Patrick O’Donnell wrote this review for Mostly Folk.
I’ve never been a true Deadhead, if your definition means someone who followed the band from show to show for a summer (or summers); someone who rambled things like, “Dude, this one time at the ’78 Red Rocks show Jerry looked right at me during the “Friend of the Devil” to “Cassidy” transition and I knew, man, I KNEW we connected.”
Nope, that wasn’t me. I was the guy who was mellowing out to Terrapin Station or grooving to American Beauty, with a solid rotation of The Moody Blues’ In Search of the Lost Chord, The Who’s Quadrophenia, and A Saucerful of Secrets from Pink Floyd for good measure. I couldn’t listen to just one group over and over. I couldn’t sit up late nights with my roommates and discuss whether the ’84 Civic Center version of “Bertha” was better than the ’80 Metropolitan Center version.
And while I enjoyed listening to some of my friends’ CD bootlegs, I was a bigger fan of the studio albums. I hated the poor quality of most of the live recordings; the monotone, the crowd noise, the songs cut off midway as someone flipped a tape. Nah, I’d rather sit back with a nice, clean record or (later) CD of “Blues for Allah” and enjoy the music that way.
Don’t get me wrong, I think the Dead was an awesome live band. In fact, I think they were the best live band, hands down, ever. And some of the “bootleg” recordings are excellent. But most of the ones my friends owned weren’t. So I just couldn’t see listening to a garbled, dubbed-too-often bootleg when I could get my hands on something far more ear-friendly.
So this review will focus only on the band’s studio recordings, for which they receive far too little credit. No live material. No compilations (of which there are far too many …). No bootlegs of any kind (or quality).
For their freshman studio recording, the band consisted of Jerry Garcia on guitar and vocals, Bob Weir on guitar and vocals, Ron “Pigpen” McKernan on keyboards and vocals, Bill Kreutzmann on drums and Phil Lesh on bass. It’s a lineup that would see few changes over the years.
The aptly self-titled release plays like a set list for an up-and coming band opening for a bigger act. The first track, an original called “The Golden Road (To Unlimited Devotion),” is an introduction to a high-octave, high-octane sound that would at its roots stay the same, but at its branches metamorphose over the band’s 28-year career. It perhaps also was a foreshadowing of the fully devoted, worldwide base of fans ˜ some would call it a cult ˜ that the band would pull straight from the heyday of the counterculture:
“See that girl, barefootin’ along, Whistlin’ and singin’, she’s a carryin’ on. There’s laughing in her eyes, dancing in her feet, She’s a neon-light diamond and she can live on the street. Hey hey, hey, come right away Come and join the party every day.”
The album then goes into a straightforward, keyboard-dominated cover of blues man Jesse Fuller’s “Beat it on Down the Line” and a decent version of the traditional “Good Morning Little Schoolgirl.” The longest track, “Viola Lee Blues,” was an introduction to what would become known as the world’s greatest jam band. Clocking in at a weighty (albeit not unprecedented) 10 minutes, “Viola” was a hint of the extended jams that would become the centerpiece of all Dead shows.
The Grateful Dead was thrown together in three days and mixed in one, as is often apparent when you listen to it. The song selection seems willy-nilly, and the playing is unpolished and hurried, giving the overall album a rather rushed feeling.
When the Dead released Anthem, it marked quite a foray into the psychedelic department, and was a big step forward from their debut. Instead of a hodgepodge of music thrown together, Anthem, assembled over six months, was a carefully crafted experience that spoke of the group’s days (then the Warlocks) as the house band for Ken Keasey’s acid tests. Just a look at some of the track titles should be a Dead giveaway, but when you put the headphones on, you’re in for an ear-bending experience that’s enough to give any former hippie flashbacks. Opening with “That’s it for the Other One,” a witch’s brew of four dissimilar songs, the Dead leave no questions about their willingness to experiment with sound and music. A frenetic snare drum sets the pace of “Cryptical Envelopment,” and the frantic vocals instantly transport the listener from the mundane world into one of the band’s creation. The rest of the album keeps you there, with tracks such as the 15-minute, kazoo-driven “Alligator” and the spacey, freaky “Born Cross Eyed.” Samplings of live recordings were mixed in with the studio pieces, and it marks the first time the band experimented with instruments in the studio, using claves, harpsichord, bells, chimes, finger cymbals and even electronic tape. It also marked the appearance of second drummer Mickey Hart.
Aoxomoxoa was the first time Garcia collaborated with Robert Hunter. The results speak for themselves. This album is on many fans’ lists of favorites, and with good reason. “St. Stephen,” “Cosmic Charley” and “China Cat Sunflower” were milestone songs for the band, and enjoyed frequent rotation in their live shows. It was the first work that really captured what the band was becoming: an American amalgamation of spacey rock, folk, blues and bluegrass. The lyrical combination of Hunter/Garcia set the stage for a long and fruitful relationship, and became the foundation for much of the band’s work. Just look at “St. Stephen,” the opening track. The symbolism embedded in verse is enough to rival Hemingway and Fitzgerald combined:
“Saint Stephen with a rose
In and out of the garden he goes
Country garland in the wind and the rain
Wherever he goes the people all complain
Stephen prosper in his time
Well he may and he may decline
Did it matter? does it now?
Stephen would answer if he only knew how
Wishing well with a golden bell
Bucket hanging clear to hell
Hell halfway twixt now and then
Stephen fill it up and lower down
And lower down again
Lady finger dipped in moonlight
Writing ‘what for?’ across the morning sky
Sunlight splatters dawn with answers
Darkness shrugs and bids the day goodbye”
Aoxomoxoa also was a nod to the band’s blues roots, with “Dupree’s Diamond Blues.” Dupree, the main character, has the “jelly roll blues,” and steals his girlfriend a diamond ring, killing a man in the process. He pays with his life.
By 1970, the Dead were returning to their traditional roots and relying less on psychedelia. Workingman’s marked that sea change. The Hunter/Garcia pairing was in full swing now, and their music was polished and unforgettable. It was also decidedly more earthy than anything they’d done before. “Uncle John’s Band,” with its easy-on-the-heart, healing melody and gentle acoustic guitar, has become an anthem of sorts and is synonymous with the band and Uncle Jerry. “Casey Jones,” a retelling of the traditional folk tale, has almost supplanted the original, and “Dire Wolf,” with its countrified, twangy steel guitar, is classic Dead and perhaps a tribute to Garcia’s jugband beginnings. The band went from the loaded lyrics of Aoxomoxa to tunes about the working man breaking his back in the mines (“New Speedway Boogie”) and other woes of the commoner (“Black Peter,” “Cumberland Blues”). Workingman’s stands as one of the Dead’s benchmark productions.
American Beauty is arguably the Dead’s best studio work. The heart-rending “Box of Rain,” the spiritual “Ripple,” tuneful “Friend of the Devil,” and autobiographical “Truckin” were all landmark songs that became synonymous with the band. “Sugar Magnolia” was another tune that struck a chord, especially with men dreaming of the “perfect” woman:
“Sugar Magnolia blossom’s blooming
Head’s all empty and I don’t care
Saw my baby down by the river
Knew she’d have to come up soon for air
Sweet blossom come on under the willow
We can have high times if you’ll abide
We can discover the wonders of nature
Rolling in the rushes down by the riverside
She’s got everything delightful
She’s got everything I need
Takes the wheel when I’m seeing double
Pays my ticket when I speed”
If ever the Dead had a single watershed album, this was it. Excellent song-writing, sharp lyrics and tuneful compositions marked the group at its finest. It was a pinnacle the band would never reach again, at least not in the studio. The only clunker on the album is McKernan’s whiney “Operator,” but even that’s not enough to drag this release down, even a notch. The album’s title is appropriate, because this collection of music truly is an American Beauty .
By the time Wake was recorded, the Dead were losing steam and dealing with the death of keyboardist Pigpen, whose penchant for alcohol finally caught up with him. He was replaced with Keith Godchaux, who also brought his wife Donna into the band. They also brought a new sound.
The third in their countrified series, Wake is an OK album in its own right, but it pales next to Workingman’s and Beauty.
“Mississippi Half-Step Uptown Toodeloo” is another blues-inspired tune of a common man with uncommon problems. A Texas-style fiddle gives the song a down-home feel, and the lyrics are classic Hunter/Garcia magic. But the tune seems to lack the sparkle captured on the last two albums, a problem that plagues the whole album.
It’s a release that’s sometimes jarring ˜ like the misplaced sax on “Let Me Sing Your Blues Away,” a song that sounds like it was styled after an old spiritual ˜ and sometimes sleepy, like the drawn out “Row Jimmy.” The high point on the album is the upbeat “Eyes of the World” fueled by Garcia’s guitar.
With Blues for Allah, the Dead marked another shift in style, reaching back into their psychedelic storage closet for some goodies that they mixed with a heady dose of jazz. It’s an album that stands out from the rest and compares to none. It is, in my opinion, one of their finest studio releases. While it doesn’t rival American Beauty , in importance, it’s another watershed work of careful construction and divine deliberation. Each song is a gem, and taken as a whole, the album is like a Dead show in that each track seems to flow into the next seamlessly, making it often seem like one big, extended jam session. And the lyrics ˜ the lyrics are golden. Take “Help on the Way,” the first track:
“Paradise waits
on the crest of a wave
her angels in flame
She has no pain
Like a child, she is pure
She is not to blame”
or “Franklin’s Tower:”
“In another time’s forgotten space
your eyes looked through your mother’s face Wildflower seed on the sand and stone
may the four winds blow you safely home
Roll away … the dew
Roll away… the dew ….
You ask me where the four winds dwell
In Franklin’s tower there hangs a bell
It can ring, turn night to day
Ring like fire when you lose your way
Roll away… the dew . . .
God help the child who rings that bell
It may have one good ring left, you can’t tell One watch by night, one watch by day
If you get confused just listen to the music play”
“If you get confused just listen to the music play.” It’s a line that speaks volumes. It’s a message for fans lost in drug-induced revelry, but it’s also a bit of philosophy for the rest of the world when the way ahead seems cloudy: What’s good in music is also what’s good in life.
Paired with Garcia’s trademark guitar sound, that banjo-inspired, finger-picking, high-octave buzz, this work is as much jam session extraordinaire as it is a concept album, with each part carefully planned for maximum effect. The only downer on this album was the screechy “The Music Never Stopped.” The sax sounds out of tune and out of place, and Donna Godchaux’s vocals are forced, practically shouted. The lyrics promise a much better song than the final product delivers. Still, one bad track can be overlooked on a gem like this.
Terrapin Station continues where Blues for Allah left off. It’s another “experimental” album, replete with chorus, orchestra, and a type of breath-controlled synthesizer known as a lyricon. The Dead were again going in a new direction. Critics weren’t so sure it was the right one, and one of the chief complaints was over-production. I disagree. I think people just weren’t used to hearing such a fleshed-out sound from a band that started out playing the stripped-down blues.
The album ˜ a mix of covers and originals ˜ begins with “Estimated Prophet,” a collaboration between Bob Weir and John Perry Barlow, a lyricist who started working with the Dead on Wake of the Flood. Many of Barlow’s tunes are on par with Hunter’s, and this one is no exception:
“My time coming, any day, don’t worry bout me, no Been so long I felt this way, ain’t in no hurry, no Rainbows end down that highway where ocean breezes blow My time coming, voices saying, they tell me where to go. Don’t worry bout me, no no, don’t worry bout me, no And I’m in no hurry, no no no, I know where to go. California, preaching on the burning shore California, I’ll be knocking on the golden door Like an angel, standing in a shaft of light Rising up to paradise, I know I’m gonna shine”
It’s a perfect intro to another excellent album.
“Samson and Delilah,” a traditional tune that’s also known as “If I Had My Way,” is belted out in fine style by Weir, and Godchaux’s moving “Sunrise” is a great showcase for her voice. But the piece de resistance is the album’s namesake, a 16-minute set broken down into seven parts, which is where the orchestration and the chorus come in. It’s a production in and of itself, and I always hate when it’s over. The album is worth owning just to listen to this.
The only track that seems out of place here is “Dancin’ In The Streets,” and not because it’s a bad song. It just doesn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the material. It would seem to fit better, in fact, on the Dead’s next studio release, Shakedown Street.
Many fans consider this one of the Dead’s most commercial releases; a work that gets too far from their foundation by trying to get in synch with the disco that was popular at the time. Still, it had its share of memorable songs. The lively, impassioned cover of “Good Lovin’” became a popular Dead standard, and the title track showed the Dead could boogie with the best of ‘em. “Fire on the Mountain,” another song with its beginning in roots music, was further proof that the Dead didn’t forget where they came from while they got where they were going. And their version of the traditional “Stagger Lee” became standard fare at Dead shows.
Yet for all the good tracks, the album just didn’t break any ground. It seemed more like a “we need another studio release” album than a labor of love.
In 1979, Keith and Donna Godchaux were asked to leave the band, and tragedy again struck a keyboardist: Keith Godchaux died in a car crash a year later. Brent Mydland stepped in on keyboards and vocals, and the band had another new sound. Gone was Donna Godchaux’s sweet alto, replaced by Mydland’s gravely growl.
But the shakeup failed to inspire great work. In 1980, the band released Go to Heaven, an album that perhaps is the most unmemorable Dead studio release ever.
It was a work filled with throwaway songs and fluff, and wasn’t well accepted. It produced two decent tunes: “Alabama Getaway” and “Don’t Ease Me In,” both of which still get airplay. But ask any Deadhead about the rest, and you’ll probably get a dirty look for your trouble.
In the Dark marked the first time the Dead cracked the top-ten album chart. It also marked a divisive moment for fans, splitting newbies with diehard Deadheads. “Commercialized crap,” spat out many from the old school. “Great stuff,” countered the freshmen. I’m with the freshmen, except for one track. Mydland’s “Tons of Steel” is a tune I always skip. I listened to it the other day, in case I’d been too hard on it over the years. But after a minute of suffering his raspy vocals and the clichéd lyrics, I’d had enough and skipped to “Throwing Stones,” one of my favorites.
Other standouts include the funky “West L.A. Fadeaway,” “Touch of Grey” (which hit No. 9 on the singles chart and even had a video on MTV), “Hell in a Bucket,” and “My Brother Esau.” Unfortunately, “Esau” was available only on tape or a later CD reissue.
The album was born out of adversity, and perhaps that’s why it was so strong. In 1986, Garcia almost died, lapsing into a five-day diabetic coma triggered by his long-time drug abuse.
With In the Dark,” it seemed the Dead were back in full creative swing. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t last very long. The problems that started to crop up before the album was recorded would continue after it was released. Some of the “newbies” proved more violent than the peace-loving, older hard-core fans. Drug arrests plagued concerts, and two fans died under odd circumstances. Drug problems also shadowed band members. Bad luck seemed to follow the Dead throughout the ’80s.
Built to Last was a bit of irony. It marked the final Grateful Dead studio album ever released. It was also another release of little consequence, but not for lack of trying. The Dead were back in experimental mode, with all the electronic goodies that the young computer age brought with it. The band used a drum machine, mechanical and industrial sound samples, and Garcia even played a MIDI-guitar horn on “I Will Take You Home.” The group also “thickened” their sound on some tracks by tripling or doubling background and lead vocal tracks.
The songwriting process was different, too: Most of the tunes were written first by determining a tempo, then recording a sort of drum track, then determining a layout and length, and then having each band member work on his parts individually.
The result was a hodgepodge of forgettable, passive tracks. It wasn’t bad music, it just wasn’t particularly good or ground-breaking. And it wasn’t a very fitting bookend studio work for a band that, at one time, set the musical world on fire.
Still, some will argue that this last effort was of little consequence because the Dead were best live. Others will say that, given time, the band would have topped themselves yet again. Unfortunately, they never got the chance. In 1990, Mydland died of an overdose, spurring rumors of a curse on keyboardists. Vince Welnick from the Tubes stepped up to the plate, along with Bruce Hornsby. And though the band continued to put on great shows and released some excellent live albums, they never entered the studio again.
Then, in 1995, Garcia was found dead at a drug treatment center, ostensibly of a heart attack. With his death came, for all intents and purposes, the end of the band. Some of the members have toured as “The Other Ones,” and all work on solo projects. But the nearly three-decade phenomenon known as the Grateful Dead closed a chapter in its book that fateful August day, and the only thing left to write now are epilogues.
The Grateful Dead (Warner Bros., 1967)
Anthem Of The Sun (Warner Bros., 1968)
Aoxomoxoa (Warner Bros.,1969)
Workingman’s Dead (Warner Bros., 1970)
American Beauty (Warner Bros., 1970)
Wake of the Flood (Grateful Dead Records, 1973)
Blues For Allah (Grateful Dead Records, 1975)
Terrapin Station (Arista, 1977)
Shakedown Street (Arista, 1978)
Go To Heaven (Arista, 1980)
In The Dark (Arista, 1987)
Built to Last (Arista, 1989)
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