The Grateful Dead - Live/Dead (1970)
In honor of 2009's Day of the Dead, I thought I'd throw some GD on the metaphoric spinner for the evening. L/D is, along with Workingman's Dead, the first GD album I owned. I had read a feature piece in Entertainment Weekly (courtesy of Aunt Pat - happy BDay!) - this must have been 1993 or so* after Garcia had collapsed and forced the cancellation of the fall 1992 tour - that included a review of their entire discography. This was back when I thought (naturally, being a music-citizen of San Antonio, whose radio stations remain KZEP and KISS) the Grateful Dead *had* to be a "death" metal band. Much to my surprise, the review made references to "Americana" and "folk" and "blues" and a slew of other non bat-head-eating, Alamo-urinating-upon terms. Workingman's and American Beauty received A+ grades, but Live/Dead had received an A along with the recommendation "if this doesn't hook you, nothing will." Okay, EW, I'm sold - I took my hard-earned (yeah, right) $30 to the CD Warehouse and grabbed the two aforementioned albums. L/D went in the player first, and a -Head was born.
* - Actually, it's March 12, 1993 to be exact - here's the EW cover in question:
And here's a link to the discography review I mentioned. And the cover article, while we're at it. Ah, the interwebs.
The disc is a double album that emphasizes the exploratory live aspect of the band. The first track originally took up the entirety of side 1 - 23:16 of bassy, loosely jazzy and mind-blowing space rock. It's the definitive version of "Dark Star," a Dead tune that carries all of the band's mystique and is a veritable litmus test of fandom. Even though it sounds quite unlike anything else in the band's catalog, it's a great feeler - the spirit of it either entirely captures you (it's cool, interesting and entrancing to focus on a strange tune that spirals all over the place) or will, frankly, piss you off and inspire the term "noodling." I obviously had the former response. The song slowly yawns into existence and goes on an obscure lyric-laden, melodic-but-freewheeling journey. Highs and lows, jumping excitement and meditative slumber; the song's got IT in a big way. Just a fascinating, murky and odd tune; one for the ages.
If "Dark Star" hooked me, then "St. Stephen" bought my lifetime membership card. I would describe it, if pressed, as soaring acid troubadour Renaissance rock. A screaming lead guitar is juxtaposed with bubbling keys and followed by a sing-songy verse that sounds as though it's being canted out of a sacred, gilded text. And then a free-rhythm vocal / bassline bridge continues the mythic feel, only for the original melody to come back in and slide into a rambunctious short jam. One more verse, an odd vocal coda, and then... a military march? And an all-band assault jam? Yes. The tune is a deliciously weird seven minutes and stands out even above "DS" in the unique song catalog; again, this is the best-of, definitive version. The song segues into a soaring (mostly instrumental) ten-minute jam called "The Eleven," named after the song's wacky 11/8 time signature. Some lyrics pour out ("Only time will tell..."), but this song is really about an all-out, paradigmatic, driving jam. Another stellar showcase for the band's live energy that, incidentally, segues into
"Turn on Your Love Light." Another definitive version - have I mentioned that this album is an absolute gem of 1969 Grateful Dead? - this is a throaty blues / soul / gospel number that tears the roof off. The vocals are superb, the joke is great - this is not, um, the typical religious method of letting one's light shine - and the guitar work is thrilling. Even the snares and borderline drum solos that get worked out here are dance-inducing. Things drop down to just drums and vocals - gospel revival tent style - eventually guitars sneak in, the rest of the band creeps along, and an extended call and response freeform jam goes down. Maybe a little much at fifteen minutes - no one accused this band of restraint - things eventually wrap up to a triumphant close ("And leave it on!"), and you've just experienced three of the best sides and one of the best extended fifty-four minute, four song openings of any album out there.
Side four is a decidedly more reserved affair. Jerry Garcia takes the lead on guitar and world-weary vocal for "Death Don't Have No Mercy," a much darker, slower gospel-blues number by a fella named Blind Gary Davis. This song is an emotional rager with trickling organs balanced against slow, minor key leads. Cool, somber-soulful work from Jerry, and a welcome respite from the mayhem of the rest of the album. It's followed by "Feedback," a song that is just what you think it is: an extended (7:49) psychedelic freakout that explores the acid-laced soundscape one can achieve by limiting the distance twixt pickups and amp. As far as the severely experimental rock genre goes, it's actually a quite interesting listen - the feedback is controlled such that it is not just annoying noise for annoying noise's sake, more like a beast trying to escape. I won't lie and say I dig this one out frequently, but still - while it's got a decidedly different vibe, I'd place it at about 11,756 times better than, say, "Revolution 9."
The album closes on the traditional a cappella hymn, "And We Bid You Good Night." As opposed to other recently reviewed albums with songs bidding the night adieu - cough, cough - this is a lovely lullaby close to the disc. Just 36 seconds, but it nicely caps off the freakout session of the previous track and brings things to a graceful close.
I can't emphasize enough what a seminal disc this was for my formative middle and high school youth - I'll forever associate, for example, "St. Stephen" and "Love Light" with my black Jeep Cherokee and rolled-down windows, blasting the Clark country-pop masses for all they were worth. And I played this one, too, late at night, letting the smooth licks of "Dark Star" lull me. You can pretty much pin all of my tastes for extended, exploratory, not-necessarily-so-focused music on this album, so all that followed - Phish, Miles, Coltrane, Zappa, you name it - can be traced back to that fateful day with an EW mag. So for all the Hollywood pandering, it can do good work in this world! L/D was and still is my favorite GD album, yes, even better than WD and AB, so it'll be the one packed in the suitcase. Find a dark room and listen to it prone; I did, and it was definitely a move for the better.
Status: Desert Island Recommended
Nyet's Fave: "St. Stephen"
