Dave likes to talk to his audience during shows. He tells us stories and funny jokes. Sometimes they involve poop or crazy things like flaming crickets. Track 2 on this disk labeled with an almost dead sharpie that reads "DISK 4" is short story about a South African friend of his killing crickets in his bathroom with fire. Funnier when you listen rather than me trying to tell it.
Anyway, why do I write of such things? This morning my husband scored something wonderful for me. I made him drive me to a yard sale advertised on Craigslist "MOVING TO NICARAGUA- NEED TO SELL EVERYTHING." When I venture out to these sales I often like to see how much they are actually getting rid of and what I can take off their hands for cheap, of course. While I am looking at a tables of shot glasses I find my husband rifling through a box of DVD's, VHS tapes, and CD's. I walk over. He holds one up for me to look at. It had a brain on the cover and I was really not all that interested until I read "Dave Matthews." Anyone that knows me well knows that I am a huge fan of the band. It looked like some early "tapes" that were recorded at various shows. Dave Matthews used to allow fans to record shows which lead to tape trading and sharing among his fans. I was pretty psyched. As he dug he found 4 more disks.
I am writing as I listen. It's good stuff. Some of it sounds newer than the old Richmond or Charlottesville days. I am grateful for the people in my life that have shared the early tunes with me from those days when he was still the local band. This track here of the Maker makes me go back. I reminisce about the days I was a teenager begging mom and dad for permission to go to a show.
The first show I attended was with mom and dad. I sat some ways away from them with a friend on the lawn at Nissan Pavilion. Soon after I could go without my parents and afford to buy the tickets myself with money from my summer job. I used to hit the road with groups of friends every summer and enjoy an evening of good music wild times. Hemp necklaces and beaded bracelets and anklets decorated our bodies as we danced on those hot evenings.
This summer I am going to Washington, DC to see some Dave. As always, the 15 year old will come out with the first strum of the guitar, the first pick at the violin, the first hit of the drum, and the first blow of the horn happening all at the same time. Hell, this time I might even wear some hemp.
