The first day of October, in that champion year of 1977. Portland, Oregon, which is tied with Portland, Maine, and That Town That Smells Like A Clown’s Asshole, Iowa, for the title of America’s least creative town names.
The next night, and its Casey Jones opener that bursts with an almost-fascistic energy (the song COMMANDS that you boogie and it has also fused government and industry into one monolithic entity fronted by a cult of personality), is better known, but the night before is spectacular.
The setlist is remarkably ’77. It’s as ’77 as you can get without folding the year into a Riemann Manifold and turning the Universe into a small kitten or an enormous kitten or any sort of kitten.
This show is in the details. Check out the Eyes>Dancin transition as Mickey defines “most cowbell.”