It’s been said that Woodstock, despite being one of the largest gatherings in music history, somehow kept its soul intact — a peaceful, muddy, euphoric oasis. I wasn’t there, obviously. But after three days at Dead & Company’s 60th anniversary shows in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park, I think I finally get it.
I’ve done my time at Bay Area festivals. As a young woman and a native, I’ve been shoved into mosh pits, breathed nothing but the air above strangers’ shoulders, and limped away with boot-shaped bruises on my feet. Outside Lands? Fun, yes — but also an endurance sport.
Dead & Company was different. In the same Golden Gate Park where I’ve fought for survival before, there were rugs and blankets, slow-moving bodies weaving toward their spots. Strangers smiled at each other, offered snacks, compared notes on how many Dead shows they’d been to, and swapped dream set lists. By day three, you recognized faces. Many folks — myself included — were barefoot, trusting strangers not to crush our toes.