DEAD WEEKEND IN PARIS
Paris, on a mid-summers day June 1971, and the Dead are in town. Or, to be more precise, just out of town.
For the last three days, we've been staying in the 16th century chateau d'Herouville, once the home of Chopin, and which now houses a 16 track studio called 'Strawberry' and a heated swimming pool in the back yard. The 16 people who comprised the Dead entourage on this occasion arrived 'peu a peu' during the few days preceding the date of their proposed performance at a free festival on the Rodeo Ranch at Auvers-sur-Oise, and Bob Weir, myself, and 3 1/2 tons of equipment comprising 106 pieces, brought up the rear on the Saturday afternoon.
We were greeted with the news that due to the heavy rain which fell on Friday night, the festival organiser, Jean Bouquin, had cancelled the remainder of the event, and the newspapers were full of pictures of rain-soaked French freaks wending their weary way home through the mud.
Six thousand miles is a long way to come for nothing, and although various attempts were made to arrange a concert at a suitable venue in Paris (and there was talk of taking the entire entourage and 3 1/2 tons of equipment to the Glastonbury Fair), what finally happened must have been one of the most amazing events at which the Grateful Dead - or any other band for that matter - have ever played.
The chateau is now owned by noted film music composer Michael Magne who, despite an unexpectedly high influx of guests due to the cancellation of the festival, managed to accommodate everyone in high style, producing food and wine as if by magic. I hadn't seen the Dead since the Hollywood festival in England last year, but somehow they are so much a part of my life these days that there didn't seem to have been that much of a gap.
I came across Jerry Garcia taking a leisurely stroll in the grounds, and within minutes became engrossed in a conversation that, rather like his guitar work, developed from a simple opening statement into the conversational equivalent of an improvised fugue. Impossible to relate to you in detail a discussion that simultaneously embraced the mechanics of the record industry, the sociological aspects of high finance, and what Chopin might have done, had the heated swimming pool been installed while he lived there.
By the time you read this, the Dead will have completed mixing their new double LP, and Jerry will probably have finished work on his solo album. Pigpen too is planning an album of his own, and is thinking of using brass accompaniment on some tracks; he really is far out you know - slept for almost 48 hours, in spite of the constant comings and goings of the household and, having surfaced, played and sung up a storm, then went back to bed.
Oh yes, of course they did play. On the Monday evening in the grounds of the chateau, by the side of the heated swimming pool to an audience which consisted of the entire population of the village, including the mayor, the local fire brigade (in uniform and with appliance), and 200 French farmers, with wives and children.
For four hours they played - old songs, new songs, getting off as only they can; and the audience loved it. Grandmothers bounced babies in time to the music, and the young ones indulged in the ancient French custom of throwing each other, fully clothed, into the pool. Our host laid out food and wine on tables surrounding the pool, and even supplied one thousand and one candles to light the scene.
A young lady journalist was busily trying to list the titles of the songs, and was getting more and more flustered until she realised at last that when the Dead play, it doesn't really matter much what the titles are. As for me, I know that they started with 'Truckin' and kept on that way until the sun started to brighten on the horizon.
I came back to London on the following afternoon and was quite surprised to find that it was still there.
(by Ian Samwell, from Zigzag no. 22)
http://archive.org/details/gd1971-06-21.sbd.miller.94356.flac16
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zPJX9xSuvWw
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 27, 2012
January 6, 1967: Freeborn Hall, Davis CA
BIG MAMA TO AID IN RAISING OF THE DEAD (excerpt)
The best of the blues-rock bands in San Francisco - these are the Grateful Dead, featuring one of the top three lead guitars in the country, Jerry Garcia. The group which has seen only two years together has just signed with Warner Brothers Records. The last time the Dead were raised at UCD by the lead voice of Pig Pen, they drew a capacity crowd of 1,500 at Freeborn. The group will appear tonight to dispel the first-day-of-school blues in Freeborn, 9 p.m. to 1 a.m. The sound production should be much improved over previous years since MUSC is renting for the first time a P.A. system. Tickets for this dance concert are $2.00.
The concert part of the program promises to be unique. Willie Mae "Big Mama" Thornton will be singing some real blues. . . .
(The rest of the article is a bio of Big Mama.)
There is a picture of the Dead, with the caption:
The Grateful Dead (from left to right): Phil Lesh, classical violinist gone bass, Bill Sommers, drummer, Jerry Garcia, lead guitar, Bob Weir, rhythm guitar from hi-society, and Pigpen, marauding and mysterious harmonica, will play in Freeborn, Friday, January 6 at 9 p.m.
(from the California Aggie, January 6 1967)
Courtesy of the JGMF blog:
http://jgmf.blogspot.com/2011/07/gd-19670106.html
As pointed out, the Dead must have played there before to a "capacity crowd" in 1966, on an unknown date.
UPDATE: JGMF found an announcement for the previous show at Freeborn Hall, on 10/28/66:
https://jgmf.blogspot.com/2019/08/gd-at-freeborn-hall-friday-october-28.html
The best of the blues-rock bands in San Francisco - these are the Grateful Dead, featuring one of the top three lead guitars in the country, Jerry Garcia. The group which has seen only two years together has just signed with Warner Brothers Records. The last time the Dead were raised at UCD by the lead voice of Pig Pen, they drew a capacity crowd of 1,500 at Freeborn. The group will appear tonight to dispel the first-day-of-school blues in Freeborn, 9 p.m. to 1 a.m. The sound production should be much improved over previous years since MUSC is renting for the first time a P.A. system. Tickets for this dance concert are $2.00.
The concert part of the program promises to be unique. Willie Mae "Big Mama" Thornton will be singing some real blues. . . .
(The rest of the article is a bio of Big Mama.)
There is a picture of the Dead, with the caption:
The Grateful Dead (from left to right): Phil Lesh, classical violinist gone bass, Bill Sommers, drummer, Jerry Garcia, lead guitar, Bob Weir, rhythm guitar from hi-society, and Pigpen, marauding and mysterious harmonica, will play in Freeborn, Friday, January 6 at 9 p.m.
(from the California Aggie, January 6 1967)
Courtesy of the JGMF blog:
http://jgmf.blogspot.com/2011/07/gd-19670106.html
As pointed out, the Dead must have played there before to a "capacity crowd" in 1966, on an unknown date.
UPDATE: JGMF found an announcement for the previous show at Freeborn Hall, on 10/28/66:
https://jgmf.blogspot.com/2019/08/gd-at-freeborn-hall-friday-october-28.html
January 21, 1971: Freeborn Hall, Davis CA
Well the first days are the hardest days
Don't you worry and more
Cuz when life looks like easy street
There is danger at your door.
Come hear Uncle John's Band
Playing to the time
Come with me or go alone.
He's come to take his children home.
The Grateful Dead will be truckin' into Freeborn Hall next Thursday night at 8 p.m. The Dead have long been favorites around the Bay Area, but within the past year have become one of the most popular groups nationally, selling out everyplace they appear. Once the high energy promoters of the psychedelic revolution, the Dead have shifted away from their acid-blitzed hypnotic-electric music to a down-home folksy style. Their new sound was previewed last spring with the release of "Workingman's Dead" which became one of last year's best selling albums and easily one of last year's finest musical efforts. The Dead showed they had mellowed even more when their latest album "American Beauty" was released a couple of months ago.
Seeing the Grateful Dead is a unique experience and should not be passed up. Playing with the Dead will be their sub-group, the New Riders of the Purple Sage, who have a very Nashville type sound. Tickets are on sale now at the MU Box Office at the price of $2.50 if you are a student.
I don't know but I've been told
If the horse don't pull you got to carry the load
I don't know who's back's that strong
Maybe find out before too long.
One way or another, one way or another
This darkness has got to go.
(from the California Aggie, 15 January 1971)
*
GRATEFUL DEAD THURSDAY
The Grateful Dead concert tomorrow night is one of those concerts that people have been preparing for for at least a week and will probably take another week to recuperate from after it's all over. I guess you just have to say that the Dead in Freeborn is a heavy thing for Davis. The concert should result in a few more Dead freaks to add to the long list of those who already think that the Dead are the best group around. And even a light show, a finger in every pie in every eye.
The Entertainment Board is providing the act, Jerry Garcia, Phil Lesh, Bob Weir, Rod McKermen (Pig Pen), Mickey Hart and Bill Kreutzman will provide the fine music, the crowd will provide the rest of the good vibes, and you gotta provide your own high time. Tickets cost $2.50 at the MU Box.
There are only 140 tickets left for Grateful Dead as of 3pm Tuesday. Also John Sebastian-Poco tickets will go on sale this Friday, for the February 6th concert. $3 for students.
(from the California Aggie, January 20, 1971)
*
DEAD, RIDERS, BROTHERS...
Last Thursday night Freeborn came alive to the music of the Grateful Dead.
The last time this reviewer saw the Dead was in '68 at the old Carousel Ballroom (now the Fillmore West) and between then and now there has been a great change. The principal characters are all the same but the music has changed from the old acid rock to a more down home sound.
The Dead played two sets during the evening. Both sets had the audience on their feet. "Reelin' and Rockin'" brought a cheer and heads nodded, but when the Dead launched into "High on Cocaine" there wasn't a person standing still.
The group preceding the Dead was the New Riders of The Purple Sage. This group had many of the same musicians as the Grateful Dead but proved to be a disappointment. Their sound was not at all unusual or unique and sounded very much "like everybody else." The most successful song of their set was "Lodi" which got the audience moving.
The first group of the evening was James and the Good Brothers. The group consisted of two guitars and an auto harp which produced a warm and mellow sound. I wish they had played longer than they did. As far as I was concerned the New Riders could have been replaced with this group. One song I especially liked was "Bobby McGee."
Other thoughts on the concert: Freeborn was packed with much of the audience consisting of the usual "teeny boppers" and high school "cools." The light show was good but what is a light show, after all, without a strobe light? There were problems with forged tickets and gate crashers which didn't bother anybody except the Entertainment Board.
The next big concert is John Sebastian and Poco on Feb. 6.
(by an Aggie Reviewer, from the California Aggie, January 27, 1971)
Courtesy of jgmf.blogspot.com
*
A few letters to the editor in later issues of the Aggie carried some complaints:
2/3/71 -
Dear Editor,
In reference to the Aggie reviewer's remark concerning the light show's lack of a strobe light. The golden fleece light show has a strobe light and was using it during the Grateful Dead concert. Had the reviewer taken it upon himself to look around the vastness of Freeborn Hall he would have noticed a group of people dancing under the strobe light at the rear of the hall.
Unless there are people dancing a strobe light is of little use. Davis concerts are not noted for people dancing simple as a function of a lack of room.
Upon reading the entire review, I would like to know, could the reviewer have been in a corner with his head against the wall?
Jack Stillinger
Golden Fleece Light Shows
Dear Editor,
I was disappointed in the appearance in these pages (Jan. 27) of the review of the Grateful Dead-New Riders concert.
With all due respect for the opinion of the "Aggie Reviewer," I feel his review lacked any semblance of the objective criticism the concert deserved. For a case in point, I'd like to see the names of a few of the groups that the New Riders sounded "just like." I feel it would be hard to match the beauty and tastefulness of Garcia's steel guitar work. The band also displayed a lot of all around balance in musicianship as well as due respect for the country-western form as something to build upon creatively rather than parody as many "country type" bands do.
"...please don't dominate the Rap, Jack, if you've got nothing new to say..."
Mike German, Kim Lenz, Rich Spradling
1/28/71 -
Editor:
Regarding the review of the Grateful Dead in Wednesday’s Aggie: Who was that crazy reviewer?
First of all, he doesn’t even know that the title of one of the Dead’s best songs is “Casey Jones,” not “High on Cocaine.” (Not to mention that “Reelin’ and Rockin’” is actually “Round and Round” - a vintage Rolling Stones/Chuck Berry cut.) And he can’t even see straight - the only member of the Dead that is also a member of the New Riders is Jerry Garcia, not “many of the same musicians.” Finally, there were at least two strobe lights - I was sitting and dancing in one.
As for the quality of the review, that, too, leaves much to be desired. Why didn’t he say anything about what it was really like that night in Freeborn - hot and stuffy and, for those in the middle and front, VERY crowded? And the incredible pedal steel guitar that Jerry Garcia played in the New Riders set, that took us so high? And the Dead getting it on, and turning us on? But they didn’t play long enough. In spite of his apparent condescending attitude toward “teeny-boppers” and “high school cools,” the audience was very mellow, that is, very good. I notice he didn’t even give his name. Why? He certainly wasn’t a Grateful Dead fan.
Jerome Callens
P.S. And in case anyone else turns up, I demand to review the John Sebastian/Poco Show.
2/2/71 -
POWER PLAY
Something has been bothering me for some time, now, and for lack of anything better to write about, I might as well unload. The subject is the conduct of three or four groups concerned with staging the Grateful Dead concert held in Freeborn January 21. While it may be old news now, it has some definite connections to the John Sebastian/Poco concert set for Saturday night.
First of all, I think some sort of line arrangements should be made for those people waiting outside for the doors to open. People started arriving for the Dead before 6 pm - a good two hours before the first set. Once there, they began forming into a large, amorphous glob of humanity outside the doors. When the place finally did open, there was a natural rush toward the front, resulting in a rather painful pressure on the bodies of many people - particularly those up front. Hopefully some sort of strict line formation will be set up for Sebastian, thus avoiding the big push-shove hassle.
Next, I hope somebody will be able to open side doors while the concert is in progress. I realize that people try to slip in through these doors for a little gratis viewing, but the place was almost unbearably stifling last time - even before the Dead first appeared.
So much for logistical complaints. What really bothered me about the whole Grateful Dead concert was the "law and order" power play staged by Chief McEwen and the campus police, Corky Brown and the so-called Police Advisory Board and the Student Activities Office.
Standing outside in line was a rather irritating procedure. People were looking forward to the concert, but they were also more than a little aggravated about the hassle in getting through the doors. So when you finally make it through the main outside doors, two things happened which struck an already raw nerve in the collective student body. Initially, there was this big sign in the main foyer: "Mr. Natural says smoking dope can be harmful to your freedom." Well, that's okay, you said to yourself, they can't help themselves. But then, as you headed towards the inner doors to the hall itself, you found yourself confronted by Corky Brown, member of the Police Advisory Board. Brown was busily handing out little slips of paper which told everyone that if they smoked any dope, they were running a big chance of getting busted. Well, even then, you said to yourself that it was okay - it was his trip if he wanted to pass out that information...maybe it was a good thing to know.
All this time you were still intent on getting through those inside doors and settling down to a good show. Fantastic music, lights and all those people... But those two incidents out in the foyer sort of lurked at the back of your mind. They were a very sour note in an otherwise mellow atmosphere. So you get into the hall and who was waiting just inside the doors but Officer Randy Selby. Now this is just a personal opinion, but it seemed to me that Selby, who sports a rather negative reputation, was doing his damnedest to look the part of an overzealous pig. There he was: hat pulled low over his eyes, small challenging smile on his face. Randy Selby on display.
There were quite a few other cops patrolling about the place, and around this time, I began asking myself just what the hell was going on. These three incidents, along with a verbal warning just before the first group came on, had everybody in the place a little uneasy, or just slightly hostile.
The thing that was strange about it was that no one could possibly have gotten away with a bust in there. The place was packed, and there was that little sour note playing in the back of everybody's mind. That pushing and all those warnings and all those cops automatically put you in a defensive position...an adversary position. One attempt at a bust and the place would have gone wild. I don't think there was any real intent to bust anybody. Chief McEwen isn't that stupid, although I know he's been getting pressured by the Yolo County District Attorney for being "soft on dope." But the way the whole thing was staged - the implicit intimidation - created a tense atmosphere. One false move from one uptight person (spectator or cop) and Freeborn could have gone up in smoke. A few changes seem to be in order.
Jim Dooley
2/5/71 -
CONCERTS IN FREEBORN
... The rush scene that occurred with the initial opening of the front doors at Joan Baez was much intensified, unfortunately at the Grateful Dead concert. In the collective haste to obtain a desirable seat, many people were jostled, one male student later reported having his arm x-rayed as the result of possibly more than a "jostle." Some manner of "line formation" involving the facilities of Freeborn and co-operation of those arriving early is imperative.
Beginning with the Sebastian/Poco concert a series of changes will occur to ease the front-gate pressure. [ . . . ]
Gate crashers may seem a frivolous target to some who regularly attend concerts, but the fact remains that if Freeborn is already filled to capacity with ticket-holders, a few hundred extra people have a great impact on the comfort of all. Freeborn was not built in an era of large rock concerts and thus presents the over-heating problem. [ . . . ]
With numerous people (an estimated two-hundred at the Dead concert) trying to crash front, rear, lower and side doors simultaneously, the opening of side doors involves a terrific hassle and seems a disservice to those who have already paid and waited for a concert. At the Dead concert a sizable number of people entered without paying and added to the smoke and heat of the hall. Further discomfort is added by people sitting against air-circulation units.
Since the last four concerts organized by the Entertainment Board have sold out well in advance, there is nothing to be lost monetarily if side doors are opened at the beginning of the concert. Indeed, the total cost of the show would cost the student body less if numerous students who are paid to maintain security were not necessary. But as long as hundreds try to crash, scores try forgery, and others run the gamut of "devious" means to enter free of charge, the extra air and space needed for the paid audience will maintain priority over a total open-door policy.
The presence of the campus police at concerts, and at the Grateful Dead concert in particular, has raised many questions regarding their role and legal authority. [ . . . ]
The campus police stressed the face that Freeborn is state property and they are free to roam as they deem necessary, and especially since the Dead concert was sold-out and their assistance in "crowd-control" could be useful. The extreme tolerance shown to the obvious dope and booze situation was also emphasized. (Officer Powers noted that a certain plain-clothes officer was handed a joint.) The police also pointed out that they were more familiar with students and could not be as likely to over-react to any unruly situation as a standard security force. [ . . . ]
Legally they can come and go as they please, and handing them dope is to be discouraged if concerts are to continue. Jim Dooley expressed it very aptly when he stated the possibility of Freeborn "going up in smoke..."
[ . . . ]
Barry Bricca
Thanks to Dave Davis.
* * *
And from another paper...
Pardon the imperfect state of this transcription. My scan of the article is all but illegible. [Words in brackets] I could not make out. I hope to find a better copy sometime and fix this up.
GRATEFUL DEAD SHAKE FREEBORN HALL
Christ's image faded into an amoeba shape on the screen as a half-caked guy, stage right, did arabesques and three groupie-type chicks, stage left, gyrated. To top it all off, a giant white balloon floated down toward stage center like a blanched, bloated grape.
The scene was Freeborn hall at UCD (where else?) last night and the [occasion] was a concert-light show-dance-Hieronymous Bosch happening starring The Grateful Dead, who were very VERY much alive.
From the start I knew the evening would be different from others in Freeborn. As I walked outside with about 1,999 others, some dude walked up and shoved an icy blueberry into my mouth. When someone does something as presumptuous as that, what can you do but politely suck on the damn thing? That's what I did, but my mind was screaming, "It's LSD! Someone's finally done it, like at Halloween, and it's too late! What a lousy thing - to [??] a blueberry like that!"
This turned out to be idle reflection, as I only had a colossal headache and blue teeth by the time the crowd's momentum gravitated me into Freeborn.
Appropriately, as soon as I seated myself on the floor in the rear of the room, a fellow jammed beside me asked if I had a joint he could borrow. I told him I was all out and anyway, marijuana made my teeth [black]. He seemed satisfied and the concert began shortly, after 2,000 people had settled onto their paisley floor pillows, sleeping bags, afghans and P-jackets.
Unfortunately, it was a tripartite event. Two groups preceded The Dead. Starting a little after 8 p.m., it didn't end until [1:30] a.m. and by the time The Dead came on around [10] p.m., Freeborn was hot, sweaty and pulsating, to the beat of my pounding head.
The first group, James and the Good Guys, Canadian friends of the Dead, were pleasant on two guitars and one auto-harp. They did well with other peoples' songs - "Parking Lot," "Oakie from the Skokie," "Can't Find My Way Home" - but who doesn't these days?
What they called "acoustic rock and roll" was their most effective sound.
Although their "Delta Lady" wasn't Joe Cocker's and their "Bobby McGee" wasn't Janis Joplin's, they were good. The three [men] knew their instruments and harmonized well together. More original material or arrangements might have made a difference in positioning them somewhere between "a dime a dozen group" and "special."
Between the appearance of Good Guys and The New Riders of the Purple Sage, a volleyball game with a giant red balloon absorbed nearly everyone's attention. The balloon thing was getting downright surreal.
Although several members of The Dead sing with the Riders, the groups sound nothing alike. The Riders' sound could be as [funky] country-western, but not as full and controlled. Everyone [seemed] happily [??] when they launched into a rendition of the Stones' "Honkey Tonk Women." It was indeed hard to stand still.
But we hadn't tasted anything yet. The Dead. They were out of this world. I'd never seen them perform, but I'd heard about, read about their early San Francisco days. They've been credited with starting the acid rock stuff that's faded out but [meanwhile] reaped small fortunes for several groups who made it. Together for about 10 years, the Dead show it. For at least two solid hours (discounting long [pauses] between songs for tuning [16] strings) they displayed their versatility - from the old days' hard rock (including [30-minute] improvisations) to their current mellow, [hot], country sound all in one.
I felt at the end that if, as some critics say, rock is coming to a close and if I had one night to [??] the '60s rock all [??], I'd want The Grateful Dead there. For [much of the time].
By the time The Dead got into "Trucking," the evening had erupted into an orgiastic, cathartic experience. Having removed his shirt because of the heat, a long, lean guy was blinking on and off in the light of a strobe. Mentally [putting] each jerky movement after the one before, it became apparent he was dancing a waltz. Another guy was jumping, hands straight down at his sides, chin up, up and down in place like a yo-yo. It was a free-for-all [replete] with everything from raw rock (ah, John Lennon with his primal return to Chuck Berry rock would have loved that part of the evening) to wailing, electronic, musical [??ery] very loud.
When Jerry Garcia on lead guitar and Bob Weir (I think) on rhythm guitar got to picking in The Dead's newer, better style, it was like an itch you can't scratch, a [p??] you couldn't [locate]. "Pig Pen" on harmonica was exceptional and the two drummers were very [sensitive] for rock drummers.
After making out a lengthy, identifiably "Dead" [moral], the group left the stage. Like [??-??] Woodstock, the gathering [??] the announcement - a guy named Bill was called backstage because his wife was giving birth... Freeborn shook with foot-stomping, clapping, shrieking and accompanying sounds for long [???] in anticipation of an encore. It never came. A nearby couple screeched in unison, "Long Live The Dead!"
Parched and drained, I shuffled toward an exit, hoping for a glimpse of the blueberry [man] and another chance at an icy berry.
(by Hilary Abramson, from the Woodland Democrat, January 22 1971)
Don't you worry and more
Cuz when life looks like easy street
There is danger at your door.
Come hear Uncle John's Band
Playing to the time
Come with me or go alone.
He's come to take his children home.
The Grateful Dead will be truckin' into Freeborn Hall next Thursday night at 8 p.m. The Dead have long been favorites around the Bay Area, but within the past year have become one of the most popular groups nationally, selling out everyplace they appear. Once the high energy promoters of the psychedelic revolution, the Dead have shifted away from their acid-blitzed hypnotic-electric music to a down-home folksy style. Their new sound was previewed last spring with the release of "Workingman's Dead" which became one of last year's best selling albums and easily one of last year's finest musical efforts. The Dead showed they had mellowed even more when their latest album "American Beauty" was released a couple of months ago.
Seeing the Grateful Dead is a unique experience and should not be passed up. Playing with the Dead will be their sub-group, the New Riders of the Purple Sage, who have a very Nashville type sound. Tickets are on sale now at the MU Box Office at the price of $2.50 if you are a student.
I don't know but I've been told
If the horse don't pull you got to carry the load
I don't know who's back's that strong
Maybe find out before too long.
One way or another, one way or another
This darkness has got to go.
(from the California Aggie, 15 January 1971)
*
GRATEFUL DEAD THURSDAY
The Grateful Dead concert tomorrow night is one of those concerts that people have been preparing for for at least a week and will probably take another week to recuperate from after it's all over. I guess you just have to say that the Dead in Freeborn is a heavy thing for Davis. The concert should result in a few more Dead freaks to add to the long list of those who already think that the Dead are the best group around. And even a light show, a finger in every pie in every eye.
The Entertainment Board is providing the act, Jerry Garcia, Phil Lesh, Bob Weir, Rod McKermen (Pig Pen), Mickey Hart and Bill Kreutzman will provide the fine music, the crowd will provide the rest of the good vibes, and you gotta provide your own high time. Tickets cost $2.50 at the MU Box.
There are only 140 tickets left for Grateful Dead as of 3pm Tuesday. Also John Sebastian-Poco tickets will go on sale this Friday, for the February 6th concert. $3 for students.
(from the California Aggie, January 20, 1971)
*
DEAD, RIDERS, BROTHERS...
Last Thursday night Freeborn came alive to the music of the Grateful Dead.
The last time this reviewer saw the Dead was in '68 at the old Carousel Ballroom (now the Fillmore West) and between then and now there has been a great change. The principal characters are all the same but the music has changed from the old acid rock to a more down home sound.
The Dead played two sets during the evening. Both sets had the audience on their feet. "Reelin' and Rockin'" brought a cheer and heads nodded, but when the Dead launched into "High on Cocaine" there wasn't a person standing still.
The group preceding the Dead was the New Riders of The Purple Sage. This group had many of the same musicians as the Grateful Dead but proved to be a disappointment. Their sound was not at all unusual or unique and sounded very much "like everybody else." The most successful song of their set was "Lodi" which got the audience moving.
The first group of the evening was James and the Good Brothers. The group consisted of two guitars and an auto harp which produced a warm and mellow sound. I wish they had played longer than they did. As far as I was concerned the New Riders could have been replaced with this group. One song I especially liked was "Bobby McGee."
Other thoughts on the concert: Freeborn was packed with much of the audience consisting of the usual "teeny boppers" and high school "cools." The light show was good but what is a light show, after all, without a strobe light? There were problems with forged tickets and gate crashers which didn't bother anybody except the Entertainment Board.
The next big concert is John Sebastian and Poco on Feb. 6.
(by an Aggie Reviewer, from the California Aggie, January 27, 1971)
Courtesy of jgmf.blogspot.com
*
A few letters to the editor in later issues of the Aggie carried some complaints:
2/3/71 -
Dear Editor,
In reference to the Aggie reviewer's remark concerning the light show's lack of a strobe light. The golden fleece light show has a strobe light and was using it during the Grateful Dead concert. Had the reviewer taken it upon himself to look around the vastness of Freeborn Hall he would have noticed a group of people dancing under the strobe light at the rear of the hall.
Unless there are people dancing a strobe light is of little use. Davis concerts are not noted for people dancing simple as a function of a lack of room.
Upon reading the entire review, I would like to know, could the reviewer have been in a corner with his head against the wall?
Jack Stillinger
Golden Fleece Light Shows
Dear Editor,
I was disappointed in the appearance in these pages (Jan. 27) of the review of the Grateful Dead-New Riders concert.
With all due respect for the opinion of the "Aggie Reviewer," I feel his review lacked any semblance of the objective criticism the concert deserved. For a case in point, I'd like to see the names of a few of the groups that the New Riders sounded "just like." I feel it would be hard to match the beauty and tastefulness of Garcia's steel guitar work. The band also displayed a lot of all around balance in musicianship as well as due respect for the country-western form as something to build upon creatively rather than parody as many "country type" bands do.
"...please don't dominate the Rap, Jack, if you've got nothing new to say..."
Mike German, Kim Lenz, Rich Spradling
1/28/71 -
Editor:
Regarding the review of the Grateful Dead in Wednesday’s Aggie: Who was that crazy reviewer?
First of all, he doesn’t even know that the title of one of the Dead’s best songs is “Casey Jones,” not “High on Cocaine.” (Not to mention that “Reelin’ and Rockin’” is actually “Round and Round” - a vintage Rolling Stones/Chuck Berry cut.) And he can’t even see straight - the only member of the Dead that is also a member of the New Riders is Jerry Garcia, not “many of the same musicians.” Finally, there were at least two strobe lights - I was sitting and dancing in one.
As for the quality of the review, that, too, leaves much to be desired. Why didn’t he say anything about what it was really like that night in Freeborn - hot and stuffy and, for those in the middle and front, VERY crowded? And the incredible pedal steel guitar that Jerry Garcia played in the New Riders set, that took us so high? And the Dead getting it on, and turning us on? But they didn’t play long enough. In spite of his apparent condescending attitude toward “teeny-boppers” and “high school cools,” the audience was very mellow, that is, very good. I notice he didn’t even give his name. Why? He certainly wasn’t a Grateful Dead fan.
Jerome Callens
P.S. And in case anyone else turns up, I demand to review the John Sebastian/Poco Show.
2/2/71 -
POWER PLAY
Something has been bothering me for some time, now, and for lack of anything better to write about, I might as well unload. The subject is the conduct of three or four groups concerned with staging the Grateful Dead concert held in Freeborn January 21. While it may be old news now, it has some definite connections to the John Sebastian/Poco concert set for Saturday night.
First of all, I think some sort of line arrangements should be made for those people waiting outside for the doors to open. People started arriving for the Dead before 6 pm - a good two hours before the first set. Once there, they began forming into a large, amorphous glob of humanity outside the doors. When the place finally did open, there was a natural rush toward the front, resulting in a rather painful pressure on the bodies of many people - particularly those up front. Hopefully some sort of strict line formation will be set up for Sebastian, thus avoiding the big push-shove hassle.
Next, I hope somebody will be able to open side doors while the concert is in progress. I realize that people try to slip in through these doors for a little gratis viewing, but the place was almost unbearably stifling last time - even before the Dead first appeared.
So much for logistical complaints. What really bothered me about the whole Grateful Dead concert was the "law and order" power play staged by Chief McEwen and the campus police, Corky Brown and the so-called Police Advisory Board and the Student Activities Office.
Standing outside in line was a rather irritating procedure. People were looking forward to the concert, but they were also more than a little aggravated about the hassle in getting through the doors. So when you finally make it through the main outside doors, two things happened which struck an already raw nerve in the collective student body. Initially, there was this big sign in the main foyer: "Mr. Natural says smoking dope can be harmful to your freedom." Well, that's okay, you said to yourself, they can't help themselves. But then, as you headed towards the inner doors to the hall itself, you found yourself confronted by Corky Brown, member of the Police Advisory Board. Brown was busily handing out little slips of paper which told everyone that if they smoked any dope, they were running a big chance of getting busted. Well, even then, you said to yourself that it was okay - it was his trip if he wanted to pass out that information...maybe it was a good thing to know.
All this time you were still intent on getting through those inside doors and settling down to a good show. Fantastic music, lights and all those people... But those two incidents out in the foyer sort of lurked at the back of your mind. They were a very sour note in an otherwise mellow atmosphere. So you get into the hall and who was waiting just inside the doors but Officer Randy Selby. Now this is just a personal opinion, but it seemed to me that Selby, who sports a rather negative reputation, was doing his damnedest to look the part of an overzealous pig. There he was: hat pulled low over his eyes, small challenging smile on his face. Randy Selby on display.
There were quite a few other cops patrolling about the place, and around this time, I began asking myself just what the hell was going on. These three incidents, along with a verbal warning just before the first group came on, had everybody in the place a little uneasy, or just slightly hostile.
The thing that was strange about it was that no one could possibly have gotten away with a bust in there. The place was packed, and there was that little sour note playing in the back of everybody's mind. That pushing and all those warnings and all those cops automatically put you in a defensive position...an adversary position. One attempt at a bust and the place would have gone wild. I don't think there was any real intent to bust anybody. Chief McEwen isn't that stupid, although I know he's been getting pressured by the Yolo County District Attorney for being "soft on dope." But the way the whole thing was staged - the implicit intimidation - created a tense atmosphere. One false move from one uptight person (spectator or cop) and Freeborn could have gone up in smoke. A few changes seem to be in order.
Jim Dooley
2/5/71 -
CONCERTS IN FREEBORN
... The rush scene that occurred with the initial opening of the front doors at Joan Baez was much intensified, unfortunately at the Grateful Dead concert. In the collective haste to obtain a desirable seat, many people were jostled, one male student later reported having his arm x-rayed as the result of possibly more than a "jostle." Some manner of "line formation" involving the facilities of Freeborn and co-operation of those arriving early is imperative.
Beginning with the Sebastian/Poco concert a series of changes will occur to ease the front-gate pressure. [ . . . ]
Gate crashers may seem a frivolous target to some who regularly attend concerts, but the fact remains that if Freeborn is already filled to capacity with ticket-holders, a few hundred extra people have a great impact on the comfort of all. Freeborn was not built in an era of large rock concerts and thus presents the over-heating problem. [ . . . ]
With numerous people (an estimated two-hundred at the Dead concert) trying to crash front, rear, lower and side doors simultaneously, the opening of side doors involves a terrific hassle and seems a disservice to those who have already paid and waited for a concert. At the Dead concert a sizable number of people entered without paying and added to the smoke and heat of the hall. Further discomfort is added by people sitting against air-circulation units.
Since the last four concerts organized by the Entertainment Board have sold out well in advance, there is nothing to be lost monetarily if side doors are opened at the beginning of the concert. Indeed, the total cost of the show would cost the student body less if numerous students who are paid to maintain security were not necessary. But as long as hundreds try to crash, scores try forgery, and others run the gamut of "devious" means to enter free of charge, the extra air and space needed for the paid audience will maintain priority over a total open-door policy.
The presence of the campus police at concerts, and at the Grateful Dead concert in particular, has raised many questions regarding their role and legal authority. [ . . . ]
The campus police stressed the face that Freeborn is state property and they are free to roam as they deem necessary, and especially since the Dead concert was sold-out and their assistance in "crowd-control" could be useful. The extreme tolerance shown to the obvious dope and booze situation was also emphasized. (Officer Powers noted that a certain plain-clothes officer was handed a joint.) The police also pointed out that they were more familiar with students and could not be as likely to over-react to any unruly situation as a standard security force. [ . . . ]
Legally they can come and go as they please, and handing them dope is to be discouraged if concerts are to continue. Jim Dooley expressed it very aptly when he stated the possibility of Freeborn "going up in smoke..."
[ . . . ]
Barry Bricca
Thanks to Dave Davis.
* * *
And from another paper...
Pardon the imperfect state of this transcription. My scan of the article is all but illegible. [Words in brackets] I could not make out. I hope to find a better copy sometime and fix this up.
GRATEFUL DEAD SHAKE FREEBORN HALL
Christ's image faded into an amoeba shape on the screen as a half-caked guy, stage right, did arabesques and three groupie-type chicks, stage left, gyrated. To top it all off, a giant white balloon floated down toward stage center like a blanched, bloated grape.
The scene was Freeborn hall at UCD (where else?) last night and the [occasion] was a concert-light show-dance-Hieronymous Bosch happening starring The Grateful Dead, who were very VERY much alive.
From the start I knew the evening would be different from others in Freeborn. As I walked outside with about 1,999 others, some dude walked up and shoved an icy blueberry into my mouth. When someone does something as presumptuous as that, what can you do but politely suck on the damn thing? That's what I did, but my mind was screaming, "It's LSD! Someone's finally done it, like at Halloween, and it's too late! What a lousy thing - to [??] a blueberry like that!"
This turned out to be idle reflection, as I only had a colossal headache and blue teeth by the time the crowd's momentum gravitated me into Freeborn.
Appropriately, as soon as I seated myself on the floor in the rear of the room, a fellow jammed beside me asked if I had a joint he could borrow. I told him I was all out and anyway, marijuana made my teeth [black]. He seemed satisfied and the concert began shortly, after 2,000 people had settled onto their paisley floor pillows, sleeping bags, afghans and P-jackets.
Unfortunately, it was a tripartite event. Two groups preceded The Dead. Starting a little after 8 p.m., it didn't end until [1:30] a.m. and by the time The Dead came on around [10] p.m., Freeborn was hot, sweaty and pulsating, to the beat of my pounding head.
The first group, James and the Good Guys, Canadian friends of the Dead, were pleasant on two guitars and one auto-harp. They did well with other peoples' songs - "Parking Lot," "Oakie from the Skokie," "Can't Find My Way Home" - but who doesn't these days?
What they called "acoustic rock and roll" was their most effective sound.
Although their "Delta Lady" wasn't Joe Cocker's and their "Bobby McGee" wasn't Janis Joplin's, they were good. The three [men] knew their instruments and harmonized well together. More original material or arrangements might have made a difference in positioning them somewhere between "a dime a dozen group" and "special."
Between the appearance of Good Guys and The New Riders of the Purple Sage, a volleyball game with a giant red balloon absorbed nearly everyone's attention. The balloon thing was getting downright surreal.
Although several members of The Dead sing with the Riders, the groups sound nothing alike. The Riders' sound could be as [funky] country-western, but not as full and controlled. Everyone [seemed] happily [??] when they launched into a rendition of the Stones' "Honkey Tonk Women." It was indeed hard to stand still.
But we hadn't tasted anything yet. The Dead. They were out of this world. I'd never seen them perform, but I'd heard about, read about their early San Francisco days. They've been credited with starting the acid rock stuff that's faded out but [meanwhile] reaped small fortunes for several groups who made it. Together for about 10 years, the Dead show it. For at least two solid hours (discounting long [pauses] between songs for tuning [16] strings) they displayed their versatility - from the old days' hard rock (including [30-minute] improvisations) to their current mellow, [hot], country sound all in one.
I felt at the end that if, as some critics say, rock is coming to a close and if I had one night to [??] the '60s rock all [??], I'd want The Grateful Dead there. For [much of the time].
By the time The Dead got into "Trucking," the evening had erupted into an orgiastic, cathartic experience. Having removed his shirt because of the heat, a long, lean guy was blinking on and off in the light of a strobe. Mentally [putting] each jerky movement after the one before, it became apparent he was dancing a waltz. Another guy was jumping, hands straight down at his sides, chin up, up and down in place like a yo-yo. It was a free-for-all [replete] with everything from raw rock (ah, John Lennon with his primal return to Chuck Berry rock would have loved that part of the evening) to wailing, electronic, musical [??ery] very loud.
When Jerry Garcia on lead guitar and Bob Weir (I think) on rhythm guitar got to picking in The Dead's newer, better style, it was like an itch you can't scratch, a [p??] you couldn't [locate]. "Pig Pen" on harmonica was exceptional and the two drummers were very [sensitive] for rock drummers.
After making out a lengthy, identifiably "Dead" [moral], the group left the stage. Like [??-??] Woodstock, the gathering [??] the announcement - a guy named Bill was called backstage because his wife was giving birth... Freeborn shook with foot-stomping, clapping, shrieking and accompanying sounds for long [???] in anticipation of an encore. It never came. A nearby couple screeched in unison, "Long Live The Dead!"
Parched and drained, I shuffled toward an exit, hoping for a glimpse of the blueberry [man] and another chance at an icy berry.
(by Hilary Abramson, from the Woodland Democrat, January 22 1971)
May 16, 1971: Family Dog Party
OUR MINDS WERE YOUNG & BLOWN
SAN FRANCISCO - "A church social, pot-latch, hoe-down, dog-fuck, and sock-hop!" the invitation from Luria Castell Wright read. Luria being one of the founders of the rock scene in San Francisco, one of the four original members of Family Dog, which put on the first dance - with Jefferson Airplane, the Great Society and the Marbles - October 16, 1965 at Longshoreman's Hall.
This time, May 16th, 1971, it was "The Last Annual Grope For Peace...(an invitational event and working party) in celebration of the closing of the first act in the comedy 'The San Francisco Sound - or the Great Leap in Place.' Starring all of you who have received this invitation. Please start at the beginning, 8 PM, as we hope to build a continuing energy throughout the evening, and it's hard to catch a freight train after it leaves the yard."
And so it was that, while Humble Pie, from England, played Bill Graham's comatose Fillmore West around the corner, all the old faces, in all the old fineries, showed up at Pacific High Recording studios to dance and smile and laugh together, just like in those days a full half-decade ago.
Staying close to the studio's high walls and busily mingling were the real old faces: Chet Helms, who fought the city for so long to keep his various Family Dog homes open; now he works for the City, in the Neighborhood Arts Program. Dan Hicks, the Charlatan, now the head of his own group on Blue Thumb. George Hunter, Richard Olsen and all the Victorian old ladies. Spencer Dryden, the second of the Airplane's three drummers, with Mrs. Sally Mann Dryden, six months along and still glowing, in tow. Dryden's now drumming with New Riders of the Purple Sage, and they, too, will have an album out soon.
Bob Weir of the Dead, still looking collegiate, stood apart from Jerry Garcia and Rock Scully, happily huddled together. From Quicksilver, there were David Freiberg, now also part of the Airplane/Dead/Santana crosscurrents. And former Quicksilver head John Cipollina. And Boz Scaggs, just from an Eastern College tour, and his first hit record since leaving the Steve Miller Band, continuing to climb. And Victor Moscoso, Al Kelly, and Wes Wilson, the poster artists. Bob Cohen, the sound man at the Dog. And, somehow fitting in, Peter Boyle, star of Joe. All together, some 300 non-stars.
"Music for the evening will be continuous and sequential, hopefully...featuring many of the people who have suffered through this thing before in hopes of getting it right..."
In fact, the whole Red Dog Saloon was there from Virginia City, only this time with a lot of "Far out" and "What have you been into?" for conversation. And if you can dig Thanksgiving as a rock and roll party, it was a potluck dinner with the tastiest in breads, pastries, fruit salads and other plates such as families bring to these gatherings.
"Refreshment, like energy, will be provided by yourselves - Bring enough eats, drinks, and smokes for you and your neighbor..."
And there are Luria and Ellen Harmon, wandering through the crowd at each stage of the evening - at mealtime whispering to people, "It's time for the next level now, so if you see a drum over there, just start the beat going..."
On stage, music by another ex-Charlatan, Mike Ferguson, now in teen angel motorcycle drag, with his new group, Loose Gravel; by the Purple Riders, and by Stoneground, featuring ex-Beau Brummel Sal Valentino, a churning backup band, and an ensemble of four women - Lynne Hughes, Annie Sampson, Lydia Phillips, and Deirdre LaPorte, each lovely and a first-rate soloist in her own way.
Also, an ironic skit by Congress of Wonders, the pair of inventive head humorists who've been around through it all - at the Straight Theater on Haight Street, the Old Spaghetti Factory in North Beach, at the Fillmore on Fillmore and the Family Dog at the Avalon, on KSAN last year and Fantasy Records this - playing the parts of Jerry Garcia and Phil Lesh as wasted old men on a park bench recalling the four-hour jams they played, decades ago, as "The Dreadful Great."
Garcia laughed along with everyone while Richard Rollins and Howard Kerr snorted and gagged their way through the skit; later he'd be bear-hugged by Nick Gravenites, doing the bop.
Luria Wright, five years on, is now a housewife and a mother of two, and hers is a campaign against lethargy and for energy. Starting with the artists, the musicians, the people who participated in the first Family Dog and Fillmore events. "The main idea was to let a lot of people know that we're all still alive, and can really have a good time. I really believe it's possible to make people who're all sleazed out and cynical to feel good."
With friends, Mrs. Wright staged the party at a cost of $40. Now, she hopes to do more. "I'd like to see either a private club evolve - or possibly do it on a mass scale, if we can get the proper people involved, so it doesn't become either an ego or a money trip. It'll be exclusive until people have it down. Till they're convinced they can do it to other people. It's just a matter of generation of juice."
Participating Sponsors: Magic Theater for Madmen Only, Cabale, the Family Dog, the Northern California Psychedelic Cattlemen's Association, Moustache Enterprises Inc., The Mystic Research Foundation, Travus T. Hipp's Rawhide Realities Review, the Pine St. Redevelopment Veterans Benevolent Society, anonymous members of E. Clampus Vitus, and - of course - The Nevada Chapter of the Peyote Chiefs Motorcycle Club and Zen Mine.
(from Rolling Stone, June 10 1971)
SAN FRANCISCO - "A church social, pot-latch, hoe-down, dog-fuck, and sock-hop!" the invitation from Luria Castell Wright read. Luria being one of the founders of the rock scene in San Francisco, one of the four original members of Family Dog, which put on the first dance - with Jefferson Airplane, the Great Society and the Marbles - October 16, 1965 at Longshoreman's Hall.
This time, May 16th, 1971, it was "The Last Annual Grope For Peace...(an invitational event and working party) in celebration of the closing of the first act in the comedy 'The San Francisco Sound - or the Great Leap in Place.' Starring all of you who have received this invitation. Please start at the beginning, 8 PM, as we hope to build a continuing energy throughout the evening, and it's hard to catch a freight train after it leaves the yard."
And so it was that, while Humble Pie, from England, played Bill Graham's comatose Fillmore West around the corner, all the old faces, in all the old fineries, showed up at Pacific High Recording studios to dance and smile and laugh together, just like in those days a full half-decade ago.
Staying close to the studio's high walls and busily mingling were the real old faces: Chet Helms, who fought the city for so long to keep his various Family Dog homes open; now he works for the City, in the Neighborhood Arts Program. Dan Hicks, the Charlatan, now the head of his own group on Blue Thumb. George Hunter, Richard Olsen and all the Victorian old ladies. Spencer Dryden, the second of the Airplane's three drummers, with Mrs. Sally Mann Dryden, six months along and still glowing, in tow. Dryden's now drumming with New Riders of the Purple Sage, and they, too, will have an album out soon.
Bob Weir of the Dead, still looking collegiate, stood apart from Jerry Garcia and Rock Scully, happily huddled together. From Quicksilver, there were David Freiberg, now also part of the Airplane/Dead/Santana crosscurrents. And former Quicksilver head John Cipollina. And Boz Scaggs, just from an Eastern College tour, and his first hit record since leaving the Steve Miller Band, continuing to climb. And Victor Moscoso, Al Kelly, and Wes Wilson, the poster artists. Bob Cohen, the sound man at the Dog. And, somehow fitting in, Peter Boyle, star of Joe. All together, some 300 non-stars.
"Music for the evening will be continuous and sequential, hopefully...featuring many of the people who have suffered through this thing before in hopes of getting it right..."
In fact, the whole Red Dog Saloon was there from Virginia City, only this time with a lot of "Far out" and "What have you been into?" for conversation. And if you can dig Thanksgiving as a rock and roll party, it was a potluck dinner with the tastiest in breads, pastries, fruit salads and other plates such as families bring to these gatherings.
"Refreshment, like energy, will be provided by yourselves - Bring enough eats, drinks, and smokes for you and your neighbor..."
And there are Luria and Ellen Harmon, wandering through the crowd at each stage of the evening - at mealtime whispering to people, "It's time for the next level now, so if you see a drum over there, just start the beat going..."
On stage, music by another ex-Charlatan, Mike Ferguson, now in teen angel motorcycle drag, with his new group, Loose Gravel; by the Purple Riders, and by Stoneground, featuring ex-Beau Brummel Sal Valentino, a churning backup band, and an ensemble of four women - Lynne Hughes, Annie Sampson, Lydia Phillips, and Deirdre LaPorte, each lovely and a first-rate soloist in her own way.
Also, an ironic skit by Congress of Wonders, the pair of inventive head humorists who've been around through it all - at the Straight Theater on Haight Street, the Old Spaghetti Factory in North Beach, at the Fillmore on Fillmore and the Family Dog at the Avalon, on KSAN last year and Fantasy Records this - playing the parts of Jerry Garcia and Phil Lesh as wasted old men on a park bench recalling the four-hour jams they played, decades ago, as "The Dreadful Great."
Garcia laughed along with everyone while Richard Rollins and Howard Kerr snorted and gagged their way through the skit; later he'd be bear-hugged by Nick Gravenites, doing the bop.
Luria Wright, five years on, is now a housewife and a mother of two, and hers is a campaign against lethargy and for energy. Starting with the artists, the musicians, the people who participated in the first Family Dog and Fillmore events. "The main idea was to let a lot of people know that we're all still alive, and can really have a good time. I really believe it's possible to make people who're all sleazed out and cynical to feel good."
With friends, Mrs. Wright staged the party at a cost of $40. Now, she hopes to do more. "I'd like to see either a private club evolve - or possibly do it on a mass scale, if we can get the proper people involved, so it doesn't become either an ego or a money trip. It'll be exclusive until people have it down. Till they're convinced they can do it to other people. It's just a matter of generation of juice."
Participating Sponsors: Magic Theater for Madmen Only, Cabale, the Family Dog, the Northern California Psychedelic Cattlemen's Association, Moustache Enterprises Inc., The Mystic Research Foundation, Travus T. Hipp's Rawhide Realities Review, the Pine St. Redevelopment Veterans Benevolent Society, anonymous members of E. Clampus Vitus, and - of course - The Nevada Chapter of the Peyote Chiefs Motorcycle Club and Zen Mine.
(from Rolling Stone, June 10 1971)
May 29, 1971: Winterland
1,000 AT CONCERT DRINK LSD-SPIKED CIDER
SAN FRANCISCO (UPI) – About 1,000 young people attending a rock concert featuring The Grateful Dead took an unexpected trip when their apple cider turned out to be spiked with LSD.
Alison McDonald, a Berkeley woman who attended the Saturday night concert by The Grateful Dead, The New Riders of the Purple Sage, and R.J. Fox at the Winterland Auditorium, said that during a band break an anonymous voice announced over the public address system:
“Those of you who are going to get some liquid refreshment, pass it on so your neighbor can have some.”
Miss McDonald said, “When it was passed around, it tasted like watered down apple juice – I took a sip because I was very thirsty.”
She said in less than an hour, she knew she had taken something more than apple cider.
“It was OK acid,” she said, “but I feel sorry for anyone who took more than two sips.”
Police later reported that nearby Mt. Zion Hospital treated more than 30 persons during a five-hour period who complained of going through a bad trip.
“They said they had drunk a punch-like drink that was being passed around in various containers,” a hospital spokesman said.
(from the Los Angeles Times, June 1 1971)
Thanks to snow & rain at the Transitive Axis forum.
* * * * *
The JGMF blog also quotes part of another article on this concert, from the 6/11/71 Berkeley Barb:
WINTERLAND - 'ON THE FLOOR LIKE DYING FISH'
"A girl in front of us ... fell down on the floor and started to put things in her mouth. She would pick up tin cans, papers, socks, garbage and anything else that was on the floor. She threw up all over and then tried to take her clothes off. People were freaking out all over the place. It was like people were being shot down. People would fall down and struggle to get to their feet again. One guy fell on about five people and they all fell like dominoes. ... Time actually halted as if we were dead. Jane and I were the only ones standing in a five foot radius while the people around us were squirming on the floor like dying fish."
http://jgmf.blogspot.com/2010/01/nrps-may-29-1971-winterland-sf.html
* * * * *
WINTERLAND MAY LOSE PERMIT AFTER LSD PUNCH INCIDENT
SAN FRANCISCO (UPI) - Police will try to revoke the permit for Winterland, the city's largest regular rock music hall, because 1,000 persons got stoned on LSD spiked water during a weekend concert, narcotics agents said Monday.
Sgt. Charles Hoenisch said chief Al Nelder will try to lift the permit for concerts at Winterland "and places like it that have been a cause of major police problems."
The water was passed through the audience of 4,500 young people who paid $2 each Saturday night to hear the Grateful Dead, New Riders of the Purple Sage, R.J. Fox and other rock groups.
"There's some water being passed out," someone announced during a band break. "Just take a sip and pass it back so everybody can have some."
Police reported that more than 30 persons were taken to a nearby hospital during a five-hour period with "bad trips." No one was hospitalized.
Promoter Bill Graham said he was unaware of the anouncement about the water.
Hoenisch said the incident was still under investigation but "we know there were people involved - one who made the announcement over the microphone, and two others who brought in two 30 gallon plastic garbage cans of spiked water."
(from the Palo Alto Times, June 1 1971)
http://www.archive.org/details/gd1971-05-29.sbd.miller.110324.flac16
SAN FRANCISCO (UPI) – About 1,000 young people attending a rock concert featuring The Grateful Dead took an unexpected trip when their apple cider turned out to be spiked with LSD.
Alison McDonald, a Berkeley woman who attended the Saturday night concert by The Grateful Dead, The New Riders of the Purple Sage, and R.J. Fox at the Winterland Auditorium, said that during a band break an anonymous voice announced over the public address system:
“Those of you who are going to get some liquid refreshment, pass it on so your neighbor can have some.”
Miss McDonald said, “When it was passed around, it tasted like watered down apple juice – I took a sip because I was very thirsty.”
She said in less than an hour, she knew she had taken something more than apple cider.
“It was OK acid,” she said, “but I feel sorry for anyone who took more than two sips.”
Police later reported that nearby Mt. Zion Hospital treated more than 30 persons during a five-hour period who complained of going through a bad trip.
“They said they had drunk a punch-like drink that was being passed around in various containers,” a hospital spokesman said.
(from the Los Angeles Times, June 1 1971)
Thanks to snow & rain at the Transitive Axis forum.
* * * * *
The JGMF blog also quotes part of another article on this concert, from the 6/11/71 Berkeley Barb:
WINTERLAND - 'ON THE FLOOR LIKE DYING FISH'
"A girl in front of us ... fell down on the floor and started to put things in her mouth. She would pick up tin cans, papers, socks, garbage and anything else that was on the floor. She threw up all over and then tried to take her clothes off. People were freaking out all over the place. It was like people were being shot down. People would fall down and struggle to get to their feet again. One guy fell on about five people and they all fell like dominoes. ... Time actually halted as if we were dead. Jane and I were the only ones standing in a five foot radius while the people around us were squirming on the floor like dying fish."
http://jgmf.blogspot.com/2010/01/nrps-may-29-1971-winterland-sf.html
* * * * *
WINTERLAND MAY LOSE PERMIT AFTER LSD PUNCH INCIDENT
SAN FRANCISCO (UPI) - Police will try to revoke the permit for Winterland, the city's largest regular rock music hall, because 1,000 persons got stoned on LSD spiked water during a weekend concert, narcotics agents said Monday.
Sgt. Charles Hoenisch said chief Al Nelder will try to lift the permit for concerts at Winterland "and places like it that have been a cause of major police problems."
The water was passed through the audience of 4,500 young people who paid $2 each Saturday night to hear the Grateful Dead, New Riders of the Purple Sage, R.J. Fox and other rock groups.
"There's some water being passed out," someone announced during a band break. "Just take a sip and pass it back so everybody can have some."
Police reported that more than 30 persons were taken to a nearby hospital during a five-hour period with "bad trips." No one was hospitalized.
Promoter Bill Graham said he was unaware of the anouncement about the water.
Hoenisch said the incident was still under investigation but "we know there were people involved - one who made the announcement over the microphone, and two others who brought in two 30 gallon plastic garbage cans of spiked water."
(from the Palo Alto Times, June 1 1971)
http://www.archive.org/details/gd1971-05-29.sbd.miller.110324.flac16
Jul 25, 2012
April 6, 1971: Manhattan Center, New York
PURPLE LIGHTS
We sent a correspondent to the final night of the Grateful Dead Dance Marathon, held three nights last week at the Manhattan Center, on West Thirty-fourth Street. This is his report:
"When I arrived, there was not much dancing at the Grateful Dead Dance Marathon. The promoters, who ripped off a neat five dollars a ticket, had oversold the hall, so that while there was room in some parts of the room for rhythmic breathing, dancing was rarely a possibility. In any case, there was no tinsel or glitter anywhere, and since a proper dance marathon requires a certain amount of tinsel and glitter, the whole dance-marathon hype turned out to be a little bit embarrassing - at least, if you stopped to think about it, which, probably, nobody much did. Everyone was waiting for the Dead, and thinking about them. There is a lot of talk just now about the Death of Rock and the Death of the Alternate Culture, and this talk is just as tiresome in its way as the talk around a while ago about the Triumph of Rock and the Birth of the Alternate Culture, but it is true that there are very few groups playing now in America who can really move an audience in the old way, and the Grateful Dead are probably the most important and accessible of these groups. They have worked a route back into country music and early rock-and-roll, and they have very heavy acid-rock credentials, so they cover a lot of ground and they mean a lot to a lot of different people. No one minded waiting for the Dead.
"The Manhattan Center has aquamarine walls and had murals on social themes. The legend under one of the largest of these murals reads, 'For the Furtherance of Industry, Religion, and the Enjoyment of Leisure.' The Grateful Deaad Dance Marathon fell, presumably, under the heading of leisure, although there was a religious angle there somewhere. In any case, the managers of the Manhattan Center were sensitive to the leisure habits of their young patrons and made sure that no one was offended by any evidence of middle-class material comfort. There are two enormous balconies at the Manhattan Center, and both were crowded with people pushing to the rails. From the floor, these balconies looked like the decks of a huge foundering hippie cruise ship. The iron Art Moderne balcony rails were the nicest details in the hall.
"Everyone was dressed in the New Mufti, if you know what I mean. Very little freakiness. Very few silks and satins and top hats and doorman uniforms. Most people were wearing layers of T-shirts and sweatshirts and flannel shirts and Army jackets. Overalls were prevalent. This stuff is a kind of finery, as people are very selective about which T-shirts and sweatshirts and overalls they wear. There were several T-shirts with 'Cocaine' written on the front in Coca-Cola script, and there was one that said 'Holland Tunnel.' The freaky, tense, expectant atmosphere of a couple of years ago was gone. People knew what was coming, and they waited to get excited until it did come. There was a pleasant low-key trust around. People lay on the floor, for instance, and were not trampled, and the coat checkroom had no coat checker and was run on sound anarchistic principles. There was, however, no self-conscious celebration of this low-key trust. I didn't hear anyone say 'Oh, wow!'
"The stage was bathed in lights of many colors, but mostly purple. The Dead came on. They did a lot of songs other people have done - 'Me and Bobby McGee' and 'In the Midnight Hour' and 'Oh Boy,' Buddy Holly and the Crickets' old song. Bob Weir and Jerry Garcia, the leads, were in good form, and they received the response they are used to. By the time they got into some of their own stuff, like 'Casey Jones,' people were, in fact, dancing, although there was no room to dance. On the first balcony, ten guys danced in a circle, and then were joined by about twenty other people and set off down the balcony in a snake. They mumbled the lyrics of 'Casey Jones' until they reached the 'high on cocaine' part, at which point they shouted the lyrics. Downstairs, a black guy (one of the very few black guys there) danced flat out. It was a very complex thing. I asked him if there was any kind of name for his dance. 'I'm just dancing, man,' he said, 'The last time I did a dance with a name, it was the tenth grade, I think. I guess that was the bug-a-loo. The bug-a-loo's a long time ago.'"
(from the New Yorker, April 17 1971)
* * * * *
THE GRATEFUL, GRATEFUL DEAD
There's a standing order that the Grateful Dead have with any friends who happen to be coming back to San Francisco from New York: bring onion rolls and bagels from Ratner's, the dairy restaurant on Second Ave. next to the Fillmore.
The Dead haven't even begun to reap the harvest from all the seeds they've sown in this city. They could fill Madison Square Garden but they're still being booked into the smaller halls. When they played the Manhattan Center a week ago, their show was billed as a dance marathon, an unnecessary hype from a band with the kind of New York following that the Dead have.
As one fan told me, "Everybody went there thinking they were doing to do a 'They Shoot Horses' number, but all it was was a dance, the kind they always did in San Francisco. They had everybody thinking the Dead were going to play for three days straight.
"You don't need that kind of publicity to get the people out for the Grateful Dead. Nobody here understands the power of the Dead. They don't need any hard sell anymore."
I couldn't attend the marathon. I would have liked to be there when Sandy Alexander, the president of the New York Hell's Angels, gave Pig Pen a bottle of Southern Comfort. But let me offer you Bob Sarlin's report of the closing night:
"Outside the hall crowds of kids were trying to press their way through two small doors. As the crowd pushed and pulled, big wet snowflakes started to fall, inside, past a couple of rent-a-cops and a frantic-looking Howard Stein, the producer. The hall was like some mad dream of overpopulation: people under pressure everywhere, pressing toward the stage and then back again, filling the balcony's stairways, the dance floor and the backstage area.
"The stage was dark and every once in a while you could hear Bob Marmaduke [sic], the singer from the New Riders of the Purple Sage, pleading with the people up front to move back, repeating the refrain 'somebody's going to get hurt...and besides, you guys won't be able to dance.' The New Riders were a stone bore. The crowd merely used the time to get high, most of them drinking from wine bottles wrapped in paper bags.
"Somehow we were pushed into Howard Stein again, who was wearing a pavillion tee shirt and a cowboy hat, half hiding his bearded face. 'It's crazy,' he said, 'it's never been so bad. We just caught one of our security men letting people in through a basement door and charging them a couple of bucks a head.
"'Then someone notices one of the rent-a-cops selling tickets around the corner. The SOB hadn't been tearing them. We must have 7500 people in here. It's too crazy, but stick around, you'll have a good time.' He led us to the only quiet place in the hall, a well-guarded staff booth, and from there we could take a better look at the hordes of Dead fans weaving around below.
"Most of the audience looked like vacationing college kids: the new breed, that is, the funk bunch. The Dead is their band now because they can see that the loose style of living they are seeking is alive in the latest music of the band. The men were dressed up in old shirts, with a lot of Melton checkered lumber jack clothing a la Hudson's.
"By the time the lights went up on the Dead and the music began to pour lazily through their own, excellent PA system, the crowd was stoned en masse, a flowing, twisting asparagus field of happy bodies. Nobody seemed to mind the crush any more.
"As the music became stronger, people began to wave their arms, dancing in the new looser way that college kids are into dancing now. The Dead ripped through songs from the last two albums, did Buddy Holly's 'Oh, Boy' and churned into a long version of one of their favorite dance marathon numbers, 'In Midnight Hour.' Chain dances began to form, just like they did at the be-ins of days past. People were hugging each other to the music, waving their bodies around like taffy pulls.
"At midnight the band launched into 'Drivin' That Train' and the crowd sang along, completely oblivious to the crush now, drunk and stoned and lost in the thumping of the Dead. As the last chords boomed off the stage, the spotlights lifted to focus on the old mirrored wall that hangs high in Manhattan Center, and dots of light twirled around the room like the snowflakes outside. The people went berserk.
"On the way out, we bumped into an exhausted Howard Stein again. 'They're trying to get in through the roof now,' he said. 'We're fighting them off on the roof.'"
If you missed the marathon, as I did, don't sulk. The Dead will be back in New York next week, this time at the Fillmore.
(by Alfred Aronowitz, from the Pop Scene column, New York Post, April 19 1971)
* * * * *
April 15, 1971
Dear Patrons:
I want to offer my apologies for the terribly crowded conditions at the Grateful Dead Dance Marathon.
Since I was not fully acquainted with Manhattan Center, it was difficult to estimate how many people the Ballroom could comfortably hold. While the blame for overselling was entirely mine, the problem was compounded by special security forces illegally selling tickets through side entrances and an unprecedented number of counterfeit tickets and break-ins.
All in all, however, I still believe that the great majority of the audience had a good time. The Dead played as well as I've ever heard them and the atmosphere (once accepting the crowdedness) was beautiful.
A major purpose of the Marathon was to offer an alternative to the confined, sit-down concert format in New York. It was not my intention to rip-off my audience or to exploit the Dead's drawing power.
Once again, my apologies to you and to the Dead.
Sincerely,
Howard Stein
http://archive.org/details/gd1971-04-06.sbd.cantor.gmb.96299.flac16
We sent a correspondent to the final night of the Grateful Dead Dance Marathon, held three nights last week at the Manhattan Center, on West Thirty-fourth Street. This is his report:
"When I arrived, there was not much dancing at the Grateful Dead Dance Marathon. The promoters, who ripped off a neat five dollars a ticket, had oversold the hall, so that while there was room in some parts of the room for rhythmic breathing, dancing was rarely a possibility. In any case, there was no tinsel or glitter anywhere, and since a proper dance marathon requires a certain amount of tinsel and glitter, the whole dance-marathon hype turned out to be a little bit embarrassing - at least, if you stopped to think about it, which, probably, nobody much did. Everyone was waiting for the Dead, and thinking about them. There is a lot of talk just now about the Death of Rock and the Death of the Alternate Culture, and this talk is just as tiresome in its way as the talk around a while ago about the Triumph of Rock and the Birth of the Alternate Culture, but it is true that there are very few groups playing now in America who can really move an audience in the old way, and the Grateful Dead are probably the most important and accessible of these groups. They have worked a route back into country music and early rock-and-roll, and they have very heavy acid-rock credentials, so they cover a lot of ground and they mean a lot to a lot of different people. No one minded waiting for the Dead.
"The Manhattan Center has aquamarine walls and had murals on social themes. The legend under one of the largest of these murals reads, 'For the Furtherance of Industry, Religion, and the Enjoyment of Leisure.' The Grateful Deaad Dance Marathon fell, presumably, under the heading of leisure, although there was a religious angle there somewhere. In any case, the managers of the Manhattan Center were sensitive to the leisure habits of their young patrons and made sure that no one was offended by any evidence of middle-class material comfort. There are two enormous balconies at the Manhattan Center, and both were crowded with people pushing to the rails. From the floor, these balconies looked like the decks of a huge foundering hippie cruise ship. The iron Art Moderne balcony rails were the nicest details in the hall.
"Everyone was dressed in the New Mufti, if you know what I mean. Very little freakiness. Very few silks and satins and top hats and doorman uniforms. Most people were wearing layers of T-shirts and sweatshirts and flannel shirts and Army jackets. Overalls were prevalent. This stuff is a kind of finery, as people are very selective about which T-shirts and sweatshirts and overalls they wear. There were several T-shirts with 'Cocaine' written on the front in Coca-Cola script, and there was one that said 'Holland Tunnel.' The freaky, tense, expectant atmosphere of a couple of years ago was gone. People knew what was coming, and they waited to get excited until it did come. There was a pleasant low-key trust around. People lay on the floor, for instance, and were not trampled, and the coat checkroom had no coat checker and was run on sound anarchistic principles. There was, however, no self-conscious celebration of this low-key trust. I didn't hear anyone say 'Oh, wow!'
"The stage was bathed in lights of many colors, but mostly purple. The Dead came on. They did a lot of songs other people have done - 'Me and Bobby McGee' and 'In the Midnight Hour' and 'Oh Boy,' Buddy Holly and the Crickets' old song. Bob Weir and Jerry Garcia, the leads, were in good form, and they received the response they are used to. By the time they got into some of their own stuff, like 'Casey Jones,' people were, in fact, dancing, although there was no room to dance. On the first balcony, ten guys danced in a circle, and then were joined by about twenty other people and set off down the balcony in a snake. They mumbled the lyrics of 'Casey Jones' until they reached the 'high on cocaine' part, at which point they shouted the lyrics. Downstairs, a black guy (one of the very few black guys there) danced flat out. It was a very complex thing. I asked him if there was any kind of name for his dance. 'I'm just dancing, man,' he said, 'The last time I did a dance with a name, it was the tenth grade, I think. I guess that was the bug-a-loo. The bug-a-loo's a long time ago.'"
(from the New Yorker, April 17 1971)
* * * * *
THE GRATEFUL, GRATEFUL DEAD
There's a standing order that the Grateful Dead have with any friends who happen to be coming back to San Francisco from New York: bring onion rolls and bagels from Ratner's, the dairy restaurant on Second Ave. next to the Fillmore.
The Dead haven't even begun to reap the harvest from all the seeds they've sown in this city. They could fill Madison Square Garden but they're still being booked into the smaller halls. When they played the Manhattan Center a week ago, their show was billed as a dance marathon, an unnecessary hype from a band with the kind of New York following that the Dead have.
As one fan told me, "Everybody went there thinking they were doing to do a 'They Shoot Horses' number, but all it was was a dance, the kind they always did in San Francisco. They had everybody thinking the Dead were going to play for three days straight.
"You don't need that kind of publicity to get the people out for the Grateful Dead. Nobody here understands the power of the Dead. They don't need any hard sell anymore."
I couldn't attend the marathon. I would have liked to be there when Sandy Alexander, the president of the New York Hell's Angels, gave Pig Pen a bottle of Southern Comfort. But let me offer you Bob Sarlin's report of the closing night:
"Outside the hall crowds of kids were trying to press their way through two small doors. As the crowd pushed and pulled, big wet snowflakes started to fall, inside, past a couple of rent-a-cops and a frantic-looking Howard Stein, the producer. The hall was like some mad dream of overpopulation: people under pressure everywhere, pressing toward the stage and then back again, filling the balcony's stairways, the dance floor and the backstage area.
"The stage was dark and every once in a while you could hear Bob Marmaduke [sic], the singer from the New Riders of the Purple Sage, pleading with the people up front to move back, repeating the refrain 'somebody's going to get hurt...and besides, you guys won't be able to dance.' The New Riders were a stone bore. The crowd merely used the time to get high, most of them drinking from wine bottles wrapped in paper bags.
"Somehow we were pushed into Howard Stein again, who was wearing a pavillion tee shirt and a cowboy hat, half hiding his bearded face. 'It's crazy,' he said, 'it's never been so bad. We just caught one of our security men letting people in through a basement door and charging them a couple of bucks a head.
"'Then someone notices one of the rent-a-cops selling tickets around the corner. The SOB hadn't been tearing them. We must have 7500 people in here. It's too crazy, but stick around, you'll have a good time.' He led us to the only quiet place in the hall, a well-guarded staff booth, and from there we could take a better look at the hordes of Dead fans weaving around below.
"Most of the audience looked like vacationing college kids: the new breed, that is, the funk bunch. The Dead is their band now because they can see that the loose style of living they are seeking is alive in the latest music of the band. The men were dressed up in old shirts, with a lot of Melton checkered lumber jack clothing a la Hudson's.
"By the time the lights went up on the Dead and the music began to pour lazily through their own, excellent PA system, the crowd was stoned en masse, a flowing, twisting asparagus field of happy bodies. Nobody seemed to mind the crush any more.
"As the music became stronger, people began to wave their arms, dancing in the new looser way that college kids are into dancing now. The Dead ripped through songs from the last two albums, did Buddy Holly's 'Oh, Boy' and churned into a long version of one of their favorite dance marathon numbers, 'In Midnight Hour.' Chain dances began to form, just like they did at the be-ins of days past. People were hugging each other to the music, waving their bodies around like taffy pulls.
"At midnight the band launched into 'Drivin' That Train' and the crowd sang along, completely oblivious to the crush now, drunk and stoned and lost in the thumping of the Dead. As the last chords boomed off the stage, the spotlights lifted to focus on the old mirrored wall that hangs high in Manhattan Center, and dots of light twirled around the room like the snowflakes outside. The people went berserk.
"On the way out, we bumped into an exhausted Howard Stein again. 'They're trying to get in through the roof now,' he said. 'We're fighting them off on the roof.'"
If you missed the marathon, as I did, don't sulk. The Dead will be back in New York next week, this time at the Fillmore.
(by Alfred Aronowitz, from the Pop Scene column, New York Post, April 19 1971)
* * * * *
April 15, 1971
Dear Patrons:
I want to offer my apologies for the terribly crowded conditions at the Grateful Dead Dance Marathon.
Since I was not fully acquainted with Manhattan Center, it was difficult to estimate how many people the Ballroom could comfortably hold. While the blame for overselling was entirely mine, the problem was compounded by special security forces illegally selling tickets through side entrances and an unprecedented number of counterfeit tickets and break-ins.
All in all, however, I still believe that the great majority of the audience had a good time. The Dead played as well as I've ever heard them and the atmosphere (once accepting the crowdedness) was beautiful.
A major purpose of the Marathon was to offer an alternative to the confined, sit-down concert format in New York. It was not my intention to rip-off my audience or to exploit the Dead's drawing power.
Once again, my apologies to you and to the Dead.
Sincerely,
Howard Stein
http://archive.org/details/gd1971-04-06.sbd.cantor.gmb.96299.flac16
March 24, 1971: Winterland
GRATEFUL DEAD MIX MUSIC AND MYSTICISM
There were some mighty strange doings at Winterland last night - Yogi Bhajan, Sufi dancers and choir, and members of Kailas Shugendo all mingling and performing on stage.
Plus the good ol' Grateful Dead.
And about 4000 miscellaneous characters - Dead fans, freaks, mystics, religionists, spiritualists, and few semi-straights who apparently came in expecting a typical night with the Grateful Dead in concert.
Of course, in many ways it was a typical Jerry Garcia-Grateful Dead affair, since the strange, incongruous, and sometimes outrageous are all part of the Dead's daily life style.
Garcia's long tenure as our town's purest rock artist has brought him in contact with various religious sects and beliefs. Last night's function was his way of raising some money for such friends, many of whom are neighbors up Novato way where the Grateful Dead's farm is located.
Local members of Kailas Shugendo, a Buddhist sect dressed in oriental-style hiking attire, presented ritual segments, including their fire-walk, and were followed by Yogi Bhajan, dozens (at least) of whose disciples were in the audience, chanting and swaying.
"I get high just listening to him," a mesmerized young lady whispered to me, eyes closed, following the incantations. More than half the huge crowd got deeply into Bhajan's thing.
Then a long set by the Sufis, not looking much like their mystic Moslem spiritual forebears, but nonetheless a dedicated and quite captivating bunch of folk.
The rock-oriented portion of the audience, after a couple of hours of all this, got noisy and restless, clapping in unison and yelping, "we want the Dead."
So out came the Grateful Dead, immediately plunging into electric accompaniment for the Sufi choir (about 25 voices). It was a glorious, wonderful combination.
Harder rock was on the way as midnight came and went, Garcia remarking to me, "It's all in the spirit, right there (thumping my chest) - we get it from music, they (waving to the stage) get in their own way. But the spirit's the same - we're all one."
(by Philip Elwood, from the San Francisco Examiner, March 25 1971)
http://archive.org/details/gd1971-03-24.sbd.miller.85585.sbeok.flac16
There were some mighty strange doings at Winterland last night - Yogi Bhajan, Sufi dancers and choir, and members of Kailas Shugendo all mingling and performing on stage.
Plus the good ol' Grateful Dead.
And about 4000 miscellaneous characters - Dead fans, freaks, mystics, religionists, spiritualists, and few semi-straights who apparently came in expecting a typical night with the Grateful Dead in concert.
Of course, in many ways it was a typical Jerry Garcia-Grateful Dead affair, since the strange, incongruous, and sometimes outrageous are all part of the Dead's daily life style.
Garcia's long tenure as our town's purest rock artist has brought him in contact with various religious sects and beliefs. Last night's function was his way of raising some money for such friends, many of whom are neighbors up Novato way where the Grateful Dead's farm is located.
Local members of Kailas Shugendo, a Buddhist sect dressed in oriental-style hiking attire, presented ritual segments, including their fire-walk, and were followed by Yogi Bhajan, dozens (at least) of whose disciples were in the audience, chanting and swaying.
"I get high just listening to him," a mesmerized young lady whispered to me, eyes closed, following the incantations. More than half the huge crowd got deeply into Bhajan's thing.
Then a long set by the Sufis, not looking much like their mystic Moslem spiritual forebears, but nonetheless a dedicated and quite captivating bunch of folk.
The rock-oriented portion of the audience, after a couple of hours of all this, got noisy and restless, clapping in unison and yelping, "we want the Dead."
So out came the Grateful Dead, immediately plunging into electric accompaniment for the Sufi choir (about 25 voices). It was a glorious, wonderful combination.
Harder rock was on the way as midnight came and went, Garcia remarking to me, "It's all in the spirit, right there (thumping my chest) - we get it from music, they (waving to the stage) get in their own way. But the spirit's the same - we're all one."
(by Philip Elwood, from the San Francisco Examiner, March 25 1971)
http://archive.org/details/gd1971-03-24.sbd.miller.85585.sbeok.flac16
March 17, 1971: Fox Theater, St Louis
AUDIENCE GETS SMOKE ALONG WITH ROCK
Aside from two smoke bombs - both apparently set off by pranksters - nothing marred The Grateful Dead concert Wednesday night at the Fox Theater.
One smoke bomb fizzled out while police were removing it. The other, which flared in the fourth row near the end of the performance, sent up billowing smoke but there was no panic.
No injuries occurred in either incident.
Legions of young rock music fans flocked into the theater, over 3500 strong, filling the orchestra floor and most of the balcony.
To enter the ornate lobby of the city's largest movie theater, however, the crowds had to file through security guards hired as insurance against gate-crashers at recent rock concerts (and, as it turned out, unnecessary insurance).
As if that weren't enough, paying fans had to dodge colorful-looking brothers and sisters, who, posing rather unconvincingly as impoverished street people, begged passersby for spare change.
Once inside, the kids luxuriated in the gilt neo-Moorish decor of the elaborate movie palace, obviously grooving on surroundings designed to provide a high for a much earlier generation.
The concert was distinguished throughout by the fantastic acoustics of the hall, which were exploited to the fullest by continually skillful acoustical control to produce perhaps the best-sounding rock concert here in years.
The evening began with a generous 90-minute set by the New Riders of the Purple Sage, a group considered a branch of the Dead who share with the parental group its famous lead guitarist, Jerry Garcia.
The Sage is softer than the Dead, and specializes in the current country and Western in-sound, sometimes playing it authentically, and sometimes camping or twanging it up in a mod stylization.
When the Dead broke into its first number at about 9:15 p.m., the rhythmically clapping audience rose to its feet and rushed down the aisles to the stage apron, where many remained standing.
There is no doubt among rock historians that The Grateful Dead is the original rock group, and no doubt among many fans that it is still the best.
Many of their Wednesday night songs were the old hard-hitting variety, others had a strong country flavor, one or two had an almost medieval modality - and a number fell in between.
Arrangements and instrumentation were rich and strong, and unerringly performed.
Wednesday's Grateful Dead concert was an unusual treat and one in line with a group that prefers live audiences to recording studios. The performance will be repeated Thursday evening.
(by John Brod Peters, from the St. Louis Globe-Democrat, March 18 1971)
http://www.dead.net/features/tapers-section/march-12-march-18-2007 - "3/17/71 has a few technical issues at key points in the master tapes (specifically bad cuts in the reels during Hard To Handle and the Other One suite), but from that show we were able to salvage this good version of Next Time You See Me as well as this tight version of Me and Bobby McGee, both from the first set."
Aside from two smoke bombs - both apparently set off by pranksters - nothing marred The Grateful Dead concert Wednesday night at the Fox Theater.
One smoke bomb fizzled out while police were removing it. The other, which flared in the fourth row near the end of the performance, sent up billowing smoke but there was no panic.
No injuries occurred in either incident.
Legions of young rock music fans flocked into the theater, over 3500 strong, filling the orchestra floor and most of the balcony.
To enter the ornate lobby of the city's largest movie theater, however, the crowds had to file through security guards hired as insurance against gate-crashers at recent rock concerts (and, as it turned out, unnecessary insurance).
As if that weren't enough, paying fans had to dodge colorful-looking brothers and sisters, who, posing rather unconvincingly as impoverished street people, begged passersby for spare change.
Once inside, the kids luxuriated in the gilt neo-Moorish decor of the elaborate movie palace, obviously grooving on surroundings designed to provide a high for a much earlier generation.
The concert was distinguished throughout by the fantastic acoustics of the hall, which were exploited to the fullest by continually skillful acoustical control to produce perhaps the best-sounding rock concert here in years.
The evening began with a generous 90-minute set by the New Riders of the Purple Sage, a group considered a branch of the Dead who share with the parental group its famous lead guitarist, Jerry Garcia.
The Sage is softer than the Dead, and specializes in the current country and Western in-sound, sometimes playing it authentically, and sometimes camping or twanging it up in a mod stylization.
When the Dead broke into its first number at about 9:15 p.m., the rhythmically clapping audience rose to its feet and rushed down the aisles to the stage apron, where many remained standing.
There is no doubt among rock historians that The Grateful Dead is the original rock group, and no doubt among many fans that it is still the best.
Many of their Wednesday night songs were the old hard-hitting variety, others had a strong country flavor, one or two had an almost medieval modality - and a number fell in between.
Arrangements and instrumentation were rich and strong, and unerringly performed.
Wednesday's Grateful Dead concert was an unusual treat and one in line with a group that prefers live audiences to recording studios. The performance will be repeated Thursday evening.
(by John Brod Peters, from the St. Louis Globe-Democrat, March 18 1971)
http://www.dead.net/features/tapers-section/march-12-march-18-2007 - "3/17/71 has a few technical issues at key points in the master tapes (specifically bad cuts in the reels during Hard To Handle and the Other One suite), but from that show we were able to salvage this good version of Next Time You See Me as well as this tight version of Me and Bobby McGee, both from the first set."
1970: Workingman's Dead Review #2
GRATEFUL DEAD ALIVE WITH NEW 'WORKINGMANS' ALBUM
The Grateful Dead have been around for as long as the Beatles and the Stones [sic], though as a group they were not recorded until later - but they were heard in night clubs, coffeehouses and dances in the San Francisco area long before they gained any popularity on the record charts.
The Dead could probably be described as the first San Francisco rock band, Jefferson Airplane and Big Brother not excluded.
They have come a long way with their music from the time of their first album, both in their development of lyrics and melody. The Dead had a reputation among their fans as being "really far-out in person, but some of their records just don't make it."
"Workingman's Dead," one of their latest, does a lot to dispel this belief - this record displays a tight band and eight songs, all of which were written by members of the band. "Workingman's Dead" is one of those records that could not be more aptly named - it is a record for the workingman or for everyman to relax to, jive to, and generally enjoy.
The first cut on the album is a mellow tune titled "Uncle John's Band," inviting us to "Come hear Uncle John's Band - Playing to the tide - Come with me or go alone - He's come to take his children home..." The feeling generated in this song is full of hope and good wishes - this is not hard rock or country music, it is another thing completely. They sing "Whoa-oh, What I want to know-oh - Is, are you kind?"
The music has changed since the days of "The Golden Road (to Unlimited Devotion)," becoming more concerned about the serious side of life. There is a feeling now in the Grateful Dead's music that goes deeper than that expressed even in such a song as "Morning Dew," a cut on their first album concerning the dangers of nuclear warfare, among other things. The music is closer to home now, closer to what men really fear and love; it has become personalized, more exact in its sentiments.
"Black Peter," the second cut on side two of "Workingman's Dead," shows best the distance which the Dead have covered in these last few years. The song is a slow blues, a sort of boat-ride on a lazy river where one forgets his own troubles and takes on the cares of another, in a crying blues in which Jerry Garcia sings, "Take a look at poor Peter - He's lying in pain - Now let's all go, run and see, run and see - Yes run and see..."
In "High Time," a mellow, country-sounding cut, the Dead are concerned not with getting the girl but with losing her, and the sentiment is expressed in not the usual terms, but in a highly original manner much different from what we were used to expecting from them.
The Dead have come a long way - They were good in their first album - they're great now. There's lots to listen to on their latest, workingman or not, and we're grateful for the Dead - give us some more.
(by John Darcy, from the Carson City, Nevada Appeal, May 13 1971)
The Grateful Dead have been around for as long as the Beatles and the Stones [sic], though as a group they were not recorded until later - but they were heard in night clubs, coffeehouses and dances in the San Francisco area long before they gained any popularity on the record charts.
The Dead could probably be described as the first San Francisco rock band, Jefferson Airplane and Big Brother not excluded.
They have come a long way with their music from the time of their first album, both in their development of lyrics and melody. The Dead had a reputation among their fans as being "really far-out in person, but some of their records just don't make it."
"Workingman's Dead," one of their latest, does a lot to dispel this belief - this record displays a tight band and eight songs, all of which were written by members of the band. "Workingman's Dead" is one of those records that could not be more aptly named - it is a record for the workingman or for everyman to relax to, jive to, and generally enjoy.
The first cut on the album is a mellow tune titled "Uncle John's Band," inviting us to "Come hear Uncle John's Band - Playing to the tide - Come with me or go alone - He's come to take his children home..." The feeling generated in this song is full of hope and good wishes - this is not hard rock or country music, it is another thing completely. They sing "Whoa-oh, What I want to know-oh - Is, are you kind?"
The music has changed since the days of "The Golden Road (to Unlimited Devotion)," becoming more concerned about the serious side of life. There is a feeling now in the Grateful Dead's music that goes deeper than that expressed even in such a song as "Morning Dew," a cut on their first album concerning the dangers of nuclear warfare, among other things. The music is closer to home now, closer to what men really fear and love; it has become personalized, more exact in its sentiments.
"Black Peter," the second cut on side two of "Workingman's Dead," shows best the distance which the Dead have covered in these last few years. The song is a slow blues, a sort of boat-ride on a lazy river where one forgets his own troubles and takes on the cares of another, in a crying blues in which Jerry Garcia sings, "Take a look at poor Peter - He's lying in pain - Now let's all go, run and see, run and see - Yes run and see..."
In "High Time," a mellow, country-sounding cut, the Dead are concerned not with getting the girl but with losing her, and the sentiment is expressed in not the usual terms, but in a highly original manner much different from what we were used to expecting from them.
The Dead have come a long way - They were good in their first album - they're great now. There's lots to listen to on their latest, workingman or not, and we're grateful for the Dead - give us some more.
(by John Darcy, from the Carson City, Nevada Appeal, May 13 1971)
1971: Capitol Theater, Port Chester
ROCK THUMPED IN WESTCHESTER CO.
PORT CHESTER, N.Y. - Howard Stein does his best to lure this Westchester County hamlet's kids off the streets weekend evenings, and last year he was instrumental in closing down the town's lone skinflick palace.
But Port Chester's city fathers are not impressed with Stein's achievements, and the city council has been swapping restraining orders with him for the last six months in attempts to close the Capitol Theater and put Howard - the town's lone rock entrepeneur - out of business.
Since he took over operation of the Capitol Theater a little more than a year ago, Stein has booked some of the country's better bands, built up a steady regular audience, and spent about half of his time fighting city hall. And he's getting paranoid.
During a recent Grateful Dead concert, an anonymous phone caller tipped police that a bomb was planted in the theater. The cops relayed the message to the Capitol right after Stein had stepped out for a few minutes, and the responsibility for clearing the hall fell upon the on-duty fire marshal and Dead manager Sam Cutler.
The New Riders of the Purple Sage were into their fifth number as Cutler and the fire marshal rushed on stage to sound the alarm. But instead of racing for the exits, the audience roared back a fat chorus of "fuuuuuuck you!" Ushers and stagehands finally got the place cleared, and after the briefest of searches, the cops declared the bomb threat a hoax. The capacity crowd of slightly less than 2000 streamed back inside, reinforced by several hundred grinning crashers who proceeded to jam the aisles.
Stein said he saw several "shady figures" taking pictures of the aisle-squatters, who were, of course, violating fire ordinances. "I suspect," he declared, "the whole thing was set up."
The Capitol is currently operating thanks to a temporary restraining order blocking the city council's latest ordinance, which states that no establishment in which live entertainment is performed can operate after 1 AM.
"What they were saying effectively," said Stein, "was that the Capitol Theater will close... We'd go out of business because we couldn't do two shows a night. With a capacity of 1850, we have to do two shows or we can't make enough money to get the acts we need."
Dominick Pierro, attorney for the Port Chester city council, wouldn't discuss the town's specific reasons for wanting to close the theater except to say that "it was an undisciplined operation and creates problems for the local police department."
"We wish Stein operated elsewhere," Pierro added. "Our kids don't go to it."
Stein has no plans to pull out of Port Chester, but he will be operating elsewhere. He's obtained a summer lease on the Pavilion in Flushing Meadow Park, Queens, and hopes to stage a series of "mini-festivals."
(from Rolling Stone, April 1 1971)
PORT CHESTER, N.Y. - Howard Stein does his best to lure this Westchester County hamlet's kids off the streets weekend evenings, and last year he was instrumental in closing down the town's lone skinflick palace.
But Port Chester's city fathers are not impressed with Stein's achievements, and the city council has been swapping restraining orders with him for the last six months in attempts to close the Capitol Theater and put Howard - the town's lone rock entrepeneur - out of business.
Since he took over operation of the Capitol Theater a little more than a year ago, Stein has booked some of the country's better bands, built up a steady regular audience, and spent about half of his time fighting city hall. And he's getting paranoid.
During a recent Grateful Dead concert, an anonymous phone caller tipped police that a bomb was planted in the theater. The cops relayed the message to the Capitol right after Stein had stepped out for a few minutes, and the responsibility for clearing the hall fell upon the on-duty fire marshal and Dead manager Sam Cutler.
The New Riders of the Purple Sage were into their fifth number as Cutler and the fire marshal rushed on stage to sound the alarm. But instead of racing for the exits, the audience roared back a fat chorus of "fuuuuuuck you!" Ushers and stagehands finally got the place cleared, and after the briefest of searches, the cops declared the bomb threat a hoax. The capacity crowd of slightly less than 2000 streamed back inside, reinforced by several hundred grinning crashers who proceeded to jam the aisles.
Stein said he saw several "shady figures" taking pictures of the aisle-squatters, who were, of course, violating fire ordinances. "I suspect," he declared, "the whole thing was set up."
The Capitol is currently operating thanks to a temporary restraining order blocking the city council's latest ordinance, which states that no establishment in which live entertainment is performed can operate after 1 AM.
"What they were saying effectively," said Stein, "was that the Capitol Theater will close... We'd go out of business because we couldn't do two shows a night. With a capacity of 1850, we have to do two shows or we can't make enough money to get the acts we need."
Dominick Pierro, attorney for the Port Chester city council, wouldn't discuss the town's specific reasons for wanting to close the theater except to say that "it was an undisciplined operation and creates problems for the local police department."
"We wish Stein operated elsewhere," Pierro added. "Our kids don't go to it."
Stein has no plans to pull out of Port Chester, but he will be operating elsewhere. He's obtained a summer lease on the Pavilion in Flushing Meadow Park, Queens, and hopes to stage a series of "mini-festivals."
(from Rolling Stone, April 1 1971)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)