photo: Jay Blakesberg

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In the December issue of Relix we celebrated the life and career of pioneering bass icon Phil Lesh through reflections from his friends and collaborators (as well as a previously unpublished interview). We will continue to share these over the days to come, joining reminiscences from Jimmy Herring, Mike Gordon, Dave Schools, Oteil Burbridge, Jorma Kaukonen, Eric Krasno and Jason Crosby.

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The guitarist looks back on Phil Lesh’s third act with The Terrapin Family Band.

Ross James unknowingly walked into the Grateful Dead’s world—quite literally. In 2010, he answered an ad on Craigslist for a band seeking a guitarist/ pedal-steel player—only to learn, once he arrived at the audition, that the ad happened to be posted by Phil’s younger son Brian, who was auditioning players for his group at his parents’ home.

“I didn’t grow up listening to the Dead, and I’d never been in a house quite like that,” says James, a few days after Phil’s passing. “They had all these photos of Phil and these musicians in the basement where I auditioned and I was like, ‘Where am I?’”

James scored a spot in Brian’s combo and, when he returned for practice, he began interacting with the famed bassist more regularly. “The next time I came over, Phil opened the door for me and made sure I didn’t trip carrying my gear into the basement,” says James, whose interests swayed closer to indie, punk, rock and Americana at that point. “Brian and I’s thing was inherently different than the Dead, but Phil and Barry Sless would come to every one of our gigs. There would be 10 people there, and they were two of them. I thought of him as my friend’s dad, though he grew to be so much more than that.”

Eager to perform with his children, Phil would occasionally sit in with his sons’ projects when they would play small clubs or breweries, and James also traveled with Phil, Brian and his older brother Grahame to Levon Helm’s Barn in 2010 on the fateful night when they decided to replicate the Midnight Ramble concept on the West Coast.

When Phil eventually realized that idea as Terrapin Crossroads in 2012, he hired James for a production role—but not before they had an impassioned conversation about two bands once called The Warlocks.

“At Christmas the year before Terrapin opened, I was talking with him about how his band and my favorite band, The Velvet Underground, were both called that before they changed their name,” James says. “He told me he hated The Velvet Underground. I got a little upset, and I had to end the conversation. I had to walk away. But I was able to tell him that I wanted to be involved in Terrapin and he hired me. Before the first show, I helped set everything up and was doing some sound at the club. And right before we opened, Phil was like, ‘Why don’t you play a few tonight?’ I ended up playing the whole show and then I played the next three nights. I’d never even heard most of the songs before.”

As the venue picked up steam, Terrapin grew into Phil’s unexpected third act. In addition to rotating Phil & Friends shows, he’d jam with guest musicians and put together ad-hoc configurations to entertain fans throughout the club’s restaurant space.

He also began mentoring James and other young musicians in his sons’ orbit. Early on, they’d play pick-up gigs or form loose combos with heavy musicians like Joe Russo and Adam MacDougall, eventually coalescing into the venue’s official houseband.

At first, the elder Lesh was not planning to be part of the ensemble, eventually dubbed The Terrapin Family Band, but his love of playing and desire to create music with his children led him to have a more permanent role.

“He was excited when we were excited,” James says. “I keep coming back to how generous and selfless he was—and patient. He could have played with anybody on the plan et or not played at all if he didn’t want to. He would not only tell us stories but also let us find our voice and figure it out. His trip was to have something that would be new, fresh and never the same. I literally heard him say, ‘Don’t play the same thing once.’ When people would come in and try to do something Garcia did, he would go, ‘Don’t do that.’”

As the band started gaining some traction, they began performing outside of Terrapin, even traveling to London and Japan. The Family Band spiced up their Dead-heavy setlists with unexpected Steve Earle and Tom Petty covers on occasion, and James even convinced Phil to slip in some Velvets. Just as exciting, they wrote original material and also got Lesh back into the studio when he recorded on James’ solo album and with other members of The Terrapin Family Band.

“He played with all these virtuosos, but we were absolutely a band,” James says. “A bunch of us from Terrapin had a house together in Marin and we just built this bond and became like brothers.”

Terrapin also quickly turned into a community center itself and the Leshes used the space to host holiday gatherings—from gingerbread house-building to Passover seders—and other lifecycle events that allowed audience members to truly commune.

“It was something he and Jill considered an extension of their family,” James says. “On the way to Lockn’ one year, Jill had been talking about how, when the boys went to Waldorf, they celebrated all the holidays. One thing led to another and the seders became some of the most popular events we ever did there. They brought everybody so close together—Phil would help serve the matzo ball soup. I still text with people who used to ride the rail at Terrapin.”

Despite the loss of Phil and the venue’s closing during COVID, The Terrapin Family Band will continue playing, keeping the club’s spirit alive. James also recently had Brian out to Colorado to work on a new album.

“Phil would always say, ‘It’s gotta be real, it’s gotta be authentic,’” James says. “I re member Bob and Phil talking about big-band music and how many jamband musicians don’t know anything about big-band music these days. There was a level of craftsman ship and musicianship in those compositions they really appreciated. And the work Phil did until the day he died was something else. He would show up before rehearsal to work on stuff at 84 years old. There was a different amount of passion than I’ve seen in just about anybody. The trust and the space that he managed to create on stage to encourage risk taking and improvisation is inspiring. And there were so many connections that were made because of him, even if he wasn’t there—after the gig when everybody was hanging out. So much music has been created through those connections. I think about him every time I pick up the guitar.”