You know, there’s something utterly liberating, in a sensory-overload, leave-your-body kind of way, about standing in a room with thousands of other people and letting sound wash over you for over eight hours. Eventually your poor old bones give out and your mind takes over, wandering here and there, graciously allowing you to drift off (and sometimes, nod out, if you’re sitting or leaning against a wall) once in awhile so your energy intake can ratchet down enough for the second wind ... and the third wind ... and the fourth. What you hear coming from the stage may be a communally intended celebration of the ancient tribal practice of ecstatic release—“jamming,” in the rock ‘n’ roll vernacular—but the ultimate impact upon you, the listener, is deeply introspective, intensely persona, and, oh, did I mention this already, utterly liberating? It’s kind of like flying.

Within the jam-band community, the return-to-roots aesthetic is clearly the operative one, and for yours truly, attending such an extended session also has a hint of revisiting my teenage roots as well. As a wee laddie I weathered many an extended Allman Brothers Band or Grateful Dead show that lasted until well past union curfew hour, not to mention the occasional all-nighter pulled at some of the South’s finer bluegrass festivals. So I felt like a kid again who’d somehow come home again. With more childlike giddiness than journalistic objective, I duly report back from the trenches of Warren Haynes’ 14th annual Christmas Jam.

They came, they saw, they, um, jammed. And jammed. And jammed. From 7 p.m. until almost 3:30 a.m. In a sold-out Asheville Civic Center Arena, where the electricity in the air was as thick as the ‘boo smoke, virtuoso guitarist Haynes (leader of Gov’t Mule and current fretmeister for the new-look Allman Brothers Band) hosted his annual holiday jam-bo-ree and benefit bash, raised more than $50,000 for Habitat For Humanity and no doubt got back to his hotel room roughly around the same time the sun was rising. On hand were Hayne’s fellow Mule-men Mat Abts and Danny Louis, former Grateful Dead guitarist Bob Weir, John Hiatt & the Goners, moe., Robert Randolph & The Family Band, Edwin McCain, Kevn Kinney, Jerry Joseph & The Jackmormons, local bluegrass kings Songs Of Ralph and a host of guests that included Widespread Panic’s Dave Schools, the Black Crowes’ Audley Freed, DJ Logic, Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Artimus Pyle and the legendary Col. Bruce Hampton.

Now, lest you gentle MAGNET readers turn your nose up at the term “jam band” or any of the aforementioned jam-inclined musicians, let us be very clear on one point: Having an open mind, musically (as most indie-rock types tend to be, or would like to think they are) does not preclude one from being an idiot at the same time. When I emailed one indie-centric friend to tell him about the concert, his immediate reaction was to sniff, “So, was it all stoned hippie chicks doing their twirly dances, folks trying to sell you dope and enough long guitar solos to last you until 2005?” Well, yeah. It was all that. (Full disclosure: I passed up the chance to buy a balloon of nitrous, at five bucks a pop, in the parking lot prior to the show. But I’m pretty sure I inhaled enough secondhand smoke to ignite even the most dormant of my brain’s weed receptors.) But it was a lot more, as I hastened to point out to my generally-intelligent-but-occasionally-pinheaded friend.

I’ll give an example. Robert Randolph & The Family Band held down the fourth “set” of the evening. As tended to be par for each set’s course, Haynes came out and joined in on slide guitar. The closing number was an incendiary—and I do mean this shit was on fire, pardon my vernacular—version of Slim Harpo’s “Shake Your Hips” that nodded in equal directions to the Harpo original and the Rolling Stones’ version (from Exile On Main Street), with a little bit of ZZ Top dirty boogie and Sonic Youth wall of sound thrown in for good measure. It got louder and nastier until, abruptly, Randolph leaped up from his “sacred steel” guitar, jumped on top of his stool and did a dance that was so manic it looked like he was about to bounce off into space—all that was missing was some harness gimmick to jet him up over the crowd like Mick Jagger or David Lee Roth. The resulting explosion of cheers and pogoing from the entire arena was unlike any I’ve witnessed—participated in—in years. It was a pure, spontaneous rock ‘n’ roll moment. So if you’re thinking that “jam band” is reason to snooze, guess again brothers and sisters; I’m sure your heroes Ween, Jon Spencer or R.L. Burnside would be aghast at anyone suggesting that a well-executed Slim Harpo song does not rock by definition. (And, by extension, anyone who cares to mount a well-executed Slim Harpo song.)

The show kicked off with some tasty bluegrass warm-ups from Sons Of Ralph. Haynes joined them on the last song, a rousing version of the old classic “Nine Pound Hammer.” (There is some excellent indigenous American music to be absorbed in the mountains of North Carolina, where Asheville is rapidly growing in Austin-like stature.) Next up was Jerry Joseph & The Jackmormons—joined at one point by bassist Schools, drummer Abts and Randolph on dobro—who burned through a potent four-song set of edgy roots garage (pick to click: “This Kind Of Place” from their fine ‘02 album Conscious Contact). Then Edwin McCain—who has an acoustic folk LP due soon that showcases his honey-throated, soulful vocals far more effectively than his decidedly mainstream pop efforts for Atlantic Records—from just down the road in Greenville, S.C., came up with Audley Freed for a acoustic set. Kevn Kinney soon wandered onstage (taking lead vocals on “Indian Song”), followed by Haynes and Louis, and pretty soon you had a slow-burn, gospel-flavored version of “The Times They Are A-Changin’” unfolding as one of the evening’s early highlights.

Randolph’s set was next, and as I indicated above, it brought the house down. (You can get a hint of his steel prowess and his band’s estimable power on last year’s Live At The Wetlands CD.) Then it was moe.’s turn to serve up some Dead-style original numbers, which, judging from the massed dancing in the aisles (including hippie-chick twirling), suggests the group needn’t worry too much about keeping its fanbase intact. Did I mention the Grateful Dead? By the third song, Bob Weir—along with Haynes—had ambled onto the stage with moe. for a grand, sweeping version of the Band’s “The Weight,” which pretty much had the entire audience singing along (thankfully, no lighters held aloft or people doing the Wave) as if the arena were a church on Sunday morning. Weir and moe. also did an old Dead song, “Jack Straw.”

Of course, if Weir and moe. painted the place in heavenly colors, John Hiatt & The Goners took it straight to hell and burned it to a crisp. With Louisiana slide-guitar kingpin Sonny Landreth in his band, Hiatt submitted a 45-minute set that rivaled even the full-length club gigs I’ve seen him play in the past. He was clearly inspired by the setting, pulling out all the stops on “Slow Turning,” “Drive South” (which included some neat quips about coming to Asheville) and “Tiki Bar Is Open.” His final number, “Memphis In The Meantime,” featured, you guessed it, Haynes joining the group for a transcendent slide guitar tango with Landreth. Easily the night’s second peak.

(Meanwhile, backstage in the catering area, the evening’s other players were to be found milling around, greeting well-wishers, renewing old friendships and watching what was happening onstage via closed-circuit television. Weir, dapper in his salt-and-pepper beard, was flanked by a number of gorgeous, adoring young females. Haynes came and went as his performance schedule allowed, shaking many a hand, always a smile on his face. Over in one corner, Col. Hampton was regaling Schools and Kinney with an elaborate story about a baseball game.)

While the stage crew shuffled amps, DJ Logic spun the wheels of steel. Judging from the response, it was much to the leftfield delight of many of the assembled music heads who’d never gotten a first-hand dose of hip hop and turntablism. (A couple of nights earlier I’d checked the Gov’t Mule message board and saw one posting deriding the decision to include Logic in the lineup. That post was quickly countered by a slew of others that not only touted Logic’s credentials—Medeski, Martin & Wood and Yohimbe Brothers, among many—but outlined exactly how the man’s chosen instrument fits into the contemporary notion of improvised music. “Jamming,” by any other name. See what I mean about keeping an open mind? Start playing six degrees of musical separation with Logic, or any number of the folks at the Xmas Jam, and you’re bound to come away surprised.)

Weir and his merry band of Friends took the stage, and the first notes of the Dead’s “Shakedown Street” were greeted with massed sparking of, um, pipes and other combustion engines. From there it was full tilt into a collection of other Dead tunes plus Dylan’s “It’s All Over Now Baby Blue.” In case you were wondering, yeah, Haynes was present on guitar (DJ Logic joined midway through), lending a significantly bluesy heft to such lengthy numbers as “Truckin,” “The Other One” and “Birdsong.”

At some point well past 2 a.m., Gov’t Mule commanded the stage. As we like to say in the South, we rode that Mule like it was our mama. From Haynes originals like the good-vibes “Soulshine” and their signature freeform psych/jazz workout “Mule” (which, at one point, turned into Bo Diddley’s “Who Do You Love?”) to eye-peeling covers of Steppenwolf’s “Don’t Step On The Grass Sam,” Led Zep’s “No Quarter” and Skynyrd’s “Simple Man,” Gov’t Mule displayed a keen ability to probe the innards of rock ‘n’ roll with humor and finesse, not to mention a blue-collar ethos: The harder you work at something, the more you’ll get out of it and the more satisfied you’ll be in the end.

Members of other bands were welcomed onstage throughout the set. Skynyrd’s Pyle took over the drum kit at one point; Dave Schools commandeered the low-end; and Col. Hampton finally showed up for the encore, a long, long reworking of the old blues classic “Turn On Your Lovelight” (a song the Dead used to do, incidentally). Oh lordy, this was jamming in excelsis.

Warren Haynes, with whom I conducted a lengthy interview a couple of days prior to the concert, is a true Southern gentleman. He grew up in Asheville and lived there until 1980 when he got the call to join David Allen Coe’s band. Haynes’ trajectory took him through stints with the Dickey Betts Band and the Allman Brothers; following a solo album in ‘93 he formed Gov’t Mule with drummer Abts and bassist Allen Woody (since deceased). No looking back since; Haynes and the Mule have become one of the most powerful and inspiring live acts currently on the road, stirring up a cauldron of blues, boogie, interstellar jazz improv, and a host of wild-ass covers (everything from the Beatles, Prince and Black Sabbath to Free, Little Feat and John Coltrane) as well.

Despite an international reputation, Haynes apparently never forgot his roots and returns to Asheville each year to give a little back via his fundraising Christmas Jam. This bash was the biggest ever—there was even a pre-Jam jam the night before at local club the Orange Peel. (The four-hour show was broadcast over the radio on community station WNCW-FM.) The city of Asheville duly paid its respect to the prodigal son this year, with Mayor Charles Worley presenting Haynes with the key to the city at the start of the concert. “I wonder if it fits the jail,” Haynes quipped.

So it was quite a holiday season for Haynes. And quite a year, too. Volume 2 of Gov’t Mule’s The Deep End was released (the song “Soulshine” earned top honors at this year’s Jammy Awards), as was a DVD documentary (Rising Low) about his group. He also produced the forthcoming Allman Brothers studio album in between touring fairly nonstop with the Mule, the Allmans and the new band put together by ex-Grateful Dead bassist Phil Lesh.

Not bad for a long-haired pot-smoking hippie boy from the South, eh?