DEROY MURDOCK: Why I believe the Grateful Dead became one of Earth’s great religions

“Remember the Sabbath to keep it holy.”

The Fourth Commandment suddenly came to mind when I recently read Larissa Phillips’ Free Press article about the Grateful Dead. It’s all about following the Dead and making the whole thing look like a giant, bustling, cheerful church.

I agree.

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Standing among thousands of Deadheads, especially at the chilling climax of the extraordinary Jerry Garcia guitar solo, I would look out at the mesmerized crowd and think: “If this isn’t a religion, what is?” A religion without a fake, exaggerated, hugely disappointing “God” and with real, talented, flesh-and-blood musicians to worship: who could ask for anything more?

Eric Clapton, Jerry Garcia, Elton John and Carlos Santana are my four musical gods. Generally speaking, those of us who hop on planes and fly across countries or oceans to see music belong to what I call the First Church of Song.

Seeing and following the Grateful Dead was part of this belief. I was lucky enough to catch the Dead for in-town shows in the New York City area and Los Angeles. I took drives to see individual venues in Foxboro, Massachusetts; Oakland and Ventura, California; Oxford Speedway, Maine; and Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I flew to Buffalo and Chicago (twice) to see them.

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And then there were the “follow-ups”—journeys to multiple cities and locations: The Meadowlands, New Jersey, to Washington, D.C. (with an intermittent stop at the Garden State Arts Center, where the Neville Brothers opened for Jimmy Buffett), and best of all: Berlin to Frankfurt to Paris. Following the Dead in Europe in 1990 was among the highlights of my life.

Jerry Garcia, Donna Godchaux and Bob Weir perform with The Grateful Dead at Santa Barbara Stadium at the University of California, Santa Barbara, on June 4, 1978. (Ed Perlstein/Redferns/Getty Images)

I am forever grateful to my old middle school friends, John Adams, Gill Ilanit, and Chris Wessling, who dragged me—appropriately enough—to my first Dead show on Good Friday in 1987. The bones, skulls, and skeletons that abound in Grateful Dead iconography led me to the surprising mistaken conclusion that this contained some form of Satanic death metal. I imagined something like Black Sabbath but much more evil.

I strongly opposed my friends’ invitations, but they insisted. I finally made a deal with them to stop their nagging: “Okay. I’ll see your Grateful Dead. Just this once. And after that, I don’t want to hear another word about them!”

“Okay. Okay. Okay,” they agreed, probably giggling behind my back at the worm-adorned hook about to lodge in my upper lip.

Jerry Garcia, the charismatic leader of the Grateful Dead, died in 1995 at the age of 53. (Tim Mosenfelder/Getty Images)

So on a sunny Southern California afternoon we headed to the defunct Irvine Meadows Amphitheater. We spent hours in a large parking lot, having a great time as our young American brothers wearing tie-dye clothes played sackcloth, threw frisbees, and danced with their dogs to smuggle concert tapes. Believers revered them like the Dead Sea Scrolls.

in it Free Press article “Who Needs God When There Are the Grateful Dead?” Phillips perfectly captured the historic moment of this colorful afternoon among Deadheads:

“I guess if you were that deeply invested, it would have been hard to watch the Dead go mainstream after living as a secret society for so many years. In 1987, they produced their first Top 10 song, and from then on, things went crazy. MTV started playing the ‘Touch of Grey’ video. I saw guys wearing tie-dye, and the preppy kids at my suburban high school started going to shows.”

Jerry Garcia performs with the Grateful Dead at the Greek Theater in Berkeley on May 22, 1982. (Clayton Call/Redferns)

Yes, preppy kids like many of my friends at Palisades High School in suburban Los Angeles. (We were college students and recent graduates at the time.) On April 17, I was the most prepared person on my team, but I was by far not the only Top-Siders.

Around this time, Jerry Garcia responded to his band finally breaking into Billboard’s Top 10 club: “I’m horrified.”

The Grateful Dead (clockwise: Bob Weir, Phil Lesh, Bill Kreutzmann, Ron “Pigpen” McKernan, Mickey Hart and Jerry Garcia) pose for a photo in 1970. (Chris Walter/WireImage)

In Irvine, the all-encompassing parking lot fest seemed to be the centerpiece of the attraction. Actually, this was just an opening. Since I was already full, my friends reminded me that we came to see a concert.

As dusk approached, we finally made our way to the Dead show. Rather than the harmonies of hell, I heard the exquisite sounds of the music I call “psychedelic country rock”. The music was fun, joyful, happy and beautiful.

It was also familiar. I remember hearing about “Projected Prophet” and asking: “Oh, This Grateful Dead song?” Also on the set list: “Truckin’.” And I was like, “I know that. I heard it on the radio. Do dead people do this?”

Other tunes were brand new to me. “Deal” was a raucous first set closer that I immediately embraced and still cherish. “The Devil’s Friend” and “Samson and Delilah” became instant favorites.

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The recently departed Bob Weir was a standout on rhythm guitar and vocals. I instantly fell in love with the keyboard wizardry and raspy voice of the late Brent Mydland. The late Phil Lesh quietly held things together on bass. Not one but two drummers – Mickey Hart and Bill Kreutzmann, both still alive – made the percussion boom.

Dead and Company and The Grateful Dead honorees Bob Weir and Mickey Hart will perform on stage at the 2025 MusiCares Person of the Year honoring The Grateful Dead at the Los Angeles Convention Center on January 31, 2025 in Los Angeles, California. (Photo: Jeff Kravitz/FilmMagic)

And of course, there was the late lead guitarist Jerry Garcia, who was first among equals. Although he was only 44 at the time, decades of a not-so-good life made him look like he was in his 80s. He was our rock ‘n’ roll grandfather and we were his grandchildren. Her distorted voice, soaring leads, and climactic crescendos fueled pure, unfiltered ecstasy. The stage resembled Jerry’s living room, with Persian rugs on stage among wooden guitars and equipment. was playing just for us. And even among 16,000 or so fans, the place couldn’t have been more welcoming and intimate.

At the end of the show Gill asked me “What do you think?” he asked.

I laughed and said, “Why didn’t you bring me before?” I replied.

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“I remember dragging you to that show and then catching you turning around in the parking lot!” John Adams later recalled. “So funny. I’m hooked for life.”

This was my first trip with the Grateful Dead.

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I came back for 70 more shows.

If this is not a religion, what is?

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