On December 30th, 1990, Rick Katzeff and myself were making an audience tape of the Grateful Dead in front of the Soundboard, an area tapers are not legally allowed to tape, by Grateful Dead organization standards because the tapers section is always located behind the Soundboard.  The reason Rick and I go in front of the Soundboard is basically because the higher sound pressure level in the microphones at that shortened distance provides the cardioid pickup pattern of the microphone a more direct and accurate, less ambient than the tapers section, signal by which to set the recording levels by.  So, the Grateful Dead are actually doing audience tapers a service by allowing them to tape however, making them severely compromise quality for what some historians refer to as hierarchy in the extended family of the Grateful Dead. 

            I don't especially understand what this phrase means, however I do understand sociological ways and means and what civilization deems in standards, but the outright courtesy and outright aggression at Grateful Dead shows still culminate to form staggering events.

            Rick and I had been taping the two previous nights, as we had done at most every other Grateful Dead and Jerry Garcia show for the two years previous.  It wasn't like this night was supposed to be any different than any other we had taped, yet the difference between this night and others was so dramatically infamous that it caused me to retreat from not only the taping scene at Dead shows, but from taping, sound and the whole issue of music recording for any purpose.  Eventually I was indeed able to crawl out from under the rug which I had crept, but as do all issues, this took time to solve.

            We as tapers are most always ready for the bust; that is, the bust security (i.e. Bill Graham's) gives us if they catch us taping in front of the Soundboard.  Mind you however, being caught at a Grateful Dead concert taping in front of the Soundboard is like receiving a slap on the wrist.

            Like the previous two nights, we did expect them to come through again.  And they did, and we were ready, however, I think Rick was just a little too ready.   As soon as he heard. . .

            "Go for the mics, the one's on the stands!!" I think something snapped in his mind about the dumb-lout security guard's hands hitting the mic capsule at 0 degrees with a 60 lb per square inch pressure and the mic diaphragm being pressure velocity transduced through the microphone power supply circuitry in a matter of milliseconds.  With the motion of a thought he had one security guardâ€™s hands gripped in his and with the floor area being so crowded with everyoneâ€™s excess clothing (this was the "winter season" here), it wasn't long before their scuffle-shoving match was met by the floor.  The security guard taking this extremely seriously landed a right blow to Rick.  Rick in turn used his full force and 6 foot 2 inch frame to not only return the favor but to enforce the fact that he knows how to punch as well.  A ring of people spread out around the mic-stand battleground as quickly as children not wanting to assume responsibility. 

            To say the least I was in a panic, I never thought it would come to physical violence, but there in front of me was my friend Rick brawling with what we would find out later was far from Bill Grahams finest in terms of who should be considered tapers security.  But that's O.K. too, I wouldn't want to see those circumstances.  At the time it was enough to just have to take the equipment down in the middle of this extreme hecticness.  As I kneeled at the base of the stand to try and lower it, I noticed gobs of tape stuck around the teleportation knobs, causing them to be stuck in an immovable position.  Nice.  I reached down to the tape deck and felt the knobs, I faded out.  Always fade out.  I pressed eject and started tapping Sean on the leg with the Master tape of the fight, he took it. 

            It was hard to get his attention however and this was the weird part, when I looked up at all the people surrounding us they seemed to be all staring towards the center, right at the mic stand, directly in the middle of this area that cleared as a battleground.  Rick suddenly turned to Ted, a new house-mate of mine, and pleaded as he asked

            "Dude what should I do??, RUN??, "Ted, just looked at him with his jaw dropped open simply not knowing what to say.  At that point Rick turned his heel on a dime and attempted to sprint out of their on all fours, he didn't want to be seen.  As the circle closed from the pressure of surrounding concert goers we all remained in shock.  What just happened??  Suddenly the security guard is directly in my face.

            "All right I got the stand!!, I'll hold onto that Backpack!!"  I tried very calmly to say to him,

            "Dude, there is a lot of expensive equipment in here, just let me bring it to the Soundboard for you. . . " his grip then tightened around my wrist, and he still held onto the pack, the zippers as yet undone.  Rick's battle partner was struggling to get up from all the commotion that had been createdâ€¦

            "He broke my glasses, the fucking taper kid broke my fucking glasses!!  I'm going to make him pay man, that was really fucking uncool man!!"  The other security guard then comes over and grabs me, then the mic stand, by then I had the mics in the T-bar off the stand wrapped up in the mic veil, and handed to John Ammons. . .

            "Where's your fucking friend man, he fucked up a pair of 65-dollar glasses man, he's going to pay for these man, man, I'm going to sue his ass, he fucking hit me, where is he man??"  All I could say was,

            "I don't know, " I mean what else could I say?  I didn't know.  I had no fucking idea what Rick had just done to me, to all the people in front of the soundboard, to that security guard, fuck, might he have glass in his eye?  I was taken to the Soundboard, reaching it the exact same time as two green-coated Oakland Police officers (The REAL ones), I had to begin explaining in a quick way.  This was not easy.  My basic excuse was that I was simply taking the equipment from the front of the Board back to here for safe keeping until the guy who owns it, Rick Katzeff, comes to pick it up.  The people at the Sound board then found out about the fight.

            "What, people are throwing punches up there, TAPERS!? are throwing punches up there??  Who the hell do they think they are?  Those God-Damn Morons!!!" 

The security guard who had been punched by Rick came screaming,

            "He broke my Glasses, that son-of-a-bitch broke my glasses!!" 

            "Who him?"  the lady at the Soundboard points toward me

            "He fuckin' broke my glasses, I don't know, some fucker up there broke my glasses!!"  Now I really had to begin explaining fast.

            "Hold it, wait a minute, I didn't break any glasses, the guy who hit you, who's equipment this is, broke your glasses, I'm only taking it to the Soundboard because it, and he, do not belong up there."  At that point they almost bought it, then a previous house-mate of mine, Sean Webber-Small, came back to the Soundboard to confirm the story I had just told them.  I guess he had some credibility, I think they had seen him back there before.

            After escaping, without the equipment, we walked among the hallways as the Dead boys were going from Space into Terrapin, first Terrapin out of Space in almost nine years.  At that point it didn't matter, even it being my 100th show didnâ€™t matter.  All that mattered was what Rick had done.  What he had done to us, and to everybody.

            Cherry on the pie; After the show, I reached my car, it had been broken into.  Nice.