Night of the living Dead

Well hello there blog mates. It's been a while but the bear is back. And what news does the orsine one have for y'all. 
Well last Saturday night he went up to Central London, to an unprepossessing upstairs room at The Perseverence pub in Marylebone, where along with perhaps 40 other people, he and his old trip-mate Sir John of Warren wigged out big-time to a band called the Cosmic Charlies. 
Wot? Never heard of them? Well. neither had the bear until recommended by said JW and Agg. So what are these galactic geezers all about?
Well as befits their name, perhaps, they are a Grateful Dead tribute band. 
So, any readers who are not old enough to remember when horses were invented, might be wondering; who is Grateful Dead. 
Well kids, they were a band of San Francisco hippies who spent much of the 1960s and 70s living on an entirely different planet to the rest of humanity. Occasionally popping into 'our world' to play open ended hallucinogen-fired gigs that were known to last for several hours at a stretch. 
But since their leader Jerry Garcia shuffled off his 'mortal', several thousand tie-dyed t-shirts ago, 'ver Dead' are no longer a live concern. So if you want the visceral Dead experience it is up to tribute troopers such as the CCs to purvey it for you. 
The bear admits that initially he was wary about attending this event, because although he had occasionally thrilled to the delights of tracks such as Casey Jones, Turn on Your Love Light and Dark Star, he had never been the greatest fan of the Dead. In short he could take 'em or leave 'em.
So it is a tribute to the tributers themselves that by the end of the evening the bear was a firm fan of Les Charlies.
So what did they do right?
Everything, that's what.
Right from the start it was clear that these five chaps, as scruffy and low-profile a bunch of blokes as you could ever wish to see, were right on the ball and were well versed in every psychedelic, acid-soaked note and nuance necessary to purvey the ultimate Dead experience.
Just like the Dead themselves they were seasoned and excellent musicians who, despite appearing at times as if they were all ploughing their own distinct and apparently unco-ordinated, loose-limbed, furrow, managed to pull together strands from such disparate sources as the blues, Country, rock and even soul, and weave them into a loose strung but tough as spider- silk web of ultimate faroutness, strewn with time changes, discords and surprises (the bear was particularly taken and surprised by their boundary bustin' version of Martha and the Vandellas, Dancing in the Street). 
The playing from all (sorry can't name check everyone as I don't know all the band members) concerned was fluid and at times utterly transcendant. Lead guitarist, vocalist and Jerry Garcia surrogate Brian Keneally effortlessly firing off mellifluous peals of chiming guitar work which dipped 'n' dived soared and stuttered around solid lolloping bass, chunky piano and crisp batterie.
At times they rocked like rocking was going out of fashion, elsewhere they were variously, tender, melancholy and trip-roaringly raucous. 
Not knowing the Dead's back-catalogue all that well I can't say what tracks were played, but what I can say is every, stretched-out, jammed-up, improvised minute was superb.
In short it was a perfect shambles.  
Jerry would be proud. 
So if you're a fan of psychedelia and you get a chance to see this band, take it. They are well worth seven of your British pounds. Who knows you might even get a 'contact high'.