6/17/91
Brown Eyed Women is a trip. It's transcendental. It's hip. It's a scene. It's a vibe. It's giving. It's living. It's an ol' friend. It travels through the bloodstream. It evolves in the soul like it's finding its place. This solo is a launch, a landing. It's a punch. It's a deep kiss. Deep mover. Heavy roller. Sticks. Shifts. Twists. Grooves. The way Jerry slowly falls behind Brent. It's like the seasons changing. The years rolling. The hour passing. It's daylight and it's night. Cold but it's bright. Spring when it's Fall. It's that real love. The kind that makes you crazy. It takes chances. Plays its hand. It's too pat to bluff. It's a scream. It's a cry. It's everything. Brown Eyed...
It lays you on a slick note.
A tip and a nod.
It can do no wrong, baby. It's the greatest cut of one of the finest numbers in the Dead's history. This is where it's at. Where it always was. Where it's meant to be.
Sits pretty, ahead of Cornell, Buffalo, Dane County.
The audience dig it.
Baby they're turned on to it and keep it moving.
That solo...don't ever let that land.
Don't ever bring us down.
My shadow still dances long after I'm slumped.
Good times...good vibes.
Man. HIT MY VEINS WITH THIS.
It's perfect...
Grateful Dead - Thank You x
