GRATEFUL DEAD
Three Nights in Frisco '76
Book excerpt By Ray Robertson
(December 2023)
Set 1: Cold Rain and Snow; Cassidy; Deal; Mama Tried; Row Jimmy; Big River; Brown-Eyed Women; Looks Like Rain; Peggy-O; The Music Never Stopped > Scarlet Begonias
Set 2: Playing in the Band > Cosmic Charlie > Samson and Delilah > Spanish Jam > Drums > The Wheel > Playing in the Band > Around and Around; High Time; Sugar Magnolia
Encore: US Blues
As Jack Kerouac reminds us, walking on water wasn't built in a day. By the time the Grateful Dead returned home for a whopping six shows in seven nights at the twenty-three-hundred seat Orpheum Theatre--part of the post-retirement plan to play two or more gigs at the same scaled-down venue, as opposed to a single, more-financially prudent but aesthetically less-rewarding evening at the local sports stadium or multi-purpose dome--they'd begun to resemble who they were going to be next. At its best--and all six nights at the Orpheum are superlative (with all of the attendant rushed or sluggish tempos and blown lyrics and off-key singing that come with most great Grateful Dead shows)--the sound of the Dead in 1976 is a band slowly reimagining itself as it goes along. Beer and creative growth are always best when they're organic.
In addition to wanting to shake things up a bit--both stylistically and in terms of song selection--the less-freewheeling, more-streamlined sound was probably at least in part because the majority of the group were in their early to mid-thirties by this point and understandably lacking something in the space-travel cardio department, the physical and psychological demands of taking the psychedelic sacrament (literally or figuratively) and seeing where it led them simply becoming a little too much. Fair enough and fare thee well. We all get old and Earthbound. So, tired of playing the same long songs in the same ways, as the Dead moved into their second month back on the road, the second-set highlight tended be three or four, or sometimes even five, meaty numbers linked together over the course of an hour or more of often inspired, exploratory playing.
The first sets were pretty swell, too--tight, tough versions of all the usual suspects, plus a little mellow jamming during stretched out versions of tunes like "Row Jimmy" and "Scarlet Begonias"--but the second set was where Dead Heads who worried that their favourite aural astronauts had been permanently grounded had their fears assuaged. And on nights like July 16, 1976, their minds blown, as well. Even though the shows tended to be shorter, and thirty-minute versions of "The Other One" or "Playing in the Band" or the still-absent "Dark Star" had become extinct, just because aesthetic excess was out and (relative) concision was in, doesn't mean there wasn't still plenty of extended musical excitement.
Gone were the days when "Playing in the Band" would sometimes comprise a quarter of the entire second set, but this rendition is still longer than usual, by the standards of the day (nearly twenty-two total minutes of twisting, probing jamming), and provides the bookends to almost seventy minutes of continuous, interconnected thrills. (It also includes the last "Stronger Than Dirt," part of the instrumental suite from Blues for Allah entitled "King Solomon's Marbles.") "Cosmic Charlie" (one of only six post-retirement versions before being shelved again, this time permanently) is a slinky, teasing delight. The best things about "Samson and Delilah" are that it's new and that Garcia gets to play some stinging blues licks, while Keith provides a bed of tinkling support; melodically, it's more than a little thin, and its rhythm, like a lot of Weir's tunes and arrangements, even the superior ones, seems unnecessarily busy. The "Spanish Jam" that emerges from it, though, is a smooth, shadowy journey that results in some stellar Espanola-influenced improvisation which even the resulting "Drums" can't dilute (think Bitches Brew-era Miles Davis). Besides, out of the boom boom boom bedlam comes an absolutely stunning "The Wheel," the rainbow after the storm, the cooling beauty of Earth after the Big Bang bang bang. In a better world, this would be in every religion's hymn book, the existential mystery of human doing and being all wrapped up in a tidy little package of sighing enchantment.
When the familiar circling chords of "Playing in the Band" emerge from the mist of "The Wheel" the journey there and back is complete--almost. "Around and Around" might seem like an afterthought after so much near-ethereal playing, but it works, gets everyone's feet firmly planted back on the ground, and in the process inspires the band to keep going: "High Time," an unusual late-set choice, but welcome for that very reason, and "Sugar Magnolia," a dependably rapturous send-off. Until the encore "US Blues."
It was 1976, after all: America's Bicentennial. And what was America but a country that invented and constantly reinvented itself? And what could be more American than the good ol' Grateful Dead? Give me five, I'm still alive.
Set 1: Promised Land; Mississippi Half-Step Uptown Toodeloo; Mama Tried; Deal; New Minglewood Blues; Peggy-O; Big River; Sugaree; Johnny B. Goode
Set 2: Samson and Delilah; Comes a Time > Drums > The Other One > Eyes of the World > Going Down the Road Feeling Bad > One More Saturday Night
Encore 1: US Blues
Encore 2: Not Fade Away
There's a price to be paid for doing what you want to do, just as there is for doing the right thing, and it doesn't take an accountant specializing in the music business to determine that it makes more economic sense to perform once before an audience of 13,200 people than it does to play the same city six separate times, each before audiences of 2,200. And the cost isn't only monetary or logistical. No matter how young or zealous you are, it would take an extraordinary amount of energy and commitment to simply attend six Grateful Dead shows in seven nights; when you're talking about performing those same shows--and performing them like the Grateful Dead did, without a song list, without a road map, without a net--the price (physical, psychological, and creative) is incalculable. But that's what the Dead did July 12-18, 1976, because one of their credos when they returned to touring was: less is more. It might not have been a prudent move financially or physically, but it certainly paid off artistically.
Maybe because it's the fifth of six gigs in seven nights, but 7/17/76's first set is even more of an extended warm-up than most Dead shows, featuring a set list heavy on uptempo, overplayed Weir numbers ("Mama Tried," "New Minglewood Blues," "Big River") and containing not one but two Chuck Berry covers (to open and close). Lengthy, lively versions of Garcia's "Mississippi Half-Step Uptown Toodeloo" and "Sugaree" (especially) ensure that not all is lost, but this one, even more than most Dead shows, is all about the second set. It opens with "Samson and Delilah," a song chiefly memorable because its 'If I had my way' chorus is repeated so many damn times, but after that, and until the double encore, it's one long mind melt. Even the fact that Donna is inexplicably absent for the entirety of the second set can't ruin the fun. Who knows? Maybe that's one of the reasons why the non-stop instrumental interplay is so consistently hot. When one of your teammates goes down, it's up to everybody else to pick up the slack and play a little harder.
"Comes a Time," to me, is one of those almost songs--it almost works: because of its mournful, pretty music, its searching words, its near-glacial grandeur. But in the end, it's a little too close to "Ship of Fools" melodically; and lyrically, the "blind man" line is groan-worthy every time. But none of that matters tonight, because at sixteen minutes, this one is all about the delicate but dedicated jamming. (Garcia's the star, naturally, but Keith comes in second with plenty of shimmering Fender Rhodes, an instrument he didn't play nearly enough.) Over time, some songs reveal themselves to be model improvisational vehicles, and "Comes a Time" (which the Dead had been playing off and on since late 1971) wasn't one of them (too slow, too minor-key melancholy). Except tonight, it is. This is one of the virtues of traveling without GPS: you might get lost, but the road you do end up taking just might be more interesting.
After a short (hurray!) drum break, "The Other One" starts out suitably thunderous but soon slips into more deep space for ten or so delightful minutes (more than most '76 shows, this one has a distinct '73 or '74 flavor to it). The next number, "Eyes of the World," is similarly structured (or unstructured): a few captivating, if too brisk, minutes of the song itself (which is just as well, because without Donna's high harmonies, it isn't as nearly successful vocally), then several more minutes of wildly exploratory playing (including, just before song's end, some cosmic chicken-scratching from Garcia). After that, and after "The Other One" is revisited and rapturously wrapped up, it's a "Going Down the Road Feeling Bad" > "One More Saturday Night" sandwich to take home with you in case you get the musical munchies later on and feel like tapping your toes. Mm, mmm, good.
But it is Saturday night, and they are playing in their hometown, after all--and don't underestimate the appeal of sleeping in your own bed and making music for familiar, friendly faces. Familiar, friendly faces you don't have to squint to see. A smoking "US Blues" would have been enough--they'd been playing for nearly a week straight, don't forget, and there was still one more night to go--and that might very well have been their intention, to say goodnight after their Bicentennial head-bobber. But "Not Fade Away," the rare second encore that follows, is long (fourteen minutes) and exultant, definitely not a perfunctory run-through to placate the fans. The art you give yourself always makes for the best gift.
Set 1: Mississippi Half-Step Uptown Toodeloo; Cassidy; Row Jimmy; Mama Tried; Scarlet Begonias; Looks Like Rain; Tennessee Jed; New Minglewood Blues; Loser; The Music Never Stopped
Set 2: Might As Well; Samson and Delilah; Candyman; Lazy Lightning > Supplication > Let It Grow > Drums > Let It Grow > Wharf Rat > Drums > The Other One > St Stephen > Not Fade Away > The Wheel > The Other One > Stella Blue; Sugar Magnolia
Encore: Johnny B. Goode
In hockey, it's called a natural hat trick- lighting the lamp three times in a row. And the third one, 7/18/76, might be the most impressive marker of all, the goalie decked out of their jockstrap and lying flat on their back on the ice and the puck buried in the top right corner of the net. Helping propel the band to the finish line in style was not only the prospect of two whole weeks off the road until the next gig (except for Garcia, of course, who was playing two nights later with his solo band at the Keystone), but also the fact that portions of the show were being recorded for a nationally aired FM-radio broadcast, part of the Dead's continuing strategy to keep attendance at their shows down to a civilized number, so that everyone would have a better time. Everything exists in an ecosystem, even the Dead, and fewer people meant better music meant a happier band meant happier fans meant a happier band. And happy is why we're here, isn't it?
Although, as usual, it's a solid opening set that ranks behind an astonishing second set, Garcia won't let it become merely competent, "Mississippi Half-Step Uptown Toodeloo," "Row Jimmy," and "Scarlet Begonias" all bursting with ingenious lead guitar little twists and turns and compelling chords and unusual changes that make them all, also as usual, absolutely unique and mandatory hearing. And how reassuring to get "The Music Never Stopped" to close out the first set; almost as stirring as hearing "Might As Well" open up the second, Garcia and Hunter's rollicking, carpe diem ode to the famous Festival Express tour that took the group and a trainload of other lucky music-making lunatics across Canada in the spring of 1970 (captured for posterity on the excellent Festival Express documentary) the perfect tune to get the party going again.
By now the post-retirement template for the evening's second-set festivities had been set: a few tunes ("Candyman" is especially agreeable, even without the bewitching treated-steel-guitar solo Garcia played on the studio version), plus a few more tunes stitched together and jammed around and inside and upside down and across, but tonight it's more than a few--a lot more. How much more? Over an hour of "Lazy Lightning" > "Supplication" > "Let It Grow" > "Drums" > "Let It Grow" > "Wharf Rat" > "Drums" > "The Other One" > "St Stephen" > "Not Fade Away" > "The Wheel" > "The Other One" > "Stella Blue" more, that's how much. It wouldn't be the Dead though if it was all about what it seemed. Some of the most interesting parts of this epic sequence are contained in the segues between songs, the spontaneous construction of absorbing musical bridges connecting one tune to the next. Come for the songs, stay for the segues.
"Lazy Lightning" > "Supplication" was never about the tune(s), which is slight, but about its tempo-shifting tension and the space it provides for Garcia and Weir to exhibit their six-string, jazzy joy. A brief but tasty transition leads to a less vigorous (and perhaps improved) "Let It Grow," and after a dual drum solo that benefits from the addition of Hart's four busy limbs, it's back to a "Let It Grow" whose finest moment is its outro, a rich collection of sometimes-familiar, sometimes-unfamiliar, but always-intriguing sounds. "Wharf Rat," where it eventually ends up, is a stunner- one of those spooky Grateful Dead moments (usually courtesy of one of Garcia's ballads) where the on-their-feet crowd stops moving and stops cheering and stands and sways and enters the shadowy, sublime world of the Garcia-Hunter songbook.
The transition into "The Other One" is a snaky charmer and the highlight of the entire bisected number. The Dead didn't take requests, but if I had my way, there would have been fewer inessential Weir tunes (how many times can you listen to "El Paso" or "Mama Tried" or "Samson and Delilah" and not wonder why you're listening?) and more open-ended conversations like these, more uncharted trips to who-knows-where. But artists aren't jukeboxes. Thankfully.
The "St. Stephen" that emerges out of "The Other One" is one of the slowest, if not the slowest, versions the group ever performed--so slow, at times it almost sounds like a different song, which might have been the point--but when those familiar first notes filled the Orpheum, no one was complaining that it wasn't peppy enough. Imagine the Rolling Stones performing "Start Me Up" in waltz time and you understand why people say that there's nothing like a Grateful Dead concert.
And there's more--a lot more: a similarly slowed-down "Not Fade Away" (one tune that probably should always be cranked up and out), a typically rapturous "The Wheel," a soft-landing resumption of "The Other One" (which could use a little more raunch) and. . "Stella Blue. "It's not as magnificent as the versions from 11/4/77 or 10/20/78, but then what version is? Garcia's guitar is at its sparkling, single-note, soul-piercing best, and vocally, it's as if, two years after debuting it, the words are starting to make sense, it--life--really does melt into a dream. A dream that deserves to be danced to. Appropriately, then, to wrap things up, a rip-roaring "Sugar Magnolia."
As Bob Cole used to say on Hockey Night in Canada, Oh, baby!
Ray Robertson is the author of nine novels, five collections of non-fiction, and a book of poetry. His work has been translated into several languages.
He contributed the liner notes to two Grateful Dead archival releases: Dave's Picks #45 and the Here Comes Sunshine 1973 box set.
Born and raised in Chatham, Ontario, he lives Toronto.
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