Review | Turning a Massive Crowd into a Village

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.

For this send-off run, the Polo Field transformed into a quilt of picnic blankets, camp chairs, and hippies. Just outside, along JFK Promenade: Shakedown Street. Rows of vendors selling hemp hats and racks of hand-dyed shirts featuring Grateful Dead album covers and symbols — a barter-and-merch hub that’s been part of the Deadhead ecosystem since the ’70s.

The concerts themselves carried a rare kind of homecoming weight. The Grateful Dead was born in the Bay Area in 1965, and though Garcia, Lesh, Weir, and Hart went on to tour stadiums worldwide, the San Francisco connection never dimmed. Dead & Company — Weir and Hart joined by John Mayer, Oteil Burbridge, Jeff Chimenti, and Jay Lane — has spent the last decade keeping that legacy alive, expanding the fanbase to those who never saw Garcia but still want to hear the music played with reverence.

Day one, Jerry Garcia’s 83rd birthday, felt like an opening ritual. Billy Strings set the tone, picking with an almost visible gratitude. Mayer — the “imposter” to some Dead purists — played his guitar like he was doing it a favor. The show, while still incredible, had a disjointed vibe as the band settled in. Day two brought sharper energy and a guest spot from Sturgill Simpson. By Sunday, the groove was locked.

The weather told its own story. Day one’s fog wrapped the field in a soft curtain. By day two and three, the skies burned open to bright blue. On Sunday, Trey Anastasio joined for a buoyant Sam Cooke cover (“Good Times”), sliding into “China Cat Sunflower,” then “I Know You Rider,” and a funk-slick “Shakedown Street” peppered with winks to Phish and The Commodores. Grahame Lesh played his father’s bass.

Similar to the previous two nights, there was an out-of-this-world element — literally. “Drums” and “Space” turned the field into an aural experiment, all pulses and beats, while the front screens erupted in galactic colors and swirling shapes. The trip eventually dissolved into a smoky “Standing on the Moon,” then Mayer-led “Sugaree” and “Sugar Magnolia.”

By that point, the crowd was singing along, embracing each other, and smiling up at the half moon.

The music had pulled the generations together — old-school Deadheads in threadbare tie-dye, twentysomethings who’d grown up on playlists, kids on their parents’ shoulders. All to love and rejoice the Grateful Dead, and consequently Dead and Co. With the ultimate wizard, Bob Weir, at the helm and Mayer holding down the flash, the sound is still alive, and through its dedicated fans, always will be. 

The weekend was proof that the spirit of the Dead — the one that’s been threading through the Bay for six decades — can still turn a massive crowd into a village.