VegasDeadSphere
Questions of Authenticity and Immersion Under Hectic Conditions — Creative Nonfiction/Narrative Essay
Author’s Note/Disclaimer
This long story is about three things: Las Vegas, the Grateful Dead, and the Sphere. While I was working on it, I rotated between these three when referring to it. Someone would ask what I was doing at the library and I’d say, “Just writing about that Sphere show,” or “Working on my Vegas piece,” or, increasingly as the months went on, “Still trying to figure out that big Grateful Dead thing.” I steeped myself in all three for so long that a thick mesh of spiderweb neural links formed. It became one topic: VegasDeadSphere.
Before these concepts morphed for me, though, their separateness was exactly what inspired my original fascination. In 2024, Dead and Company (the modern spinoff of the Grateful Dead) announced a 30-show residency at the Sphere in Las Vegas. When I heard about the shows I said, “... what?” I couldn’t grasp what it meant.
Vegas… Wasn’t everything in that strange cesspool just blatant ripoff-minded mimicry?
The Dead… How did my nostalgia-tinged impression of their original musical and cultural glory fit with this latter-day iteration of the band?
And the Sphere… Was it anything other than a psychedelic Death Star?
Meanwhile, three of my close friends were planning to buy tickets, no questions asked. For them, it was mandatory-attendance history-in-the-making. The tickets were expensive, but it was worth it. This new mysterious Sphere venue represented full, state-of-the-art maximalism. Vegas, admittedly heinous, was a thrill worthy of planning your summer around. Dead and Company had been playing at the peak of their powers for a couple years and were threatening to call it quits (or lose a member or two) after every tour. This was an incredible chance. We bought tickets.
My mind, clearly diseased in some perennially annoying way, immediately started trying to wrap itself around what I was getting myself into. As usual, I was operating in the realm of knee-jerk judgements. Something felt incongruous. The show itself might be incredible; the music and visuals, at least, would be as great as they had ever been. But I was hung up on the subtext of the experience. I was afraid that something here betrayed the spirit of something I held dear. The Dead and Vegas. I had two distinct yet largely unexamined impressions of the two halves of this unexpected marriage. Namely: I believed the Grateful Dead was authentic and Las Vegas was artificial.
Equipped with this bias and a fair willingness to be pleasantly proven wrong, I decided I would undertake the trip to Vegas in the self-appointed role of citizen-anthropologist/gonzo-journalist. I would get to the bottom of it instead of going along with it.
I began reading everything I could on any related subject. I listened to Dead shows from every decade and every iteration of their lineup. I extended my Vegas trip from one night for a concert to a whole week to get the lay of the land and think about my (by now) snowballing premise. I went to the show and, sacrilegious as it was, took notes on my phone. After Vegas, I interviewed the friends who were at the show and spent three months writing the first draft.
Reading, listening to music, going to Las Vegas, attending a concert, and talking for hours with your friends is not the most arduous research regimen ever conceived. I might have admitted that I was doing it because I loved it. These were all my favorite activities, after all. But I held myself apart, and told myself I was working.
As my story continued to expand, my own guarded approach became relevant to the investigation. Instead of the outward judgement I’d felt at first, I started wondering if I was the problem. I was so afraid of being duped that I approached everything with cynicism.
In addition to the line between real and fake, I started writing about the line between participant and observer, inspired by my convoluted and contradictory thoughts about the show. At a Grateful Dead show and on the Las Vegas strip, these lines are both especially murky. In Vegas that week, I noticed countless “Immersive Experiences.” I was allergic to this pair of words but fascinated by their pervasiveness. It felt like this was where real, fake, observer, and participant went to blend into each other and completely exit the question once and for all.
When I interviewed my friends, these questions surprised them. I, in turn, was surprised to see how clean their appreciation of the show had been. If pressed, they could access the social analysis I was fixated on, but it hardly entered their mind when we were at the show.
In the end, this difference became my primary subject. Some analyze, others join the experience. Was either approach wrong and the other right? It was difficult to say. The act of unearthing that very spectrum was the joy of writing this story.
To be clear, I consider myself a Deadhead. Aside from any handringing you might want to get into about the definition of that word (“How many shows have you been to?” etc), I feel comfortable claiming it. Whatever rude cynicism my narrator exudes, it is either the self-preservation of a potentially discouraged fan or the stray observations of an overwhelmed tourist clinging to his anti-consumerist respectability inside the pleasure machine of Las Vegas. He may make grand claims, but none of his analysis should be taken as serious or final.
Well, enough about motivations. Some readers might be here for a simple, fun recap of my time in the Sphere. If that’s you, you’re welcome. Anticipating the deeply narrow sliver of the pie chart of people that would be interested in my full analysis, I’ve created a “Narrative Only” version. It’s about half as long as the full version. Lord knows if it is anything more than a description of my experience at a concert. I’ve also recorded an audio version of the Narrative Only Version.
Beyond that, if you want to go along for the entire ride (doubts, digressions, narrative arc, and all), read the Full Length Version. Buckle in because it’s 25,000 words, which would be about 100 pages if it was printed in a book.
Full Length Version:
Narrative-Only Version:
Narrative-Only Audio (read by me):
Sources & Inspirations:
Two major, relevant events have taken place since I finished the first draft of this piece, in August, 2024.
On October 25th, Phil Lesh died. Phil did not play a huge role in my story, since he was never an official member of Dead and Company, but he was as important to the Grateful Dead as anyone. Kanta and Vince saw Phil Lesh and Friends, Phil’s much subtler answer to Dead and Company, but I never did. I’m saddened that I missed my opportunity to see Phil live. He is undoubtedly a legend and, I always thought, looked quite a bit like my uncle.
In December, Dead and Company announced that they are coming back to the Sphere for 18 shows between March and May, 2025. We immediately bought tickets to attend a show in May. This time, we shelled out the money for actual GA floor wristbands. I don’t plan on doing any research, reading, writing, or overanalyzing. Hopefully, I’ll just enjoy it. But if something interesting happens, maybe I’ll write a little coda or afterward for this one…
Today, as of this posting, is March 20th. I’ve set today as my final deadline for the Vegas/Dead piece because it’s the day of the first show of that second run. And, by chance, it happens to be Vince’s birthday. Happy bday, doctor. The big 2-8! When Jerry Garcia was 28, the Grateful Dead released “American Beauty.” Get working on your masterpiece, buddy.
