No two Grateful Dead concerts are ever alike, but the point where they fully diverge from reality as we know it is often the same. Five songs into the second set, the band sets their instruments down and all non-rhythm section members — in its current iteration as Dead & Company, that includes longtime frontman and rhythm guitarist Bob Weir, lead guitarist and vocalist John Mayer, and keyboard wizard Jeff Chimenti — exit the stage. Electronic music loops begin to play as the band’s two drummers and bassist, collectively known as the Rhythm Devils, engage in an improvisational ritual featuring hundreds of different drums from around the world.
The extensive drum interlude sees them devising a new beat from scratch, mirroring how our tribal ancestors created music in the first place. Soon after, two more people exit the stage. The section of the show referred to as “Drums” on every setlist is over, and we’ve moved onto something that, for the past half century, has been described only as “Space.
” All that remains is an 80-year-old man in long white gloves who hunches over an eight-foot aluminum rectangle with 13 bass strings on it. He rubs, strums, and wails on the one-of-a-kind instrument — lovingly referred to as The Beam throughout the band’s history — to create an ambient sequence of room-shaking vibrations that can be as life affirming or frightening as his heart desires. It’s the kind of avant-garde performance art that would normally be confined t.