Sitting in the Albany Times Union Center last Friday night just before the start of The Dead concert, the thought occurred to me that, at 52 years of age, maybe I was too old to be attending concerts, let alone a Dead show. The cause for my sudden concern about being a senior citizen-type at a Dead concert was the fact that the couple next to me looked as though they should have been at home studying for their American History regents. When the Dead opened the show with the classic, "Casey Jones," I looked around the arena checking to see if I was in fact the oldest human being in attendance. Dead shows are unique, and all types of people tend to show up. To my right was a gentleman who appeared to be in his forties. He looked like a business-type, minus the tie and jacket. He had attended the concert alone, and throughout the evening I noticed that he showed almost no emotion or reaction to the music. He just stared at the band. At one point well into the concert he turned to me and stated, "They seem to jamming a lot tonight." That was our only interaction. I returned to looking at the crowd. The ticket I had purchased online just that afternoon had garnered me a seat in the first level just to the right of the stage. The business man to my right was alone in his conservative reaction to the music supplied by the Dead because everywhere else I looked, people were moving and gyrating to the songs provided by one of the longest-tenured bands around. They say that each fan hears the Dead music in their own way. It was obvious that based on their herky-jerky movements, no one in the arena would last more than ten minutes on Dancing With The Stars, but it was also obvious that everyone was having a great time.

Two rows behind me was a woman who appeared to be in her late fifties. She held a straight wooden cane for support and she moved slowly left to right as the music played � a slight smile ever present on her face. A few seats to her right sat a man with long white hair and beard that would rival that of any mall Santa. Suddenly, I felt more comfortable about being at a Dead show. This was my seventh or eighth Dead concert, and that puts me very low on the chart as most Dead fans have experienced dozens of shows. The ticket stub had declared this, "An Evening With the Dead." And for anyone who has ever attended a Dead concert, it is truly an experience. Here I was in the Times Union Center enjoying great music and having an intimate experience with approximately 10,000 of my closest friends. Dead shows are known for attracting crowds that like to party but not cause problems. I couldn't help but notice that there was a large presence of Albany's finest who appeared to be amused at the antics of the Dead fans. The police remained reserved and professional but were friendly when engaged in conversation. It seemed as they had anticipated more of a problem with a crowd that was partying as much as the Dead fans were, but I didn't witness a single incident the entire night.

It turned out that my concern about being too old was not only unfounded, but that my advanced age was a great benefit, as this night The Dead decided to play many of their older songs. In the first set, they played "Cold Rain and Snow," "New Minglewood Blues," "Into the Mystic," an outstanding version of "West L.A. Fadeaway," "Brown Eyed Woman," and "Cumberland Blues," followed "Casey Jones."

Dead music is something that either you love or you don't. There is no middle of the road. The first time I listened to them I was in college. My roommate Jeff was that rare mixture of athlete and Dead Head. After listening to a few minutes of something off the 1967 album, entitled simply, "The Grateful Dead," I declared my disdain for the music and left the room. Something brought me back, however, and since then I have grown a great appreciation for the Dead's music, which encompasses all genres. Listen to the Dead and you can hear traces of rock, reggae, blues, country, bluegrass, jazz, and folk music.

The Dead are renowned for their long versions of songs that involve each band member jamming on their own for sometimes up to 10 to 15 minutes. Somehow it all works whether you focus on the individual performance of Bob Weir on guitar, Phil Lesh on base, or the drum tandem of Bill Kreutzmann and Mickey Hart. Legendary lead guitarist Jerry Garcia died in 1995 after three decades with the Grateful Dead. Many fans considered Garcia the heart and soul of the band, and after his death the band became known simply as The Dead. Garcia's drug use was also legendary, and combined with his being overweight, it almost cost him his life in 1986 when Garcia went into a diabetic coma. When he died in 1995, Garcia was living in a rehabilitation center trying to overcome his heroin addiction.

In Garcia's absence, many guest lead guitarists have played with the Dead. Perhaps no one more closely resembles the abilities of Garcia than current lead man (and former Allman Brothers member), Warren Haynes. I have a friend who is a huge Dead fan but does not like seeing them in concert without Garcia. Garcia can never be replaced, but Haynes was outstanding in the second set on Friday when the Dead played "Viola Lee Blues," the best version of "Sugaree" I've ever heard, "The Other One," "Rhythm Devils," "Comes a Time," "Unbroken Chain," "Throwing Stones," and a classic encore of "Not Fade Away," a perfect number to send the crowd home happy

. Filing out of the arena, no one seemed to be in a rush. Many of the Dead fans had only one deadline, to be in Worcester, Massachusetts by Saturday night for the next Dead show. I've often wondered what it would be like to be a true Dead Head with only one goal � to spend my life following the band from show to show.

I can't spend too much time thinking about it, because, after all, at 52, I'm not a kid anymore. But for one night last week, listening to some of the music the Dead have created since 1965, I was young again.

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