Phil Lesh: Unbroken Chain of Sorrow and Pearls
Photo: BARON WOLMAN
Philip Chapman Lesh
3/15/1940~10/25/2024
image: Dead.net
We’ve all known that this day was coming…but you can never really be prepared for the space you find yourself in after your most beloved and inspirational musical human is suddenly and finally gone.
Like most of the Grateful Dead family, I find myself struggling to do justice to capture what Phil’s passing means to us. We all have our origin stories, and for many of us who became immersed in All Things Phil Lesh after the Grateful Dead “proper” ended, this loss is deep and far-reaching. I haven’t felt truly connected to any recent iterations of the Dead, or any musicians, with the same deep soul connection that I found with Phil (and Friends), with the exception of the Billy and the Kids shows at Red Rocks in 2021.
Last weekend, following the announcement of Phil's passing, I was too numb to process what felt like an exceptionally sad punctuation point contained within my 46-year touring history of ‘All Things Dead”. It’s taken a full week for things to settle, and to travel from grief to celebration of who Phil Lesh was, and what he brought to countless individuals, both musically, spiritually, and with his campaign for organ donation, and non-profit Unbroken Chain Foundation (website currently down).
© Ted Streshinsky/CORBIS/Getty Images
After Jerry’s untimely departure, I took a hiatus from Dead-related shows to focus on child rearing and other civilian life activities, until oh-so-nonchalantly accepting a last minute invitation to the Phil and Friends Hartford Meadows show on 7/29/01…a mere..what…almost 23 years ago? My jaw hit the ground in reaction to the show and scene that was continuing to bring so much joy. I was instantly back on the bus and haven’t looked back, until… October 25, 2024.
I went Phil-crazy. Couldn’t get enough of the bands he put together, because whichever friends Phil invited to play with him were always on point, from the splendiferous original Phil Lesh Quintet, aka PLQ or “The Q” from 2000-2003, (which in my humble opinion will always stand out as the absolute pinnacle) to many configurations over the years, with friends too numerous to list, sometimes controversial (I’m looking at you, Ryan Adams) but always enormously talented. Joined the bunch of weirdo-misfits that made up the most voracious Phil fans at Philzone.org (now defunct), where we created the most fantastic community you could ever imagine.
Phil and whatever friends he honored by inviting them to play with him are always on point; Phil insists on it. Lesh is a maestro, a classically trained composer, musician, and genius at large whose exacting ear will only accept perfection. Or at least controlled chaos. Phil has a way of setting the band free to explore and crescendo, and then knowing exactly that right moment to reel them back in to coalesce and gently land.
Of Sorrow and Pearls
After a few days of living in a fugue state, I woke and filled the air with songs, and let the music wash over me in hopes of loosening some protective coating I keep loosely wrapped around my heart. Because I work with folks at the end-of-life, this is necessary, in order to continue to do the work, but at times it’s a real impediment to processing loss and grief.
What really opened things up for me was listening to the remastered Unbroken Chain (below) where a youthful Phil sings beautifully. Unbroken Chain has it all; the themes of connectivity, of universal mystery, and at the bottom of it all…deep love. It is pure poetic sound. When Phil sings poet Bob Peterson’s evocative lyrics about searching, learning, hoping, connecting, loving, and then…. letting go, it is universally relatable. Love and Grief are often different sides of the same coin.
While listening to this, Box of Rain, and a number of other Phil-centric tunes, I hopped past denial and numbness pretty quickly, and was rewarded by a full-on existential crisis, complete with a major episode of ‘ugly crying”, brought on by the recognition that these feelings of grief were about more than just Phil’s sudden departure—as it was when Jerry passed. For many of us heads, Phil’s death marks the passing of time, from whatever bus stop you found yourself at when you hopped on, culminating to this present moment in your life.
In 1978, I was just a baby deadhead, followed by four and a half decades of full-on life lessons, all the while weaving in and out of Dead tour. Now, finding myself at the surprising age of 64, I deeply feel the time that has passed, often like unspooling a filmstrip in reverse of the celebrations and tragedies in between.
All those cliches about Phil and the Dead playing the soundtrack to our lives are absolutely true. It really does feel like dancing through my lifetime, guided by the words and music of the Grateful Dead, from Jerry to Phil, there and back again.
Credit: Detroit Richards ThePaltrySum.com
Just a Box of Rain
When Grateful Dead lyricist and poet Robert Hunter died five years ago, Phil penned a message honoring Hunter, the last sentence resounds with extra poignancy on the heels of Phil’s own gentle departure on 10/25/24:
I am heartbroken. Last night we lost Robert Hunter. As much as anyone, he defined in his words what it meant to be the Grateful Dead. His lyrics, ranging from old border ballads to urban legend, western narratives and beyond, brought into sharp focus what was implicit in our music. A case in point is “Box of Rain” - he heard so deeply what my feelings were when I composed the music, feelings I didn’t know I had until I read his lyrics. The lyrics he wrote for Jerry likewise tapped into the very essence of Jerry’s heart and soul - drawing forth the music living there. Significantly, the very first lyric Robert wrote for us was “Dark Star”, which became the definitive GD exploratory vehicle.
So fare thee well, RH; when my time comes I’ll be looking for you and Jer out there in the transitive nightfall of diamonds.
Love,
Phil
Such a long, long time to be gone
And a short time to be there
Thank you Phil.
