November 1, 1969 & February 28, 1970: Family Dog, San Francisco

11/1/69

NO DOUBT: THE DOG 

This is a pitifully inadequate space, both aesthetically and dimensionally, in which to attempt this communication, but here it unfolds: 

Tomorrow night, the fourth of November, Workshop: Family Circus, Rainbow Jam, Tracy Hite, free-form ballet - "Circus of the Stars," music by the Family of Mu. 

Wednesday night, the Family of Man, the Family of God. 

Thursday night, acoustic string night, Tup Fisher, "All God's Children."

This last Saturday night I found myself at the Dog, listening to three artists. The first was the Golden Toad, a preettty strange assemblage of musicians performing on instruments like conch shells, bagpipes, Swiss mountain horns, double reed flutes, an endless array of percussion, and on and on. They're fairly difficult to comment on at all. 

Next was a man whom I've heard nothing about - ever - I still don't know how old he is, where he's from, or how he learned to sing and play. All I can say is that he is a magic being on stage and emits energies warmer and stronger than any solo performer I've ever seen. His name is Danny Cox. 

The Grateful Dead ended the night, deflated my body, and nearly orbited the ballroom with an achingly powerful, energetic set that ran through tunes new and old. Man, this band has endurance.

Stop by the Dog soon, if you're willing to be part of it instead of merely looking at it.

(from the Daily Californian, November 4, 1969) 

https://archive.org/details/gd69-11-01.sbd.cotsman.6298.sbeok.shnf

See also: 

Lost Live Dead: Halloween Weekend 1969: Loma Prieta Room, San Jose State and Family Dog on The Great Highway (Oct 31-Nov 2 '69) [FDGH V] 

(More on Danny Cox.) (More on Golden Toad.)

* * * 

2/28/70

DILBERT'S CHOICE (excerpt) 

The Grateful Dead are amazing. All I know for certain is that last Saturday, at Family Dog, they completely blew my mind with an energy explosion the likes of which I have never experienced. 

They opened with "Love Light," and everyone was jumping... But then Garcia and Weir left everybody hanging by doing three numbers on acoustic guitars. I mean it was O.K., but so what? All it did was rip off everyone's (including their own) energy. It took about a half-hour of Country & Western songs before they could get it together again. They've changed a bit from the old days, they now do individual songs in a C&W vein; I find it boring.

"Good Lovin" then exploded and I completely forgot my boredom... It was like an elusive acid trip...a transcendental vision. It was unbelievable. 

(by Frederick Chase, from the Daily Californian, March 4, 1970)

https://archive.org/details/gd70-02-28.sbd.cotsman.9377.sbeok.shnf 

See also: 

Rock Archaeology 101: February 27-March 1, 1970 Family Dog on The Great Highway, 660 Great Highway, San Francisco, CA: Grateful Dead/Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen [FDGH '70 VII] 

1969: Aoxomoxoa review

THE GRATEFUL DEAD, LIFE AND JOY

It is very odd that consciousness presents so many obstacles for so many human beings. Why are there so many problems and why does life appear to burden so many of the vehicles in which it is carried? Gloom and war, frustration and destruction. 

Discover a falling leaf. Feel the softness of the earth and see the sun glance through the mist to pour itself on a hillside. Hear nature's welcome in the wind. Find the joy in your being; perception is simple and beautiful. 

In the thick of our little street war here, the Grateful Dead released a third album. It has eight songs, and lasts thirty-eight minutes in time. They've titled it Aoxomoxa, and once again perception is simple and beautiful. 

This is a mildly surprising collection of music, essentially because it is so mellowed. The tunes are soft and gentle, the lyrics graciously decipherable, the vocals hesitant and wavering. There is a remarkable lack of harshly inflected rhythms and scalding guitar, for which the Dead have been so justly famed. 

Instead, Axoxomoxa is a wider application of the ideas we saw in Anthem of The Sun: long, dreamy ballads, occasionally interspersed with rock passages, but more often content to float their own ethereal way. Very different, a bit sadly, from the driving power of the first album. 

But this third one is a delight. It's filled with surreal (What's Become Of The Baby) and romantic visions (Mountains Of The Moon), rural whimsy and funk, and some great old blues (Dupree's Diamond Blues and Cosmic Charlie). 

Somehow, the Grateful Dead have done the impossible. They've kept their standards in the face of white-hot pressures to change. Not only have they remained an intact musical unit, they've improved their skills and sharpened and adjusted their technique, all of which indicates that they have retained their sanity. I find that pretty amazing. 

Heavily in debt, much of it from back taxes, seeing their community fall down around them, the Dead have willingly and happily played innumerable benefits and free concerts in the park (Golden Gate), because they love the music. 

When a human being takes this course of action, when he faces and withstands the demands to mold himself to the social main-current, concentrating only on the realization of his constructive ideas, you call him by one word: artist. 

The Dead are artists. They've ignored packaging trends, preferring to wrap their albums simply, without folding covers and other little goodies. They've made no media appearances, save for three, which I can remember: a KPIX special on the Haight, some two years ago; an Irving Penn photographic essay, titled "The Incredibles," in Look; and about 10 seconds on a CBS documentary of Bill Graham. The Grateful Dead are considered, very simply, poor commercial material and a sight from which the eyes of America's children must somehow be shielded. 

How sad. 

Listen to Jerry sing Robert Hunter's lyrics to "St. Stephen." 

"Saint Stephen, with a rose, in and out of the garden he goes.

Country garden in the wind and the rain, wherever he goes,

The people all complain. 

Stephen prospered in his time, 

Well he may, and he may be kind 

Did it matter? Does it now? 

Stephen would answer if he only knew how." 

YEEEEEHHAAAA! Enter the guitars, in high-pitched vocal outbursts, tumble the percussion. Mick's bizarre technique (far out and ecstatic) intersects Bill's, the band is delirious with harnessed fire, Phil's bass line insane and cohesive. This is a song of mountain light and city heavy contrasts, played with perfect restraint and control. 

"Cosmic Charlie" is almost the vehicle it could be for Jerry's riff playing. The cut is well-directed and the statements drive hard but easily. Still, the fever of the early Dead has gone down a bit, and one wishes for a few decibels more (one gets it live). 

It's no use trying to alter a classic statement of existence. The Good Old Grateful Dead will always be just that.

(by Raymond Lang, from the Daily Californian, May 29, 1969)

See also Lang's reviews of Anthem of the Sun and Live/Dead

More Aoxomoxoa reviews: 

https://deadsources.blogspot.com/2012/02/1969-aoxomoxoa-review.html

https://deadsources.blogspot.com/2018/09/june-1969-aoxomoxoa-reviews.html

1968: Anthem of the Sun review

FLAWS FOUND IN DEAD'S NEWEST ALBUM

Despite their overwhelming array of talent, their magnificent percussion, their searing guitar riffs, and their unfailing power to excite, the Grateful Dead are flawed, specifically these three ways: 1) their attempts to construct any viable blues vocals consistently fail; 2) they have a mysterious and irritatingly unnecessary preoccupation with electronics; and 3) their scope of material is limited, sometimes severely so. 

The group's second album, Anthem of the Sun, incorporates all these shortcomings - each in a different tone. As for the first, its truth is essentially admitted outright, thus clarifying much of the late controversy over Pig Pen's voice. (Actually, many Dead freaks have for some time recognized his lackluster blues efforts. "Schoolgirl" is an old example.) But there is now a new development. Anthem makes no attempt to sing honest blues; instead, it employs a semi-comic approach that is seemingly indicative of the group's realization that they perform the art poorly. Alligator's vocal section best exemplifies this: the minimum frame of a Southern accent is present, but both the lyric itself - "creepy alligator, comin round the bend" and its musical contest - kazoos, an erratically thumping rhythm section, etc., are so humorous that the listener can do little more than laugh along. 

Because the Dead are basically a musicians' band, this flaw is trifling, but their electronics are not. They are superfluous. Electronics can be a legitimate vehicle, but not without intensely focused imagination, tedious studio labor, and an appropriate mood - this last being an admittedly nebulous concept. (A model synthesis of these elements is Lennon-McCartney's "Tomorrow Never Knows.") But the Dead are in a different vein; they work with electronics live, wielding amplification units as improvised instruments, producing droning, irrelevant passages that bore to frustration. Often, they will precede a blues classic like Bland's "Lovelight" with 10 to 15 minutes of this. The question is: why? Why give us, between the first and second cuts on Anthem's A side, a combination of SAC bombing runs and the bell tower of Notre Dame? 

The third problem - a narrow scope of material - strikes hard at the perennial fan. One tires, eventually, of hearing "Schoolgirl," "Morning Dew," and "Lovelight" each time the Dead appear; enjoyable as these songs are, some fresh ones are needed; Anthem supplies the long-awaited new works, some of them seemingly incongruous. Because they project, like the Rolling Stones, a harshly masculine image, the Dear [sic] appear rather silly singing a soft, sensual ballad like "That's It for the Other One" - in concept. In actual performance they are so exquisite that all thoughts of incongruity fade. Garcia's lovely, mournful vocal projects a mood of prayerful solemnity that is simply overpowering. 

What about good old Grateful Dead hard rock? Anthem gives us some, but rather grumpily, as if it doesn't deserve much exposure. "The Faster We Go the Rounder We Get" is an example: the cut is unwaveringly strong, thrashing out in the fashion we've come to expect from the Dead, but is disappointingly short. Garcia's guitar is taped at a nearly inaudible level, while the rhythm section steals the scene. This is both tragic and not: it does succeed in displaying the band's new drummer, Mick Hart, schooled in Eastern technique and a former student of Ali Akbar Khan. Making heavy use of the snare, he effects a quasi-military beat that, coupled with Kreutzmann, composes a percussion unit an experience unto itself. Everyone finally merges on the live portion of Alligator to produce an amazingly truthful reproduction of what the Dead are when they peel off their facade: the most exhilarating musical event in San Francisco - and maybe anywhere. 

(by Raymond Lang, from the Daily Californian, November 1, 1968)

Lang also reviewed Live/Dead with much more enthusiasm: 

Grateful Dead Sources: 1969: Live/Dead Reviews #2 

See also: 

Grateful Dead Sources: 1968: More Anthem of the Sun Reviews 

November 7-10, 1968: Fillmore West, San Francisco

RECORD STUDIOS MAY DESTROY MUSIC SCENE

If anything destroys the San Francisco music scene, it will probably be the recording studios. While some groups benefit from techniques first used in a recording studio - enhancing their live sets - most groups with less musical direction come out suffering from over-production and a deficiency of style. 

A comparison can be made in this regard between the Quicksilver Messenger Service and the Grateful Dead, who performed recently in Fillmore West. 

Quicksilver started out their two fine sets by playing some good and tough rock numbers (new to me). Duncan played through some fine guitar leads, very reminiscent of Bloomfield. The group has been criticized for being overly-influenced by the Electric Flag in their last album (in light of the fact that two Flag members co-produced it). But it would be tragic if a band which has been around as long as Quicksilver was influenced by a short-lived band that never developed any musical direction. 

Let us say that Duncan's and Cipollina's considerable skill cause them to borrow certain stylistic traits of Bloomfield, as well as Alkaunon and Garcia. 

Audiences tend to like things that are familiar, and the audience (dead as par) didn't warm up until they played a cut from their album (Gold and Silver). 

Now that the Dead have come to be comfortable in a recording studio, they can use their techniques as good tools in their sets. Their set got the warmest audience reaction. Where Quicksilver tends to be erratic because of problems in accommodating ordered songs to a live set, the Dead seems to have no problems in this regard.

Since "Anthem of the Sun," the Dead have gone into electronic music, using different types of feedback to climax their sets. But they also went through standards like "School Girl" and "Lovelight." 

Quicksilver's Gold and Silver is very carefully composed, and loses its effectiveness if it is not allowed to progress in a linear fashion so the intricately constructed climaxes can be developed. It is therefore, not a free enough cut to be effective in a live set. The best they can do for the number is to try to approach the technical perfection that the audience is familiar with from the album. They try to add interest by including a drum solo, but this only serves to stop the progression altogether. 

As their performance of "Gold and Silver" showed how bad the effects of such studio compositions can be, so their performance of the "Fool" showed a beautiful balance between the composition and the improvisation. With Frieberg's base as a catalyst, there is a very interesting reaction between the two guitars. 

There was a nice progression and use of false climaxes in almost classical style, yet it remained as a free vehicle for Cipollina's guitar leads.

Still, the best song of either set was their old standard "Who do you love?" (rough rock but it has some well-executed composition including some tinkling guitar effects). They rounded out their sets with some album cuts done pretty straight. It was appropriate that they finished off their first set with a Beau Diddley number a la Rolling Stone - "Hey, Mona."

(by Russ Stein, from the Daily Californian, November 25, 1968)

October 20, 1968: Greek Theatre, UC Berkeley

FIVE ROCK GROUPS PLAY HERE SUNDAY

Five of the greatest rock groups in the Bay Area will play at the Greek Theater this Sunday afternoon from 1 to 6 p.m. Canned Heat will head the bill with the Grateful Dead, Mad River, Linn County, and Stonehenge filling out the concert. Buddy Miles Express also will make a probable appearance for a special jam session. 

This is the largest rock "festival" ever held on the campus. Student prices for the concert have been reduced to $3 in advance and $3.50 at the door, instead of the $3.50 and $4 prices previously announced. Student tickets may be picked up at the ASUC box office.

(from the Daily Californian 10/15/68)

OUTSTANDING LOCAL ROCK BANDS PERFORM: 

GRATEFUL DEAD, MAD RIVER, CANNED HEAT

What is considered to be one of the country's finest rock bands will be playing the Greek Theatre Sunday, from 1:00-6:00, accompanied by several other fine groups; the Grateful Dead, faithful to the in life-style, promise to present an afternoon of unusual experiences and irresistible musical power. 

Canned Heat, an L.A. based group with three albums on the Mercury label, will appear, supposedly headlining the show. 

Three groups representative of San Francisco's reinvigorated musical scene will complete the program: Stonehenge, Mad River - a long time Berkeley favorite which has just released its first album on Capitol - and Linn County, originally formed in Chicago, now headquartered in S.F., and soon to begin their second album for Mercury. 

Tickets are on sale now at ASUC box office, and ticket agencies throughout the Bay Area, for $3 in advance and $3.50 at the door.

(from the Daily Californian 10/17/68)

*

ROCK AT YOUR LEISURE

There were a great many people who predicted complete failure for SUPERB's rock concert last Sunday. And in at least one category, they were correct: economically, the show was best left forgotten. In tacit testimony to the intensity of Bay Area audience competition, the Greek Theatre was at no time more than half-filled.

Quantitatively, the show lost that competition; qualitatively, it won. Despite its size, the crowd was a crazily cohesive patchwork of Gypsy Jokers, students, hippies, adults, groupies, animals, street-people, children, and musicians, all happily cavorting under a warm, glass-clear sky. In contrast to the city's ballrooms, those who so chose, danced all day long. Weed, of course, flowed freely through the ampitheatre, doing its substantial share of creating a picnic atmosphere. 

Although they were making little money, the musicians obviously enjoyed working in such a climate, thereby constructing a very loose, casual audience-performer communication. The first band to play, after an exasperating delay of nearly an hour, was Stonehenge: a trio from Palo Alto, their music is much in Cream's vein, complete with a rather tiring, Clapton-based lead guitarist, who is forced to compete against his over-volumed rhythm section. They are mildly enjoyable, but essentially undistinguished, brand of hard rock. 

Linn County, formed in Chicago, now San Francisco-based, were next. Their album will be reviewed next week: it is sufficient to say here that they are one of the very best reasons why this area is still a musical stronghold. All those who admire professional ability should see them soon - they're just beginning to climb.

The process of a concert's development is always fascinating; as each successive band appears, the audience warms with increased familiarity and enthusiasm. When established Berkeley favorite Mad River stepped onto stage, they received noisy welcome from their faithful; when they introduced their first song as "just good old-fashioned Mad River rock and roll," a good throng rose to dance. The show was gaining momentum. Their music is unquestionably rock, which they play in an exciting, very speedy style that falters only when the band becomes a dime-bag too eager. Of all surprises, their math duplication happens strongest in Amphetamine Gazelle, a number so quick it seemed to set Greek on a turntable - at 78 rpm. 

In typical fashion, nearly late, generally disorganized, but clearly undaunted, the Grateful Dead managed to arrive. Once set up, they proceeded to play a stormburst of music in their hardest fashion.

(by Raymond Lang, from the Daily Californian, October 25, 1968)

https://archive.org/details/gd68-10-20.sbd.miller.21441.sbeok.shnf

March 24, 1968: Parking Lot near 50 Green Street, San Francisco

STRIKE, THE PARK AND OTHER THINGS

Indigent rock music enthusiasts, barred from the $3 ballrooms, need not be left out in the cold on weekends these days. For the price of bus fare or just the energy consumed making it by foot to Golden Gate Park and other areas, a pleasant Saturday or Sunday afternoon of music is guaranteed at an inexpensive tab. 

The radio KMPX strike, which has sent everything from DJs to janitor to the street with picket signs, has brought both local bands and those from afar to their side with sympathy. As a result the KMPX picketeers have put together some fantastic street scenes to promote their walk-out and bring new campaigners to their feet. 

A week ago Sunday, for instance, it was one surprise after another around the corner from strike headquarters. It was a perfect afternoon: the sun was throbbing, the beer still cold, and the Sons of Champlin were rocking the stage. Their rhythms were sucking in crowds as if luring them with a siren's call. 

The portable generators which supplied the juice for the afternoon were still humming as the Sons of Champlin silenced the Vox amplification and made their way from the two flat-bed trucks that joined rears and acted as a temporary stage. Their big band rock sound was well taken with a befitting applause.

The crowd edged closer and closer to the stage as a small van pierced a layer of the assemblage [and] dragged out a massive hunk of organ caped with a coverlet inscribed "Stevie Winwood."

It wasn't long before Traffic, the outstanding English trio, was on the stage. Heaven Is In Your Mind started the wheel rolling, and by the time Dear Mr. Fantasy poured forth the crowd seemed overtaken by some strange trance. Drummer Jim Capaldi was drenched with sweat and Winwood's versatility was steaming unbelievably from guitar. 

Traffic didn't give much of a chance for the trance to break as the Grateful Dead's Jerry Garcia climbed the stage, jacked in his guitar (sending Winwood to organ), and an incredible jam session, with as many as eight musicians working out at once, was underway. 

A very short appearance by James Cotton on harmonica and a lengthy and impressive jam featuring guitarist Harvey Mandel with the Indian Head Band concluded one of the most unusual musical experiences this writer has ever witnessed. And it was all for free. 

Lately, each weekend has been graced with free open-air concerts somewhere in the city. Most are in The Park, and as long as the KMPX strike is on, their street scenes will be too. It might be a good idea for enthusiasts to keep eyes pinned to the press and ears to KMPX (but is that in poor taste?) and get in on these things. (The Haight Ashbury Switchboard (387-3575) is usually of reliable assistance.) They can become an experience more unique than the ballrooms themselves.

John Lee Hooker heads the bill at the Carousel this weekend along with Mother Earth and the Loading Zone. Eric Burdon and the Animals, Quicksilver, and the Sons of Champlin are at Winterland, while the Blues Project, Iron Butterfly, and the Nazarra Blues Band play at the Avalon.

(by Martin J. Arbunich, from the Guardsman, April 3, 1968)

See also: 

Lost Live Dead: March 18, 1968: Pier 10, San Francisco-KMPX Strike Rally (also: March 20, 1968 Avalon)

*

March 20, 1968: Avalon Ballroom 

FAR OUT KMPX BENEFIT (excerpt)

9 Long Hair Band Groups 

The Fruminous Bandersnatchers blared many a harmonious musical bar last night in Avalon Ballroom, sounding what may have been the reqiuem of old style strikes and labor negotiations. 

The Bandersnatchers were but one of nine long-hair (not in a musical sense), bearded, and sandal-less instrumental groups playing from 8 p.m. to 2 a.m. for the benefit of striking staff members of KMPX-FM, a local radio station which yanked itself upward via mod music from a practically no-listener rating to the well-to-do status of the paying voice of hippieland. 

Also electronically pulsating for out-of-work KMPXers were Blue Cheer, Charlie Musselwhite Southside Sound System, and the Grateful Dead.

What makes the four day KMPX strike different from other walkouts is that bread (which is pure Haight-Ashbury for money) is secondary in consideration to "artistic freedom." 

Freedom of the arts, according to KMPXers, is their right to ignore company orders about shaving, hair cutting, wearing shoes on the job, and bathing frequently. 

It also embraces ignoring orders to play those saccharine string melodies adored by the squares.

Because of such real and imagined grievances, KMPXers hit the bricks Monday against station owner Lee Crosby . . . 

The strikers are letting it be known that a bit more bread in the pay envelope could be instrumental in coaxing them back to the microphones. They note the highest paid disc jockey in pre-strike days earned but $125 a week. 

Meanwhile, the station hasn't dropped a broadcast bar with employees of square inclinations. [ . . . ]

(by William O'Brien, from the SF Examiner, March 21, 1968) 

Excerpt from the Berkeley Barb, 3/22/68: 

[On March 18] "at 3 a.m. the walk-out began as more than 500 people gathered outside the station at 50 Green Street and danced to rock music. Wednesday night the idea moved inside the Avalon as the Grateful Dead, Kaleidoscope, and others played a benefit to a packed house." 

"Further support from the bands came when Jerry Garcia of the Dead walked into the station and demanded the return of a tape of their new single and also asked that none of the Dead's other material be played on the air."

Excerpts from Rolling Stone: 

"At 3:00 on the morning of Monday, March 18, the entire staff of the nation's best rock & roll station walked out on strike - and right into the midst of an impromptu block party. [ . . . ] 

"The community turned out in force for a benefit at the Avalon Ballroom on March 20, where music was provided gratis by the Grateful Dead, Charley Musselwhite, Kaleidoscope, and three other bands. The Family Dog made the hall available without charge - even the light show was donated - and the strike fund netted $1800. . . .

"There was also a weekend fair (not to be confused with the first-night party of 500 people dancing in the street) outside the KMPX offices near North Beach, which was highlighted by Jerry Garcia of the Grateful Dead jamming with Traffic. It was supposed to be a street fair, but the San Francisco city fathers refused the strikers a permit, ostensibly because an announcement read over the air before the strike had caused an unauthorized closing of Haight Street two weeks earlier, so the action took place in a nearby parking lot."

[The Grateful Dead and other bands] "requested that KMPX and KPPC do not play their records as long as they are being operated by strikebreakers."

("FM Workers Strike For Rights," Rolling Stone, April 27, 1968) 

January 5, 1969: Fillmore West, San Francisco

BETTER DEAD THAN EVER

Win, lose, or draw, rock bands change rapidly; and their longevity is not a keynote to success. For wonder and amazement, the Grateful Dead have survived among the towers of rock. To some people, they never existed. Other persons, those who have not seen them in ages, may consider their survival a resurrection. I consider it a triumph!

THE GRATEFUL DEAD - 

The Dead are still very much the same as three years ago; back to the same old drive. They have added another drummer plus a new organist to replace "Pigpen," whose departure will further impoverish their vocal range. Having redoubled their enthusiasm for instrumentation, the Dead now resort less to song and more to the use of spoken imagery. On Sunday, the best singing was done by Jerry Garcia on "Death Has No Mercy." His guitar excellence far outdoes his voice and has definitely improved. The whole group works better, both as musicians and as a "family." The time spent together has especially proved fruitful in yielding some exciting double drumming. 

For two or three hours, the band played with but one intermission. Their reputation was gained after performing such long, "psychedelic" sets. To them, music is all one song, like a vision of the universe; it grows deeper into itself. "Pigpen" was "at home" to sing a nostalgic "Turn On Your Lovelight," that had everyone up and moving long before he finished. Children were on stage dancing. Insistent applause brought a warm response from the Dead, who finally put the evening to rest with an incredible "Good Night." For unexcelled rock entertainment, they proved again "Enjoy!" Enjoy the Grateful Dead!

BLOOD, SWEAT AND TEARS - 

Since Al Kooper decided to quit "his group," Blood, Sweat and Tears has succeeded without him. Perhaps, he was his own victim. The new singer, his replacement, comes on more strong and vigorous than the sickly-sounding Kooper. Both organ and piano fit more easily into the total sound. As a unit, the band performs old numbers with increased eagerness. Their former hit ("I Love You More Than You'll Ever Know") came off awkwardly; but "I Can't Quit Her" was super perfect in performance and arrangement. Their attempt at "God Bless the Child" was weak. However, they made up for their failure with an excellent adaptation of Traffic's "Smiling Phases." I sometimes resented the intrusion of a horn section; that was too loud and blatant. Otherwise, the band was in fine shape and good spirits. 

SPIRIT - 

As for these five, do not expect them to sound better than their records. Their music unfortunately lacks substance and thought. They produced a bit of theatre and plenty of electric gadgetry, including an echo machine. Yet, Spirit plays a la Hendrix and as a poor imitation at that. The guitarist was much too loud; singing was all right, though; and the drummer was very much in control.

(by Christian Mueller, from the Daily Californian, January 13, 1969) 

Alas, no tape!

See also:

Grateful Dead Sources: January 2-4, 1969: Fillmore West, San Francisco

Lost Live Dead: January 2-5, 1969 Fillmore West, San Francisco, CA: Grateful Dead/Blood Sweat & Tears/Spirit 

* * * 

BONUS REVIEW:

Fillmore West 1/12/69

MIND-BLOWING GUITARS AT FILLMORE WEST (excerpt)

[ . . . ] In its steadily ballooning influence over the past five years, the San Francisco musical environment has produced a truly imposing assortment of individual musicians. Exceptional lead guitarists seem to be especially bountiful. . . One wishes only that, somehow, these separate abilities could be occasionally pooled in collective presentation. Such a situation would be intensely stimulating in at least two general categories musically, so the listener might observe new relationships among performers who have played rarely, if ever, with each others' technique, and nostalgically, to view simultaneously a large contingent of those artists who have forged so much history here.

Sunday night's performance at Fillmore West was as representative a celebration as has ever been witnessed in San Francisco - and certainly one of the most exciting and unexpected. Led Zeppelin, a new, electric British rock-blues outfit featuring ex-Yardbird Jimmy Paige as guitarist, and Taj Mahal, the blues singer working out of LA, both played enjoyable sets. Both should ideally be commented on at length, but the third band . . . was so exceptional as to warrant near-exclusive focus. 

That band was, essentially, Country Joe and the Fish, playing what will likely prove to have been their last set. The personnel composing the "Fish" was a stellar collection of San Francisco musicians, the likes of whom no city could provide better. They were: Chicken Hirsch of Country Joe and the Fish, and Mick Hart, of the Grateful Dead, playing drums; Jack Casady of the Airplane on bass; Joe himself, vocal and rhythm guitar; Jorma Kaubonen, Gerry Garcia, Steve Miller, and Barry Melton, none of whom require any introduction, playing alternate lead guitars. 

The set began at two o'clock in the morning (the normal closing time), and under direct orders from the state, no dancing. This may yet qualify as one of man's mortal prohibitions. For the music rendered Sunday night was violently physical and emerging. The band traveled as through an overwhelmingly dense, yet fast-paced set of blues, a set that lasted an hour and one-half. While one guitarist, say Gerry, would make fully constructed lead statements, the others would fling sidelong, interspersed accompaniments, the sum effect of which was ideal rhythm and blues, utilizing with remarkable smoothness the various approaches peculiar to each guitarist. Not enough can be said about the performance, save to say thank you to the musicians and to Graham. A finer farewell the Fish couldn't have had if only there had been dancing allowed.

(by Raymond Lang, from the Daily Californian, January 16, 1969)

See also:

Hooterollin' Around: Fillmore West, January 12, 1969: Country Joe And The Fish And Their Friends (Plus Opening Acts)

December 20, 1968: Shrine Hall, Los Angeles

COUNTRY JOE AND FISH SINK IN SHRINE HALL SHOW

Country Joe and the Fish's set at the Shrine Auditorium Friday night was less fish than flotsam, and the resulting taste of ennui was nearly sour enough to sink the Berkeley group there on the spot. 

In fact, the most remarkable thing about the highly-touted evening were the uninspired, dull performances of the Fish and their Bay Area comrades, the Grateful Dead. 

Only Spirit came up with a completely satisfying effort.

That was sad, as the Fish have shown greatness before - on their first LP and in other live performances, especially at dances in San Francisco's Fillmore and Avalon ballrooms. 

Last weekend, however, they seemed bored and either unwilling or unable to turn the audience on to their highly original brand of psychedelia, politics, and paranoia. 

Leader Country Joe McDonald was a poor voice, yet kept the large crowd spellbound with his rendition of "Crystal Blues." The tune featured a shattering, ferocious guitar interlude with a stand-off between Barry Melton and David Cohen. 

Both instrumentally and vocally, the Fish can - when they're right - stand in the front rank of pop music, with the piercing, staccato guitar of Melton and the driving, heavy guitar and organ of Cohen contributing to the tough cohesiveness of the group.

Although this is so, the Fish have never quite reached the pinnacle of commercial success that has greeted other Bay Area rock groups like the Jefferson Airplane and Big Brother and the Holding Company. 

One reason for this may be the inflexible militancy of the group. They tell it like they see it - through hilarious satire ("Not So Sweet, Martha Lorraine"), outrageous black comedy ("Feel Like I'm Fixin to Die" - about the Vietnam War), and even an occasional four letter word. 

The purpose of this all is to shake their audience, to make them think. Mostly, it's a propaganda music - the group's name comes from a statement by Chairman Mao that peasants are the fish of the world - but beneath it all is an often healthy outrage at what this country has become, in the eyes of Fish leader, Joe McDonald. 

Though most of their performance Friday was fairly pedestrian and sluggish, every now and then the Fish had moments incredibly lyrical and funny enough to infect the most gelid listener. 

The best and most exciting performance at the rock-concert was given by Spirit, a local quintet. The group plays electronic music which slithers off occasionally to show signs of Indian, jazz, and freeform contemporary music. 

The guitar work of Randy California and the drum solos of Ed Cassidy were both innovative, subtle, and interesting, a difficult triad for other rock musicians to aspire for. 

And, happily, there was nothing cold or artsy about their performance. 

The same unfortunately cannot be said for the Grateful Dead, which led off the evening and gave the most disappointing performance of all. 

This means the group wasn't the best performing rock group extant that it can be - only nearly so.

The Dead is a heavy, jazz-blues oriented band (consisting these days of three guitars, organ, two drums, and lead singer). The group's songs are, more often than not, merely convenient hooks on which the Dead hang their usually brilliant improvisations. 

Two of Friday's numbers, however, were long on time (about 20 minutes each) and short on versatility. 

The usually tight, surging, full-bodied Dead sound was sadly missing, although the group's last number, "Turn On Your Lovelight" was generally exciting, except for an embarrassing, misled attempt at soul-singing. 

The funky white blues voice and organ playing of Ron (Pigpen) McKernan, who recently left the group, was sorely missed. 

Despite the paucity of excitement, it should be noted the fault doesn't lie with lead guitarist, Jerry Garcia. 

Always exciting, Garcia is perhaps the best "Live" guitarist around. He is a complete original, and still manages to hint Django Reinhardt, Eric Clapton, and Charlie Christian, while remaining himself. 

With the Airplane and Big Brother, the Fish and the Dead were among the founders of so-called "San Francisco acid-rock." It's unfortunate that neither's music last weekend could do very much to "stone" the Shrine, although the fine light show by Jerry Abrams' Head Lights certainly helped.

Once again, the sound system at the elephantine auditorium made the bands sound like they were playing from the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

(by Michael Ross, from the Los Angeles Herald-Examiner, December 24, 1968)

Thanks to jgmf.blogspot.com 

See also: 

Grateful Dead Sources: December 20-21, 1968: Shrine Hall, Los Angeles

https://archive.org/details/gd1968-12-20.sbd.miller.89663.sbeok.flac16

November 28, 1968: Kinetic Playground, Chicago

THE SOUND

Music and radio: for young listeners

Imagine a nonstop set almost 2 1/2 hours long by a group of musicians as talented as the three members of Cream and twice as big (plus an apprentice organist). The Grateful Dead did just that last Thursday night in the Kinetic Playground, and it was the most impressive music-making the house has seen since opening its doors last March. 

And it came as a surprise to many of us who had never seen the group in person - even despite the raves that had filtered here from the west coast. 

The albums are good, but not that outstanding. And there are still things wrong: They have no good vocalist; their material itself is not that memorable (you don't go around humming Dead tunes); and it takes them forever to really get warmed up (a friend Thursday remarked that they were the only group he knew that tuned up like a symphony orchestra). 

But when they do - and they did - there's nothing quite like it. 

Back to the Cream comparison: Instead of just Ginger Baker, the group has two drummers; instead of just Eric Clapton, two guitarists; instead of Jack Bruce, a bass player and a vocalist-organist-harmonica player. Plus someone on organ when the vocalist is singing or playing harp. 

In addition, all are superb - as musicians, as performers, as improvisers, what have you. The lead guitarist, Jerry Garcia, and the organist, Ron McKernan, deserve to be listed with the very best. 

They play a rather mixed bag: funky blues, psychedelia, country - all with a touch of Mothers of Invention freakiness thrown in. 

They closed Thursday with a violent free-form heavily electronic number that gave way to a country-gospel good-by which had the large audience standing, clapping, and stomping throughout. 

Due to [the] length of the Dead set, Procol Harum didn't play a second set, so we missed them this time around, and regret it in light of the new album.

Terry Reid was a disappointment (again, in light of a very good new album). His trio (guitar-organ-drums) is a first-rate bunch who likely will go far, but at present Reid himself is trying too hard, coming on too strong. 

He's very good looking, an excellent vocalist, and a rather good guitarist - but he's also too conscious of being all these things. Hopefully he'll tone down things a bit in the future. Watch them nonetheless, especially when the organist picks up a violin during the slow numbers - a violin, mind you, not a fiddle or an electric violin; a violin, and it sounds like one. 

(by Robb Baker, from the Chicago Tribune, December 2, 1968)

Thanks to jgmf.blogspot.com

1981: Jerry Garcia Interview

JERRY GARCIA: IN SEARCH OF THE X FACTOR

MUSICIAN: You guys have probably put out more live albums than anyone I can think of - two double live releases this summer alone. Is the mysterious "x factor" that sometimes transforms a Grateful Dead concert impossible to capture in a studio situation? 

GARCIA: I'm not sure if it can or can't be captured in the studio, though I agree that so far we've failed to capture it there. But we've never really been set up to perform in the studio. Our idea of performance is what we do live, and making records is more of a concession to the realities of the music business than a real expression of our natural flow. Let's put it this way: if making records was a thing you did as a hobby, it's possible we might have turned to it at one point or another. But I really think live music is where it's at for us.

MUSICIAN: How about playing live in the studio? 

GARCIA: Yeah, we've tried that, but it's difficult to do with the type of band set-up we have, especially the technical problem of recording two drummers at once. We can't baffle or isolate them; they have to be together, they have to communicate. So live in the studio the microphone hears them as one big drum set, and that's not something you can straighten out in the mix.

MUSICIAN: But isn't there also a psychological reason having to do with the role of the audience? 

GARCIA: Very definitely. But that's something we have to talk around; we can't talk about it directly. It's not an exact science, it's more an intuitive thing, and you're right, it does have a lot to do with interacting with the audience. But we don't manipulate them, we don't go out there and try to psyche them out or anything. It's quite involuntary.

MUSICIAN: Can you feel when it's happening?

GARCIA: There are times when both the audience and the band can feel it happening, and then there are times when we have to listen to the tapes afterwards to confirm our subjective impressions and see what really happened. That's the way we've been able to deduce the existence of this "x" chemistry. In any case, it doesn't have to do with our will.

MUSICIAN: Is there something you can consciously do to facilitate it?

GARCIA: Well, in a way that's what we're all about: making an effort to facilitate this phenomenon. But the most we can do is be there for it to happen. It just isn't anything we can control on any level we've been able to discover.

MUSICIAN: All right, if it isn't what you do, maybe it's who you are: the chemistry between you; the internal dynamics of the band; your value system; what you eat for breakfast...

GARCIA: I'm sure that's a major part of it.

MUSICIAN: Can you delineate some of the principles that you feel help maintain who you are?

GARCIA: Actually, trying to pinpoint those principles is our real work - it's what we're all about. As far as I can tell, they have to do with maintaining a moment-to-moment approach, in both a macro- and micro-cosmic sense. It's hard to maintain that moment-to-moment freedom in large-scale activities because things like booking tours have to be planned well in advance. So it's in the smaller increments, the note-to-note things, that we get to cop a little freedom. You can see it in our songs, where there's an established form and structure, but the particulars are left open. In terms of the macrocosm - the big picture - we know the tune, but in terms of the note-to-note microcosm, we don't know exactly how we'll play on any given night, what the variations might be. Even simple cowboy tunes like "Me and My Uncle" and "El Paso" change minutely from tour to tour. "Friend of the Devil" is another tune that's changed enormously from its original concept. On American Beauty it had kind of a bluegrassy feel, and now we do it somewhere between a ballad and a reggae tune. The song has a whole different personality as a result.

MUSICIAN: How much improvisational space is built into the longer, more exploratory pieces like "St. Stephen" and "Terrapin Station"? 

GARCIA: An awful lot...it depends on the piece. "Terrapin" has some sections that are extremely tight, that you could actually describe as being arranged; there are specific notes that each of us have elected to play. The melody, lyrics, and chord changes are set, but the specific licks that anyone wants to play are left open.

MUSICIAN: Would you say that this looseness, this willingness to stay open and take risks is a crucial factor in creating a space for that special energy to enter?

GARCIA: Absolutely! It's even affected the way I write songs. In the past, when I had an idea for a song, I also had an idea for an arrangement. Since then I've sort of purged myself of that habit. There's simply no point in working out all those details, because when a song goes into the Dead, it's anybody's guess how it'll come out. So why disappoint myself?

MUSICIAN: Who or what gives the Dead its overall direction, then?

GARCIA: It's been some time since any of us have had specific directional ideas about the band... The Grateful Dead is in its own hands now; it makes up its own mind, and we give it its head and let it go where it wants. We've gotten to be kind of confident about it at this point. It's becoming an evolving process that unfolds in front of us. 

MUSICIAN: As a band you guys seem to have a dual personality; on one hand there's the improvisational, exploratory material like "Anthem" and "Dark Star," while on the other there's this very structured, tradition-bound sort of music. It was generally the earlier material that was stretching boundaries, while the albums from Workingman's Dead onwards have been more structured. So I was wondering if that was because the relationship between artist and audience was falling apart at that point, and that '60s energy envelope you were tapping into was beginning to disintegrate, forcing you to resort to simpler, more formalized material that didn't depend on that energy field? 

GARCIA: No.

MUSICIAN: Darn...it was such a great little theory...

GARCIA: Let me straighten that out right now. First of all, you're right about the audience/artist communication thing falling apart, although that didn't happen to us. Let me give you a time frame that might shed some light on all this: at the time we were recording and performing the Live Dead material onstage, we were in the studio recording Workingman's Dead. We weren't having much success getting that experimental stuff down in the studio, so we thought we'd strip it down to the bare bones and make a record of very simple music and see if that worked. Time was another factor. We'd been spending a long time in the studio with those exploratory albums, six to eight months apiece, and it was really eating up our lives.

MUSICIAN: You didn't feel any aesthetic conflict?

GARCIA: No, not at all. Because those two poles have always been part of our musical background. I was a bluegrass banjo player into that Bakersfield country stuff while Phil was studying Stockhausen and all those avant-gardists.

MUSICIAN: Is that where the...

GARCIA: ...prepared piano stuff on "Anthem" comes from? Sure.

MUSICIAN: Wait a minute, how did you know I was going to ask that?!

GARCIA: (Smiles)

MUSICIAN: Okay, never mind, but what happens when you reverse the procedure and play Workingman's Dead in concert? Can you still get the same kineticism?

GARCIA: Yes, it turns out we can. For the last year or so we've been doing some of those tunes, like "Uncle John's Band" and "Black Peter," and they fit in well in that they become poles of familiarity in a sea of weirdness. It's nice to come into this homey space and make a simple statement. It comes off very beautifully sometimes. And inevitably it draws some of the weirdness into it. What's happening with the Grateful Dead musically is that these poles are stretching towards each other.

MUSICIAN: Which of your albums do you believe come closest to capturing the band's essence? 

GARCIA: I'd pick the same things that everyone else would: Live Dead, Workingman's Dead, American Beauty, Europe '72. I'd take Terrapin Station, too, the whole record. I'd also definitely recommend the two live sets that just came out.

MUSICIAN: How important is the acoustic approach to the band?

GARCIA: Not very, because we only do it in special situations. In fact, there have only been two periods in our career when we did acoustic material: first in the early '70s, and then again just lately.

MUSICIAN: Why did you come back to it?

GARCIA: It's something that's fun for us because of the intimacy involved; it brings us closer together, both physically and psychologically, and as a result we play with a lot of sensitivity. I mean, I can just turn around like this and go (swats imaginary band member) HEY, WAKE UP! Lotsa fun...

MUSICIAN: Speaking of direction: some people are wondering if you've gone totally off the experimental approach, since you haven't released anything in that vein since Terrapin Station back in '77.

GARCIA: Yeah, but '77 isn't really so long ago in Grateful Dead terms, you know. That's just a few records ago! Ideas around here take a year or so just to find their way to the surface, much less achieve their expression, which can take three or four years. We're always looking at the bigger picture. People have been hollering for us to bring back "Dark Star" and stuff like that for some time now, and we will. But in our own time.

MUSICIAN: You're not afraid of your old material?

GARCIA: Oh, absolutely not. It's partly that there's a new guy who hasn't been through all that with us, and we have to bring him up through all those steps slowly. It's not that he's a slow learner, it's because we originally spent months and months rehearsing those things that were in odd times.

MUSICIAN: Like "The Eleven"?

GARCIA: Right, that was tacked onto the "Dark Star" sequence. It's called "The Eleven" because that's the time it's in. We rehearsed that for months before we even performed it in public. Luckily Brent's a much better musician now than we were then, so it shouldn't take that long. But we've still got to find the rehearsal time to put those songs together again.

MUSICIAN: Are you ever concerned that any of you will fall into cliched patterns, either as individuals or as a group?

GARCIA: No, because the musical personalities of the various members have been so consistently surprising to me over the years that I'm still completely unable to predict what they would play in any given situation. In fact, I'd challenge anyone to check out any Grateful Dead album and listen to, say, what Phil plays, and look for stylistic consistency. You won't find it. These guys are truly original musical thinkers, especially Phil. Let me give you an example: Phil played on four songs for a solo album of mine called Reflections. Now, I write pretty conventionally structured songs, so I asked Phil to play basically the same lines on each chorus so I could anchor it in the bass. But I didn't really see the beauty of what he'd done 'til later when I was running off copies of the tape at fast forward. The bass was brought up to a nice, skipping tempo, right in that mellow, mid-range guitar tone, and I was struck by the amazing beauty of his bass line; there was this wonderful syncopation and beautiful harmonic ideas that were barely perceptible at regular speed, but when it's brought up to twice the speed... God, it just blew me out.

MUSICIAN: Considering all the improvisations you do, I'm surprised you don't acknowledge jazz more as an influence on your playing. You had to be listening to Coltrane, at least.

GARCIA: Oh, definitely Coltrane, for sure. But I never sat down and stole ideas from him; it was more his sense of flow that I learned from. That and the way his personality was always right there - the presence of the man just comes stomping out of those records. It's not something I would've been able to learn through any analytical approach, it was one of those things I just had to flash on. I also get that from Django Reinhardt's records. You can actually hear him shift mood...

MUSICIAN: The humor in his solo on "Somewhere Beyond the Sea" is amazing...

GARCIA: Anger, too. You can hear him get mad and play some nasty, mean little thing. It's incredible how clearly his personality comes through. It's one of those things I've always been impressed with in music. There's no way to steal that, but it's something you can model your playing on. Not in the sense of copying someone's personality, but in the hopes that maybe I could learn how to let my own personality come through.

MUSICIAN: So it's a question of imitating essence, not form.

GARCIA: Right. My models for being onstage developed from being in the audience, because I've been a music fan longer than I've been a musician. A very important model for me was a bluegrass fiddle player named Scotty Sternman [sic], who was just a house-a-fire crazed fiddle player. He was a monster technically, played like the devil. Anyway, he was a terribly burnt-out alcohol case by the time I saw him, but I remember hearing him take a simple fiddle tune and stretch it into this incredible 20-minute extravaganza in which you heard just everything come out of that fiddle, and I was so moved emotionally that he became one of my models... I mean, there I was standing in that audience with just tears rolling out of my eyes - it was just so amazing. And it was the essence that counted, none of the rest of it.

MUSICIAN: Looking back, were there any other groups or artists that were pivotal influences on your concept of the band? 

GARCIA: There have been a couple of different things for a couple of different people. For myself, I was very, very impressed by the music of Robbie Robertson and the Band. There isn't any real textural similarity between what we play; I just admired their work very much.

MUSICIAN: Is there anybody on the current scene that you feel a particular kinship or identification with?

GARCIA: The Who. I think the Who are one of the truly important architects of rock 'n' roll. Pete Townshend may be one of rock 'n' roll's rare authentic geniuses. And there's also the fact that they're among our few surviving contemporaries... I'm just really glad they exist.

MUSICIAN: I was talking with Ray Manzarek recently, and he remembered reading Kerouac describe this sax player in a bar who had "it" that night, and how badly Ray wanted to get "it" too...whatever the hell it was.

GARCIA: Hey, that same passage was important to us! Very definitely. Our association with Neil Cassidy was also tremendously helpful to us in that way.

MUSICIAN: And of course there was Kesey and the Acid Tests. That must also have been about going for the essence and not getting stuck in forms...

GARCIA: Right, because the forms were the first thing to go in that situation. You see, the Acid Tests represented the freedom to go out there and try this stuff and just blow.

MUSICIAN: Did the acid simply amplify that impulse, or did it open you to the possibility in the first place?

GARCIA: Both. The Acid Test opened up possibilities to us because there were no strictures. In other words, people weren't coming there to hear the Grateful Dead, so we didn't have the responsibilities to the audience in the normal sense. Hell, they didn't know what to expect! Sometimes we'd get onstage and only tune up. Or play about five notes, freak out, and leave! That happened a couple of times; other times we'd get hung up and play off in some weird zone. All these things were okay, the reality of the situation permitted everything. That's something that doesn't happen in regular musical circles - it took a special situation to turn us on to that level of freedom.

MUSICIAN: Had you experimented with either acid or musical "weirdness" before?

GARCIA: Yeah, we'd taken acid before, and while we were on the bar circuit playing seven nights a week, five sets a night, we'd use that fifth set when there was almost nobody there but us and the bartenders to get weird. We joined the Acid Tests partly to escape the rigors of that 45 on, 15 off structure that the bars laid on us every night.

MUSICIAN: Did you have ideas about what all this might open you up to, or was it just "let's step through this doorway"?

GARCIA: Just that: let's step through this doorway. We didn't have any expectations.

MUSICIAN: Do you feel any ambivalence about it now? Acid had a down side for some people...

GARCIA: No, I loved it. I'd do it again in a second because it was such a totally positive experience for me, especially when you consider that we were at the tail end of the beatnik thing, in which an awful lot of my energy was spent sitting around and waiting for something to happen. And finally, when something did happen, boy, I couldn't get enough of it! When we fell in with the Acid Test, I was ready to pack up and hit the road. We all went for it.

MUSICIAN: How did that evolve into the whole Haight-Ashbury scene? 

GARCIA: What happened was that the Acid Test fell apart when acid became illegal, and Kesey had to flee to Mexico. We ended up down in L.A. hanging out with Owsley in Watts, then moved back to San Francisco three or four months later.

MUSICIAN: Were psychedelics really the main catalysts in initiating the Haight scene?

GARCIA: I think it was a very, very important part of it. Everyone at that time was looking hard for that special magic thing, and it was like there were clues everywhere. Everybody I knew at least had a copy of The Doors of Perception, and wanted to find out what was behind the veil.

MUSICIAN: What closed that doorway?

GARCIA: COPS!!

MUSICIAN: Just cops?

GARCIA: That's it, really, cops... It was also that this group of people who were trying to meet each other finally came together, shook hands, and split. It was all those kids that read Kerouac in high school - the ones who were a little weird. The Haight-Ashbury was like that at first, and then it became a magnet for every kid who was dissatisfied: a kind of central dream, or someplace to run to. It was a place for seekers, and San Francisco always had that tradition anyway.

MUSICIAN: Sort of a school for consciousness.

GARCIA: Yes, very much so, and in a good way. It was sweet. A special thing.

MUSICIAN: Sometimes I think that whole scene was a chance for our generation to glimpse the goal, and now we've got to find out how to get back there.

GARCIA: Right, and many people have gone on to reinforce that with their own personal energy. It is possible to pursue that goal and feed the dog at the same time, it just takes a little extra effort.

MUSICIAN: Can you talk about your relationship with the Hell's Angels? I played in a band backed by them in Berkeley and it was, uh...an ambivalent experience.

GARCIA: Well, that's it. It is ambivalent. I've always liked them because they don't hide what they are, and I think all they require of you is honesty - they just require that you don't bullshit them - and if you're out front with them, I think you don't have anything to worry about.

The Angels are very conscious of their roots and history, so the fact that we played at Chocolate George's funeral way back during the Haight-Ashbury was really significant to them. They didn't have many friends in those days, and so anybody who would come out for one of their members was demonstrating true friendship. And with them, that really counts for something.

MUSICIAN: What do you feel attracted Kesey to them in the first place? The noble savage concept? 

GARCIA: No, I think Ken saw them for what they are: a definite force of their own which you can't hope to control. When they come around, it's reality, and you go with it.

MUSICIAN: What about Altamont?

GARCIA: Horrible.

MUSICIAN: It sure was. But having been in the Bay area at the time, I can understand how you might have thought it a good idea to recommend them as security people...

GARCIA: We didn't recommend them!!

MUSICIAN: I thought the Stones people said you suggested it?

GARCIA: Absolutely not! No, we would never do that. The Angels were planning on being there, and I guess the Stones crew thought this might be a good way to deal with that fact.

MUSICIAN: The Angels aside, as soon as you entered that place you could feel this incredible selfishness - the complete antithesis of what went on at Monterey and Woodstock.

GARCIA: Yeah, that's what it was: an incredibly selfish scene. Steve Gaskin pinned it down best when he said that Altamont was "the little bit of sadism in your sex life the Rolling Stones had been singing about all those years, brought to its most ugly, razor-toothed extreme." Kind of ironic, since they were the ones who started that "Sympathy for the Devil" stuff.

MUSICIAN: You guys have avoided falling into the darker side of things. Did that require any constant vigilance on your part?

GARCIA: It did for me at any rate. During the psychedelic experience, the fear and awfulness inherent in making a big mistake with that kind of energy was very apparent to me. For me, psychedelics represented a series of teaching and cautionary tales, and a lot of the message was "Boy, don't blow this!" Back in the Haight there really were some Charlie Manson characters running around, really weird people who believed they were Christ risen and whatever, and who meant in the worst possible way to take the power. Some of them saw that the Grateful Dead raised energy and they wanted to control it. But we knew that the only kind of energy management that counted was the liberating kind - the kind that frees people, not constrains them. So we were always determined to avoid those fascistic, crowd control implications of rock. It's always been a matter of personal honor to me not to manipulate the crowd.

MUSICIAN: Did that temptation present itself?

GARCIA: Yeah, sometimes we'd discover a little trick that would get everybody on their feet right away, and we'd say let's not do that - if that's going to happen, then let's discover it new every time. Let's not plan it.

MUSICIAN: Back in those days there was a real bond between the audience and the musicians. Something changed around '71, and it became a spectacle, with the audiences sucking up your energy and the band falling into egotistical superstar routines. It was entertainment rather than communication, and something special was lost. Were you aware of this change, or am I crazy?

GARCIA: Yeah, it was obvious, because in spite of all that talk about community, we knew it couldn't happen among the musicians, because each wanted to be the best and overshadow the others. A truly cooperative spirit was not likely to happen.

MUSICIAN: Was it the record companies and the materialistic orientation they represented that spoiled it? 

GARCIA: I don't think so. To me, the record companies have never been a malicious presence...they're more like a mindless juggernaut.

MUSICIAN: I didn't mean that it was intentional on their part. I just feel they represent a set of values and a means of organization that are at odds with the goals of music. They created an environment in which the soul of music couldn't survive...

GARCIA: Yeah, I agree it was the music business and entertainment as a whole that killed it, because in entertainment there's always this formula thinking that encourages you to repeat your successes. All that posturing and stuff is what show business is all about, and that's what a lot of rock became: show business. It's just human weakness, and I guess it's perfectly valid for a rock star to get up there and...

MUSICIAN: But wasn't what happened in San Francisco a few years earlier on a much higher plane of experience? Audience and performer were meeting and interacting in a real way...

GARCIA: That's true, but that was something that just happened in the Bay Area, you know. It never made it to the East Coast, and it definitely didn't make it to England. And so those people were coming from a much more rigorous model of what it meant to be a rock 'n' roll star. That came from their management and business levels, as things were lined up for them in advance and they were given those models as the way to do things. When we met English rock stars at the time, it was like meeting birds in gilded cages; they really wished there was some way of breaking out of what they were into, but they were trapped. 

MUSICIAN: What happened to the energy field you'd established with your audience when you went to, say, New York or London?

GARCIA: We found that we'd brought it along with us, and the people who came to see us entered right into it. And that's what's made it so amazing for us, because our audience, in terms of genuineness, has been pretty much the same as it was back in the '60s. And so has our own experience.

MUSICIAN: Including your new generation of fans?

GARCIA: Sure. The 16-year-olds coming to see us now are no different than they were in the Haight; they're looking for a real experience, not just a show.

MUSICIAN: Going back to the idea that there was an opening for a while to a different quality of experience that gave people a taste of something other, it seems - and I don't want to sound mawkish - that you guys are one of the guardians of that experience. On a good night, anyway. It's as if you guys serve as a touchstone for some people.

GARCIA: Well, that's the way it's sort of working out, but it isn't something we decided or invented. In fact, it's inventing us, in a way. We're just agreeing that it should happen, and volunteering for the part.

MUSICIAN: I wonder how many people really believe this is a bona fide phenomenon you're talking about, and not just a purely subjective impression.

GARCIA: Deadheads already know, but they disqualify themselves just by being Deadheads. We try to measure it all the time, but it's hard to communicate to people. But that's okay, 'cause it probably isn't everybody's cup of tea. But it ought to be there for those who can dig it.

MUSICIAN: This conversation keeps bringing me back to something I heard in an interview a few months ago. It was the idea that maybe music is looking for a musician to play it...

GARCIA: There's more truth in that than you can know. It just chooses its channel and goes through. And you may be able to spoil it in other situations, but you can't spoil it in the Grateful Dead.

MUSICIAN: But couldn't you destroy that matrix by egotistically closing yourselves off from each other and the audience? Lots of other bands have.

GARCIA: Certainly, but luckily for us the music has always been the big thing for the Grateful Dead, and all that other ego-oriented stuff is secondary. I mean, we've had our hassles, who doesn't? But all of those things have only added more and more into the experience. Nothing has made it smaller. It's been a fascinating process and...

MUSICIAN: ...a long strange trip?

GARCIA: (Laughs) Yeah! And it still is.

(by Vic Garbarini, from Musician, October 1981, pp.64-74)

A companion piece to this Grateful Dead article: 

deadsources.blogspot.com/2024/03/1981-grateful-dead-interview.html

gdsets.com/magazines/mu10-81.pdf