Unscripted Joy

Tag: Sphere

  • The Spirit of Grateful Drag Shines at Sphere During Dead & Co

    The Spirit of Grateful Drag Shines at Sphere During Dead & Co

    “Sometimes we live no particular way but our own.” – Grateful Dead

    Last year in 2024, I began my Dead and Co. Sphere run. Here I am again, doing it all over, dancing through the weekends, camera in hand, eyes wide open waiting to capture moments of pure unadulterated bliss. This isn’t just a concert series. It’s a living, breathing rhythm that pulses through every fiber of the scene. Last night, amid the sea of kaleidoscopic color and swirling sound, something truly beautiful happened.

    Grateful Drag didn’t take the stage—but they didn’t need to.

    Born of rebellion and reverence, BERTHA: Grateful Drag made their debut on April 29, 2023, in the heart of Tennessee—just weeks after legislation threatened to silence the art of drag. But instead of backing down, they rose in glitter and grace, turning their first performance into an act of joy-fueled defiance.

    It wasn’t just a show—it was a celebration of identity, community, and the enduring power of music to unite and uplift. That night, under the soft lights of Dee’s Country Cocktail Lounge, they didn’t just play Grateful Dead songs—they breathed life into them, raising over $4,000 for local LGBTQ+ organizations and igniting a movement that dances forward still.

    Last night at the Sphere, members of BERTHA: Grateful Drag shimmered through the crowd like celestial bodies in motion—graceful, glowing, grounded in something so powerful it could only be described as love. I spotted them weaving between heads and hugs, platforms planted firmly in the sacred dust of the GA floor. They were there with us, not above us. And that’s the magic.

    They weren’t performing—they were simply being. Being bold. Being beautiful. Being unapologetically themselves. And in doing so, they gave every single one of us permission to do the same.

    This is the part of my journey that’s always been about the people. I first started taking photos during the Sphere run last year, after a moment that changed everything. I looked up at Jay Blakesberg, one of the most iconic documentarians of Dead culture, and asked, “How does someone get to where you are?” That conversation planted a seed. Since then, my lens has become a way to remember the truth of who we are: wild, free, and deeply connected.

    But my focus was never the band. It was the bliss. The surrender. The swirling expressions of passion and presence on the faces around me. That’s the magic I chase. The magic I capture.

    Last night, that magic had a name: BERTHA: Grateful Drag.

    What makes Grateful Drag so powerful isn’t just their aesthetic—it’s their embodiment of creative freedom in a time when that freedom is under threat. With each glittering gesture and every layered harmony, they carve out space where being fully seen is not only allowed, but honored.

    Their presence is a protest expressed through celebration, a living invitation to imagine a more inclusive world. As conversations around trans and queer rights grow increasingly charged, Grateful Drag offers a reminder that self-expression is sacred. A reminder that art, when rooted in truth, can become a sanctuary for everyone who longs to belong.

    They tour the country not just playing music, but partnering with LGBTQ+ organizations, hiring local drag queens to emcee, and bringing communities together in beautiful, glitter-laced solidarity. Whether you’re a lifelong Deadhead or someone discovering these songs for the first time through a veil of lashes and lace, Grateful Drag welcomes you into the family.

    “You ain’t gonna learn what you don’t wanna know.”

    That line keeps playing in my head. Because you have to want to feel this. You have to let it in. And once you do, the euphoria is unmistakable.

    In a world that often feels too heavy, too fast, and too uncertain—this kind of radical authenticity is not just entertainment. It’s medicine. Medicine for the soul.

    This weekend, BERTHA: Grateful Drag is performing at Brooklyn Bowl, Las Vegas. Not just a show. A celebration. Doors open late, and if you’re lucky, the glitter will still be glowing by sunrise. Come feel it for yourself. Come let yourself be seen.

    “Without love in the dream, it’ll never come true.”

    From my heart to yours. Joy

    Grateful Drag – Live at Brooklyn Bowl Las Vegas

    Join Grateful Drag for two unforgettable late-night performances at Brooklyn Bowl Las Vegas on Friday, April 18, and Saturday, April 19, 2025. Doors open at 11:30 PM for both 18+ events. The venue is located at 3545 Las Vegas Blvd S, Suite 22, Las Vegas, NV 89109, within The LINQ Promenade. Tickets are available through Brooklyn Bowl’s official website, Ticketmaster, and AXS. Clark County residents who purchase tickets can enjoy free parking at any Caesars Self-Parking location by validating at the Brooklyn Bowl retail store. Please note that all tickets are standing room only, and a valid government-issued ID is required for entry.

    Stay connected with BERTHA: Grateful Drag—the world’s first all-drag Grateful Dead tribute band—by following them on their official social media channels. Explore their latest performances, tour dates, and behind-the-scenes content on Instagram at @gratefuldrag. Join their community on Facebook at facebook.com/gratefuldrag. For a list of their social media profiles and additional content, visit their Linktree: linktr.ee/gratefuldrag.

  • Finding Community Through Music: My Journey with Dead & Co.

    Finding Community Through Music: My Journey with Dead & Co.

    The First Spin

    My connection with the Grateful Dead began long ago, when I was shy teenage girl. My childhood bestie Lisa and her mama Michelle took me to my first show. I had no idea what to expect. I didn’t know most of the songs. The air was hazy with smoke. The energy was thick, electric. And then—I saw the spinners.

    They moved like they were tethered to something cosmic. Eyes closed, arms open, twirling endlessly in devotion. I was spellbound. I remember thinking, how the fuck do they do that!?! I witnessed their freedom. It stirred something deep inside me I could not yet name.

    Sphere 2025

    The Summer That Shook Me

    Decades later, in the summer of 2024, I found myself attending most of Dead & Co’s residency shows at the Sphere in Las Vegas. I showed up searching for that same magic I glimpsed all those years ago. And while I found moments of it—flashes of awe, ecstasy, connection—there was also unexpected turbulence.

    Tensions surfaced within the community. Underneath the music and the movement, there were fractures. Conflict, judgment, and division felt deeply out of alignment with the spirit of the band. It was disorienting. I came seeking healing and wholeness, and instead I found myself navigating an undercurrent of discord.

    So I did what I could. I leaned in. I talked with people. I tried to bring forward a spirit of collaboration, care, and community. There were moments where it seemed to land. Moments where something softened. But it was a lot to hold—and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to return.

    Sphere 2024

    A Hesitant Return

    When the spring 2025 Sphere run was announced, my heart leapt—but then that old dread crept in. Could I do it again? Did I even want to?

    As the shows approached I was settled in Vegas, waiting. Watching. Hoping for a shift. But as conflict began to stir again in the lead-up to the first show, I made the decision to pull back.

    On Wednesday night, while the crew gathered to line up, I stayed home—sitting in the dark, meditating, reflecting. I wasn’t sure I wanted to face another season of emotional intensity. And then something unexpected happened. Lowell FaceTimed me from lineup. He’s been a grounding force in this community, though we’re very different people, we’ve found a powerful rhythm working together.

    That night, he thanked me for my continued commitment to fostering grateful community. He shared that he’d made an announcement honoring my intention. The lineup had gone smoothly. His call, his words, and his steady leadership meant the world to me.

    Lowell & Crew

    The Shift

    I still wasn’t certain when I woke up Thursday morning. But my good friend Gil’s voice echoed in my head—gentle, persistent, true. And by 10 a.m., I was back. I arrived in time to reconnect with my close crew. I hugged familiar faces. I settled into the space with presence before the show began that evening.

    Thursday night, the energy felt different—softer, more gracious. There was a sense of openness I hadn’t felt in a long time. My body began to relax into the music. The people around me were kind, grounded. Something was shifting.

    Reconnection

    Friday’s Reminder

    By the second night, I found myself in a familiar groove. The rhythm returned. The hugs came easier. The laughter felt real. But that night brought its own reckoning. Michelle, Lisa’s mama who took me to my first show, had a health scare. It shook us to the core.

    It reminded us how fragile life is. How quickly things can change. And how deeply we need each other when they do.

    Saturday: The Circle Closes

    And then came Saturday. That’s when my longtime friend Prism arrived.

    Prism was tall with long curly gray hair. He has the energy of a musical wizard. Prism brought a quiet magic with him. I had looked forward to introducing him to the community, but I was also a tad apprehensive. What unfolded moved me beyond words—he was welcomed instantly, fully, lovingly.

    Watching the people I’ve grown close to embrace him as an extension of me made something click. I realized in that moment: they see me. I belong.

    The show was vibrant, alive with connection. Calm yet electric. There were still a few bumps—unpredictable moments—but the energy held. We held. And I felt something I hadn’t dared to name before: peace.

    A Tribe, Found

    Back at the New Year’s show in Fort Lauderdale, Lisa told me, This is your tribe Jelibean (her endearing childhood nickname for me).

    I remember laughing, even resisting. I said more than once, “This is not my fucking tribe!”

    But this weekend? I felt it.

    By Saturday night, I looked around and knew in my bones—I am home.

    A Love Letter

    So here’s my love letter to this journey:

    To Dead & Co., for creating sonic medicine we can dissolve into.

    To the Sphere and staff for being a sacred container of light, sound, and rebirth.

    To Vibee for weaving the invisible threads that made it all possible.

    To the strangers who became friends.

    To those who spun like prayers.

    To those who stayed, who showed up, who softened.

    And to my crew. They held the line with strength and grace. Their quiet loyalty kept the wheels turning.

    From my heart to yours, thank you.

    Because in a world that often feels too fractured to bear, we need reminders of what’s still wholesome. We need music. We need meaning. We need moments like these.

    In community,

    Joy