Photo by Mike Sherry

RR: You brought up some interesting concepts about time and film—

SM: Speaking of time, how do you do these interviews? Do you go through and pick and choose things that you want to say? You couldn’t possibly transcribe this whole thing.

RR: Oh, yeah. I transcribe the whole thing. I’m improv to the core. I know my subject, form a list of questions, throw them out, and go from one idea to the next.

SM: Hard core. (laughs) Hard core.

RR: Yeah, it’s all one big conversation, isn’t it?

SM: (laughs) That’s funny. Now they have to read this part about the conversation—the conversation within the conversation. Maybe, that’s what it’s all about—shedding those layers and getting closer to the core. Maybe, that’s the whole point of this—to draw attention to the conversation within the conversation.

RR: Absolutely. Our number one story for a few days was a link in The Loop section to a Particle rehearsal session. And the look on everyone’s faces definitely appeared to generate a conversation right there. What I also noticed about Particle’s music—in general—is that your sound isn’t affixed to any point in time. In a way, I seem to go on these musical journeys which project little mind films. When you play music, are you able to take yourself out of time, and remove yourself from all of those concepts whereas, instead of linear time, time is an ocean?

SM: That’s why I play music. I basically think of myself more as a time traveler than I do a musician. (laughs) Not to get too out there, but the truth is—whether they acknowledge it consciously or not—I think that’s what we’re all looking for as patrons of the arts. I think that that’s what fans are looking for. Whether it’s a fan going to a live concert, or somebody going to the opera, or to see a film, or even to an art museum, I just think that we’re all trying to travel from the routine that we’re normally stuck in.

It’s an interesting concept because it’s a duality. On the one hand, you’re getting away from the things that are in your life. Live music, for instance, is an escape because you stop thinking about your taxes, or whether or not you put the clothes from the washing machine into the dryer before you left the house—you stop thinking about everything from the most mundane details up to the biggest stresses in your life. They all just melt away when you immerse yourself in the arts, whether it’s a live concert or a film. But, there is a duality there because, on the one hand, it’s an escape, but on the other hand, it centers you and puts you more in tune with the moment. On the one hand, you’re getting away; on the other hand, you’re getting even closer to who and where you are. It is an interesting thing in that way. When it works, when I am playing music, I feel like I’m everywhere and nowhere. I feel like I can completely lose track of time and my surroundings. On the other hand, you’re so much more in touch with the moment and with the process of the moment.

So much of life is a distraction, especially these days now that the remote control generation has grown up and taken jobs at Apple. (laughs) We’re so plugged in, and we’re so used to snapping our fingers and getting what we want, whether it’s on YouTube, or downloading music or film, or TiVo. We’re so used to instant gratification that it becomes a dangerous temptation to leap frog from one distraction to the next. Seeing live music is great because it slows everybody down. (laughs) It shuts everybody up for a couple hours. It makes you sit still and look around and center yourself and be at one with your surroundings. On the other hand, again, when you go see a live concert, lights are flashing, disorienting, it takes you away, you give yourself to the music, and you’re taken on these little voyages. The song starts, and you’re just with the band, riding into this vast infinity, wherever that music is going to take you, and however it is going to make you feel.

These little adventures are like time traveling. Like you said, when you listen to the music and it has a certain timelessness, and it takes you away, you’re definitely going somewhere. The body is a vessel, so wherever you go when you’re listening, and however you feel—that is really more of the reality than the room you’re standing in. It matters more what program you’re watching than what T.V. you’re looking at. A television is just a vessel, a thing sitting on the other side of the room. You would never stare at it if there wasn’t something on T.V. You would never just sit for four hours and stare at that empty box. But, when you put the right program on, then you’re not looking at the T.V. You’re looking through it. You’re being transported to the reality of whatever you are watching. Live music is the same way. When an audience stands there in front of a band, nobody really thinks about it. Nobody ever really mentions this. We all just take it for granted. (laughs) We’re time traveling. We’re convening with each other on a really really high psychic level. (laughs) And like I said, not to get too out there, but it really is an incredible thing.

Joe Rogan, the comic, has a great bit where he talks about how standup comedy is like a form of ESP. He says, “I’m making noises with my mouth, and you’re reading my fucking mind.” (laughter) That’s crazy. If you take it down to a base level of just how incredible language is—you and I are thousands of miles apart and we’re just making noises (laughs), but you understand me. All of these things that we take for granted—I think going to see live music puts you back in touch with them to appreciate the beauty of the design. So…yeah, the other night at the Roxy? It was great. (laughter)

RR: You’ve been the de facto leader of Particle for ten years. How difficult has it been to get off stage, switch gears, and be thrown back into the realities of life?

SM: (laughs) You’re generously assuming I do switch gears, or that I’m even capable of doing that. First, I want to thank you for assuming that I’m always capable of that. I think…I sort of equate it into going into nature. When I went to college at the University of Colorado in Boulder, I used to go hiking up at Chautauqua Park at the Flatiron at the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. My roommate and I would hike up there, get up to the mountain top, look down on civilization, hang for a little while, and just be up there with no distractions—just sitting and watching deer go by and hanging. That gives you a certain feeling and it’s a great place to be. A lot of people try to reach the mountain top in their day-to-day lives, and when you get there, and you get that feeling, you harness it at that moment, but it’s really hard to bottle and take that feeling down off the mountain top and back into society.

What would always happen is that we would go up there and we’d reach a certain inner peace, and a certain state of awareness, and we’d start walking down the mountain, and at some point, inevitably, we’d see some other people coming up, and you’d say, “Hi, how you doin’?” And, now, that’s sort of the first chiseling of the wall being torn down. You were in this sacred place when all of a sudden, some guy asks you what time it is, and “Oh, shit—what is time? What time is it?” Now, you’re looking at your watch, and you’re having to give someone information; you have the responsibility of satisfying their curiosity and of being right. Now, you’re starting to get pressure, and you’ve got to perform and participate. By the time you get down the mountain, it’s like “O.K.—where are my car keys? Where did I park? How much gas do I have? Where am I going? What time is my meeting?” And, before you know it, you’ve lost that mountain top perspective. You’re now one of them, one of the ants on the grid you were looking down on, or now you’re the little rat in the maze.

So, the hard part is to try to bottle—even if not all, some of—that feeling you had up on the mountain top. For me, the mountain top is live music. I am more alive and in tune with myself when I’m playing music, so I try to keep that feeling when the show ends and take some of that back into my life.

One of my favorite quotes that I picked up on the Hydra tour with Mickey Hart was that at the end of the show, he would say to the audience—as most performers do—“How ya feelin’?” And, inevitably the crowd would cheer. He would then say, “O.K., well, then, take that feeling home with you, and do something good with it.” I always thought that was a really cool connection that he made—bridging the gap between how you feel in the moment at a live concert and not letting it evaporate, not leaving it on the mountain top. Take it with you. Take it down the mountain. Take it back and share it with other people. Show them the mountain top.

In a way, that’s kind of what the jamband community is. Enough people…it’s funny that we were talking about Mickey since it is probably the Grateful Dead who started this way of thinking…but, enough people came down off the mountain top and, the next day, went back to reality, and went back to their workplace or their friends or their families, and said, “Hey, you’ll never believe how good the view is from up there. Listen to this tape. Check this out. Listen to this band.” And an entire movement was created that way just by people sharing the experiences of their travels to live music and to bands. That creates a scene and a movement.

For myself, on my best days, there really is no transition from being in the band, or on stage, or immersed in that world, and going to the market and shopping for orange juice. (laughs) Hopefully, I can transfer the energy from the mountain top back into the maze, and keep that feeling. It’s hard, but I try to do that.

That was one way to answer your question with some outside thinking. The short answer to your question is that I actually enjoy the transition. I like all the different elements within the dynamic of a band. We always saw ourselves as a democracy in Particle. We each contributed in our own ways to the greater good, and we still do. That’s really still the way it is. We never really have had a chosen leader. We just each take on our unspoken roles. When we get together, different people carry the torch at different times.

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