Not every long, strange trip is the work of the Grateful Dead.

In fact, the travels of… Not every long, strange trip is the work of the Grateful Dead.

In fact, the travels of Deadhead radio hero David Gans have had somewhat of an effect on the Grateful Dead. But rather than cashing in on his associations with the famous jam band, Gans has gone on to tell his own stories.

“Just because I’m a Deadhead doesn’t mean that’s all I’m playing,” said Gans.

His musical career is temporally dominated by his occupation as a disc jockey for “The Grateful Dead Hour,” but his most recent accomplishment is the release of Twisted Love Songs, a compilation of mellow personal songs characterized by quirky lyrics and out-there storytelling. “Desert of Love” spins a yarn about an ex-girlfriend, with Gans lamenting “Narcissistic cathexis is my ex’s pathology,” and that “She was sure that she wanted me once / But she’s sure now she don’t.”

The songs ramble on without any worries, slipping between a country-crooning dialect and a complex lexicon that borders on science fiction. The music itself isn’t anything to blast from a pair of speakers or headphones. It’s better served by letting it rumble out of an old car’s speakers with the windows rolled down.

However, unlike in the era evoked by Gans’ music, taking a cruise down U.S. Highway 101 today is financially frivolous. Gans, 54 years old, acknowledges the difference between his generation and the current college generation. In his view, modern technology such as the Internet and other computer interaction has nudged music aside as the vehicle for social change.

“Music isn’t really the number one thing anymore,” he said.

The irony buried in this sentiment is that Gans helped pioneer a Deadhead virtual community on the Internet. Through a friend experienced with computers, he was introduced to an experimental online community, the Well, and co-founded an online conference of Deadheads there in 1986. Although the two applications aren’t common in their functions, imagine it as the equivalent of Facebook for Deadheads at the beginning of the Internet age.

Paired with the central Deadhead drive to see the Grateful Dead at multiple concert locations in a single season and the social function of trading live tapes, the online community took off. It’s still functioning today, and the Well, aside from holding an important historical place in the dawning of the Internet age, is host to many other conferences geared toward intellectual and cultural discussion.

Yet Gans is modest about his role in the technological extension of Deadhead culture, to the point that he could be seen as unaware of his involvement in the cultural progression. He serenely views the Internet as a tool and is more content to use music as his method of communication with others.

“I’m tryin’ to enlighten people in a non-aggressive way,” said Gans, explaining his view of the differences in generation outlooks toward music and technology.

His lyrics can still bite, though, as he sings, “The man who stole the future / Has an oil drum for a heart,” before launching into his philosophy that it will all get worse before it gets better. And even though songs like “High Guy” rest on heavy use of rhymes that are faded at the edges, they’re so straightforward in their metaphors that it’s admirable. Gans acts as more of a musical everyman, and his songs don’t attempt to grasp anything more. It’s a folksy style without much ado.

“The first most important thing is songwriting,” said Gans.

Although he enjoys his music, Gans is not the type for “travelin’ around like Woodie Guthrie.” He keeps his main job as a radio host and chooses his performances according to his personal tastes. This clearly plays a grounding role for Gans, although he has the experience of the rock ‘n’ roll era, he lacks its ego. It’s difficult to find bombast in what he says, whether it’s his lyrics or his conversation.

He’s currently slated for July 6 in Pittsburgh at the Thunderbird Cafe.

“I’ve always liked playin’ in Pittsburgh,” said Gans, remembering warm receptions at small venues across the city.

It might be expected for him to arrive in town amid a dusty whirlwind with the same guitar that started his music career in 1970. But don’t expect it to be a very loud one.

“I’m not foolish enough to think I can change the world,” said Gans, “but I’m still out there tryin’ to change the little corners of it.”