Deadheads Photographs by Jay Blakesberg Curated by Ricki Blakesberg
- Stuart Ake
- Nov 23, 2025
- 3 min read
Updated: May 12
"I borrowed my dad’s Pentax camera and photographed the Grateful Dead for the first time. I took 2 or 3 photos of the Deadheads in the audience. I didn’t know it at the moment, but this would be the very beginning of my lifelong quest to document the modern day hippie tribe."
Presented as an upscale fanzine, Deadheads gathers Jay Blakesberg's photographs of the parking lots, hallways and the traveling circus that followed the band from venue to venue. Turning his lens away from the stage and toward the crowd, the veteran photographer places the focus on the Heads themselves.
Shot on film over the course of twenty years, from parking lots in the late ’70s to the final tours of the mid-’90s, images in Deadheads carry the warmth and intimacy of the era. The grain and haze of analog film printed with a matte finish feel right in this context as Blakesberg's approach for the book is closer to a visual ethnography.
Co-curated with his daughter Ricki, Blakesberg’s volume will particularly resonate with those members of the traveling carnival who chased sound and song from venue to venue. As one who eclipsed the 100-show mark during this stretch, I found myself scanning pages for familiar faces amongst the shots at sacred 1980s spaces like the Frost, Kaiser, Greek or Alpine Valley.
“With no technology yet invented, we found our way, made human connections, figured out our fashion vibe and lived to tell the story.”
A few photographs are framed with images of ticket stubs, backstage passes or offset borders that distract and compete with Blakesberg’s own vision. Fortunately, the effect is limited to a small selection. I also wish Deadheads featured a more cogent key to dates and venues of the photographs. For a band whose story is so deeply rooted in specific nights and places, the delivery feels like an afterthought which leaves the viewer wishing for a better map to accompany the memories.
Deadheads could have settled for nostalgia and costume. Instead, Blakesberg’s camera gives the culture a sense of dignity and a reminder that an essential part of the Grateful Dead was never confined to the stage. It lived in the parking lots, campgrounds and hotel rooms between each city on tour.
Check Prices | ||
Thirty-five years later, thanks to Glenn Davis for cueing this up. Winding south along a fog-soaked Pacific coast, I was involved in a head-on crash en route to Laguna Seca when a car drifted into our lane. Two friends suffered terrible injuries and all of us were lucky to survive. The months that followed were a haze of pain, PT and recurring nightmares. I usually kept close tabs on every show and every tape, but after the accident I couldn’t stomach the idea of listening to the run.
Fast forward to 2022. Glenn put on the show while we crossed the Bay Bridge after an underwhelming Roger Waters concert. About 2 minutes into the jam, Jerry flips the switch, his tone mutates and everything starts to unravel. The music spirals into chaos, then detonates into a wall of noise that’s both terrifying and cathartic. Forget “good for 1988.” I’ll put this Playin' against Veneta on 8/27/72 or Boston Garden 12/2/73. Epic.
Comments