No Simple Highway
The Year of the Dead
On Sept. 17 of that year, the Dead came to the Baltimore Civic Center, the present-day Baltimore Arena, when it was even more of a dingy, cavernous acoustic nightmare than it is now. I was fresh out of college, teaching English at Baltimore's City College high school, and had never been paid for a music review. I bought my own ticket, down on the floor about 30 rows back, and I had to stand on my rickety folding chair for most of the three-hour show just to see the stage.
I've never been a Deadhead--wasn't then, am not now. I've always loved Jerry Garcia's guitar work, and the songs from the band's 1970-'71 albums (Workingman's Dead, American Beauty, and Grateful Dead), but I've always been skeptical of the Dead's vocals and I have a low tolerance for their spacier jams. But the Civic Center show still stands as one of the great concert experiences of my life. Everything seemed to click for Garcia and his bandmates that evening.
Youthful memories are notoriously unreliable, however, and mine were tested this year when Grateful Dead Records released Dick's Picks Vol. 23: Baltimore Civic Center 9/17/72. I opened the three-CD set with the same mixture of eagerness and dread one feels about attending a high school reunion or revisiting a favorite book from college. Would this be as painful as rereading Hermann Hesse?
My heart sank at the first disc's stumbling start. I didn't remember these clumsy rhythms, these tentative vocals. It sounded too much like the many Dead shows I've seen where the band floundered around, trying to find an all-too-elusive groove.
But then, five minutes into the sixth number, "Bird Song," as Garcia's guitar solo gains momentum, there's a drum fill, and the music gels, as it did on the group's best nights. Suddenly, the five musicians are no longer playing five separate parts, they're playing one, achieving the negotiated, unspoken consensus that is the democratic genius of group improvisation. When the meditative ease of "Bird Song" gives way to Johnny Cash's "Big River," the Dead crackle with hillbilly recklessness, which carries over into "Tennessee Jed" and "Mexicali Blues." And that sets up the "China Cat Sunflower"/"I Know You Rider" medley, the highlight of many a Dead show.
There were other highlights that night--the R&B wailing of Bob Weir and Donna Godchaux set against the electric-folk lyricism of Garcia's guitar on an 18-minute "Playing in the Band," the pell-mell tumble of a 12-minute "Truckin'," the hymnlike harmonies of a 10-minute "He's Gone." The CD's packaging includes amusingly amateurish reviews of the concert reprinted from The Sun and the Afro-American. And the sound, captured by pioneering engineer/LSD cook Owsley Stanley, is so clear it sounds like you're right there. Maybe you were.
To understand how the Grateful Dead reached this peak in 1972, there's no better textbook than the new 12-CD box set The Golden Road (1965-1973), which includes all nine albums (five studio, four live) the band recorded for Warner Bros. Records. The original sets are supplemented by studio outtakes and/or live recordings from the same era. Three extended, free-form jams from the Aoxomoxoa sessions are an especially valuable discovery. Also included are a CD of pre-Warner's studio demos and a CD of pre-Warner's live performances from 1965-'67.
The box comes with a 75-page booklet that features a 15,000-word excerpt from Dennis McNally's forthcoming biography of the band. McNally, one of Jack Kerouac's ablest biographers before becoming the Dead's longtime publicist, is one of the rare Deadheads who can actually write, and his story is as clear as it is fascinating. Each of the discs inside the box comes with its own 16-page booklet of notes and credits. As box sets go, this one is especially well done.
With its chronological approach, The Golden Road makes strikingly clear how mediocre this group was early on. From 1965 through '67, the Grateful Dead sounded like a hippie-band parody--ramshackle rhythms, off-key vocals, sophomoric lyrics, few solos. They had good taste in material, covering tunes associated with Bill Monroe, Slim Harpo, Allen Toussaint, Lightnin' Hopkins, and Bob Dylan, but they didn't know what to do with it.
But three things happened in 1968 to transform these kids from earnest wannabes into a genre unto themselves. Most obviously, Garcia stepped forward as a soloist; basically, he took Doc Watson's Appalachian flat-picking, slowed it down, amped it up, and let the lines meander like a Sonny Rollins solo. Less obvious but just as crucial were the contributions of Mickey Hart and Robert Hunter. Hart, who joined the band in 1967, was a Brooklyn veteran of Latin and swing bands, and he developed a rolling, clave-flavored rhythm with fellow drummer Bill Kreutzmann that was as essential to the Dead sound as Garcia's guitar work. And Hunter, Garcia's longtime novel-writing pal, became the band's in-house lyricist, making the words as interesting as the music.
These three changes bore fruit on 1968's Anthem of the Sun. The following year's Aoxomoxoa was a project of intense studio experimentation, more interesting for the collective mindset it produced than the actual music on the record. That mind-set made possible the band's first great album, 1969's Live/Dead.
Sensing that the group was leaning too far in an experimental direction, Garcia pulled the Dead back to its folk and blues roots for two 1970 albums of stripped-down Americana. Workingman's Dead and American Beauty are Hunter's finest moments; drawing from the vocabulary of 19th-century ballads, legends, and tall tales, he created a new set of myths to match the old-timey echoes in the Dead's music.
The two poles of the Grateful Dead sound--roots and experimentation--were finally integrated in 1971 and '72. The first payoff was 1971's two-LP set Grateful Dead, largely recorded at a handful of New York shows. Even better was Europe '72, taped during the spring tour through England, France, Denmark, Germany, and the Netherlands. On these tours, the Dead introduced such unrecorded gems as "He's Gone," "Jack Straw," "Tennessee Jed," "Brown-Eyed Woman," and "Ramble on Rose," all worthy products of the Workingman's Dead/American Beauty songwriting burst. But in sharp contrast to those albums' laid-back studio vibe, these songs were given full-blown rock 'n' roll treatments, as were "Cumberland Blues," "Sugar Magnolia," and "Truckin'." And the Paris segue of "China Cat Sunflower"/"I Know You Rider" was incandescent.
That was the top of the mountain. There would be other, smaller peaks in the years between 1972 and the band's final dissolution with Garcia's death in 1995, but there would also be plenty of valleys and ravines. Never again would the band be as consistently thrilling as it was in the otherwise bleak months of the Nixon/McGovern election campaign.
Grateful Dead and Europe '72 are the Dead's two best albums because they were compiled from the best moments of the band's tours. There's not hint of the lassitude that always afflicted the Dead in the studio, nor of the slow starts and wrong turns that were part of every show--it's all high points. Unfortunately, it has become a tenet of Deadhead ideology that you have to hear a whole show on tape to appreciate it fully. This is an interesting philosophy, but it makes for very uneven albums, as the 23 volumes of the Dick's Picks series proves.
If the folks at Grateful Dead Records were smart, they'd go back to their 1972 tapes and cherry-pick the best moments from the U.S. shows to create an America '72, a companion to Europe '72. And they'd be sure to include several songs from the Sept. 17 show in Baltimore.
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