Live music is a very, very important part of my life. I’m going to tell a story about the idea of specialness and its connection with meaning in the context of live music.
I.
When I was in high school, I loved a band named Tea Leaf Green.
Tea Leaf Green was a rustic rock ‘n’ roll jam band from San Francisco, blending psychedelic improvisation with rootsy Americana and peaking guitar solos. From 2004-2007, I think they were the best band in the world at making the music I love the most. During this period, they were not the most popular band in the world — shows would typically have only a few hundred people, with some locations drawing even less than 100, while their biggest headlining shows peaked at just over 1,000.
However, amongst the band and its fans, there was so much excitement. After every show, fans were eager to immediately discuss with their fellow concertgoers how amazing it was, to eagerly post online about their experience, and when possible, to immediately listen to the recording over and over again. Each new “great” show (Noe Valley Ministry), new song (Franz Hanzerbeak), sit-in (Trey Anastasio), tour announcement (winter 2006), or milestone of playing a larger venue (Fillmore April 2006) garnered significant enthusiasm from the fanbase. Fans would dissect setlists, debate the merits of different jams, and share stories of their experiences on the road following the band. The band fostered a very active and supportive internet forum and a broader community of diehard fans that became very close-knit and ever-growing.
Everything about this felt very special. The music was amazing, but the amount everyone cared about what was happening was significant. It wasn’t that we wanted the band to succeed to feel cooler and ahead of the trend or because we would benefit — it was that the amount of enthusiasm and energy the band had, that the other fans had, was infectious. You weren’t just listening to a great one-off rock ‘n’ roll show, but you were part of something that everyone thought was special and was going somewhere.
II.
My favourite band to see live these days is Joe Russo’s Almost Dead, a jazzy rock ‘n’ roll band playing high-energy, improv-heavy covers of the Grateful Dead. One of the things that makes their music so great is that they play the music of the Grateful Dead with no desire to play any of it like the Grateful Dead. They will play songs at completely different intensities, segue songs that never went together, and really do whatever they want with the music, without accepting any dogmas as to how it is supposed to be.
The shows are incredible, really as great as concerts can musically be for me (and lots of other jam fans), but there is absolutely no meaning or specialness about any of it.
From the band’s perspective, they are all very reluctant participants — from their interviews, it seems clear they find it all a bit lame and wish they instead could be at that level of success (selling out shows for between 2,000-8,000 people) with their own projects.
They agree to play fewer than 40 shows every year max. They don’t ever rehearse. They never play new markets or do any “special” shows. They invest the bare minimum into things like lighting or merch. They haven’t tried to write songs or expand beyond just being a Grateful Dead cover band, even though they easily could.
The fans take this in kind. Nobody after the show, despite the fact that there are huge numbers of fans who have the time of their lives at these shows, feels the need to really talk about the show, share how incredible the experience is, or be excited to listen to the recording of the show. There’s no sense of building towards something greater or being part of a larger narrative.
It’s just sort of a thing that happens and then people move on.
III.
Part of what makes JRAD so great is that they don’t care to adhere to anyone’s expectations. They are so free when they play, allowing them to eagerly take huge risks that often fail. They don’t worry if they do something that isn’t how the Dead did it, or if their fans will like it, or if it will even work — they are just having fun, and maybe it can only be this way because they don’t care about all of these things, and they are actually already at the frontier. This fearlessness allows them to push musical boundaries in ways that few other bands would feel comfortable attempting.
Similarly, they are already playing very large venues — bigger than nearly every band in their genre is able to play — maybe they are already at the top of the success that is realistically attainable for them.
However, I think there is something else going on.
Because they are a cover band, the band doesn’t think what they are doing counts for anything and isn’t prepared to fully emotionally invest in it. The band isn’t intended to grow into anything; they are already at the peak and fullness of what they want it to be. There’s no sense of striving or ambition, just a talented group of musicians playing epic shows that will never amount to anything greater than what it already is.
The audience, knowing it’s a cover band, seeing the band’s attitude, are also is inclined to feel the same way. There becomes this common knowledge that however great this is, it isn’t meaningful. It’s like a tacit agreement between band and audience that what’s happening on stage, while musically epic, is ultimately ephemeral and inconsequential.
IV.
I find the idea of meaning to be pretty important.
Reflecting on this, it seems there is some component of specialness or meaning that’s tied to a narrative, or some sort of evolution. It’s the sense that you’re not just witnessing a moment, but participating in a story that’s bigger than the immediate experience.
Meaning is often aided by being immersed within a broader context of meaning. While this often refers to a shared experience that you participate in with others, it doesn’t have to be. It’s more so that you are in some environment where you have this belief, backed by the context, which states — this thing is important, it is special, it is substantive. And when the people around you all don’t act as if they feel that way, it’s much harder for you, as an individual, to feel the meaning or specialness of whatever you are participating in. It’s as if the collective belief in something’s importance amplifies its significance for each individual.
To truly engage with meaning, we often need to be in environments where excitement and enthusiasm can be shared freely. It’s this shared enthusiasm that enriches our appreciation, making singular events or moments feel more special and transcendent. Whether it’s music, art, or any other pursuit, finding meaning is often a collaborative effort, deeply influenced by the people who partake in it or the broader context. The difference between something having or lacking meaning often isn’t about the thing itself, but the people you share it with, and the mindset you choose to embrace.
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Footnote 1:
Tea Leaf Green’s run essentially ended when the bass player left the band in 2007. Many people tell me after the fact, maybe it felt this way because I was a kid, and they were my “first,” but every time their name appears on the internet or by others who appreciated their music, the response is always the same — oh wow, that band (and its community) was really special. This nostalgia and love speak to the lasting impact the band had on its fans, even years after they brought us so much joy.
(My actual favourite band, Phish, which played a very significant role in my life, was on hiatus from 2004-2009, so they were not in the picture during this time).
To check out Tea Leaf Green,
if you prefer softer studio music
or,
If you prefer more psychedelic live music
For JRAD: it’s literally all equally epic, so listen to anything you want.