Beware the Ides of March

As you know, I love everything in the world, with the exception of three things. One of those things that I love is the Grateful Dead.

Looking back on this day in history, 15 March is a significant date for a number of reasons. For starters, it's the Ides of March, which was the day in 44 BC when Julius Caesar was stabbed in the base of the Curia - ouch! More recently, it's also the birthday of two of my favourite people: Grateful Dead bassist Phil Lesh and genius filmmaker David Cronenberg. Long live the new Lesh! Plus, the movie The Godfather was first released on this day in 1972, directed by Deadhead Francis Ford Coppola - after seeing a Grateful Dead show in 1979, he was inspired by the rolling thunder effect of the two drummers, and enlisted them to play on the Apocalypse Now soundtrack. Which brings me to the point: on this day in Dead history, the band made one of their more bizarre appearances back in 1969.



Picture the scene: you're invited to The Black & White Ball at the San Francisco Hilton, a fundraiser for the San Francisco Symphony. A group of hippies shamble onto the stage, plug in their instruments and unleash a cacophony of baroque psychedelia and a song about trying to sleep with a 17-year-old girl. 

They were never invited back.

The complete setlist is uncertain, but what exists is this electrifying recording, taped by countercultural icon Owsley "Bear" Stanley - more on him another time. The tape begins with a fairly shambolic version of Otis Redding's Hard to Handle, which they'd never played live before, and by the sounds of it, never practised much either. Things pick up with Good Morning Little Schoolgirl, a perfectly acceptable subject to sing about in the '60s, before the boys launch into their typical 1969 run of Dark Star -> St. Stephen -> The Eleven -> Lovelight. And it's glorious - particularly The Eleven, a song I've written about before. Despite a cut in the recording at the start of the track, this is up there with the best they ever played it - an electric dose of colourful improvisation in 11/8 time. Just imagine going to a black tie event 28 years ago today, and being confronted with that.

Everyone's A Winner

Welcome back to my Grateful Dead and RuPaul's Drag Race blog. Today, or as we say in the UK "yesterday", marks the 45th anniversary of another of my favourite Grateful Dead shows.

https://archive.org/details/gd1970-05-06.sbd.gans-hall.95.shnf

Essentially a warm-up for the following night's show, this jam session on Kresge Plaza at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology was part of a student demonstration on 6 May 1970. Just two days before, soldiers had opened fire on peaceful protesters at Kent State University, killing four students and wounding nine more.

This performance marks a rare political statement for the bunch of hippies, who were never activists. Unless you consider having LSD for breakfast a form of activism. This was a time of massive cultural upheaval, embodied by the Dead more than anyone.

The show, relatively short for the Grateful Dead, is full of anger, passion and energy. This recording is a historical document, as well as a blisteringly exciting 90 minutes of music. It opens a few seconds into one of their best renditions of Dancing in the Street, and the show fizzes spectacularly on from there.

After Jerry Garcia's announcement about a lost kid named Frank who's probably about 50 now, the band launch into one of my favourite Dead songs, China Cat Sunflower. The recording then cuts out before rejoining the action at the start of I Know You Rider. What this tape lacks in completeness, it more than makes up for in raw quality.

I'm the first to admit that the band's vocal harmonies aren't always, you know, in tune. But Jerry and Pigpen totally nail it for the bluesy Next Time You See Me. Then comes arguably the greatest version of Morning Dew, which is surprisingly heavy and completely beautiful.

Good Lovin' starts with a brilliantly unique drum intro, and the drumming is so tight that you forget there's two of them. Apparently Bill Kreutzmann was once asked how they were always so in time with one another, and he replied that Mickey Hart had been hypnotising him. 

In any case, it's a great version of Good Lovin'. Mostly because Pigpen shouts: "This microphone over here don't work so fuckin' good you guys!" Then Casey Jones rips along, and the crowd go justifiably crazy.

The set ends with a barnstorming St. Stephen into Not Fade Away, and the whole band is on fire. Bob Weir closes the gig saying: "We're gonna split, and we'll be playing for you tomorrow night but it's just too fuckin' cold."

One of the Dead's most electrifying performances, this show comes towards the tail end of their scorching, psychedelic, acid phase. As opposed to their heroin phase. As the Vietnam War sparked mass demonstrations across college campuses, this was and remains an invigorating musical protest. Particularly on the eve of an election where we have the chance to not elect a bunch of warmongers. No prizes for guessing how that works out.

As a slight change of pace, I'll leave you with my favourite Hot Chocolate song in memory of Errol Brown who passed away earlier. Yes I have a favourite Hot Chocolate song.

There's Mosquitos on the River

As you know, I love everything in the world, with the exception of three things. One of those things that I love is the Grateful Dead.

The only reason I'm still writing this blog is an obsessive need to keep posting once a month, so I might as well do the inevitable and turn it into a Grateful Dead appreciation blog - after all, on this day in 1977, the Dead played one of my favourite shows.

https://archive.org/details/gd1977-04-23.mtx.seamons.97596.sbeok.flac16

23 April 1977 was a rainy day in Massachusetts - I wasn't there (or born), but I have been to Massachusetts and I've experienced rain, so close enough. The Grateful Dead walked on stage (again, this is all speculation) at the Springfield Civic Center Arena, now called the MassMutual Center - named after an insurance company, like all good rock venues.

The band kick off with a beautiful Sugaree, and the Matrix recording (above) strikes the perfect balance between crystal-clear music and excited crowd sounds. Straight away, the audience are having the time of their lives, and I hate them for that. Then it's time for a stunning Cassidy - say what you like about Donna Jean Godchaux (and Deadheads often do), but her harmonies with Bob Weir are gorgeous.

The next song is arguably the highlight of the show - the best version of Loser I've ever heard. The painfully slow tempo, that desperately low groove, Jerry Garcia's electrifying solo... perfection. When it comes to evoking the Old West, the Dead are up there with Sergio Leone - you can almost feel the dust on your skin. 

I won't mention every song, though I easily could. Let's skip to the phenomenal Scarlet Begonias, whose ka-ka-ka intro is one of the best ways to start any song (see also The Joker by the Steve Miller Band). The segue from the upbeat party sound of Scarlet Begonias into the spaced-out majesty of Fire On The Mountain is a thing of beauty.

After a break (and a round of America's favourite game, "Take a Step Back"), Keith Godchaux rolls his fingers down the keyboard into a transcendent Estimated Prophet, whose deep bass and unusual time signature envelop us entirely. 

Bertha is at once dancey and laid-back, a seemingly incongruous combination that characterises the Dead's unique style. This continues in the disco-inflected vibes of The Music Never Stopped - though no disco song ever started with the lyric "there's mosquitos on the river."

Then comes the centrepiece of this second set - Help On The Way > Slipknot! > Franklin's Tower. The rhythm section drives this mini musical journey, from the locomotive effect of Bill Kreutzmann and Mickey Hart's drumming, to Phil Lesh's basslines winding all over the place but somehow holding the whole thing together.

The show rocks to a close, ending with One More Saturday Night as an encore (it was a Saturday - stop me if I'm getting too technical here). It's a song that shows the Dead's ability to cease their psychedelic jamming and a deliver punchy rock 'n' roll number. 

1977 is generally considered the peak of the Dead's powers, moving so effortlessly between psyched-out jazz, cowboy songs and sometimes even rock music. Whatever it is, they make it look easy - and on more drugs than Rob Ford at a disco. Most people that high would struggle to even find their guitars, but the Grateful Dead played the roof off theatres every night.