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At the Dave Matthews Band’s recent two-gig stand at Boston’s Fenway Park, the concession stands were packed with Red Sox jerseys bearing saxophonist LeRoi Moore’s name and the number “41,” the 1996 DMB track that showcased Moore’s soulful playing. Moore’s ghost hovers over the band’s tour behind their new Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King and the fallen musician was the inspiration behind the album, as well.

“I feel like I’ve made a record that, if someone didn’t know me and said, ‘What do you do for a living?’, I won’t be sheepish about putting this record down and saying, ‘This is what I do for a living,’ ” says Matthews, who drew the album cover and all of the extensive art in the CD booklet by hand.

As for the title, Matthews explains that “GrooGrux King” is a band nickname for Moore, who died last year. “Carter [Beauford] and Roi came up with the GrooGrux,” he says. “It’s their word for something that was happening, something that was cool, something that was amazing. It was sort of like a spirit or a musical thing, ‘That’s the Groo Grux.’ And Roi was the King, Le Roi.”

Matthews, who graciously details the origins of several GrooGrux tracks below, says there is a definite progression to the track listing. “It’s almost in order for how it was written and recorded,” he says. “It’s starts with this sexy, fun song, ['Shake Me Like a Monkey'] and it falls down until that last song. It goes deeper and deeper until there’s this goodbye.”

“Grux”
(A a solo sax line from Moore that opens the album)
I liked that line from when Roi first did it, and every time we went back to it, I’d say, “We’ve got to use this, somehow we have to use this somewhere.” We talked about recreating it when Roi was still around, but it’s just a perfect piece of music, and it was a spontaneous invention. I wanted to put it on the album, but I didn’t know where to put it. When I first brought it up, “We should start the record with that,” everyone was like, “Yeah.” It couldn’t be any other player, the way he plays that. He could gobble, the sound that he had, and the richness of his tone.

“Why I Am”
“Why I Am” fell out of this session where we were really groping. It was just thrashing, and we weren’t finding anything, so all of us were frustrated, and then everybody at once just fell on this [plays "Why I Am" riff], and it was crazy. Then Roi came up with that sax line that comes in on the second verse [sings line], it’s a monster. The lyric “Why I am” came out of the first jam, too. I think we were just all getting along, “That’s why I am.” We went into the studio after Roi died and Stefan [Lessard] said, “We have to do that.” The problem was, it’s just this [plays riff], and no matter how many parts you put on that, for me, it just didn’t do it, it didn’t go anywhere, blues rock, that whole thing. Then I got the idea of going, [sings half-time bridge, "That's why I am"]. Then it was just an hour. We gave it a chorus, gave it a reason to go to the “Why I am,” A musical reason — otherwise, there were lots of reasons. It was a thrill, I was so happy. Roi would have really liked it.

“Spaceman”
“Spaceman” is really peculiar. I think that would challenge a lot of bands, to be able to play that song, but it’s kind of the weird mix of our extremes, the oddest side of my guitar playing mixed with the oddest side of Carter’s drumming mixed with the oddest way that Stefan plays the bass, especially those three. Fans is staying away from the one, playing this hopping bass that he does sometimes, and Carter playing the really trebly drum groove, and it all fits together really nicely. I was worried about playing that one live, but it just fell out, too.

“Squirm”
“Squirm” was just one guitar and a drum groove that Carter had actually played for the song “You and Me,” the last song on the record. Carter played this groove, and it didn’t fit with “You and Me” so much, but I loved the way he hit the groove, so I wrote “Squirm” over the top of it, and then we replayed it, and it’s changed entirely. It’s such a wall on the record, at points. That’s what’s intimidating about playing it live — it’s not the most difficult, it’s just the one that’s intimidating me the most.

“Time Bomb”
I’m excited about “Time Bomb.” That’s a real song, I think about different things that it means for me, that deals with the death of God, in a way, just the idea. What would happen to people? Would it be too bad? Not for me, I was already there, but what would happen to all those people who believe, if there was something that happened that made it impossible for God to exist? That’s why I like the idea of “If Martians fell from the sky, what would that do to God?” “Wait a second … everything changes now.” So now it’s not just this little circle in the middle of the giant universe, now it’s the giant universe. That’s why I like “Time Bomb,” I really like that opening line. That was a song that Roi liked. I was in the studio with Roi, and I always liked this thing. [Plays and sings] “Baby on my way home, I pick you up a bottle of wine.” It was a sweet little love song, but it was still sad. Then he said, “You have another bar for it?” I just went into it, and he was really psyched about it, but we never approached it again. Then later on, after he died, we went back to it, and it changed its personality. I like “Time Bomb” because everyone thinks I’m such a regular guy.

“Baby Blue”
“Baby Blue” is about Roi, about a lot of things. I sort of smashed things together, but it’s about death, in a way, or loss. It’s one clean, simple idea of, “See you later.”

“You and Me”
After saying goodbye on “Baby Blue,” it’s sort of like a birth song, that “We can do anything” song. It’s a little pick me up.

Now you’re stoked, and go online to keep track of your song stats. Finally you do something crazy: spend a weekend at the same venue to see DMB twice in two nights. “What a waste of money,” your parents will tell you. They don’t get it either, but you do. Yes, you do.

Just a few nights ago, I was getting ready to see my final DMB show of the summer in Syracuse, NY. This show was general admission, and I (and several other hundred fans) had the intentions of being front row. The fact that I achieved my goal was not the point, I took away something much more than a few front row cell phone pictures from the show, something that will last after 11pm, something that makes me “get it.”

I’m friends with all types on DMB fans: fans that have been to 130+ shows, fans that love ‘I Did It’, and fans that have no interest in Before These Crowded Streets. They all have something in common: passion. This passion lasts long after the show, and creates friendships that last a lifetime.

When I arrived in the parking lot at Syracuse in the morning, the line to get in was long. People begun to form the line at 5am. Despite the gut wrenching heat, people had smiles all over. Food was being shared, cell phone numbers were being exchanged, stories were being told, and friendships were being made. Sure, many of us are “obsessed” with the band, but don’t ever let anyone tell you that being “obessed” with DMB is a bad thing, because it’s not, it’s a great, complex, and at times magical thing.

“Tell me why you’re here so early,” a news reporter asked someone in line. “To get front row,” a hot, sun burnt fan said. I’m sure viewers on TV chuckled, but once again, they don’t get it. Only we do.

The time to the show passed quickly. It felt like less of a “wait” and more of an experience. I’ve been to quite a few DMB tailgates, but not a day-long marathon like this one, alongside hundreds of my closest friends.

At any given time, there is no place I’d rather be than in a parking lot of a DMB show hours before the show. The people are friendly, and the memories made will last forever. I’ve made countless friends at these shows, and although we rarely see eachother outside of DMB shows, it’s as if we haven’t skipped a beat every time we meet up. We all have something in common, and this special bond will serve us all in life; it will open our eyes to be more open to other ideas and people.

Think about it, the fans you meet at the DMB show may be “obsessed” with the band, but they have a life too. A life that is likely much different than your own. If you were to cross paths with someone in a street, without knowing that they were a big DMB fan, you’d keep walking and go on with your business, but if that person were to be wearing a DMB summer tour 2004 shirt, you may stop to say hi, introduce yourself, and start a conversation.

But this is what the band wants, fan interaction. It’s why DMB is no longer on archive.org, there was no fan interaction on there, you simply clicked a link and had a show. Now you sometimes have to hunt it down and talk with other fans. Of course this may only be on the internet, but as we all know, what happens on the internet can translate into a friendship in real life.

DMB is the door to friendship, and teaches us to be more open to all of those around us. As humans, we all must have at least something in common, and for us it’s DMB, but don’t be afraid to start a conversation with a complete stranger and see what you have in common with them, who knows, you may end up making a great friend.

Cherish what this band has done for you, and remember: it’s not where, but who you’re with that really matters.

The lights went down, and the band launched into Bartender. I openly wept for several minutes. I wept for Roi. I wept for being so close to a band who perserveres through so much. I wept for the sheer joy of the music. A nameless person came over and hugged me, whispering in my ear, “I know… I know…”

And with that, the concert continued, until several songs later, when someone on the stage motioned upwards towards the back of the lawn. I turned and saw “LEROI” spelled out in huge yellow glowsticks. Suddenly, a picture of Roi showed up on the screen and the crowd cheered unlike a cheer I’d ever heard. And without even a flash of a warning, it started raining glowsticks. I could see them tumble down the lawn, over the ledge, from the back of the seats all the way to the front of the stage. Yellow, green, blue, purple, tumbling, falling, seamlessly, as though rehearsed for days. The crowd chanted — “LeRoi, LeRoi, LeRoi” — over and over and over. More blue, green, and yellow. If you picked one up, you kept tossing it without a second thought. The pitch black night sky became all the colors of the rainbow and the chants echoed off the rock walls.

And in the middle of this stood seven men, mesmerized. Dave stood in the center, rocking back and forth, cuddling his guitar like a safety blanket. Rashawn slowly walked off the stage, tears in his eyes. Boyd’s always-present sunglasses were no match for his tears. Fonz, Jeff, Tim and Carter stood, all frozen to their spots on stage. The colors kept falling from the sky like Roi himself was throwing a glowstick party from heaven.

It felt like the celebration went on for an hour. After watching video replay via YouTube, I know now it was only five or six minutes. Without even a flinch to each other, the band launched into a beautiful rendition of #41, and Jeff played his sax solo harder than I have ever heard him play, as if he was trying to reach out to the farthest fan at the back of the lawn, or even to someone walking along the road outside the parking lot. It was a wordless tribute to a beloved man whom we all celebrated that night.

During #41, I saw grown men near me openly sob and embrace. Total strangers leaned on each other for support. The tears continued to flow from me, my husband, and those around us.

It wasn’t until the next night that Dave sung these words, but on Friday night, we all chose to celebrate, because we learned that life is short, but sweet for certain.

RIP LeRoi.

Dave Matthews posted on his twitter account that this video was finished in one take and took only nine minutes.

I’m not surprised, although the stop motion effect is pretty cool.