowd solo.

The place was packed and every last person was boogieing. From the pizza line in the back to the rail at the front of the stage, the entire crowd was moving. The only way to travel through the technicolor sea of bodies was to dance my way through. Within a few minutes, and minimal effort, I was right at the front of the stage. At a metal show people are constantly jockeying for position. In my native environs, I would’ve had to squish through sweaty dudes throwing elbows, and scowling girls who think they’re being groped (well, sometimes they actually are, but never by me, I swear!). At this show, the people parted like I was the Pope and gently patted me on the back on my way by.

I survived the first round and headed to the bathroom. Inside, two men discussed the first set and decided it was DSO-assembled. They weren’t too pleased. I sat on a bench outside of the bathroom to take some notes. A plump woman holding a small child approached me: “Excuse me, there’s no changing tables inside. Do you mind?” I awkwardly scooted over to give her room to change her baby’s diaper. In this realm of “free and easy,” anything goes.

The night wasn’t without its share of close encounters. As I weaved back through the crowd, a hand firmly grasped my ass. I turned around to see a short smiling woman with a single flower in her hair. “Hey, that’s mine,” I exclaimed. She pointed at her friend, claiming she put her up to it. I slipped away to find my ambassador and waited for the next set to begin. In the distance I saw my dad carving a path through the crowd towards us. As he tried to squeeze by a tall, long-faced man with a long grey beard to match, the man suddenly grabbed his hand and kissed it. I looked down and saw that this curious character was wearing no shoes. Lucky for him, the bar wasn’t using glassware.

The second set began and the crowd surged with excitement. They seemed much more pleased with this one. After three songs or so, the people around me were abuzz, arguing over when this set was first performed. Most of them said ’77, though the keyboard player later confirmed the it was played by the Dead on June 18, 1976.

My dad ducked out and the ambassador and I headed to the middle of the crowd for the last half of the set. At this point, the unwashed masses were loving it, cheering loudly and throwing their hands in the air as they perpetually grooved to the tunes. I looked back at my ambassador and saw he was smiling from ear to ear. He looked like he was lost in the memories of his own heyday. It was right then that I laughed, realizing the Great Inquisitor didn’t choose the right torture for this metal heart. How could I scoff at this celebration of a legacy that’s still so important to so many people? How could I not smile with such joy permeating from every person in the room? It was so very refreshing. I left the show feeling renewed, and maybe even a bit wiser and more tolerant.

Thank you, sir. May I have another?