“…my life with the Rolling Stones, the Grateful Dead and other wonderful reprobates.” At three-hundred-odd pages, it’s a surprisingly quick read. As the sub-title implies, the book covers the five years between mid-1969 and mid-1974, during which time Cutler managed the Rolling Stones’ American tour and the Grateful Dead. It describes all the debauchery of the rock and roll circus, complete with a colorful cast of drug dealers, con men, cops, shady lawyers and ruthless promoters.
It is very well written; better, I confess, than I would have expected from a man whose life experience is so far removed from literary academia. Suspecting that it was ghost-written, I took a look at Cutler’s blog. The styles match, and if there was clearly some professional editing, Cutler’s language and turns of phrase are prettier than Phil’s and more colloquial than McNally’s.
From a strictly academic point of view, there are some deficiencies. Written thirty-five years after a period during which, by his account, he was high (on any number of drugs) and/or drunk virtually all the time, he outlines certain events with suspicious specificity. There are also a few inconsistencies and factual errors sprinkled about – for instance the claim that Keith Godchaux joined the Dead in 1970, rather than ’71. This book is a memoir, not a piece of historical literature, and while I had trouble nailing down any hard facts of objective significance, it was immensely enjoyable.
The first half of the book – after a cursory summation of the author’s childhood and coming-of-age – focuses on the troubled US tour that the Rolling Stones engaged upon in October 1969, with a special focus on the Altamont debacle. Cutler outlines, in the introduction, his intention to set the record straight on the Stones’ responsibility for Altamont. While I for one had a different impression, he starts from the premise that to this day, the Stones are held responsible for the whole thing, that they organized it and hired the Hell’s Angels to do security. The picture he weaves is highly complete and nuanced, written from the perspective of someone at the center of the disorganized, uncontrollable zoo.
As tour manager, Cutler’s job was to take care of the band members themselves, a position that put him in the administrative center of the tour yet conferred on him very limited power: he saw all but could affect nothing. On one side were the groupies, stunning girls who insinuated themselves into every backstage area, hotel room, airplane and limousine to engage in every manner of drug-addled debauchery with any member of the touring party, no matter how far removed, in a quest to get access to the band themselves. Then there were the legions of local personnel, promoters, agents, peripheral business executives and assorted hangers-on that constantly entered and exited the circus as the band traveled along, a constant gaggle of authorized personnel that nobody at the center knew nor cared about. Finally, and this is where the intrigue starts, there were a few highly connected people who, despite not having any official connection to tour management, became centrally influential players in daily operations.
One of these was Ken “Goldfinger” Connell, a rich and well-stocked drug dealer, a friend and confidant of the West Coast rock scene, who had lost a hand in a freak accident while running drugs out of Mexico. Another was a certain John Jaymes who first introduced himself as the “man from Chrystler,” on scene to smooth out a little trouble with missing rental cars. Within weeks, however, Jaymes was inexplicably handling security with twenty off-duty NYPD officers and a private drug dealer to keep the band and crew well-supplied with cocaine and everything else, entirely without contract or payment from the Stones’ management.
The Altamont concert was a half-baked idea thrown about on the suggestion of Bay Area acquaintances, primarily the Dead’s Rock Scully, which grew legs of its own when Mick Jagger, constantly needled by media attacks about greed and high ticket prices, announced the free concert as a fact. The West Coast people organized it, such as it was, as a one-day festival, while it was represented in the media as a Rolling Stones affair. Cutler had serious reservations about the feasibility of the event, and into the breach stepped Jaymes. He claimed to represent the Stones (with no legal authority to do so) and, unsolicited, set about “making it happen.” The last-minute venue changes, the pathetically small stage and the organizational issues of the concert itself are fairly well known, but there were wider intrigues as well, including a huge, mysterious batch of extremely potent LSD which had extremely adverse effects on a large portion of the attendees, causing freak-outs and fights almost from the moment people started showing up 24 hours before the show.
The central revelation of the book is Cutler’s assertion that the Federal authorities had a major hand in the catastrophic mood of the concert. He asserts that Jaymes was a small-time mafioso affiliated with the Castellano mob in New York and who had testified against another mafia group in New England, and that he was somehow also working for the FBI. The Feds were supposedly seriously concerned with the potential impact of the Woodstock culture and were determined to sabotage any further mass concerts. Largely on the word of Ken Goldfinger, Cutler states that Jaymes and a lawyer, also involved in the planning, had recently been meeting with the FBI, and that there were a number of undercover federal agents at the show, including the head of the FBI’s San Francisco branch. He also reveals that the mysterious acid contained a nearly toxic 1600 micrograms of pure LSD, “almost seven times the normal “meeting God” dose,” and that, according to the small Bay Area community of underground LSD manufacturers, it was created using a pill press worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, a sum vastly beyond the means of any underground chemist but easily accessible to a government authority.
Immediately after Altamont, the Rolling Stones skipped town as fast as possible to avoid the media and police frenzy over the death of Meredith Hunter, the gun-wielding concert-goer stabbed to death by Hell’s Angels in front of the stage. As Cutler tells it, he stayed behind of his own volition to represent the band and defuse the inevitable backlash that would follow. Jagger tried to discourage him but finally acquiesced, promising that all his expenses would be paid. Nothing came of the promise and Cutler found himself penniless, homeless and friendless. The only people he knew in the area were the Grateful Dead, who had been his main contacts in the planning of Altamont, and he made his way to Mickey’s ranch in Novato. The GD family welcomed him. Jerry invited him to stay with Mountain Girl and himself at their place in Larkspur.
It was nine months after the departure of Lenny Hart and Garcia was thinking about how to reorganize the Dead’s managerial apparatus. He offered Cutler the position of co-manager, with David (and Bonnie, by default) Parker and Jon McIntire; they would be in charge of tour management, accounting and general management respectively. The Dead were in a huge financial hole. Not only had Lenny stolen some 150 thousand dollars, but the band owed money to Warner Brothers, and their touring was haphazard and financially nonsensical. In the next few years, Cutler would overhaul the Dead’s touring practices, putting together tours that made geographic sense, he would streamline their travel arrangements and structure per diems to eliminate waste and conserve as much money as possible. He also founded Out Of Town Tours, a company based down the street from GD headquarters in San Rafael, that handled travel arrangements for the Dead, The Band, the New Riders, the Allman Brothers and others.
His memories of the band members themselves are almost all very kind. He remembers Mickey’s kindness in welcoming him in the first place, Garcia’s generosity and the emotional background they shared, and Pigpen’s soft bluesman soul, buffeted by the psychedelic winds that had overtaken the band he had more or less founded, and who was fundamentally not at home in the midst of LSD parties and musical space flight. He talks about Ramrod, Steve Parish and Bear, and describes his ongoing rivalry with Bill Graham with some relish (they got in a fist fight at one of the Stones’ west coast shows).
There is a chapter on Weir that illustrates the not-so-cute side of Weir’s legendary mischievousness. “[He] considered the whole business of being on the road an opportunity to try out every dumb practical joke he knew. He loved to wind me up and it annoyed me no end. Weir, I quickly noted, had problems in airports. In fact, Weir had problems in any kind of public space. I tried to think of a name for his condition and the best I could come up with was “anarchic agoraphobia.” In other words, give the guy a wide-open space and you’d have complete chaos on your hands. The later it was in the day, the more likely he was to indulge in all kinds of silly tricks.” Making the road manager’s life a pain in the ass seemed to give Weir endless pleasure, and it took a while for Cutler to come around. Eventually, after losing it and popping Weir in the nose one day, the two had a sit-down and straightened things out.
The Dead family was something very different from the Stones'. Cutler’s recollections of his time with the Dead, which included the Festival Express and Europe ’72, are full of anecdotes about traveling and practical jokes, most of them revolving around the crew’s practice of dosing anyone and everyone with LSD. For instance, the birthday cake rolled out on Janis’ (last) birthday at the end of the Festival Express tour was completely laced, and everybody wound up partaking, including the police officers in charge of security. A few choice stories from the Europe tour also illustrate the chaotic yet good-natured anarchy that were Grateful Dead tours in the early seventies.
But the life of a tour manager is stressful and complicated, and there is no rest for the weary. Cutler weaves in the unglamorous side of living with the world’s most successful touring acts. His primary job was getting The Money, no small feat in a world with few contracts, little insurance, and endless layers of promoters all trying to get their end. At the same time, he had to be available and lucid at any time of the day or night to deal with travel arrangements, venue logistics, cancellations, local promoters and crew, errant band members, busts, police hassles, crowd control, guest lists, backstage passes, hotel complaints, fights, parties, etc. After Europe, he was hospitalized with a stress-induced bleeding ulcer; a little while later, David Nelson confronted him about whether he was skimming money from the New Riders; finally, in mid ’74, he was told in a band meeting “Sam, we have someone who can book the band for five percent.” Cutler was charging 10. He told them “good luck” and that was that.
He does not seem to bear any rancor towards either the Stones, who abandoned him after Altamont and never paid him the money they owed him, or the Dead, who he felt neither appreciated his efforts nor trusted his honesty. There is no mention of what he did afterwards, but he seems to have moved on quite well after his years at the apex of the Rock world, hanging out with Janis Joplin, getting high with Hendrix and Keith Richards, a man he adored, and drowning in groupies and cocaine… In retrospect, those five years must have sated his interest in the glamour of Rock and Roll.
There are sure to be some exaggerations in the tale, some embellishments and some omissions, but “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” is a hell of a read nonetheless. I find his description of the circumstances of Altamont perfectly plausible, and his accounts of life with the Stones and the Dead are not out of line with the prevailing literature on the subject. If there is one significant angle here, it is the excellent description of the uncontrollable beast that was the Stones tour, of the powerful competing interests at work and the relative impotence of the actual band members, and of how the free concert took on a life of its own despite innumerable warning signs. It also provides some commentary on the early phase of the Grateful Dead and the way in which their stubborn insistence on mutual trust and communal decision-making left them open to exploitation and prevented them from making any real money.
It is, overall, a very interesting read for anyone who wants to know what it was like to ride that storm. It wouldn’t stand up in court, so to speak, but it communicates the atmosphere wonderfully, and it’s full of good stories.
Up next: really not sure. Suggestions welcome.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Grateful Dead: Fall 1979
Released in November 2007, Road Trips 1.1 highlights the Dead’s “blazing fall 1979 East Coast swing.” Having heard the CDs, I thought it interesting to go back and listen to the whole tour, which included fourteen shows from October 24th to November 10th. Workingman’s Tracker has been doing a ’79 project and I took the opportunity to gather up as many shows from that tour as possible. I wound up with soundboards of ten of the shows. Audience tapes of the first two nights in Springfield and New Haven came up as well, but sticking to soundboards gives me a way to keep my downloading addiction in check. I’m currently closing in on a terabyte of disk space, and that’s just silly.
When Rhino began releasing Road Trips, I frankly thought it was a great idea. Full-show-puritanism notwithstanding, there’s something to be said for an overview of a given tour. Starting in the early seventies and certainly post-hiatus, the band was able to organize clearly defined tours. In between tours, band members had extended periods of time off, so that tours themselves had a certain coherence in terms of sound and vibe. In later years, as the catalogue broadened, there could be very few versions of a given song in a tour. Picking out highlight versions of each tune would, in theory, make a relevant historical snapshot.
The fall of 1979 was notable for several reasons. The Rhythm Devils had just recorded the drum tracks for Apocalypse Now and were now carting around the famous “Beast.” Consisting of a large cylindrical frame festooned with toms, bells, gourds and other assorted rhythm-makers, it provided the drummers with a huge palette of sounds to play with. Though the “drums” section had existed for years, it was in 1979 that it became more than a conventional drum solo. “Space” was tacked on at the end but it was much shorter than in the 90s; where Drumz could eventually stretch to almost thirty minutes, it stayed under 15 in the fall of 1979.
Phil, meanwhile, was in the process of sobering up. By his account, he was drunk in 1978; he put on a lot of weight, and peripheral crew members and tour personnel had taken to calling him Phil Lush. Years later, in one of the band’s interventions with Garcia, Jerry laid into him about his sloppy playing in that period. Phil had also recently switched to a Doug Irwin bass modeled after Jerry’s new Tiger (the same bass he couldn’t get to work during the 1980 Radio City telecast.) He would not stick with the bass very long; to my ears it had a gorgeous midrange but lacked the low-end power of his later Modulus basses.
While Phil was drying out, however, Garcia had slowly begun to make escapism a way of life. He had started using heroin in 1976 during the exhaustive process of editing the Grateful Dead Movie, though it was, for the moment, not affecting his playing; nonetheless, the rest of the band would soon compose an only-half-joking letter accusing him of playing without dynamics and not listening to them like he used to.
Finally, after six months in the Grateful Dead, Brent was hitting his stride and played superbly. In addition to his predecessor’s marital and drug abuse issues, a musically logistical weak spot had been Keith’s insistence on playing a conventional piano. With two drummers, bass, and Jerry’s single-note style, the percussive piano was, as Garcia put it, “more of the same.” They had long pressed Keith to play something with more sustain, and Brent’s facility on the organ was just exactly what they had been looking for.
The overall sound of the tour was that loping style they had perfected over the last two years. Dancing in the Streets and Not Fade Away are the clearest examples. The former was in fine disco-Dead form, with one noticeable difference: while everyone’s favorite version, from Cornell, had a ten-minute Garcia solo, the jam now involved more equitable contribution across the board; rather than holding the groove, the band was throwing ideas around, making things more interesting. The latter song, NFA, was in the same general swingy/sulky shape as the long workout from the Closing of Winterland show. My favorite rendition was on November 2nd, where they took some time to work into it from the drum break.
New to the repertoire were Althea, Sailor>Saint and Brent’s Easy To Love You, as yet the only one of his tunes to make it into the rotation. Althea was in that same sort of lope, and it only got five outings. Easy To Love You got seven; generally very tight and well executed. Sailor>Saint, also seven, was evolving: a few words were not yet settled, and the transition between the two really only jelled halfway through the tour. Though Franklin’s Tower was not new, they were playing around with its location. Initially paired with Help>slipknot, it started coming after Half-Step in late ’78. By fall ’79, it could appear anywhere and it was not until 1989 that it permanently went back to following Slipknot.
Brent’s playing bears some mentioning: he asserted a strong presence with his fills, adding color all over the place and keeping things very interesting. But the biggest testament to his abilities is the facility with which he jumped into the longer jams, especially Playing In The Band. The tune was already eight years old, and that centerpiece jam was about as out-there as the band got in the late seventies - no form, no “one” – and yet Brent was right at home in the middle of it, even taking a few choice leads.
From the occasional banter that survives, the band sounded pretty relaxed. Weir’s joke of the moment, which he told at least three times, was “What’s the difference between a duck?” (“May I have the envelope please”) “And the answer is: One leg’s both the same!” Finally, on the last night, Mickey cracked: “Hey Weir, that’s not even a bad joke! That’s even lower than a bad joke!” On another occasion, at Nassau, he announced that he had heard it from a usually reliable source that the Russians had bombed Staten Island, and so that those in the audience who lived there needn’t go home tonight. There were a few crowd issues on Long Island: on the first night, there was so much pushing in the front rows that they were crushing the snake cable that ran to the soundboard, causing audible pops in the sound, and the band had to stop twice to ask them to move back.
Overall, the tour got better and better, starting off competent but not particularly noteworthy, and improving markedly from the end of the Nassau run (10.31-11.02). For what it’s worth, this is borne out by the track selection from Road Trips, which comes almost exclusively from the second half of the tour. If I had to pick a favorite all-around show, it would be Buffalo on November 9th, though not by much; all of the November shows were better than average (except, inexplicably, November 6th: a very long first set with breaks upwards of four minutes followed by a four-song second set, plus drums). A few highlights: Music from 10.28; Shakedown from 10.31; Peggy-O and Scarlet>Fire from 11.01; Althea from 11.05; Playin’ from 11.06; and Minglewood from 11.10.
This is a tour well worth checking out; the short tunes were tight, the long tunes inventive. They were still plagued a little by jam segments where they didn’t listen much to each other, letting Jerry fly off with those loopy 5/2 figures (especially on Eyes) that are impressive technically but so busy that nobody else can get a word in. Yet Brent was such a fresh sound that it breathed new life into the whole band, and they displayed a lot of discipline in terms of crafting a tight feel for newer tunes; Easy To Love You and Althea stand out (Peggy-O was also endowed with a fabulous groove that took some work to maintain). The band still regularly took the time to get into a ten or fifteen minute jam on some song or other, a trend that would fade markedly during the eighties. By all means buy the Road Trips, but also know that soundboards of the best of the tour are out there.
[EDIT: sorry there are no hyperlinks; archive is not responding just now.]
Up Next: I’m currently listening to RatDog’s fall ’06 tour and loving every minute; for my money it was their peak period; faster tempos than later, and transitions so tight and subtle it’ll give you chills. However, I don’t think I’ll post on that, barring overwhelming demand. Instead, I just picked up Sam Cutler’s new book “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.” He details his time managing the Rolling Stones’ US tour in 1969, which included Altamont, and then his time with the Grateful Dead. According to McNally, the four years Cutler spent with the Dead were pivotal in getting them on a professional footing in terms of touring. Should be interesting.
When Rhino began releasing Road Trips, I frankly thought it was a great idea. Full-show-puritanism notwithstanding, there’s something to be said for an overview of a given tour. Starting in the early seventies and certainly post-hiatus, the band was able to organize clearly defined tours. In between tours, band members had extended periods of time off, so that tours themselves had a certain coherence in terms of sound and vibe. In later years, as the catalogue broadened, there could be very few versions of a given song in a tour. Picking out highlight versions of each tune would, in theory, make a relevant historical snapshot.
The fall of 1979 was notable for several reasons. The Rhythm Devils had just recorded the drum tracks for Apocalypse Now and were now carting around the famous “Beast.” Consisting of a large cylindrical frame festooned with toms, bells, gourds and other assorted rhythm-makers, it provided the drummers with a huge palette of sounds to play with. Though the “drums” section had existed for years, it was in 1979 that it became more than a conventional drum solo. “Space” was tacked on at the end but it was much shorter than in the 90s; where Drumz could eventually stretch to almost thirty minutes, it stayed under 15 in the fall of 1979.
Phil, meanwhile, was in the process of sobering up. By his account, he was drunk in 1978; he put on a lot of weight, and peripheral crew members and tour personnel had taken to calling him Phil Lush. Years later, in one of the band’s interventions with Garcia, Jerry laid into him about his sloppy playing in that period. Phil had also recently switched to a Doug Irwin bass modeled after Jerry’s new Tiger (the same bass he couldn’t get to work during the 1980 Radio City telecast.) He would not stick with the bass very long; to my ears it had a gorgeous midrange but lacked the low-end power of his later Modulus basses.
While Phil was drying out, however, Garcia had slowly begun to make escapism a way of life. He had started using heroin in 1976 during the exhaustive process of editing the Grateful Dead Movie, though it was, for the moment, not affecting his playing; nonetheless, the rest of the band would soon compose an only-half-joking letter accusing him of playing without dynamics and not listening to them like he used to.
Finally, after six months in the Grateful Dead, Brent was hitting his stride and played superbly. In addition to his predecessor’s marital and drug abuse issues, a musically logistical weak spot had been Keith’s insistence on playing a conventional piano. With two drummers, bass, and Jerry’s single-note style, the percussive piano was, as Garcia put it, “more of the same.” They had long pressed Keith to play something with more sustain, and Brent’s facility on the organ was just exactly what they had been looking for.
The overall sound of the tour was that loping style they had perfected over the last two years. Dancing in the Streets and Not Fade Away are the clearest examples. The former was in fine disco-Dead form, with one noticeable difference: while everyone’s favorite version, from Cornell, had a ten-minute Garcia solo, the jam now involved more equitable contribution across the board; rather than holding the groove, the band was throwing ideas around, making things more interesting. The latter song, NFA, was in the same general swingy/sulky shape as the long workout from the Closing of Winterland show. My favorite rendition was on November 2nd, where they took some time to work into it from the drum break.
New to the repertoire were Althea, Sailor>Saint and Brent’s Easy To Love You, as yet the only one of his tunes to make it into the rotation. Althea was in that same sort of lope, and it only got five outings. Easy To Love You got seven; generally very tight and well executed. Sailor>Saint, also seven, was evolving: a few words were not yet settled, and the transition between the two really only jelled halfway through the tour. Though Franklin’s Tower was not new, they were playing around with its location. Initially paired with Help>slipknot, it started coming after Half-Step in late ’78. By fall ’79, it could appear anywhere and it was not until 1989 that it permanently went back to following Slipknot.
Brent’s playing bears some mentioning: he asserted a strong presence with his fills, adding color all over the place and keeping things very interesting. But the biggest testament to his abilities is the facility with which he jumped into the longer jams, especially Playing In The Band. The tune was already eight years old, and that centerpiece jam was about as out-there as the band got in the late seventies - no form, no “one” – and yet Brent was right at home in the middle of it, even taking a few choice leads.
From the occasional banter that survives, the band sounded pretty relaxed. Weir’s joke of the moment, which he told at least three times, was “What’s the difference between a duck?” (“May I have the envelope please”) “And the answer is: One leg’s both the same!” Finally, on the last night, Mickey cracked: “Hey Weir, that’s not even a bad joke! That’s even lower than a bad joke!” On another occasion, at Nassau, he announced that he had heard it from a usually reliable source that the Russians had bombed Staten Island, and so that those in the audience who lived there needn’t go home tonight. There were a few crowd issues on Long Island: on the first night, there was so much pushing in the front rows that they were crushing the snake cable that ran to the soundboard, causing audible pops in the sound, and the band had to stop twice to ask them to move back.
Overall, the tour got better and better, starting off competent but not particularly noteworthy, and improving markedly from the end of the Nassau run (10.31-11.02). For what it’s worth, this is borne out by the track selection from Road Trips, which comes almost exclusively from the second half of the tour. If I had to pick a favorite all-around show, it would be Buffalo on November 9th, though not by much; all of the November shows were better than average (except, inexplicably, November 6th: a very long first set with breaks upwards of four minutes followed by a four-song second set, plus drums). A few highlights: Music from 10.28; Shakedown from 10.31; Peggy-O and Scarlet>Fire from 11.01; Althea from 11.05; Playin’ from 11.06; and Minglewood from 11.10.
This is a tour well worth checking out; the short tunes were tight, the long tunes inventive. They were still plagued a little by jam segments where they didn’t listen much to each other, letting Jerry fly off with those loopy 5/2 figures (especially on Eyes) that are impressive technically but so busy that nobody else can get a word in. Yet Brent was such a fresh sound that it breathed new life into the whole band, and they displayed a lot of discipline in terms of crafting a tight feel for newer tunes; Easy To Love You and Althea stand out (Peggy-O was also endowed with a fabulous groove that took some work to maintain). The band still regularly took the time to get into a ten or fifteen minute jam on some song or other, a trend that would fade markedly during the eighties. By all means buy the Road Trips, but also know that soundboards of the best of the tour are out there.
[EDIT: sorry there are no hyperlinks; archive is not responding just now.]
Up Next: I’m currently listening to RatDog’s fall ’06 tour and loving every minute; for my money it was their peak period; faster tempos than later, and transitions so tight and subtle it’ll give you chills. However, I don’t think I’ll post on that, barring overwhelming demand. Instead, I just picked up Sam Cutler’s new book “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.” He details his time managing the Rolling Stones’ US tour in 1969, which included Altamont, and then his time with the Grateful Dead. According to McNally, the four years Cutler spent with the Dead were pivotal in getting them on a professional footing in terms of touring. Should be interesting.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Extracurricular Weir
“If I keep doing Grateful Dead stuff till the end of time, I might get bored pretty quick,” Weir said in a radio interview in March, 1978. “I already know how to do that… but fitting into that little niche… eliminates the possibility of growth.” So began Weir’s solo career with Heaven Help the Fool, recorded in the summer of 1977 and released in January 1978.
Ace, Weir’s first album under his own name, was recorded almost exclusively by the Grateful Dead (plus Dave Torbert and a few horn players), and aside from Walk in the Sunshine, it comprised exclusively Grateful Dead material. Released under Grateful Dead Records, there was no band or commercial support for the album.
Beginning in 1974, during the Grateful Dead’s then-indefinite hiatus, Weir toured and recorded with Kingfish, founded by former New Riders Dave Torbert and Matthew Kelly in 1973. Matthew Kelly was one of Weir’s oldest friends (reportedly at his tenth birthday party), and considering the New Riders’ close relationship with the Dead, it made sense that there be some cross-pollination. Unfortunately for Kingfish and despite the fact that they did very few Grateful Dead songs, Weir’s status in the musical world left the impression that they were merely his backup band. This initial collaboration lasted through August 1st, 1976, when Kingfish did a handful of east coast shows ahead of two GD dates there. Weir felt “stretched plenty thin” by his dual commitments and stepped out of Kingfish for the time being.
When Heaven Help the Fool was released, the Dead had recently signed to Arista and Weir embarked on a nationwide major-markets tour with the Bob Weir Band in support of the album. The February-March tour comprised 17 dates and there were a half-dozen one-off shows later in the year, but it was a short-lived group with a catalogue of less than twenty songs (generally about 12 per show), assembled strictly for the promotion of the album. Shows were relatively short and the music, though upbeat and energetic, was conventional. Nonetheless, two major connections emerged from that lineup. Brent Mydland, of course, would go on to join the Grateful Dead in April 1979 and the first lineup of Bobby and the Midnites in June 1980. The BWB also comprised Bobby Cochran, nephew of Eddie Cochran, former lead guitarist of Steppenwolf, and fellow Ibanez endorser with his very own Cowboy Fancy model. Master of both the screaming classic-rock lead and SRV-style blues, Cochran would play with Weir through 1984.
It was not until mid-1980 that Weir formed his first real side-project, Bobby and the Midnites. The core of Weir, Cochran and Miles-Davis-sideman and Mahavishnu Orchestra founding drummer Billy Cobham was complemented at different times by Brent Mydland and Matthew Kelly (June ‘80 – January ‘81); Alphonso Johnson (January ‘82 – March ‘83), of Weather Report, Genesis, and later Jazz is Dead and the Other Ones; and Little Feat bassist Ken Gradney (March ‘83 – September ‘84).
In contrast to the pathologically uncompromising Grateful Dead, Bobby and the Midnites threw themselves gleefully into a broader 80s sound: Me Without You, Rock in the 80s, Thunder & Lightning (with its refrain “over the edge and out of control”), and I Want To Live in America are shameless 80s pop. The rest of the repertoire was mainly Weir material, with very little GD: Minglewood, Supplication, Victim, and a few covers like Women are Smarter and C.C. Rider. The band was tight, Cochran never failed to impress, and there was room for more stage goofery than with the Dead: vamps over Heaven Help the Fool or Josephine could occasion a lot of ad-libbed antics and asides. The Midnites released two records in their four-year lifespan, did six major tours along with a dozen smaller runs and one-offs, and performed their last show in September 1984.
No sooner had the Midnites dissolved than Weir went back to playing with Kingfish. A new MO appeared: in an effort to capitalize on Weir’s contribution while avoiding the identification as his side project, he acted as a sort of guest bandleader. Most of the band’s repertoire consisted of covers, and depending on the night, Weir would lead part or all of a given set, always leaving a half-dozen original Kingfish tunes on which he was absent. In all the Kingfish lineups (at one time including Steve Kimock), Matt Kelly was the only constant, but keyboardist Barry Flast did most of the talking: he would introduce the songs, the band and Weir whenever he came on. Parenthetically, it made me smile to hear him introduce their signature song Hypnotize with a shout-out to all the “Fishheads” in the audience. Finally, it was common for Bob to do a few solo acoustic songs towards the end of the second set. This same arrangement applied to Go Ahead, a Mydland/Kreutzmann outfit with which he did a dozen shows during the Grateful Dead’s ‘87-‘88 winter hiatus. Weir’s collaboration with Kingfish would continue sporadically through 1989.
In 1986, Weir recorded three songs with a Brian Melvin project called Nightfood. Brian Melvin shared the Dead’s San Francisco roots and loved their sound. He is an adept of the Mickey Hart-style spiritual world-rhythm approach, and played with Jorma Kaukonnen and a host of other Bay Area musicians. He was also a close friend of the late great bassist Jaco Pastorius, who among other things collaborated closely with Pat Metheny and replaced Alphonso Johnson in Weather Report. Melvin cut a record aptly titled Nightfood and Weir played a handful of gigs in support of the album in late 1986. The music on the album is fusion-lite and by then Pastorius’s bipolar disorder, exacerbated by alcohol abuse, made him very erratic, but it’s an interesting interlude in Weir’s career to have shared the stage with him. I have found no live recordings but if anyone has a lead, let me know.
In all likelihood, Weir had been doing solo acoustic stuff all along but there is no easily accessible record of such performances outside Deadbase, which lists his first solo performances in 1984. At the Sweetwater in Mill Valley, in October 1988, Weir first played with fantastically interesting upright bassist Rob Wasserman. This led to a long-standing collaboration that would tide Weir over into the mid nineties and eventually transition into RatDog, via Scaring the Children (later RD3) and Ratdog Revue. Weir/Wasserman, or more commonly Bob and Rob, did their first three outings in ’88 and ’89 as an opening act for the Jerry Garcia Band but struck out on their own in January 1990. Until 1993 they toured regularly whenever the GD were not on the road, generally with an opening act (Susan James, Hot Tuna, Bruce Cockburn and Michelle Shocked). Their sets were rather repetitive (though less and less so as the years went on), and Wasserman almost always took a bass solo. New material complemented the standard Weir solo catalogue, lighter, more vocally-driven songs from the standard jazz canon. Fever, Witchcraft, Twilight Time and Artificial Flowers found their way into the sets more and more frequently in that period.
There were no Weir/Wasserman shows in 1994, but in April 1995, Jay Lane and Matthew Kelly first performed with the duo at an Earth Day concert in San Francisco in a one-off performance that would lead to RatDog. Named Ratdog Revue, that foursome premiered on August 6th, 1995, three days shy of Jerry’s death, which would mark the biggest turning point in Weir’s career. It seems an appropriate place to end this overview of his musical extracurriculars.
I began this week’s listening with the intention of identifying some pivotal moment in which Weir went from sideman to showman, so to speak, but seven shows over 12 years is hardly enough to give that sort of insight. If anything, this overview reveals a series of explorations in different directions. The Midnites was an anti-Grateful Dead foray into the world of pop and conventional rock and roll; Kingfish and Go Ahead offered a forum for him to do a little of everything without the pressure of being a support pillar; and Scaring the Children (my favorite of the duo’s monikers) was a serious, bare-bones exercise in developing guitar voicing and jazz vocals. Whether these were planned, conscious choices or not is debatable, but they certainly complement the picture of Weir’s character available from his days with the Grateful Dead.
Next: I’m listening to RD3’s three-day run at Wetlands in February 1999 (new soundboards), while I decide what to do next. My options are: GD January 1970, GD November-December 1979, RD 2006, a closer look at Bobby and the Midnites, or a series from the recent Mike Gordon tour. If anyone has a preference, let me know.
Ace, Weir’s first album under his own name, was recorded almost exclusively by the Grateful Dead (plus Dave Torbert and a few horn players), and aside from Walk in the Sunshine, it comprised exclusively Grateful Dead material. Released under Grateful Dead Records, there was no band or commercial support for the album.
Beginning in 1974, during the Grateful Dead’s then-indefinite hiatus, Weir toured and recorded with Kingfish, founded by former New Riders Dave Torbert and Matthew Kelly in 1973. Matthew Kelly was one of Weir’s oldest friends (reportedly at his tenth birthday party), and considering the New Riders’ close relationship with the Dead, it made sense that there be some cross-pollination. Unfortunately for Kingfish and despite the fact that they did very few Grateful Dead songs, Weir’s status in the musical world left the impression that they were merely his backup band. This initial collaboration lasted through August 1st, 1976, when Kingfish did a handful of east coast shows ahead of two GD dates there. Weir felt “stretched plenty thin” by his dual commitments and stepped out of Kingfish for the time being.
When Heaven Help the Fool was released, the Dead had recently signed to Arista and Weir embarked on a nationwide major-markets tour with the Bob Weir Band in support of the album. The February-March tour comprised 17 dates and there were a half-dozen one-off shows later in the year, but it was a short-lived group with a catalogue of less than twenty songs (generally about 12 per show), assembled strictly for the promotion of the album. Shows were relatively short and the music, though upbeat and energetic, was conventional. Nonetheless, two major connections emerged from that lineup. Brent Mydland, of course, would go on to join the Grateful Dead in April 1979 and the first lineup of Bobby and the Midnites in June 1980. The BWB also comprised Bobby Cochran, nephew of Eddie Cochran, former lead guitarist of Steppenwolf, and fellow Ibanez endorser with his very own Cowboy Fancy model. Master of both the screaming classic-rock lead and SRV-style blues, Cochran would play with Weir through 1984.
It was not until mid-1980 that Weir formed his first real side-project, Bobby and the Midnites. The core of Weir, Cochran and Miles-Davis-sideman and Mahavishnu Orchestra founding drummer Billy Cobham was complemented at different times by Brent Mydland and Matthew Kelly (June ‘80 – January ‘81); Alphonso Johnson (January ‘82 – March ‘83), of Weather Report, Genesis, and later Jazz is Dead and the Other Ones; and Little Feat bassist Ken Gradney (March ‘83 – September ‘84).
In contrast to the pathologically uncompromising Grateful Dead, Bobby and the Midnites threw themselves gleefully into a broader 80s sound: Me Without You, Rock in the 80s, Thunder & Lightning (with its refrain “over the edge and out of control”), and I Want To Live in America are shameless 80s pop. The rest of the repertoire was mainly Weir material, with very little GD: Minglewood, Supplication, Victim, and a few covers like Women are Smarter and C.C. Rider. The band was tight, Cochran never failed to impress, and there was room for more stage goofery than with the Dead: vamps over Heaven Help the Fool or Josephine could occasion a lot of ad-libbed antics and asides. The Midnites released two records in their four-year lifespan, did six major tours along with a dozen smaller runs and one-offs, and performed their last show in September 1984.
No sooner had the Midnites dissolved than Weir went back to playing with Kingfish. A new MO appeared: in an effort to capitalize on Weir’s contribution while avoiding the identification as his side project, he acted as a sort of guest bandleader. Most of the band’s repertoire consisted of covers, and depending on the night, Weir would lead part or all of a given set, always leaving a half-dozen original Kingfish tunes on which he was absent. In all the Kingfish lineups (at one time including Steve Kimock), Matt Kelly was the only constant, but keyboardist Barry Flast did most of the talking: he would introduce the songs, the band and Weir whenever he came on. Parenthetically, it made me smile to hear him introduce their signature song Hypnotize with a shout-out to all the “Fishheads” in the audience. Finally, it was common for Bob to do a few solo acoustic songs towards the end of the second set. This same arrangement applied to Go Ahead, a Mydland/Kreutzmann outfit with which he did a dozen shows during the Grateful Dead’s ‘87-‘88 winter hiatus. Weir’s collaboration with Kingfish would continue sporadically through 1989.
In 1986, Weir recorded three songs with a Brian Melvin project called Nightfood. Brian Melvin shared the Dead’s San Francisco roots and loved their sound. He is an adept of the Mickey Hart-style spiritual world-rhythm approach, and played with Jorma Kaukonnen and a host of other Bay Area musicians. He was also a close friend of the late great bassist Jaco Pastorius, who among other things collaborated closely with Pat Metheny and replaced Alphonso Johnson in Weather Report. Melvin cut a record aptly titled Nightfood and Weir played a handful of gigs in support of the album in late 1986. The music on the album is fusion-lite and by then Pastorius’s bipolar disorder, exacerbated by alcohol abuse, made him very erratic, but it’s an interesting interlude in Weir’s career to have shared the stage with him. I have found no live recordings but if anyone has a lead, let me know.
In all likelihood, Weir had been doing solo acoustic stuff all along but there is no easily accessible record of such performances outside Deadbase, which lists his first solo performances in 1984. At the Sweetwater in Mill Valley, in October 1988, Weir first played with fantastically interesting upright bassist Rob Wasserman. This led to a long-standing collaboration that would tide Weir over into the mid nineties and eventually transition into RatDog, via Scaring the Children (later RD3) and Ratdog Revue. Weir/Wasserman, or more commonly Bob and Rob, did their first three outings in ’88 and ’89 as an opening act for the Jerry Garcia Band but struck out on their own in January 1990. Until 1993 they toured regularly whenever the GD were not on the road, generally with an opening act (Susan James, Hot Tuna, Bruce Cockburn and Michelle Shocked). Their sets were rather repetitive (though less and less so as the years went on), and Wasserman almost always took a bass solo. New material complemented the standard Weir solo catalogue, lighter, more vocally-driven songs from the standard jazz canon. Fever, Witchcraft, Twilight Time and Artificial Flowers found their way into the sets more and more frequently in that period.
There were no Weir/Wasserman shows in 1994, but in April 1995, Jay Lane and Matthew Kelly first performed with the duo at an Earth Day concert in San Francisco in a one-off performance that would lead to RatDog. Named Ratdog Revue, that foursome premiered on August 6th, 1995, three days shy of Jerry’s death, which would mark the biggest turning point in Weir’s career. It seems an appropriate place to end this overview of his musical extracurriculars.
I began this week’s listening with the intention of identifying some pivotal moment in which Weir went from sideman to showman, so to speak, but seven shows over 12 years is hardly enough to give that sort of insight. If anything, this overview reveals a series of explorations in different directions. The Midnites was an anti-Grateful Dead foray into the world of pop and conventional rock and roll; Kingfish and Go Ahead offered a forum for him to do a little of everything without the pressure of being a support pillar; and Scaring the Children (my favorite of the duo’s monikers) was a serious, bare-bones exercise in developing guitar voicing and jazz vocals. Whether these were planned, conscious choices or not is debatable, but they certainly complement the picture of Weir’s character available from his days with the Grateful Dead.
Next: I’m listening to RD3’s three-day run at Wetlands in February 1999 (new soundboards), while I decide what to do next. My options are: GD January 1970, GD November-December 1979, RD 2006, a closer look at Bobby and the Midnites, or a series from the recent Mike Gordon tour. If anyone has a preference, let me know.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Furthur, Winter 2010 vol. 3
The Furthur tour officially wrapped up in Portland on March 8th with Phil telling the crowd how it always seems that things are getting really good just as the tour is ending. Having listened to 28 consecutive shows, I have to admit I’m a little burned out, but the overall quality stayed high for the duration. I’ve said most of what there is to say about the band in my first two posts but a few things are worth mentioning in overview.
By the end of the tour, Phil had stopped chiming in at the end of the first set, the RatDog material had disappeared, Weir finally got his Duck joke straight and Scarlet Begonias had become their favorite set opener (5 times including 3.12). Bob continued to introduce little things: the reggae jam I mentioned in my last post, which is something RatDog did for years, came back two more times now prefaced by an audible “Pressure drop!” from Weir (check out Memphis Blues in Uncasville). He also likes one-chord jams, which I find awkward because there are no built-in points of reference for dynamic movement. For years, Odessa had very few changes; recently, Minglewood lost a 5-chord at the end of the form, and in the second half of this tour there were a few instances where there was a one-chord vamp in the middle of the tune (After Midnight and Mason’s on 2/23 for example). RatDog also did a lot of reprises, wherein they ended the song and then jumped back in for a last chorus; Furthur did this a few times towards the end of the run (US Blues, Lovelight, Touch). Finally (I don’t know whose idea it was), there were two occasions on which they started the tune in double-time for a few bars before jumping in fully.
Two things surprised me about the tour, or rather two absences. First, the Throckmorton shows featured some nice jazz jams and I was surprised not to hear any others during this tour. Second, Kadlecik used a MIDI doubler occasionally (both the guitar and the effect were audible) and I thought it sounded interesting, but I only heard it three times (I might have missed some).
Any highlights are subjective but I might as well throw my two cents in anyway. I had a lot of fun listening to the first night at Radio City, even if it had a lot to do with Joebeacon’s recording, which was vastly superior to those made in the foregoing week by the tapers in New Hampshire, Delaware and Utica. The second set in Atlantic City was highlighted by Dark Star, which took a really funky turn holding out through the second verse, and Weir sounded like he was having a lot of fun on the Gloria encore. Lastly, the second night in Chicago was real interesting just because it essentially consisted of two second sets. After the show, Jay Lane introduced two people: the daughter of Johnnie Johnson (founding rock pioneer –starting with Chuck Berry in 1952 - who did a stint with RatDog in 96-97), and his own birth sister, whom he had met that day.
While it was not technically part of the tour, the birthday benefit is worth hearing if only for two long-lost classics: Pigpen's Two Souls In Communion, in the acoustic 1st set, and Garcia's Cream Puff War at the end of the third set (though RatDog played that one a few times in 08-09). The acoustic Mountains of the Moon, sung by Phil was a treat, and the 1st electric set roared throughout. I think there's a chance they'll release the soundboard for free; keep your fingers crossed.
In other news, it was announced on a Philzone thread, and confirmed by Phil, that Jay Lane has elected to leave Furthur and go back to playing with Les Claypool. At the end of the tour, Jay told Bob he’d been offered the spot and they decided it was logical to do so after the birthday show. Phil was consulted and agreed. There doesn’t appear to be a replacement percussionist in the works. I don’t think Jay was integral to the Furthur sound (Joe Russo, as far as I can tell, is flawless), so it makes sense that he would want to get back to something where he is more valuable, as it does that Phil did not object. Phil also said that the backup singers are theoretically on board, but they are both new moms and have to “figure out their logistics.”
The next stop is Futhurfest at the Calaveras County Fairground on May 28th. The other acts are Jackie Greene and Mark Karan with their respective bands; Larry Campbell and Theresa Williams; old friends Electric Hot Tuna; the Waybacks, with whom Weir sat in a few years back; Galactic; and a handful of others I’m not familiar with. It’s not Bonnaroo. It’ll probably be a low-key vibe compared with the circuses that are common these days, so I’m looking forward to seeing what happens. I’d also be curious to know how much rehearsal they do and how much serious conversation goes into the repertoire.
Next: as I said, I’m a little burned out on Furthur, so I’m going to go back to Weir’s solo work throughout the 80s. I have seven shows at two-year intervals from 1978 to 1990 lined up. It’s a start into a long-term look at how Weir dealt with the 80s, Garcia’s increasing unreliability, and the need for him to step up and carve out a leading position. I’m curious to see if his vocal and rhythmic presence changes significantly. Also, if anyone has a line on where I can get a hold of anything he played with Jaco Pastorius ("Nightfood," 09.86 - 05.87), I’d be much obliged. So long.
By the end of the tour, Phil had stopped chiming in at the end of the first set, the RatDog material had disappeared, Weir finally got his Duck joke straight and Scarlet Begonias had become their favorite set opener (5 times including 3.12). Bob continued to introduce little things: the reggae jam I mentioned in my last post, which is something RatDog did for years, came back two more times now prefaced by an audible “Pressure drop!” from Weir (check out Memphis Blues in Uncasville). He also likes one-chord jams, which I find awkward because there are no built-in points of reference for dynamic movement. For years, Odessa had very few changes; recently, Minglewood lost a 5-chord at the end of the form, and in the second half of this tour there were a few instances where there was a one-chord vamp in the middle of the tune (After Midnight and Mason’s on 2/23 for example). RatDog also did a lot of reprises, wherein they ended the song and then jumped back in for a last chorus; Furthur did this a few times towards the end of the run (US Blues, Lovelight, Touch). Finally (I don’t know whose idea it was), there were two occasions on which they started the tune in double-time for a few bars before jumping in fully.
Two things surprised me about the tour, or rather two absences. First, the Throckmorton shows featured some nice jazz jams and I was surprised not to hear any others during this tour. Second, Kadlecik used a MIDI doubler occasionally (both the guitar and the effect were audible) and I thought it sounded interesting, but I only heard it three times (I might have missed some).
Any highlights are subjective but I might as well throw my two cents in anyway. I had a lot of fun listening to the first night at Radio City, even if it had a lot to do with Joebeacon’s recording, which was vastly superior to those made in the foregoing week by the tapers in New Hampshire, Delaware and Utica. The second set in Atlantic City was highlighted by Dark Star, which took a really funky turn holding out through the second verse, and Weir sounded like he was having a lot of fun on the Gloria encore. Lastly, the second night in Chicago was real interesting just because it essentially consisted of two second sets. After the show, Jay Lane introduced two people: the daughter of Johnnie Johnson (founding rock pioneer –starting with Chuck Berry in 1952 - who did a stint with RatDog in 96-97), and his own birth sister, whom he had met that day.
While it was not technically part of the tour, the birthday benefit is worth hearing if only for two long-lost classics: Pigpen's Two Souls In Communion, in the acoustic 1st set, and Garcia's Cream Puff War at the end of the third set (though RatDog played that one a few times in 08-09). The acoustic Mountains of the Moon, sung by Phil was a treat, and the 1st electric set roared throughout. I think there's a chance they'll release the soundboard for free; keep your fingers crossed.
In other news, it was announced on a Philzone thread, and confirmed by Phil, that Jay Lane has elected to leave Furthur and go back to playing with Les Claypool. At the end of the tour, Jay told Bob he’d been offered the spot and they decided it was logical to do so after the birthday show. Phil was consulted and agreed. There doesn’t appear to be a replacement percussionist in the works. I don’t think Jay was integral to the Furthur sound (Joe Russo, as far as I can tell, is flawless), so it makes sense that he would want to get back to something where he is more valuable, as it does that Phil did not object. Phil also said that the backup singers are theoretically on board, but they are both new moms and have to “figure out their logistics.”
The next stop is Futhurfest at the Calaveras County Fairground on May 28th. The other acts are Jackie Greene and Mark Karan with their respective bands; Larry Campbell and Theresa Williams; old friends Electric Hot Tuna; the Waybacks, with whom Weir sat in a few years back; Galactic; and a handful of others I’m not familiar with. It’s not Bonnaroo. It’ll probably be a low-key vibe compared with the circuses that are common these days, so I’m looking forward to seeing what happens. I’d also be curious to know how much rehearsal they do and how much serious conversation goes into the repertoire.
Next: as I said, I’m a little burned out on Furthur, so I’m going to go back to Weir’s solo work throughout the 80s. I have seven shows at two-year intervals from 1978 to 1990 lined up. It’s a start into a long-term look at how Weir dealt with the 80s, Garcia’s increasing unreliability, and the need for him to step up and carve out a leading position. I’m curious to see if his vocal and rhythmic presence changes significantly. Also, if anyone has a line on where I can get a hold of anything he played with Jaco Pastorius ("Nightfood," 09.86 - 05.87), I’d be much obliged. So long.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Furthur, Winter 2010 Vol. 2
Well, I’m thoroughly behind schedule; I’ve gotten through Utica, but eight shows in two weeks is below average. I promise to get through Portland sometime before May. In the meantime, the tour has rolled on almost as well as the first series I reviewed in Vol. 1. I mentioned then that the first set of the Feb 12th show was lackluster, and set two also proved under par. In Utica (20th), the first set was well-executed, high energy, and included a RatDog-style reggae passage in Dear Prudence (the second of the tour, after Amherst’s Knockin’ encore), and yet the second set ended disappointingly with an awkward Touch and We Bid You Goodnight. Other than those two exceptions, however, shows have remained consistently good. This will go down in my book as one of the best tours I can remember. While I try not to read reviews until after I’ve heard the show, comments here and there (mostly on etree) lead me to believe most people are pretty happy as well.
I mentioned last time that the GD setlist form was gone, but what has remained is the post-Dead tradition of having Phil lead the way through the second set with transition jams. It’s worth pointing out at this point that what we’ve all been referring to as “jams” are not so in the strictest sense of the word. If Phil has developed a particular skill since the GD days, it’s his ability to create careful and intentional transitional passages. While these take the form of successive vamps and therefore sound like jams, Phil is talking the band through changes in chords and tempo to get from one tune to another. I really don’t know what to call that sort of thing, but I think it’s worth paying attention to.
Though he is indisputably in charge when it comes to these jams, Phil doesn’t stand out much in the songs themselves like he did with P&F. That tendency, when he played with The Dead, could be a source of conflict. Recently, he has settled into a more musically equitable position within the band (though he stood out superbly on Utica’s Satisfaction). In contrast, he sings more, and is more vocal between tunes and sets. He now sings all of Eyes of the World, for instance, instead of just the “redeemer” verse like in recent years. He also has taken Franklin’s Tower, Peggy-O, Truckin’ and Bird Song (in addition to the usual Unbroken Chain, Box etc). These don’t add up to more that a song or two per show but it’s more than he has sung in the past. He and Bob banter more. While “We’ll be back in just a little bit.” used to be exclusive Bob territory, Phil now usually chimes in with something like “We’ll come back if you come back” or something to that effect. The overall effect is that they come across more as sharing leadership of the band. His Donor Rap is a bit more elaborate too. In recognition of the fact that they are playing a lot of new venues, he’s been saying things like “We’ve never been here/we like it here/we’ll be back/…” The rap itself now often opens with something acknowledging that most of the audience has heard this before (it had been ten years, after all).
(I also noticed that for the first few weeks, he sounded tired and the Donor Rap was a bit cursory. Weir noted in a recent interview that Phil has days where he’s slower than others, and Phil mentioned on a few occasions, during the Nokia runs in ’07 and ’08, that bouncing around on a bus was no longer his idea of a good time. I’m surprised that at his age he has the energy for a tour of this length and geographic breadth).
Weir, meanwhile, has vastly expanded his rap catalogue (rap in the Pigpen sense). He has come up with various ideas for Lost Sailor, Good Lovin’, Midnight Hour, Hard to Handle, Lovelight and Caution. This constitutes a departure from anything in recent years. One standount was from Good Lovin’ at Cornell. It starts out with his “Who needs it?” thing and goes from there. On this occasion, he rapped his way through a whole progression and opened a vamp: “and now we’re gonna stay on the One”, continuing “and now we’re gonna take it for a little walk in the woods,” which led into a very cool one-chord jam. Returning to the main theme, he quipped: “And now back to my original question: Who needs it?” This had never been done before and it was a treat to listen to. I know he doesn’t come up with these on the fly, meaning that he has spent a fair amount of time offstage working on these little interludes; they serve the overall early-Dead vibe that Furthur has been resurrecting.
I have tried to pick out Jay Lane’s role since the tour began, which is not easy since he’s not particularly prominent in the mix and his sound overlaps with Joe Russo’s. As far as I can make out, he sticks largely to cymbals and bongos while in the meat of the tunes. However the most distinctive sounds are those of his rain-stick and his shell-shaker. There is a time and place for that stuff but I have to mention the Cornell show when he broke out that damn shaker on three different tunes in a row. I guess you have to see what works. In all probability, it just happens to come through louder than intended since it’s a hold-up-to-the-mic thing rather than one with a permanent, leveled and EQd mic on it. He does like that rain stick though.
There have been a few one-off sound/equipment issues: Weir’s high end was feeding back in New Hampshire, there was some interference over Kadlecik’s lead in Utica, there was a grounding problem on the 14th and various technical glitches in PA on the 15th gave Weir an opportunity to screw up his “A duck walks into a bar” joke. In all fairness, it’s not a terrible joke, he just flubbed the punchline both times he told it. He said he'd work on it.
I want to discuss a few songs. First, Corinna, which for my money was the Grateful Dead’s all-time worst tune, though one of RatDog’s most fun. I’ve only heard one rendition and it came off pretty well. JK mostly played the GD/Garcia lines on it (particularly that introductory octave-slide), but the musical arrangement is RatDog’s: Mickey’s heavy rhythm part doesn’t lumber the tune down and there are more changes. I also though Ashes and Glass grew a nice new pair of legs, I’m looking forward to further performances. Hurricane is a great song that has evolved a bit and really came together in Buffalo. There is a space between verses that really wants to be filled, but they elected to save the trademark guitar lead for the very end, leaving the first part of the song a bit flat. In Buffalo, Weir began to turn up a bit and play fills in that space. They don’t function as solos but add tremendously. JK also finally has a solid handle on all the vocals, so that the tune is tighter, more complete. Finally, King Solomon’s Marbles struggled in its first few performances, mainly because it’s long, ridiculously complicated, and led by the guitar. Kadlecik has not gotten a solid enough handle on the progression and timing to keep the whole thing together, so in Amherst on the 19th, Chimenti and JK split lead duties. It changes the overall vibe a little but the song hold together better.
So the tour is running along well, things are evolving nicely. I’m looking forward to seeing what develops, especially with the RD tunes. A summer tour has been announced, counting 11 dates so far; I’m curious to see if they keep it short, leaving time for a RatDog tour as well (they’ve done two summer tours for the past few years). By the way, here’s a nice long CNBC/Weir interview worth checking out, recorded when they were at Radio City. Among other standard fare, he mentions how they’re trying to build an audience for Furthur (which seems unnecessary, somehow), and they go into the oddly high number of high-ranking DeadHead politicians.
Next: I have 10 shows to go, plus Phil’s birthday benefit (“Furthur and Friends”). With any luck I’ll have a final post up by the 18th. Cheers.
I mentioned last time that the GD setlist form was gone, but what has remained is the post-Dead tradition of having Phil lead the way through the second set with transition jams. It’s worth pointing out at this point that what we’ve all been referring to as “jams” are not so in the strictest sense of the word. If Phil has developed a particular skill since the GD days, it’s his ability to create careful and intentional transitional passages. While these take the form of successive vamps and therefore sound like jams, Phil is talking the band through changes in chords and tempo to get from one tune to another. I really don’t know what to call that sort of thing, but I think it’s worth paying attention to.
Though he is indisputably in charge when it comes to these jams, Phil doesn’t stand out much in the songs themselves like he did with P&F. That tendency, when he played with The Dead, could be a source of conflict. Recently, he has settled into a more musically equitable position within the band (though he stood out superbly on Utica’s Satisfaction). In contrast, he sings more, and is more vocal between tunes and sets. He now sings all of Eyes of the World, for instance, instead of just the “redeemer” verse like in recent years. He also has taken Franklin’s Tower, Peggy-O, Truckin’ and Bird Song (in addition to the usual Unbroken Chain, Box etc). These don’t add up to more that a song or two per show but it’s more than he has sung in the past. He and Bob banter more. While “We’ll be back in just a little bit.” used to be exclusive Bob territory, Phil now usually chimes in with something like “We’ll come back if you come back” or something to that effect. The overall effect is that they come across more as sharing leadership of the band. His Donor Rap is a bit more elaborate too. In recognition of the fact that they are playing a lot of new venues, he’s been saying things like “We’ve never been here/we like it here/we’ll be back/…” The rap itself now often opens with something acknowledging that most of the audience has heard this before (it had been ten years, after all).
(I also noticed that for the first few weeks, he sounded tired and the Donor Rap was a bit cursory. Weir noted in a recent interview that Phil has days where he’s slower than others, and Phil mentioned on a few occasions, during the Nokia runs in ’07 and ’08, that bouncing around on a bus was no longer his idea of a good time. I’m surprised that at his age he has the energy for a tour of this length and geographic breadth).
Weir, meanwhile, has vastly expanded his rap catalogue (rap in the Pigpen sense). He has come up with various ideas for Lost Sailor, Good Lovin’, Midnight Hour, Hard to Handle, Lovelight and Caution. This constitutes a departure from anything in recent years. One standount was from Good Lovin’ at Cornell. It starts out with his “Who needs it?” thing and goes from there. On this occasion, he rapped his way through a whole progression and opened a vamp: “and now we’re gonna stay on the One”, continuing “and now we’re gonna take it for a little walk in the woods,” which led into a very cool one-chord jam. Returning to the main theme, he quipped: “And now back to my original question: Who needs it?” This had never been done before and it was a treat to listen to. I know he doesn’t come up with these on the fly, meaning that he has spent a fair amount of time offstage working on these little interludes; they serve the overall early-Dead vibe that Furthur has been resurrecting.
I have tried to pick out Jay Lane’s role since the tour began, which is not easy since he’s not particularly prominent in the mix and his sound overlaps with Joe Russo’s. As far as I can make out, he sticks largely to cymbals and bongos while in the meat of the tunes. However the most distinctive sounds are those of his rain-stick and his shell-shaker. There is a time and place for that stuff but I have to mention the Cornell show when he broke out that damn shaker on three different tunes in a row. I guess you have to see what works. In all probability, it just happens to come through louder than intended since it’s a hold-up-to-the-mic thing rather than one with a permanent, leveled and EQd mic on it. He does like that rain stick though.
There have been a few one-off sound/equipment issues: Weir’s high end was feeding back in New Hampshire, there was some interference over Kadlecik’s lead in Utica, there was a grounding problem on the 14th and various technical glitches in PA on the 15th gave Weir an opportunity to screw up his “A duck walks into a bar” joke. In all fairness, it’s not a terrible joke, he just flubbed the punchline both times he told it. He said he'd work on it.
I want to discuss a few songs. First, Corinna, which for my money was the Grateful Dead’s all-time worst tune, though one of RatDog’s most fun. I’ve only heard one rendition and it came off pretty well. JK mostly played the GD/Garcia lines on it (particularly that introductory octave-slide), but the musical arrangement is RatDog’s: Mickey’s heavy rhythm part doesn’t lumber the tune down and there are more changes. I also though Ashes and Glass grew a nice new pair of legs, I’m looking forward to further performances. Hurricane is a great song that has evolved a bit and really came together in Buffalo. There is a space between verses that really wants to be filled, but they elected to save the trademark guitar lead for the very end, leaving the first part of the song a bit flat. In Buffalo, Weir began to turn up a bit and play fills in that space. They don’t function as solos but add tremendously. JK also finally has a solid handle on all the vocals, so that the tune is tighter, more complete. Finally, King Solomon’s Marbles struggled in its first few performances, mainly because it’s long, ridiculously complicated, and led by the guitar. Kadlecik has not gotten a solid enough handle on the progression and timing to keep the whole thing together, so in Amherst on the 19th, Chimenti and JK split lead duties. It changes the overall vibe a little but the song hold together better.
So the tour is running along well, things are evolving nicely. I’m looking forward to seeing what develops, especially with the RD tunes. A summer tour has been announced, counting 11 dates so far; I’m curious to see if they keep it short, leaving time for a RatDog tour as well (they’ve done two summer tours for the past few years). By the way, here’s a nice long CNBC/Weir interview worth checking out, recorded when they were at Radio City. Among other standard fare, he mentions how they’re trying to build an audience for Furthur (which seems unnecessary, somehow), and they go into the oddly high number of high-ranking DeadHead politicians.
Next: I have 10 shows to go, plus Phil’s birthday benefit (“Furthur and Friends”). With any luck I’ll have a final post up by the 18th. Cheers.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Furthur, Winter 2010 Vol.1
I’ve heard the first five Furthur shows of the current tour, and they have finally got it straight. This is by far the closest thing to the Grateful Dead since 1995, but it also reaches back to a much earlier time in terms of open-mindedness, experimentation and most of all responsiveness. The shows are tight and unconventional, making the experience surprising even for an obsessive Deadhead like myself.
The Grateful Dead catalogue’s evolution necessarily left some worthy songs by the wayside, and in recent Dead incarnations, there have been constraints placed on the catalogue by the committee aspect of decision-making, by the large number of vested interests (read: management), and by the crowd expectations of the large-scale tours The Other Ones and The Dead were putting on. But Furthur is a different beast on many levels.
First, they are not marketed as a continuation of the Grateful Dead, even if to many fans, they are. Second, they are not playing Giants Stadium or Shoreline Amphitheater in front of tens of thousands of fans but rather playing to anywhere from three to thirteen thousand. Third, management is stripped down and there are two clear leaders who are deeply attuned to each other. Finally, the lead guitarist is already completely versed in the material and most importantly the musical vocabulary of the Grateful Dead, unlike Kimock, Mark Karan, Jimmy Herring or Warren Haynes. Both Bob and Phil have noted in recent interviews that Kadlecik’s familiarity was a decisive element.
The result is that Weir and Phil can both go back to old and forgotten material and incorporate their respective solo work. I was glad to see The Race is On and On The Road Again reappear, tunes almost lost since 1980’s Radio City run, along with King Bee and Next Time You See Me, grand old Pigpen staples from the 60s, and even Brent’s Just a Little Light. On the other end of the spectrum, Ryan Adams’ Magnolia Mountain fits beautifully in the repertoire, and even if RatDog’s Money for Gasoline doesn’t quite translate to Furthur, it’s nice to keep that material alive as well.
Another major development is the abandonment of the Grateful Dead setlist formula. Gone are the regular short-tune-first-set or the second-set arc with a long exploratory jam in the second half>ballad>closer. There are no set- or slot-specific tunes: for example, they opened with Born Cross-Eyed>Music and closed with Shakedown on the 5th, they opened with One More Saturday Night on the 6th, did Estimated in the first set and Cumberland in the second on the 8th, etc.
The addition of Sunshine Becker and Zoe Ellis on vocals has been the occasion for more deviation from the GD MO: there are backing vocals present, though unobtrusive, on most songs, generally on refrains. At the same time, they have allowed for the reinforcement of certain key moments, notably big crowd-pleaser lines like “liiiiiiiiife” in Wharf Rat and “Steal your face” in He’s Gone. Though they are not especially featured most of the time, it was nice to hear them take an a-cappella We Bid You Goodnight in Orlando.
Finally, Jeff Chimenti, longtime veteran, is becoming an absolutely integral part of the band. Relegated to coloring the music, plus an occasional solo, for years, he now takes almost as many solo leads as Kadlecik. Among other examples, he got three rounds on Deep Elum in Orlando and made a big impression on Atlanta’s Promised opener and Casey Jones in Asheville. I don’t think any other keyboardist has been so prominently featured in the GD or any GD-related project, except Hornsby in the Other Ones. He knows the material as well as Kadlecik and has a boogie-woogie inclination, which, coupled with his general modesty, makes for some very interesting jams.
And yet somehow, with all this reinvention, this band’s sound is incredibly close to the energy and responsiveness of the late 60s and early 70s. The second set in Atlanta is a stellar example: the Cassidy>Mountains of the Moon>Death Don’t Have No Mercy sequence was outstanding. The fact of having only one drummer (Jay’s percussion is not a rhythmic anchor) makes it easy to switch gears, and Phil and Bob’s leadership provides direction. I have a dozen tunes with big check marks in my notes, but Asheville’s Unbroken Chain (especially JK’s epic lead at the end) and Orlando’s After Midnight stand out (despite the latter’s slightly confused intro). That’s not to say everything’s perfect. There is the odd meltdown here and there (one on the 6th and another on the 12th) and Weir forgets a verse every now and again, as usual, but overall, this first run is the most consistently high-quality series of shows I have heard in a long time. (I did hear the first set of the 12th as well, that one is a bit lackluster).
I don’t want to rave too much, but this is a tight band with a diverse repertoire, and it deserves attention.
On a completely unrelated note: I want to propose a new item for setlist notation. In writing setlists, most people more or less follow the Deadbase practice of labeling as “>” any two songs with less than a few seconds between them. I think that there is a relevant difference between instances when the band transitions musically from one tune to another (Scarlet>Fire or China>Rider), and when they end one song and immediately start another. I use “.>” in my notes for the latter instance, and I humbly propose we put that into general use.
Up next: I’m following the whole Furthur tour, so there will be another post or two on that, probably a bit more technical than this one: song structures, effects etc.
The Grateful Dead catalogue’s evolution necessarily left some worthy songs by the wayside, and in recent Dead incarnations, there have been constraints placed on the catalogue by the committee aspect of decision-making, by the large number of vested interests (read: management), and by the crowd expectations of the large-scale tours The Other Ones and The Dead were putting on. But Furthur is a different beast on many levels.
First, they are not marketed as a continuation of the Grateful Dead, even if to many fans, they are. Second, they are not playing Giants Stadium or Shoreline Amphitheater in front of tens of thousands of fans but rather playing to anywhere from three to thirteen thousand. Third, management is stripped down and there are two clear leaders who are deeply attuned to each other. Finally, the lead guitarist is already completely versed in the material and most importantly the musical vocabulary of the Grateful Dead, unlike Kimock, Mark Karan, Jimmy Herring or Warren Haynes. Both Bob and Phil have noted in recent interviews that Kadlecik’s familiarity was a decisive element.
The result is that Weir and Phil can both go back to old and forgotten material and incorporate their respective solo work. I was glad to see The Race is On and On The Road Again reappear, tunes almost lost since 1980’s Radio City run, along with King Bee and Next Time You See Me, grand old Pigpen staples from the 60s, and even Brent’s Just a Little Light. On the other end of the spectrum, Ryan Adams’ Magnolia Mountain fits beautifully in the repertoire, and even if RatDog’s Money for Gasoline doesn’t quite translate to Furthur, it’s nice to keep that material alive as well.
Another major development is the abandonment of the Grateful Dead setlist formula. Gone are the regular short-tune-first-set or the second-set arc with a long exploratory jam in the second half>ballad>closer. There are no set- or slot-specific tunes: for example, they opened with Born Cross-Eyed>Music and closed with Shakedown on the 5th, they opened with One More Saturday Night on the 6th, did Estimated in the first set and Cumberland in the second on the 8th, etc.
The addition of Sunshine Becker and Zoe Ellis on vocals has been the occasion for more deviation from the GD MO: there are backing vocals present, though unobtrusive, on most songs, generally on refrains. At the same time, they have allowed for the reinforcement of certain key moments, notably big crowd-pleaser lines like “liiiiiiiiife” in Wharf Rat and “Steal your face” in He’s Gone. Though they are not especially featured most of the time, it was nice to hear them take an a-cappella We Bid You Goodnight in Orlando.
Finally, Jeff Chimenti, longtime veteran, is becoming an absolutely integral part of the band. Relegated to coloring the music, plus an occasional solo, for years, he now takes almost as many solo leads as Kadlecik. Among other examples, he got three rounds on Deep Elum in Orlando and made a big impression on Atlanta’s Promised opener and Casey Jones in Asheville. I don’t think any other keyboardist has been so prominently featured in the GD or any GD-related project, except Hornsby in the Other Ones. He knows the material as well as Kadlecik and has a boogie-woogie inclination, which, coupled with his general modesty, makes for some very interesting jams.
And yet somehow, with all this reinvention, this band’s sound is incredibly close to the energy and responsiveness of the late 60s and early 70s. The second set in Atlanta is a stellar example: the Cassidy>Mountains of the Moon>Death Don’t Have No Mercy sequence was outstanding. The fact of having only one drummer (Jay’s percussion is not a rhythmic anchor) makes it easy to switch gears, and Phil and Bob’s leadership provides direction. I have a dozen tunes with big check marks in my notes, but Asheville’s Unbroken Chain (especially JK’s epic lead at the end) and Orlando’s After Midnight stand out (despite the latter’s slightly confused intro). That’s not to say everything’s perfect. There is the odd meltdown here and there (one on the 6th and another on the 12th) and Weir forgets a verse every now and again, as usual, but overall, this first run is the most consistently high-quality series of shows I have heard in a long time. (I did hear the first set of the 12th as well, that one is a bit lackluster).
I don’t want to rave too much, but this is a tight band with a diverse repertoire, and it deserves attention.
On a completely unrelated note: I want to propose a new item for setlist notation. In writing setlists, most people more or less follow the Deadbase practice of labeling as “>” any two songs with less than a few seconds between them. I think that there is a relevant difference between instances when the band transitions musically from one tune to another (Scarlet>Fire or China>Rider), and when they end one song and immediately start another. I use “.>” in my notes for the latter instance, and I humbly propose we put that into general use.
Up next: I’m following the whole Furthur tour, so there will be another post or two on that, probably a bit more technical than this one: song structures, effects etc.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Garcia: Palo Alto folkie, 1961-1964
Garcia was honorably discharged from the military (“not suited to the military lifestyle") in January 1961, and he immediately moved down to Palo Alto to live with his longtime friend and future GD roadie Laird Grant. For the next four years he lived there gaining a reputation as an active and talented folkie, the kind of guy you heard of if you were making the rounds in that scene. Palo Alto is small and the folk scene was not a big cash cow, so there were only a few places to play, and a strong feeling of solidarity between those involved. I listened to five shows predating the GD, tracing Garcia’s early bands. During this time he would first meet Robert Hunter then Pigpen, Phil (though they wouldn’t play together till later), Bill Kreutzmann and eventually Bobby Weir.
The first show was from July 1961 in San Carlos (likely at the Boar's Head). This was the period when he lived in his car, next to Hunter’s, and split his time between St. Michael’s Alley, a coffee house on University Avenue, and Kepler’s Bookstore. He had just met Marshall Leicester, a Yale student who taught him a great deal and would be a musical cohort of Jerry’s for several years. In all probability, Leicester and Hunter were the two other players on the tape. They played very traditional tunes cribbed from the New Lost City Ramblers, the Carter Family and the Anthology of American Folk Music, songs about Jesse James and Robert Ford, Willow trees and absent lovers. Jerry already was taking the lead in introducing songs and making wisecracks. “Tuning will take a while so if any of you have any long distance calls to make, now’s the time.”
About a year later, the band that would become the Sleepy Hollow Hog Stompers played in San Rafael. Marshall Leicester was present again, and they were joined by a fiddle player named Dick Arnold. The later, apparently rather quiet, was the butt of a few jokes as to his origins. Marshall Leicester joked that they’d found him in the back of a pizza restaurant, to which Garcia quipped: “He was back there playing to curdle the mozzarella.” The material was the same sort of thing, tunes learned from old recordings. On a couple of occasions, they mentioned that they made up lyrics since they couldn’t figure them out from the recordings. They played one song called Buck Dancer’s Choice, and also Shady Grove and Sweet Sunny South, which would later be in the Garcia/Grisman catalogue. Jerry also did a solo, a-capella rendition of Man of Constant Sorrow. They spent a lot of time introducing songs and bantering while they tuned (Jerry tuned obsessively, and they would replicate the odd tunings used by the national folk acts).
In February 1963, Jerry was playing with the Wildwood Boys, composed of Jerry, Hunter, David Nelson and Norm Van Maastricht (Marshall Leicester was at Yale during the school year). Garcia’s playing had developed a great deal; he played an original early in the set called Jerry’s Breakdown (not super tight, but impressive nonetheless). Other standouts included Standing In The Need Of Prayer and Mule Skinner Blues (Weir does that one with RatDog). Hunter was the bass player at the time, but he was permitted to take a guitar tune (“otherwise he said he wouldn’t play bass tonight”). Garcia’s constant tuning was the occasion for a lot of chattering and a lot of jokes, especially on the theme of how many very short songs they played: “We’ll be back in a little bit and we’ll play another hundred songs, and they’ll all sound the same.” The show was at the Tangent, a new exclusively folk club with a regular clientele and regular musicians, which made for a relaxed and intimate atmosphere.
Two and a half months later, still at the Tangent, Jerry did a show with his then-wife Sara (née Ruppenthal), with whom he was living and had married only a week before. They opened with Deep Elum Blues (including the “money in your socks” verse that Larry Campbell later sang with Phil and Friends) and played a number of other tunes I had never heard; one whose refrain ran: “ All good times are past and gone” and another: “Your heart shall no longer be mine.” Mindful of his audience's expectations, Garcia introduced Long Black Veil with an apology for playing a “modern country tune,” which he assured them was good anyway. He noted that their duo had appeared in the local paper that day; he then mentioned in passing how they had just gotten married before starting into “The Man Who Wrote Home Sweet Home Never Was A Married Man.” Overall, the young couple’s harmonies sounded very sweet and nicely arranged. However, Sara’s musical chops were very inferior to Jerry’s and she struggled to keep up on the rhythmic accompaniments. The duo would not last very long. The marriage would hold out until early 1966: Sara and Jerry split early on in the Grateful Dead’s time in Los Angeles. Inexplicably, she did not feel that a steak-only household run by the world’s biggest acid dealer was the best place for a young child.
Finally, July 1964 saw performances by Mother McCree’s Uptown Jug Champions (spelled differently for every gig), featuring Pigpen and Weir and two of Weir’s friends on banjo and washboard. There was also a kazoo in the mix. The material was getting more towards the stuff the Grateful Dead would play: Beat It On Down The Line, Monkey and the Engineer, and Chuck Berry’s Memphis Tennessee. The short collection of tunes, culled from at least two performances, did have some of the usual banter, but things were a bit more tense, somehow. It was not the same atmosphere at the congenial folk scene, though there was a tuning interlude during which Weir exhorted everyone to take a “boo” break, where they could feel free to boo the band for a bit. Whereas the purist folk scene that Garcia had initially moved through was focused on tradition, technical prowess and “serious” subject matter, there was now a more open-minded, rock-influenced streak in the music.
In the summer of 1963, Jerry had made a trip into the deep south with Sandy Rothman in search of the origins of folk and bluegrass. His experience in that part of the world in a period of such high racial tension had clued him in to the fact that he may not be eligible for the life of a full-time folkie or bluegrass player, where that life required one to operate in those regions. A bit later, he had gotten into a little rock and roll, playing bass with the Zodiacs, a group featuring Bill Kreutzmann on drums. It was a logical progression. He was first attracted to Chuck Berry, but the so-called British invasion also opened new possibilities for him and his fellow musicians. His friend David Freiberg was a folk-player who would soon become Quicksilver’s bassist; David Nelson went electric, though retaining a country orientation; and Jorma Kaukonen (then called Jerry) also made the switch with Jefferson Airplane.
These recordings are a nice overview of Garcia’s range in his acoustic/banjo period. One gets a sense of his development as a player and hears examples of the technical facility that earned him his reputation. He was part of a relatively small but very dedicated scene, responding to the beginnings of the anti-establishment counterculture by sticking close to folklore. Rock and roll, though “modern,” provided a similar escape from contemporary mainstream culture, but more forward-looking and more satisfying for people in their late teens and early twenties. While I don’t know of any easily available online sources, recordings do pop up occasionally on etree, often radio broadcasts with very high quality original tapes, so keep an eye out. The two ’63 shows (Wildwood Boys, 02/23, and Jerry & Sara, 05/04), courtesy of KFOG, sounded particularly good.
Next: I’ve been stalling on the Furthur tour because tapes of the first two shows have not surfaced yet, listening instead to the four “rehearsals” that came up courtesy of Grateful_deadhead (anyone know who this guy is? He wants to remain anonymous, but I would guess he’s close to the organization). However, I can’t wait around forever so I’ll just have to buy them; I should have a first review up by next week. Cheers!
The first show was from July 1961 in San Carlos (likely at the Boar's Head). This was the period when he lived in his car, next to Hunter’s, and split his time between St. Michael’s Alley, a coffee house on University Avenue, and Kepler’s Bookstore. He had just met Marshall Leicester, a Yale student who taught him a great deal and would be a musical cohort of Jerry’s for several years. In all probability, Leicester and Hunter were the two other players on the tape. They played very traditional tunes cribbed from the New Lost City Ramblers, the Carter Family and the Anthology of American Folk Music, songs about Jesse James and Robert Ford, Willow trees and absent lovers. Jerry already was taking the lead in introducing songs and making wisecracks. “Tuning will take a while so if any of you have any long distance calls to make, now’s the time.”
About a year later, the band that would become the Sleepy Hollow Hog Stompers played in San Rafael. Marshall Leicester was present again, and they were joined by a fiddle player named Dick Arnold. The later, apparently rather quiet, was the butt of a few jokes as to his origins. Marshall Leicester joked that they’d found him in the back of a pizza restaurant, to which Garcia quipped: “He was back there playing to curdle the mozzarella.” The material was the same sort of thing, tunes learned from old recordings. On a couple of occasions, they mentioned that they made up lyrics since they couldn’t figure them out from the recordings. They played one song called Buck Dancer’s Choice, and also Shady Grove and Sweet Sunny South, which would later be in the Garcia/Grisman catalogue. Jerry also did a solo, a-capella rendition of Man of Constant Sorrow. They spent a lot of time introducing songs and bantering while they tuned (Jerry tuned obsessively, and they would replicate the odd tunings used by the national folk acts).
In February 1963, Jerry was playing with the Wildwood Boys, composed of Jerry, Hunter, David Nelson and Norm Van Maastricht (Marshall Leicester was at Yale during the school year). Garcia’s playing had developed a great deal; he played an original early in the set called Jerry’s Breakdown (not super tight, but impressive nonetheless). Other standouts included Standing In The Need Of Prayer and Mule Skinner Blues (Weir does that one with RatDog). Hunter was the bass player at the time, but he was permitted to take a guitar tune (“otherwise he said he wouldn’t play bass tonight”). Garcia’s constant tuning was the occasion for a lot of chattering and a lot of jokes, especially on the theme of how many very short songs they played: “We’ll be back in a little bit and we’ll play another hundred songs, and they’ll all sound the same.” The show was at the Tangent, a new exclusively folk club with a regular clientele and regular musicians, which made for a relaxed and intimate atmosphere.
Two and a half months later, still at the Tangent, Jerry did a show with his then-wife Sara (née Ruppenthal), with whom he was living and had married only a week before. They opened with Deep Elum Blues (including the “money in your socks” verse that Larry Campbell later sang with Phil and Friends) and played a number of other tunes I had never heard; one whose refrain ran: “ All good times are past and gone” and another: “Your heart shall no longer be mine.” Mindful of his audience's expectations, Garcia introduced Long Black Veil with an apology for playing a “modern country tune,” which he assured them was good anyway. He noted that their duo had appeared in the local paper that day; he then mentioned in passing how they had just gotten married before starting into “The Man Who Wrote Home Sweet Home Never Was A Married Man.” Overall, the young couple’s harmonies sounded very sweet and nicely arranged. However, Sara’s musical chops were very inferior to Jerry’s and she struggled to keep up on the rhythmic accompaniments. The duo would not last very long. The marriage would hold out until early 1966: Sara and Jerry split early on in the Grateful Dead’s time in Los Angeles. Inexplicably, she did not feel that a steak-only household run by the world’s biggest acid dealer was the best place for a young child.
Finally, July 1964 saw performances by Mother McCree’s Uptown Jug Champions (spelled differently for every gig), featuring Pigpen and Weir and two of Weir’s friends on banjo and washboard. There was also a kazoo in the mix. The material was getting more towards the stuff the Grateful Dead would play: Beat It On Down The Line, Monkey and the Engineer, and Chuck Berry’s Memphis Tennessee. The short collection of tunes, culled from at least two performances, did have some of the usual banter, but things were a bit more tense, somehow. It was not the same atmosphere at the congenial folk scene, though there was a tuning interlude during which Weir exhorted everyone to take a “boo” break, where they could feel free to boo the band for a bit. Whereas the purist folk scene that Garcia had initially moved through was focused on tradition, technical prowess and “serious” subject matter, there was now a more open-minded, rock-influenced streak in the music.
In the summer of 1963, Jerry had made a trip into the deep south with Sandy Rothman in search of the origins of folk and bluegrass. His experience in that part of the world in a period of such high racial tension had clued him in to the fact that he may not be eligible for the life of a full-time folkie or bluegrass player, where that life required one to operate in those regions. A bit later, he had gotten into a little rock and roll, playing bass with the Zodiacs, a group featuring Bill Kreutzmann on drums. It was a logical progression. He was first attracted to Chuck Berry, but the so-called British invasion also opened new possibilities for him and his fellow musicians. His friend David Freiberg was a folk-player who would soon become Quicksilver’s bassist; David Nelson went electric, though retaining a country orientation; and Jorma Kaukonen (then called Jerry) also made the switch with Jefferson Airplane.
These recordings are a nice overview of Garcia’s range in his acoustic/banjo period. One gets a sense of his development as a player and hears examples of the technical facility that earned him his reputation. He was part of a relatively small but very dedicated scene, responding to the beginnings of the anti-establishment counterculture by sticking close to folklore. Rock and roll, though “modern,” provided a similar escape from contemporary mainstream culture, but more forward-looking and more satisfying for people in their late teens and early twenties. While I don’t know of any easily available online sources, recordings do pop up occasionally on etree, often radio broadcasts with very high quality original tapes, so keep an eye out. The two ’63 shows (Wildwood Boys, 02/23, and Jerry & Sara, 05/04), courtesy of KFOG, sounded particularly good.
Next: I’ve been stalling on the Furthur tour because tapes of the first two shows have not surfaced yet, listening instead to the four “rehearsals” that came up courtesy of Grateful_deadhead (anyone know who this guy is? He wants to remain anonymous, but I would guess he’s close to the organization). However, I can’t wait around forever so I’ll just have to buy them; I should have a first review up by next week. Cheers!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
