Note from Carl: I wrote this in 1990, when I was 29 years old. I am doing everything in my power to keep from editing it, because once I start messing with it, I won’t be able to stop. Here’s a glimpse into the mind of a young and immature writer, warts and all. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!!!
When you’re in the bookselling business, one of the highlights of your year is the American Booksellers Association’s annual convention, an opportunity for tens of thousands of booksellers and publishers to get together, do some networking, learn about new titles, and maybe even party a little. This year the convention was held in Las Vegas, and my colleague Bob and I made plans to be there.
Weeks before the convention, many publishers send out invitations to the various parties and receptions they’ll be hosting during the four-day affair. It’s pretty much a capitalistic scene — come to the publisher’s party, and then sell more of that publisher’s books — but, hey, who doesn’t like to get wined and dined once in a while?
One invitation I received definitely stood out from the rest:
Harper San Francisco Publishers invites you to
“An Evening of Percussion with Mickey Hart and Friends”
for a magical evening of drumming at the edge.
Mickey Hart, at the ABA convention? Of course! The invitation went on to explain that Hart, Babatunde Olatunji, Zakir Hussain, and other percussionists from around the world would be performing the second night of the convention to support Mickey’s forthcoming book, Drumming at the Edge of Magic: A Journey into the Spirit of Percussion.
Unbelievable! I started dancing around, right there in my office. It was like getting a miracle ticket in the mail.
•••
Sunday, June 3, 1990. Bob and I had been in Las Vegas for a day and a half, exploring the gargantuan ABA trade show. My arms were getting tired from carrying all the publishers’ catalogs, posters, and promotional materials I’d gathered at the convention center. But as the day’s end neared, my energy level picked up. It was the concert night!
As soon as we got back to the hotel room, we dropped off our bags and immediately struck out for the Sands Hotel. Typical Deadheads, we got there 90 minutes before the ballroom doors opened, and no one was in line. As we stood there, the doors opned, and a man stepped out and introduced himself as Dennis McNally, the Grateful Dead’s publicist. We chatted for a few minutes, and he let us into the rear of the ballroom to listen to the sound check. The room appeared to seat only about 1500, and the sound was excellent. Now I was thoroughly psyched.
After grabbing a quick bite to eat and playing the slot machines for a while, we returned to the ballroom doors early enough to be at the front of the line. Most of the other people who came early to stand in line were also Deadheads. How odd we looked, many of us in “civilian” clothes. But you could pick out who had been to shows before — we all had huge smiles.
I talked with one couple from DC about the recent Landover shows, and I met a woman who worked for a publisher in Boston. She was an Olatunji fan in addition to being a Deadhead and summed up the excitement when she said, “Seeing Olatunji and Hussain and Hart on the same stage has got to be a once-in-a-lifetime deal!”
The ballroom slowly filled up with one of the oddest crowds ever at a Dead-related show. I’d guess that roughly a third of the audience was Deadheads. The rest was a crazy assortment of New Agers, drum lovers, and plain ol’ professional booksellers and publishers.
The show began promptly at eight, with the Balafon Marimba Ensemble from Oregon. Balafon played a happy, energetic mix of marimba-dominated tunes, including some African and Latin American folk tunes. Their music filled the ballroom with a joyous, happy spirit, and the musicians’ glowing faces and hard-working bodies kept the energy level high throughout their thirty-minute set, which seemed far too short. Then a very straight looking executive from the publishing company spoke while the stage was being set for the second act. It was funny to watch this dressed-for-success businessman singing the praises of Mickey Hart, percussionist for the “legendary Grateful Dead.” After his spiel, the curtain rose again to feature the Batucaje Brazilian Percussion Ensemble with the Capoeira Dancers.
Batucaje kept the energy level at the same height reached by Balafon, featuring a sound based on bongos and the berimbau, or musical bow. The dancers, however, stole the show. The women were mesmerizing, and the two men dancers presented a breathtakingly-choreographed fantasia on the Brazilian martial art of Capoeira. Once again, the set ended too quickly, but the excitement in the ballroom continued to build, as recorded sounds from the rainforest made it clear what was coming next.
The final set began with Mickey Hart and Zakir Hussain on the stage. Mickey sat next to a metal sculpture of two skeletons (one with a rose in its mouth) standing on either side of about a dozen or so tall metal mushrooms. Behind this sculpture were suspended three bass drums; on the other side of Mickey was a set of twenty or so cowbells. Zakir sat in front of his tabla, while Mickey breathed deeply into a microphone and played what appeared to be a tiny recorder.
After a couple of minutes, Mickey moved to the sculpture, and began tapping the heads of the mushrooms — it was an electric drum set. Just as the two opening acts had excited us with their upbeat, happy energy, Mickey was now soothing us with a contemplative, serene performance. He soon gave way to Zakir, who treated us to about a ten-minute tabla solo, which was alternately peaceful, stimulating, and amusing.
Zakir’s solo gave way to Mickey’s playing the cowbells. At this point Baba and the members of his “Drums of Passion” began to take the stage. The slow build-up of energy suddenly burst wide open, and the ballroom was filled with a joyous celebration of percussion! Mickey and Zakir left the stage, and Baba led his troupe through some of their numbers.
As they jammed on their last song, Mickey and Zakir returned, followed by all the musicians and dancers from the first two acts! The stage was jammed with more than thirty performers, and the energy kept on building. Everything was happening at once, dancers, drummers, and explosion of rejoicing. Mickey moved to the front of the stage, playing a small bongo, and walked right down the steps to the front of the audience, and into the aisle. Baba followed right behind him, playing and singing. All the other performers filed down after them.
I don’t think I need to say that, by this point, everyone in the ballroom was dancing like veterean Deadheads — even the folks wearing coats and ties. As the musicians danced and played their way out the door to the casino, everyone fell right in behind them. But outside the ballroom, instead of marching into the casino, the players went out a side door leading to the Vegas Strip. Hundreds of people poured out after them and suddenly the sidewalk in front of the Sands Hotel was transformed into an impromptu tribal ritual, as we sang and danced and played.
Bob and I jockeyed our way to the front, near Mickey and Baba. The barriers between performer and audience were breaking down, with everyone dancing and singing together. As we danced our way north along the Strip, I saw Mickey step off the curb, into the street. Immediately he was surrounded by blissed-out, happy dancers. He stepped further into the street. Suddenly cars were honking and slamming on their brakes, as dozens of drummers and dancers took over two full lanes of Las Vegas Boulevard. The night had ceased to be a concert. It had become an ecstatic celebration of the spiritual powers of the drum, with people of many different walks and backgrounds suddenly united by the healing, joyous beating of the drums. After nearly twenty minutes, Mickey and Baba nodded to each other and stopped — and the crowd let out a roar of appreciation. Then they started playing again.
I was dancing not ten feet away from Mickey when the Deadhead woman from Boston, whom I had met earlier, ran up to me, grabbed my arm, and shouted, “Can you believe it? You’re dancing in the streets with Mickey Hart!”
Thank God I had a friend with me, so I know it wasn’t just a dream. The musicians began working their way back to the ballroom, with everyone keeping the dancing alive. As cars drove by, folks rolled down their windows and stared. What kind of celebration was this, with Deadheads and Suits dancing side by side?
Back in the lobby of the ballroom, the performers took one final bow, to a rousing applause. Baba stayed outside the longest, shaking people’s hands and embracing them. For the time being, the ritual was over. But the celebration goes ever on…
This article originally appeared in Dupree’s Diamond News, Volume IV, Issue 1, December 1990
© 1990, 2007, 2023 by Carl McColman
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