March 24, 2017

Scarlet>Fire (Guest Post)

IMPROBABLE PERFECTION: THE GLORIES AND GROWTH OF SCARLET>FIRE

by Thomas Mullen, 1999  

Intro

All of us can pinpoint monumental moments when our lives changed irrevocably for weal or for woe: weddings, births, arguments, movies, parties, trips, our first emails or rec.music.gdead posts. My life was never the same after January 8, 1979 at Madison Square Garden, the first time I saw ‘Scarlet Begonias>Fire on the Mountain’ performed. The visible joy, the reggaeish energy, the booming reverberations, have echoed in my mind ever since; indeed, this combination of songs has become my benchmark for Dead shows.
Alas, in comments published in one of the last issues of The Golden Road, neither Garcia nor Hunter recalled anything special about the genesis of this song, and we can only dimly, falteringly imagine the inspiration, early growth, and development of one of the most singable, danceable, memorable, and affirming Dead songs. But the performances we have trace a record of inspiration second to none. Separately they are beautiful; in synergy they transcend mere beauty to become uplifting and edifying. They complement each other in an enigmatic synergy; the former is very lyric-driven; the latter very beat-driven. One is an understandable encounter; the second is much more elliptical. One was jammed primarily towards its conclusion; the other constantly erupts into bright glories. One sings of 'I' but is extroverted; the other sings of 'you' yet is introverted to the core. The former promises, the latter delivers, the former completes.

Brief History

After confidently debuting it on March 23 in the great year of 1974 (and just two days before they started recording Mars Hotel), the Dead performed it throughout that year (28 times in 40 concerts) and 1976 (18 times in 41 concerts). Now, inevitably looking back through the pyrolithic lens of Fire on the Mountain, we often forget how strongly, dynamically, and aggressively this song was explored and jammed during this period. But as my comments below indicate, many pre-Fire versions are exquisitely played and jammed. As for its lyrics, when we juxtapose them as performed by Hunter and by the Dead, we see Jerry's consistent erosion of specificity, for example Hunter's Bristol girls (to rhyme with curls) is gone, and the lyrics as the Dead perform them tell of a casual encounter, a narrator who wavers on taking a chance, and its uncertain results. With the exception of solecisms and missed words, these lyrics will remain constant throughout the life of the song, or should I say, its singer. About three years later, Scarlet Begonias was publicly paired with Fire on the Mountain for the first time on the enchanted Winterland evening of March 18, 1977. Thereafter, with occasional separate performances and infrequent trios (a handful of Scarlet>Touch of Grey>Fires and Scarlet>Victim or the Crime>Fires, the two songs were inseparable.
The known history of Fire on the Mountain dates back to a 1971 studio session (an aborted Hart LP) with Mickey singing a surprisingly rap style of lyrics rather different from what we hear now. As might be expected from an early studio version, the lead vocals, Jerry’s brief solo, and the backup vocals all seem to soar in isolation, without the layered synergistic interplay which later comes to characterize Fire. Also, this early delivery is closer to Hunter’s originals than the dreamy, Row Jimmyish verses we have all grown to love and dance to. In Box of Rain, Hunter himself tells the lyrics’ origin: composed at Mickey's ranch as local fires seared the hills and neared their studio. But as usual they are re-written in a characteristically more evocative, open direction sometime between 1971 and 1977. After this studio session, Fire smolders in obscurity until March 18, 1977, when it is first performed, hesitantly, unexpectedly, out of Scarlet.
Unlike Scarlet's lyrics, which recount a chance encounter whose passions are reflected in a game of cards, Fire is deeply, powerfully, positively problematic. Addressed to the long-distance runner who can't leave the barroom floor, who is almost aflame but cannot sense the heat, compelled to stay, the singer questions his motivation:
You say it's a living we all gotta eat,
But you're here alone, there's no one to compete
and
You gave all you got, why you wanta give more?
The more that you give, why, the more it will take
Fire tells of obsession and compulsion, of inability to look away from the flame, of aesthetic rapture which blinds to danger and continues even when passion has passed, carried on by its own internal momentum. Hunter's original lyrics emphasize the images of the encounter, and in fact go far afield. In particular, the third stanza chronicles the recording process, and the fourth describes a pig-roast. Interesting though they are, in concert they would have had two effects. On the one hand, the task of delivering five long stanzas would have vastly cramped the improvisational impulse, in much the same way that the lyrics of Terrapin Station, so beautiful, nonetheless are so imperative that there has never been a significant jam within the song, only at its end. On the other hand, the rich space of Fire would have grown cluttered with details. As usual, Garcia re-crafted these away from specificity in the direction of evocative ambiguity, much as he did with lyrics such as those of ‘Morning Dew’. As they stand now, it’s all too easy to read the band and ourselves into these ellipses, but the power of Fire does not lie in any mirror. Rather, the delight is in juxtaposing a song whose lyrics counsel moderation and caution with a song whose music provided the improvisational opportunities for such awe-inspiring creativity. We long ago crossed the thin line beyond which you really cannot fake. Below I would like to examine the key points to look for in any performance of Scarlet or Scarlet>Fire, and then present many examples.

Scarlet's Great Points

I encourage everyone to get the tapes below for superb versions of standalone Scarlets. In them, the great improvisational spaces lie mainly after the third verse (ending ‘to let her pass by, let her pass by’) and the final stanza (ending ‘the heart of gold band’). In all cases below, the real fireworks start after the lyrics have passed. In later years, these incendiaries became foreplay for the Everest-like ascents of Fire, and were all-too-often abbreviated.
05-25-74: Great 1974 version in an outstanding mix for an audience tape. Minor lyrical variations, good underlining by Donna, excellent keyboards. Jerry’s solo after ‘to let her pass by’ is isolated and short, but pretty. After the final verse, though, the entire band kicks loose for a couple of minutes with a delightful jam.
06-30-74: An audience tape more distant from the stage. Longer, meandering, less intense instrumental with Jerry and Phil leading and Keith providing the background structure. Donna is oddly absent from this quietly pleasing jam.
07-19-74: This version beats a fast pace all the way through the song, and barely pauses after ‘the heart of gold band’ before plunging into a high-energy jam which recoups the Scarlet motif for thirty seconds or so with the whole band in high gear (and great vocals from Donna!) before Jerry ignites into a searing solo. Phil weaves in and around him, and Keith brilliantly improvises. This goes on for several ecstatic minutes. A must!
07-29-74: The drummers and Keith lay a firm, soaring backbeat as Jerry spirals into several orbits. Regrettably, Donna is absent from this beautiful performance.
07-31-74: Delightful extended jam, Donna absent, Jerry and Phil leading. And this opens the show!
08-04-74: Played hard and fast, with a great jam at the end featuring on-target Donna vocals which open the gates to almost three minutes of inventive fury from Jerry, in which he throws off extended riffs from the basic Scarlet theme while the band sustains a fast, hard iteration of the song’s beat.
08-06-74: One of the most unusual appearances of a tight ‘Scarlet’, right in the middle of a spacey Playin’ in the Band! The abrupt transition into and out of Scarlet reward attention. It’s surely the last thing anyone expected.
09-11-74: The entire band rocks through this performance, and the extended jamming after the final stanza is raucously perfect. The backbeat is gruff and beat-driven, Donna's vocals are superb, and Jerry's jamming builds and elaborates on and against this background. Rocking glory!
10-14-76: Frenzied, inventive, long, and glorious. Jerry and Phil seem to compete to outdo each other in the post-last stanza instrumental, with the drums providing structure until Keith emerges from the chaos to guide the song home. I’ve listened to this exceptionally beautiful version and thrilled to it for years, even on my decidedly B audience tape; so will you.
As noted, Scarlet was performed on 46 occasions during 1974 and 1976, in about half the shows of this period, and the band had honed its performance down to a fine delight. Nonetheless, its bright, upbeat melody prevented it from achieving the gravitas accorded to Wharf Rat, Stella Blue, or Row Jimmy, and one might have wondered if it would eventually become a lightweight tune along the lines of Touch of Grey. This makes it all the more surprising when we hear these searing performances. And in later years when it almost inevitably led into Fire it often seemed foreplay, yet as the above dates suggest, Scarlet Begonias contains impressive potential and inspiration for improvisation. In fact, if the improvisational power and pleasures of these distant early performances had been paired with the rocking, driving dynamism of later years’ Fires, we would all have long since stopped listening to Live Dead.

Scarlet>Fire: What to Look For

Be that as it may, outstanding performances have abounded since 1977. Since my first experience of this on 01-08-79 I have collected and listened to every performance of Scarlet>Fire save two (02-07-79 and 09-26-80), and have come to the conclusion that only Dark Star and Eyes of the World are as varied and inventive. And whereas Dark Star flourished only for six years or so, the Dead explored, developed, and moved us with Scarlet>Fire for almost twenty. And, really, which one is better for dancing?
Whereas Dark Star has definite periods, and it'd be easy to listen to one and date it to within two or three months, Scarlet>Fire displays less evident evolution; the changing styles of a gifted series of pianists and keyboardists are the clearest index of change. And everywhere, from 1977-1995, we can find sterling examples of its grand improvisational promise amply fulfilled, which can hardly be said about even titans such as Dark Star. More to the point, its greatest performances are not be defined by mere time and space; instead, this is a piece of music which makes and follows its own laws of development and aesthetic destiny, and if we are to understand its power, it behooves us to understand its internal structure, and architecture of creativity. Hence, below I’d like to suggest the key moments to watch in any performance of Scarlet>Fire. After that I'll list and comment on some of the greatest, most mind-bending, most inexhaustible performances, in some of the unlikeliest places.
1. Scarlet:  The post-second stanza moments are traditional for jamming; often this is where the band kicks loose, especially in the 1974-1976 period. Sometimes Jerry leads or jams exclusively; other times the entire band, especially Phil and Keith, feels the muse. But even in the post-1977 period, Scarlet still could shine in and of itself, as in 02-03-79 and 04-24-78. And see my comments on Scarlet for great examples of great potential greatly fulfilled.
2. Transition:  There are two broad trends to note. First is Dick Latvala's favorite, the extended spacey, jazzy transition, as in 10-14-83. Other outstanding examples of this include 03-10-81, 05-26-95, and 11-05-79. You can listen to these and forget where you are on the tape, the music seems to flow inexhaustibly, from inexhaustible springs, like the Nile on acid. Second is the tighter, more rhythmic transition, such as 01-08-79, 05-08-79, 12-03-79, 10-14-94, and 05-21-77. In these cases (which, by the way, are easier to memorize and replay mentally ad infinitum), the ideal is an aggressively jammed lead out of Scarlet, exploration of its theme, and a slightly wandering jam which ends with a hotly anticipated completion into a great Fire intro. The best example of this I can think of is 10-14-94. In this second group, sometimes Jerry will cycle through a single musical theme multiple times, exploring and varying it. Other times, he crafts a single long, complex development, ideally with or (often) without the supporting embroidery of the band.
3. Entry to Fire:  Sometimes this is slow, as in 05-21-77; other times it is hot and fast, or with contrapuntal wrestling, as in 12-03-79 and 09-13-91. Sometimes the entire band seems to instantly shift from a swirling flock of seagulls to a focused constellation of eagles, as in the awesome 05-08-79. For me, this play of anticipation and fulfillment is a pivotal moment of any show. Normally Jerry leads, but there are times, as on 11-30-80, when Phil and Bobby pull the show along until Jerry succumbs. And in fact, the intricate play of talents frequently foregrounds Phil and Bobby; certainly the entrance to Fire would merely simmer without Weir’s powerful rhythm playing.
4. Post-First Stanza Jam, which starts after the lines ‘Fire, fire on the mountain’. In terms of improvisational genius and intensity, this is the peak of almost any performance. Usually Jerry leads, sometimes in isolation with the rest of the band just repeating the Fire motif, as on 05-21-77, and on other occasions the entire band is exploring, staying close to him all the way. Ideally, this section features cyclic exploration of themes, and sustained development. 10-14-94 is the epic example of this, but so are 02-03-79, 12-05-79, 05-21-77, 09-04-91, and 09-13-91. Often the most intense moments of the night’s show are fiercely embedded here.
5. Pre-final stanza instrumental: main jamming.  Two superb examples of this date from surprisingly recent times: 09-04-91, and 10-14-94. In each case, after the final ‘Fire, Fire on the Mountain’ iterations, the band fires up the theme again, and Jerry starts jamming almost in a frenzy. Some good examples of this would be 05-25-77 and 03-31-88. Unlike what goes before and after, this is often very free-form, with different elements of the band moving in and out of focus. But Mickey and Billy consistently craft a strong beat.
6. Peaks before final entry to Scarlet:  05-25-77: beautiful soaring peak, too delayed: only a hint of what might have been: infuriating. On the other hand, in 09-04-91, there is a similar rocket-like soaring just before a quick, elegant reprise of the Scarlet theme, but in this case it concludes a near-half-hour of passion and power nearly without parallel this side of the Big Bang. In most cases by this time we expect to re-enter the earth’s atmosphere, and only on one occasion (10-14-94) did I start to wonder if we were going to take off again. So this is usually predictable, but powerful and poignant.
Why have this brief reprise at all? In a few cases, such as 03-10-81, it is absent, and the sky didn’t fall. The beauty of the reprise is its framing effect. As the narrator in Scarlet stumbles down the street, ‘the sky was yellow and the sun was blue’, and he seems as totally disoriented as the music is affirming. Against this backdrop, Fire explores obsession and the strongest passions beyond volitional control. As the chant ‘Fire, Fire on the Mountain’ rises in intensity, it can almost seem too much, and the song itself offers no resolution, and can appear as chaotic and lost in its own inner logic as a dream. However, the sudden reprise frames these flames in human experience, and anchors Fire's dark meditations in Scarlet's promise that life goes on, and everyone’s playing in the Heart of Gold Band. That’s why these few seconds exert such influence.

With this map in mind, let's review some awesome performances of Scarlet>Fire over eighteen incendiary years. As we do, it will be amazing to see how strongly these songs were performed even at the end of the line, when many people were starting to drift away from the scene, and when Jerry seemed to be in occasional decline. In fact, at least one of the greatest performances ever, 03-23-95, dates from the last six months!
03-18-77: This first version is notable for the uncertain, hasty transition into Fire and some lyrical imprecision; clearly they were relieved to find their way. But on the circulating boards, it’s very pretty nonetheless.
05-08-77: Rightfully one performance against which all are measured, this features extended, exceedingly rich jams from Jerry, outstanding Phil, and great work by Keith. As Jeff Tiedrich never tires of telling us, everyone must get this tape.
05-17-77: As fully mature and moving as 05-08-77, but without the former’s progressive, ascending quality. But tighter and more energetic. Long, lovely, and a must-listen.
05-21-77: This glorious show features superlative lyrical jamming from Jerry. Though on first listening this show seems simpler (and indeed slower) than others, its sheer beauty is incomparable, and encouraged me during the darkest days of my first mortgage.
05-25-77: An immensely frustrating performance where the jams are competent until the last ten seconds when they catch fire. Then Jerry dives back into Scarlet and abruptly chokes it off. Talk about coitus interruptus!
01-31-78: A long, jazzy, dreamy transition into Fire, a perfect, percussion-driven foreshadowing of many great performances this year.
02-05-78: One of the highest-energy, flowing, dynamic transitions ever emerges from a great Scarlet, and Phil seems to guide the transition to Fire. The jams following the first stanza of Fire are dreamy yet intense, yearning yet spacey. A classic!
04-24-78: Scarlet is played with 1974ish excitement and a long instrumental interlude that turns into its own strong jam. The mellifluous, riff-laden transition takes on a rich life of its own. Bobby and Jerry play brilliantly off each other during the intro as Phil and Keith provide the guiding beat. Outstanding jams everywhere seem to explore every improvisational opportunity; this is why we go to shows!
09-02-78: One of Dick’s personal faves, for its great Scarlet, extended, tricky transition, rockin’ from Bobby, and deceptively easy-going pace. The post-first-stanza jam is note-drenched honey from the entire band, not simply backup for Jerry.
01-08-79: The first one I ever saw, immemoriably memorable for its reggaeish joy, the long jazzy transition, cool Bobby rhythms, perfect singing from Donna, and the driving beat through Fire. The happiest night at Madison Square until the hierophany of 10-14-94.
02-03-79: For years one rec.music.gdeader has campaigned for this show. A great solo early in Scarlet shows the thrill is not gone; later Jerry plays contrapuntally throughout the intro to Fire. Good jamming throughout, and a sudden, out-of-the-blue jump into the Scarlet reprise.
05-08-79: Like riding a rocket! Fast, aggressive, yet intricate jams throughout. The entry to Fire in particular is lovely, as are the improvisations throughout Fire. One of the best!
09-05-79: Long, complex, pretty solos after the first stanza of Fire, strong integration with the whole band, and revisitings of earlier jams in this performance make this a densely structured delight. Jerry shines in several jams.
11-05-79: Famous for its length and extended jazzy transitions; truly one of the classics of this strain.
12-05-79: Rhythm and percussion present strong momentum as Jerry throws off string after string of riffs, keeping us in suspense for Fire to start. Worth the wait! Jerry’s contrapuntal playing to the rest of the band during the entry, and then his dovetailing into the flow of the song, is perfect. The post-first-stanza jam is sustained, sophisticated, and beautiful, even using feedback for lyrical effect.
08-17-80: Spectacular use of feedback and echoes during transition jams (not to mention Mickey’s cowbell), and an outstanding post-first-stanza solo and jam. And all of this follows an absolutely rocking Scarlet! One of the best!
11-30-80: Long jam out of Scarlet which intensively explores and builds variations on the song’s melody. As this is cranking up, the band starts a tentative move in the direction of Fire; Jerry veers away, not done jamming from Scarlet, and does not rejoin until Phil and Bobby have led everyone else into Fire. The jam after the first stanza is searching, poignant, and powerful, continually refreshed by the band’s cycling of the Fire motif. After the second stanza, another soaring round begins, with Jerry repeating and varying elements from the Fire melody until the band reasserts the basic Fire theme, against which Jerry plays for several seconds. An outstanding version.
03-10-81: Vigorous instrumental during Scarlet, a careful, structured exploration of the Fire theme after the first stanza, and long, leisurely jams thereafter. If you like 10-14-83, you’ll love this. No Scarlet reprise!
09-12-81: Fire features three solos from Jerry, in the usual locations, after the first and second stanzas, and the final ‘Fire, Fire on the Mountain’ reprise. Each is strong, tight, soaring, and exceptionally closely supported by Phil and Bobby. Brent’s keyboards percolate throughout.
04-03-82: Very strong Scarlet jam, reminding us of its inexhaustible depths. Also, the transitional jam has two distinct phases, one adhering fairly closely to the Scarlet theme, and the other jazzier. The entry to Fire is reggaeish and joyful. Beautiful instrumentals proliferate throughout, and this one ends too soon.
07-25-82: Notable for its jazzy improvisational interludes, prominent percussion, great rhythm, and its return to jamming when several times it seems to be winding down. This is the way it should be!
10-14-83: Dick’s pick for the extended, intricate, jazzy transition; more than once Phil (and later Brent) starts the opening moments of Fire but Jerry’s not ready to go. The anticipation is agonizing, and when it finally comes, the entry into Fire is a multi-layered delight, and the post-first-stanza jam ascends and just seems to get better and better. In fact, it never ends; the rest of the band rises to overtake it.
06-16-85: Well-known for some intricate jamming and strong support from Brent. Like many 1985 performances, very jazzy, roaming transitions.
09-15-85: Brent and Bobby springboard Jerry to some impressive heights in the transition and post-first-stanza spaces.
03-31-88: Strongly played all the way through, with Garcia nonetheless ratcheting up the energy towards the end; alas that this did not happen fifteen minutes sooner!
03-22-90: Forceful, innovative transitional jam, foregrounded keyboards and MIDI, which unusually expands and builds on Scarlet's melody. Great, heartfelt jamming after the first Fire stanza, and energetic jamming after each stanza. Very beautiful!
09-14-90: Excellent intro to Fire with lovely contrapuntal jamming from Jerry. The post-first-stanza jam is superb, with great, lyric soloing from Jerry, and full-throttle playing from the entire band, and exceptional keyboards. This dense, full involvement foreshadows 10-14-94. Truly this composition never got old.
08-16-91: In this unusual Scarlet>Victim>Fire, the former is average, whereas the latter receives a long, lovely, elaborate workout not just once but twice, in jams following the first two stanzas.
09-04-91: Fast, inventive, and joyful, with outstanding contributions from Hornsby. Great instrumental inside Scarlet, full of piercing, longing solos, especially after the first and last stanzas of Fire, bolts of feedback just prior to the Scarlet reprise. Spirit-lifting, skull-cracking, and superbly danceable.
09-13-91: Seldom has Scarlet been played with such emotion, energy, and inventiveness since 1977. The jam which eventually culminates in Fire’s fulminations is broad and band-based; Jerry leads but Bruce and Phil weave around him on Bobby's rhythmic support. The long, deeply passionate solo after the first stanza is one of the best. And then the same thing happens again after the second stanza! Indeed, there are longer Scarlet > Fires, but few better ones.
10-14-94: See my review of this show, the alpha and the omega of this composition, unparalleled for sustained intensity, improvisational inventiveness, perfections of solos, and band synergy, especially Vince’s aggressive support. Nothing ever superseded this.
03-23-95: One of the greats, following an Unbroken Chain and preceding a killer Corinna. Awesome jamming throughout from Jerry, superb keyboards, densely-layered all-band jams, with nary a dull moment. It doesn’t get better than this powerhouse on fire! And this is 1995!
05-26-95: Another long performance with inventive transitions and great jamming. This is widely regarded as one of the best late Scarlet>Fires.

Take a look again at the first and last dates on this and odds are you’ll be shocked. Full-throttle, evocative, lyric performances of this composition crowd an eighteen-year span, with scarcely a year passed over and some of the greatest and most intense shows occurring towards the end! How different from Dark Star, which flourished for a mere six years (1968-1974). In fact, over thirty years, only a very few songs, such as Eyes, China>Rider and Truckin', continued to catalyze the band’s improvisational genius for so long; other greats (and personal favorites), such as Help>Slipknot> Franklin and Terrapin Station, are often brilliant, but did not display the vast scope of improvisational resourcefulness seen in Scarlet>Fire. From the beginning to the end, the band continued to mine gold from the deep, rich veins of these songs. And even the few versions listed above show how differently the band could play the same 30- or 40-second segments of these songs over the years. Many songs have been played brilliantly; few so consistently inspired.
And so it is that Hunter's innocent narrative of a chance encounter and his elliptical portrait of obsessive vision have weaved around each other for years, like DNA, like white-hot binary stars locked in bright eternity, informing, interrogating, and finally fulfilling each other and everyone who heard them then and who hears them now. Their infinitely and endlessly varied performances promise that each time we hear one, we hear the others, for each iteration evokes, refracts, illuminates, and enlarges others in the mind’s ear. When we listen to 03-18-77, we hear the seeds which grew into 10-14-94 and watch them grow. When we hear the jazzy transition of 10-14-83, we feel it depart from and accentuate the tight, powerful structure of 05-08-79. Even a lesser version is often redeemed by its recall of others as we listen, compare, and evoke. On a personal note, my favorites over the years have been 05-08-77, 05-21-77, 01-08-79, 05-08-79, 09-04-91, 09-13-91, 10-14-94; nothing else the Dead have played has given me such joy. The glorious synergy of their improbable, intricate, saturating power has never failed to stir the senses and kindle the heart, which is why so many of us keep the beautiful melody and words of these songs unto infinity and beyond and then some.
This essay is dedicated to my brother Sean, who got me a ticket to 01-08-79, as well as my first tape, a copy of this sublime and savage show. Special thanks to Michael Goetz and John Coulter for awesome generosity in the sharing of tapes.


St. Stephen (Guest Post)

ST. STEPHEN
by Alan Friedman, Gary Hartman & Barney Issen
Houston, March 1999

By the time "St. Stephen" made its first appearance on a studio album, leading off Aoxomoxoa in June 1969, the song had been in the Grateful Dead's concert repertoire for at least a full year. Live Dead, released in November 1969, captured the monumental version performed at the Fillmore West on 2/27/69 and revealed how quickly the song had matured into a centerpiece of one of the Dead's defining medleys. A fixture in the rotation throughout '69 and '70, "Stephen" was played out by the fall of 1971. One of the surprises of the Dead's post-hiatus emergence in June 1976 was the immediate revival of "Stephen" in a radically revised arrangement, which was heavily played for the remainder of '76 and throughout '77. Sporadic appearances during '78 preceded one last performance on 1/10/79 at Nassau Coliseum. Last, that is, until the mysterious breakout of "Stephen" for three performances in October 1983.
Before looking at some representative examples of "St. Stephen" as the song prospered and (arguably) declined in its time, let's examine some of the mysteries and myths surrounding its place in Deadhead lore. Discerning aficionados of '60s rock will note the similarity of the instrumental intro of "St. Stephen" and the defining riff of Jefferson Airplane's "Volunteers of America." Regarding the latter, songwriter Paul Kantner in the liner notes to the 1987 Airplane compilation 2400 Fulton Street attributes the riff to an old fiddle lick. One might speculate, then, that the two songs share a common heritage in the bluegrass music assimilated by Garcia and Kanter early in their respective careers. As to St. Stephen specifically, David Gans reports a conversation with Phil Lesh in which Lesh says he wrote the Stephen intro, based on the chord changes of the instrumental bridge.
That brings us neatly to the musical content of the infamous vocal bridge...a whole other story. In short, according to Deadhead folklore, the disappearance of Stephen from the performing repertoire is due to Jerry's finding the "ladyfinger" bride unsingable. Hearsay evidence includes reports of this explanation from such worthies as Weir, Brent, and Vince; but diligent research reveals no documentation of Jerry himself making this claim. Perhaps the best evidence is circumstantial, in that the most conspicuous rearrangement in the post-hiatus version is the waltz-time bridge with Donna joining Jerry in a duet on the vocals. Completists will want to hear 2/27/77, during which Jerry apparently forgets the waltz arrangement and reverts to the original version of the bridge.
"St. Stephen" and the other songs on Aoxomoxoa represent the first full flowering of Robert Hunter's songwriting genius. While only one of his songs, "Alligator," had appeared previously on a Grateful Dead album, Hunter penned all of the Aoxomoxoa songs. A number of the compositions ("China Cat Sunflower," "Rosemary," "Mountains of the Moon," "What's Become of the Baby") were seemingly not about anything - other than perhaps the psychedelic experience - and relied on imagery to convey emotional meaning. At the other end of the spectrum, "Dupree's Diamond Blues" reworked an old blues theme in a conventional narrative. A middle ground was occupied by "Doin' That Rag," "Cosmic Charlie," and "St. Stephen," which portrayed characters who might have stepped off the streets of the Haight - lovable misfits trying to wade in the water without getting wet or to go back home or to find answers. This is the surface lyrical attraction to these songs; the listener encounters characters with whom to identify and empathize. But, unlike more mature Hunter works such as "Wharf Rat," "Cumberland Blues," "Jack Straw," and "Brown-Eyed Women," the character-driven songs on Aoxomoxoa lack a coherent narrative. "St. Stephen" and its companions are slice-of-life stuff, journalistic snapshots of a particular lifestyle in a certain time and place. As such, one might expect them to suffer from superficiality and datedness. Fortunately, they do not because Hunter uses history, myth, religion, literature, old radio programs - in short, all the cultural allusions in his storehouse - to add levels that transcend his characters' place in time.
"St. Stephen" may or may not be Stephen Gaskin, a notable Haight activist in the 60s; but he is definitely Saint Stephen, the first martyr of the Catholic church, who was stoned to death for proclaiming his vision of the truth and for exposing the hypocrisy of the religious/political establishment. At a time when it was still possible for the Dead to see their music as an agent of radical change in society, the messianic reference is apropos. Typically, however, Hunter wraps "Stephen's" certainty of purpose with layers of ambiguity and doubt. Throughout the song, "Stephen's" mission is beset with questions: "Did it matter?" "Does it now?" "What for?" "Did he doubt or did he try?" "Can you answer?" Never a writer satisfied with easy answers, Hunter insists that the truth to the cosmic questions is available only in the "bye and bye," not in this mortal existence. The "answer man," the radio personality master-of-all-knowledge from Hunter's youth, makes a fitting pop culture stand-in for the almighty, to whom "Stephen" will ultimately answer.
The cautionary note is plain for listeners who, having gained a personal vision of truth through drugs, meditation, music, or what have you, might attempt to privilege that personal "truth" over others' perception of reality. But, as with other songs in which Hunter displays his delicate sense of irony (see "Casey Jones"), the subtlety may have been largely lost on both audience and band. Who among us can forget the fans who had "too much too fast" screaming for "CaseyfuckinJones!!!" or "St. Steeephen!!" during the quiet parts of a show? And who, really, can blame them? Garcia and his musical collaborators gave their most anthemic, arrogant tones to these stubborn characters; and, of course, we love 'em for it.

Considering the plethora of undocumented shows in the spring of 1968, there is no way to accurately pinpoint the debut of "St. Stephen." There is a tape circulating as "unknown '68" which could date from as early as March or April and which starts at the tail end of what could be "St. Stephen" or a "Stephen" jam. However, eminent authorities (even Mr. Getz) believe that this tape dates from the fall of the year and that the music in question is the end of "He Was a Friend of Mine." [It’s now thought to be from May or June ’68, and catches the end of a Stephen. – LIA] DeadBase asserts that St. Stephen was performed on 6/7/68 (or 6/8 or 6/9 - the good folks at DeadBase don't seem too sure about this one). We can only be certain that, as of this writing, 6/14/68 is the earliest documented, circulating tape that includes St. Stephen.
6/14/68b Fillmore East, New York City. If this is a first, boy howdy, what a debut! This single-set show features an inverse setlist, opening with four minutes of fairly intense "Feedback" leading into a slow but powerful take on "The Eleven." Then, the time of returning becomes the time of emergence as our protagonist is heralded with the soon-to-become familiar instrumental intro, in this instance kept brief with a "Volunteers"-like riff from Jerry and matching chords from Bob. The melody line sounds stark and primitive compared to the tune that would evolve in coming months. The verses proceed uneventfully to the "ladyfinger" bridge, launched by a sped-up "lowered down, lowered down again" and proceeding at a lilting 4-beat tempo with Jerry pushing the pace and even attempting to drop a beat by jumping the gun on "several seasons." In the post-bridge instrumental passage, Phil picks up the "Volunteers" pattern in earnest while the guitars counter with a "Cosmic Charlie" riff, making it clear that this is a power version, but the band gallops right into the final vocals without pausing to jam. Suddenly, they've raced through to the concluding answer, which would appear to be "Wham bam, we're outta here!" But wait, the jam here is after the last verse. After "answer man" comes more riffing on the "Volunteers" and "Charlie" themes, then a quick repeat of the last vocals. Finally, the space gets truly hot as the band tears through an instrumental restatement of the "answer man" theme > jam > almost-"Eleven" jam > full-fledged instrumental treatment of the "answer man" verse > full stop. By now, seven minutes have elapsed since the opening notes (a length that would become just about average over the many times the song would be played), and a star has been born. While the song would never be played remotely the same - most notably, the jams would occur internally, not at the end of the song - there is nothing tentative or unfinished about this early performance. It rocks.
Note: Here's one of the true joys of the Compendium endeavor: discovering a delightful tape that you would otherwise never seek out. Our copy of 6/14/68 is a seriously skeevy audience tape, and you're probably not going to find a copy without severe levels of both hiss and distortion. But get it anyway; 18 minutes into this one-hour set, you're not going to be worrying too much about the tape quality.
8/22/68 Fillmore West, San Francisco. Where are tapes of the eleven shows that DeadBase lists between 6/14/68 and 8/21/68? By August, "St. Stephen" has gained a new component, the William Tell bridge, and any resemblance to "Volunteers" has been shed. Here the song appears mid-set as the first part of a 3-song medley. The intro is still short but is played faster than in June. The instrumental accompaniment to the "ladyfinger" bridge has evolved: behind Jerry's vocals Bob is strumming, Jerry is noodling spacily, and somebody (Mickey perhaps? TC won't appear for another 3 months) is working a glockenspiel beautifully. The boys experiment with the timing of the breaks, pausing after "spills" but not after "home." The "answer man" verse is followed directly by the William Tell bridge, which features deviations from what would become the standard lyrics. A tight jam with the intensity of a freight train propels the transition into "Stephen's" soon-to-be-favorite partner, "The Eleven." Is this a better "Stephen" than that of 6/14/68? No, but it does sound a hell of a lot better on an ultra-clean soundboard, allegedly remixed by Dan Healy himself.
2/27/69 Fillmore West, San Francisco. By 1969, the song had jelled, both in terms of its internal arrangement, and its position as the conduit between "Dark Star" and "The Eleven." Only "Lovelight" and "Dark Star" were played more often in 1969, and no other year enjoyed nearly so many "St. Stephen" performances. This is "Stephen's" prime - the reason any of us bother to read essays about his evolution. For casual listeners and veteran tape collectors alike, 2/27/69 is the defining rendition - if not the ideal toward which the song strives; for most of us it was THE version we heard when we first grokked what this saint could do for our souls. Individual 1969 reviews would be redundant: every version was strong, and despite constant experimentation with the "ladyfinger" bridge and occasional variations in the military cadence behind William Tell, every version was also similar. Collect them all; trade them with friends!
William Tell has stretched his bow till it won't stretch no furthermore. Deadheads have long debated whether William Tell was a final verse of "St. Stephen," an introduction to "The Eleven," or a song unto itself. Robert Hunter's A Box Of Rain: Collected Lyrics leaves little doubt that he considered this to be part of "St. Stephen," and the track markings on the CD releases of Live Dead, Two From The Vault, and Fillmore 2/11/69 would concur. The 2/11/69 release even includes the post-Tell jam within the "Stephen" track, and does not increment the track counter until Mickey hits the double rim shot to launch them into 11-time proper. The band, however, seems to have considered the sole function of this final verse to have been to serve as a gateway into "The Eleven," and the two were retired more or less simultaneously in early 1970.
1/17/70 OSU, Portland, OR. This is the last performance of William Tell that we could find, but "Stephen" also segued into "The Eleven" on 4/24/70, so it would be prudent to check that tape before making any definitive pronouncements. [It’s there. – LIA] This is a relaxed, sparse arrangement with strong organ work from TC near the end of his tenure and an extended jam between the early verses. It is also quite sloppy at times, however, noticeably stumbling during several transitions.
2/8/70 Fillmore West, San Francisco. By 1970 the prodigy had matured into a full-grown hootchie-cootchie man; and, while still rambunctious, "Stephen" could be trusted with the keys to the car. Since every Deadhead in the world knew and loved Live Dead, its signature anthem invariably sparked the crowd whether played (a) standalone, (b) as the takeoff point of a medley, (c) in the middle of a song cycle, or (d) as the wrapping of a musical sandwich. On 2/8/70, "St. Stephen" pulled double-duty in fulfilling roles (c) and (d). The audience, doubtlessly feeling no pain as the second set opener "Dark Star" culminated in a perfectly pretty treatment of the Feelin' Groovy theme, gives an appreciative cheer to the opening note of "Stephen" and is treated to an intro which stretches for well over a minute. The band, which has mastered the half-waltz half-march tempo, proceeds proudly and confidently to the bridge, at which point they throw a hum-dinger of a curveball. Instead of "ladyfinger," they move directly into the 4th-ever "Not Fade Away." Yes, the entry into the Buddy Holly cover is hesitant (it's easy to imagine Jerry and Bob exchanging "are we really going through with this?" glances), but the performance itself is decent if not revelatory. All in all, a neat trick for avoiding the difficult "ladyfinger" bridge - a tactic they should have perhaps utilized more often. And the return to "St. Stephen" is like a Swiss watch, to cop a Bobby phrase. "Stephen" concludes triumphantly before it segues into a more familiar cohort, "Lovelight."
2/13/70a Fillmore East, New York City. This version launches from a dead start after "Hard To Handle" with a tight, up-tempo intro featuring cute Weir rhythms just before first verse. The overall feel is polished, not the '68-'69 ruffian "Stephen." The vocal bridge is played with backing guitars only. Nice power chords after "spills" lead to an excellent jam with lots of Phil, and Jerry playing "China Cat" fills over the top.
5-6-70 MIT, Cambridge, MA. With the demise of William Tell, "Stephen" became paired with "Not Fade Away" fairly often, particularly in 1976-77, but also fairly commonly in 1970-71. This version launches headlong into "NFA" after the "one man gathers" verse. The "Stephen"/"NFA" marriage is consummated with Jerry playing "Stephen" figures over "NFA" patterns from the rhythm section throughout the jam, then a return to "Stephen" for the last verse, and back into "NFA" fulltime after "answer man".
5/15/70a Fillmore East, New York City. Here, "St. Stephen" sets the plate for the evening's piece de resistance, a long trip through "That's It for the Other One" > "Cosmic Charlie." After another extended introduction highlighted by Jerry's creative lead, the real sparks fly in the second half of the song. A rifle crack drum shot following "spills" propels a frenzied jam that inspires Jerry to some fancy fanning. The jamming energy carries over to the last verse, which is accented by tasty percussion from Mickey. Then, contrary to DeadBase and (regretfully) Compendium Volume 1, "answer man" is met by a dead stop. During a 5-second pause, Bobby can be heard counting down to the start of "Cryptical." So remove that ">" from your setlist, would ya?
4/28/71 Fillmore East, New York City. This is a special evening, as former keyboardist Tom Constanten rejoins the band for the medley to end the second set. His organ and various keyboard sounds, beginning with the by now classic "Dark Star" > "Saint Stephen" combination, bring some of the feeling of Live Dead and 1969 back to the listener, but also contribute to some tentative moments during transitions, perhaps because of TC's "lay-off." The "Dark Star" segue into "Stephen" is identical to the famous 2/27/69 version (and most that follow), with the notable addition of a loud roar of recognition from the crowd, as Jerry plays a sweet pre-intro which leads into a confident/proud/deliberate/strutting intro of roughly 90 seconds. The overall feel of the tune is a slower but more mature sound than the upstart, youthful bravado that typifies the 1969 "Stephens." The first verses are well sung, and the short musical interludes are likewise tasteful but hardly gripping. At the "ladyfinger" bridge, we are treated to Jerry singing quite well, initially with just guitar and tambourine, then cymbals replace the tambourine and finally the whole band joins in for the end of the bridge. The guitar has the perfectly spacey, underwater/tremolo sound of "Stephen's" youth, which has been etched into the soul of all Deadheads, but the boys have trouble synchronizing the first power chord out of the bridge. They play the chord a number of times, as always, but without the force and conviction of its heady youth. A disappointingly short jam ensues before the instrumental refrain of the "Stephen" theme and the last verse. Unfortunately, Bobby hasn't kept track too well, and starts the wrong verse. Jerry, who has the correct verse, laughingly convinces Bobby to join him. They wind up at "answer man" with nowhere to go, as the William Tell bridge is long gone. After a short (still less than 3 seconds) pause, the band launches into a fairly pedestrian rocking (but not jamming or spacing) "Not Fade Away" > "Goin' Down The Road Feelin' Bad" > "Not Fade Away" to close this "reunion" medley. With the help of old friend TC, "Stephen" has enjoyed his little blast from the past, but he's now fully adult and "respectable" and can't seem to be bothered with the frenzied exuberance of days gone by.
4/29/71 Fillmore East, New York City. Perhaps inspired by the previous night's festivities, this show features a notable "Stephen" jam sans vocals, appearing in the awesome improvisation between "Alligator" and "Goin' Down the Road Feelin' Bad."
8/6/71 Hollywood Palladium. "Stephen" opens the 2nd set admirably in a rare standalone rendition. Slow and slinky at the start, this version is muscular and forceful, like a tethered beast in stark contrast to the domesticated pet "Stephen" would become a few years later. Even the short 4-bar instrumental bursts between verses are in-your-face proclamations. Probably due to microphone malfunction rather than intentional song arrangement, the bridge is largely instrumental (and very effectively so) until "several seasons." A truly great jam follows, abruptly ending after "answer man." This "Stephen" shows a lot of vim and vigor, with absolutely no indication of imminent retirement, and the crowd is instantly energized.
The left-handed monkey wrench. After Keith's second show on 11/21/71, "Stephen" was set out to pasture, but the "Stephen" jam consistently found refuge within "Greatest Story Ever Told" throughout the post-Europe 1972 shows. Your authors compiled and listened to a tape consisting of at least a dozen examples of "GSET" as performed during the summer and fall of 1972 (kids, don't try this at home!). During the instrumental break within "GSET" in that time period, the Dead usually hinted at "St. Stephen," peaking with a full-out treatment on 9/28/72. Listen to that Stanley Theater version, but skip the rest.
6/11/76 Boston Music Hall. The boys brought "Stephen" along when they returned from their touring hiatus. Myth has it that Robert Johnson, having disappeared for a time from his Mississippi hometown, returned with such a newfound dose of musical genius that his neighbors decided he had sold his sold to the devil. Would that "St. Stephen's" reappearance after nearly five years' absence could prompt such speculation! Rather, "St. Stephen" must have been consorting with the angels, because he returned a well-mannered citizen. Why are we disappointed? It's not the waltz-time that's a drag, nor the fact that Jerry gets to take a lead after every verse, nor even Donna's appearance as a duet participant throughout. It's that the whole feel of the damn thing is so tame and polite. "St. Stephen" should be raw, rude, crude, and strutting to an anthem. When "Stephen" arrives in town, the people all complain; they don't serve him sprouts and granola. This show's 2nd set opens with the full waltz tempo of the new arrangement. The crowd responds with surprised awe, but quickly settles into languid stupor. The waltz-time "ladyfinger" bridge is downright syrupy. The extended solo is probably as good as post-retirement "Stephens" ever got, with interesting cowbells from Mickey and rare electric piano from Keith, but essentially amounts to little more than tonal noodling with a slight rhythmic shift towards the end. A segue into disco "Dancin'" then adds insult to injury for anyone who recalled the prior vitality of these two testosterone titans. Was this a kinder, gentler Dead?
7/18/76 Orpheum, San Francisco. In the midst of a legendary segue combo, Phil starts creeping towards "Stella" out of the "Other One," but Jerry gently tugs the band toward "Stephen" instead. The result is very slow and lethargic, even by 1976 standards, and marred by timing errors with both Donna and Keith prematurely launching verses and chord changes. A glacially slow and barely interesting jam eventually evolves into "NFA." After "NFA," noodling turns to absolute silence, then drums lead back to the final "Stephen" verse (blown on re-entry by Donna), which then unremarkably exits into the "Wheel."
10/9/76 Coliseum Stadium, Oakland, CA. To many Deadheads, the rearranged "St. Stephen" is the epitome of Dead-Lite. Having said that, this version is about as good as it gets in '76. Leading off the second set and sandwiching "Not Fade Away," it serves as the platform for a medley that constitutes the entirety of the set.
5/8/77 Cornell (Dwork look out!). The mature "Stephen," about to become part of what is arguably the most popular show of the late 70's, requires considerable tuning and thought before making his appearance (don't we all, nowadays?). Hardly the in-your-face 1968-70 rapscallion, about whom the people used to complain, this is a far more soulful and educated Saint. The middle aged "Stephen" begins with a nice up-tempo intro of moderate length, featuring the drawn out, lyrical, Jerry phrasing that typifies this famous era of Dead-dom. Phil is forceful yet deliberate throughout. The vocals, with Donna as a full partner, are on-key and in-synch, but somehow she just doesn't have the testosterone to speak for our hero. The instrumental break is now quite short, and the rather tame vocals bring us to a classic 1977 Jerry solo, where he noodles up and down the scale of the "Stephen" theme, to the delight of the crowd. The waltzing "ladyfinger" bridge is marred initially by Donna's false start (one can almost picture Jerry and the crowd wincing), but the duet is eventually quite well done. Despite the polish, it is still far too tame and has lost the wonderfully spacey quality that defined the acidified bridge of old. Jerry then restates the theme with solid guitar leads and the band is firmly behind him through the final verse. After "spills," the "Not Fade Away" drums kick right in with no jam. After a 16-minute romp through this rock and roll classic, the band finishes off the medley with a return to "St. Stephen will remain..." and the crowd goes wild. "Stephen," really an appetizer for the "Morning Dew" entree to come, is now more of an icon from the past than a true rebel to be reckoned with. The crowd certainly loves it, but it is nostalgia for days gone by, not angst, that fuels the fire.
12/31/78 Winterland closing. The previous show had been blessed with the first "Stephen" since the previous January, and our hero was again pressed into duty to anchor this legendary 3rd set extravaganza ... what else could possibly follow the long awaited 4-year breakout of "Dark Star"? "Wharf Rat" gradually gives way to the opening waltz theme, featuring tubular bells and gongs, leading to a forceful and stately extended instrumental introduction. The interludes between verses are majestic and joyous enough to overpower the exaggeratedly waltzed bridge and the blown lyrics entering the second verse. Thanks to an exceptional jam, with particularly strong work from Jerry, Phil, and Mickey, this version approaches the strut and swagger of a much younger "Stephen." Nice to know that the old boy could get it up when the occasion demanded.
1/10/79 Nausea Coliseum. The last performance of "Stephen" for 4 years, and its final pairing with "Dark Star," starts out very tentatively, then launches directly into the first verse with little fanfare. The leads are strong, and everyone in the band (except for an inaudible Keith) is "on" and contributing. This "ladyfinger" bridge has a much less pronounced waltz feel to it, with a subtle syncopated pulse and effective slide guitar work from Bobby throughout. Not quite as strong as the Winterland version two weeks earlier, this is still among the more muscular and interesting post-1971 "Stephens," with no hint whatsoever that retirement again waited in the wings.
10/15/83 Civic Center, Hartford, CT. In the middle of 3 appearances in 1983, "Stephen" steps out of set two space like an old friend. An extended jazzy, "Spanish Jam" / "Other One" improvisation produces a "Stephen" halfway twixt '69 & '77 - the waltz feel is still present but in a rougher, less polished form. The "ladyfinger" bridge is played by the full band behind Jerry's solo vocal, and the energy is maintained through a spirited jam after "spills." By the last verse the crowd is predictably excited and is rewarded by some nice waterfall keys after "answer man," as the band jams its way into ... "Throwin' Stones." Yes, the Dead's new Bo Diddley-inflected composition replaces "Not Fade Away" as "Stephen's" dance partner, but it's a short-lived affair. After one more outing on Halloween '83, "Stephen" would be left on the shelf for good. If you look close, you can see the tears on this clown.

http://web.archive.org/web/20030821082929/http://www.elizabundledee.com/saint.htm

Sugar Magnolia>Sunshine Daydream (Guest Post)

SUGAR MAGNOLIA and SUNSHINE DAYDREAM
by Aaron Donovan, 1999

With its easy, catchy guitar riffs, built-in jam section, and first-rate lyrics, this song was always a favorite among Deadheads. It was the archetypal Grateful Dead showstopper, and one of those songs they always played, year in and year out. It was never taken out of the rotation for more than 14 shows (the number would fall to 10 if the Dead performed "Sugar Magnolia" at one of seven shows in the summer of 1970 for which we do not have lists — as they probably did). Not including "Drumz," this was the second-most frequently performed song of all time after "Me & My Uncle." (And who can really explain how that one got up there.) You’ll hear no complaints from me that "Sugar Magnolia" was played too much. I, for one, will take a middling "Sugar Magnolia" over a fantastic "Around & Around" any day.
The studio rendition of the song version had a folk feel to it, but the Dead performed this song pair with an all-out rock feel, which is how Weir originally envisioned the song.[1] If the Dead had given the album version the same treatment they did during live performances, they might have had as big a radio hit with it as they did with "Touch of Grey." At no time was the hard-driving rock feel more true than winter and early spring of 1971. The Dead fly through these versions at a breakneck speed, and with Jerry’s guitar in full wah-wah throughout the whole of both parts of the song, these early versions are simply spectacular. Blast one of the Port Chester or Manhattan Center versions from your stereo, and you will have to peel yourself off the wall on the opposite side of the room. The Dead later brought the intensity down a notch: Jerry limited his wah-wah effect to "Sunshine Daydream," as can be heard on "Europe ’72," and finally took it off completely.
The song began changing significantly during 1973. The Dead started putting a much larger gap before "Sunshine Daydream" than they had previously. On 2/9/73, the gap was 14 seconds, on 6/10/73, 26 seconds. Prior to that, the longest gap I’ve heard comes from the 5/4/72 version on the "Europe ’72" album: 6 seconds. Of the 57 complete, non-split versions I have of "Sugar Magnolia" the Dead played everything from no pause at all, on multiple occasions including 10/4/70 Winterland and 7/9/95 Soldier Field, to 33 seconds of complete silence on 7/13/84, Greek Theatre, Berkeley, CA. On average, the length of time between the two songs was 6.8 seconds. The weirdest gap was probably on 10/10/82 at Palo Alto. During the 14 seconds of silence, Bob says, cryptically, "Don’t forget to vote Yes on Tour, if you can vote."
With a long pause inserted before "Sunshine Daydream," the were free to experiment with the introduction to that portion of the song. During the fall of 1973, "Sunshine Daydream" evolved the familiar, strong beats in its introduction. From December of that year until the last show, the Dead played a "Sunshine Daydream" that was a lot different from what it had been, and was different from "Sugar Magnolia" proper. It’s the "Sunshine Daydream" we all know and love: WHOMP! "Sunshine Daydream." WHOMP! "Walk you in the tall trees." WHOMP! "Goin’ where the wind goes." WHOMP! etc. With the new arrangement being so different from "Sugar Magnolia" and with their new style of waiting for a up to half a minute before playing it, the Dead were now ready to experiment a little more. Specifically, they could now detach "Sunshine Daydream" from its formerly steadfast partner, an effect that added to the suspense and drama of any show in which it was done.
Though dramatic, shows with a split "Sugar Magnolia" were rare. Ninety-five percent of the time "Sugar Magnolia" was performed it led directly into "Sunshine Daydream." Because the two songs appeared on the album "American Beauty" under one name, and because they were paired so often, standard setlist shorthand omits the "Sunshine Daydream" completely when it comes on the heels of "Sugar Magnolia." However, between 12/10/73 and 6/10/94, there were 31 exceptions, or "split" versions of "Sugar Magnolia," in which the Dead performed some other song or songs in between the two songs. On four occasions, 12/31/79, 10/6/81, 5/9/87, and 12/31/89, the Dead split the pair up between sets, or between a set and an encore.
The second-longest "Sugar Magnolia" was played on 4/27-28/91 at the Sam Boyd Silver Bowl, U.N.L.V., Las Vegas, Nevada. The Dead opened the second set on the first night with "Sugar Magnolia," and as was common for a "Sugar Magnolia" that opened a set, they avoided the "Sunshine Daydream" coda. This time, however, they didn’t play the coda at all that show, instead saving it until the end of the next night’s second set. If both shows started at the time for which they were scheduled, 1 p.m., and Carlos Santana, who opened both nights, played for the same length of time each night, and the Dead waited the same time after each of Santana’s sets, then that version of "Sugar Magnolia" was 1 day, 3 hours, 9 minutes, and 5 seconds long.
But that is nothing compared to what was by far the longest "Sugar Magnolia" ever performed: "The Bill Graham Sugar Magnolia." Bill Graham, the Dead’s legendary concert promoter and operator of such eternal concert halls as Winterland Arena, the Fillmore Auditorium, and Fillmore East, died in a helicopter crash on October 25, 1991. Two days later at the Dead’s next scheduled gig, they opened the first set with Graham’s favorite song: "Sugar Magnolia." It was the first song that they performed after his passing. Something special was in the air that night, for this was no ordinary version. "The show opened with a truly spectacular Sugar Magnolia that was played out with such intensity that you would have thought we were already deep into the second set," wrote Brian A. Smith in DeadBase ’91 of that night.[2] Then, several days later at the Golden Gate Park multi-artist tribute to Graham, the Dead closed their set with "Sunshine Daydream." Thus, all the music from the Dead’s first public appearance after Graham’s death until the end of the Bill Graham memorial show, including the Dead’s final Halloween show and Ken Kesey’s famous "Dark Star" rap, was encapsulated in the mother of all "Sugar Magnolias" — approximately 6 days and 18 hours long, the longest Deadheads ever waited for the end of a song. When it finally came there was a rush of relief to the symbolically-placed coda. "I was torn between expecting Sunshine Daydream and not believing that they were actually doing it," wrote Mike Dolgushkin in DeadBase ’91, of the 11/3/91 Bill Graham memorial show.[3]
Last on the list of interesting split "Sugar Magnolias," there’s the little known 9/12/91, Madison Square Garden version, in which the "Sugar Magnolia" portion of the song itself was split. On that night, the Dead open the second set with the first half of "Sugar Magnolia" proper, 2:50 worth of the song, including all the lyrics, and then segue into "Foolish Heart." They don’t come back to the jam section of "Sugar Magnolia" until the end of the second set, when they play 2:59 more of "Sugar Magnolia" proper, including the whole jam section but no lyrics, pause 8 seconds, and jump into "Sunshine Daydream." The transition out of "Around & Around" into the "Sugar Magnolia" jam on that night is novel, but a little awkward.
Aside from these performances and a few others, after mid-1973 the song was nearly always left till the end of the second set. While some might call this an example of the band getting stuck in a routine, others would say the song was a perfect showstopper for Weir, whose signature at the end of each show was being able to get the crowd up on their feet — dancing and singing along in a state of energetic euphoria at the show’s grand finale. No song the Dead normally played at the end of a show was better at achieving those ends than "Sugar Magnolia." But there was another, more pedestrian reason why the song was left till the end of the show, as Weir has said: "I put ‘Sugar Magnolia’ at the end of the set because I’m going to blow my voice on that one. … I’ve learned through the empirical process that if I’m going to sing that one, I’d better sing it at the end of the evening."[4] Just like anything with the Dead however, second-set closing status was not a hard and fast rule. Two notable exceptions to the norm occurred a) when the Dead decided to split the pair and b) on New Year’s Eve shows. Of the 15 New Year’s Eve shows that occurred after 1973, 10 contained a set-opening "Sugar Magnolia," six of which were "split" versions.

The song has a catchy and upbeat rhythm, and the same can be said for its lyrics. It’s easy to forget that Robert Hunter only wrote half the lyrics to this song, the rest being written by another Robert H. Robert H. Weir, that is. Weir’s lyrics flow together so perfectly with Hunter’s that it is impossible to tell who wrote which verses just by listening. Weir wrote verses 2, 3, 5 and 7, and Hunter wrote the rest (although Weir re-wrote "Sunshine Daydream" each time he sang it). Despite my strong feelings for the lyrics of "One More Saturday Night," I would have to say that these are clearly the best lyrics that Bobby, or indeed any on-stage member of the Dead, ever wrote. Like "Scarlet Begonias," this is one of the few Dead originals that is overtly and unabashedly about a woman. Unlike "Scarlet," which tells a story about a particular person, "Sugar Magnolia" is a ode to the ideal woman a la Pygmalion, that operates on both a dream-like psychadelic level and a down-to-earth pragmatic one as well.
The song paints a picture of a highly desirable but never outright sexy, fun-loving woman using pleasant, surreal images, and examples of great friendship. Much to the same effect as in "China Cat Sunflower," Hunter’s verses here are written to bring to mind images of the fantastic; he describes such a Tinkerbell-sized sprite swimming in a dew-drop and bounding through violet rays of sunny light. From a practical perspective, on the other hand, the woman is described as eagerly participating in mundane burdens of real life -- paying parking tickets, steering a car, waiting around backstage for a concert to end. The song’s setting in a natural environment out of doors; the woman is described as being outside, in and by a river, and under pine and willow trees. All the details in the song help the listener visualize the surroundings inhabited by the woman of our dreams.
"Sugar Magnolia" proved to be one of the Dead’s most successful original songs. It was a moderate radio hit, but more important, it was a crowd-pleaser. This upbeat rocker was one of their most useful, enduring, and beloved concert choices for 25 years. It’s the kind of song that you don’t have to be a Deadhead to like, and to date, various live versions of it have been released no less than seven times.

FOOTNOTES
1: Gans, David, Conversations with the Dead (New York: Citadel Underground, 1991) p. 19.
2: Scott, John W., et al., DeadBase ’91, p. 175.
3: Ibid., p. 179.
4: Gans, p. 136.

Terrapin Station (Guest Post)

TERRAPIN STATION
by Aaron Donovan, 1999

This unforgettable suite is on the short list of Core Dead: signature pieces that exemplify the creative talent of Robert Hunter and Jerry Garcia and define the band itself. The haunting melody is easily recognizable by even casual Deadheads and ingrained in the psyche of more serious heads, while its lyrics produce more vivid images than just about any the Dead ever wrote. An example of musical extremes, from its great moments of climax to sections of emotion-laden quietude, "Lady with a Fan" and "Terrapin Station" were two of the most powerful songs to come from the Hunter/Garcia juggernaut. Though it could be a tad repetitive and lyric-heavy when compared with the other Dead gems, this suite is nonetheless a welcome addition to any show in which it was played.
There were two overlapping phases in the life of "Terrapin Station" that characterize where it was placed during a particular show: The first from the suite’s fourth performance on 3/19/77 until 12/31/81, and the second from 4/29/80 to the suite’s final performance on 7/8/95. In the first phase, the band played the suite during the pre-Drumz section of the show, frequently using it to lead into "Playin’ in the Band" or some other familiar tune in the Weir staple, before moving on to Drumz. The Dead followed up "Terrapin Station" with Playin’ in the Band" 55 times after the 106 performances in the first phase, or 52 percent of the time. The second phase of the suite’s touring life is much the same as the first, except that the band dropped the post-"Terrapin" Weir interlude, and segued directly into Drumz. The Dead performed "Drumz" or "Space" after 179 of the 226 versions included in this period, or 79 percent of the time.
Throughout both cases, the suite provided a spooky vehicle from which the Dead could meander into Drumz and Space. The structure of the two-segment suite lent itself to extended, if structured, improvisation, and was often more than 15 minutes long. It was such a reliable bridge between the pre-drumz section of the show and Drumz itself, that the Dead never let the suite drop out of the rotation for more than 12 shows. Save for a handful of shows when the Dead used the suite to open the second set, after 1978 the suite almost never left the pre-Drumz slot. But there was one show in particular that makes the "almost" the crucial word of the sentence: the show given on the cold, clammy night of 3/28/91 at the Nassau Coliseum.
"My recollection of that show was that [up until the encore] it was incredibly average, uninteresting and short," said Jim Roberts, an editor of regional news for The New York Times and Deadhead since 1973. He said when the band got to the final song of the second set, "Good Lovin’," Roberts said he remembered thinking, "I can’t believe this is it."
Rather than perform a song out of the standard fare of the era, which probably would have been a soothing ballad like "The Weight," "Brokedown Palace," "It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue," or "Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door," the band threw the audience a real curve ball that night, playing "Terrapin Station" just when it was least expected. The "Terrapin" encore that night made up for the bands mediocre playing, turning a forgettable show into one for the history books; it was the first performance of "Terrapin Station" as an encore in the 907 performances since the classic show of 7/8/78 at Red Rocks Amphitheatre.

But it was a set of extraordinary circumstances that led to the creation of such a successful suite. The scene in which the lyrics and music to this suite were written is fantastic: Robert Hunter, sitting alone in an unfurnished room, looking out through a picture window of San Francisco Bay, at an intense lightning storm. The Inspiration Hunter twice refers to in the lyric has a distinctly visual element. But even more unbelievable is that at the very same time, Garcia was struck by a similar burst of creativity, and incredibly, what the independently inspired words and music fit perfectly together. Whether it was the weather, or some unseen force beyond human control, Hunter and Garcia came up with the most mystical song of their career. "Terrapin’s" otherworldly lyrics provide an appropriate match to the eerie melody.
The lyrics to "Lady with a Fan," presented in eleven [1] stanzas of four lines, tell a fable of a foolish sailor and a prudent soldier who are respectively seduced by some kind of angelic siren and able to avoid seduction. The song starts out with Hunter writing a stanza to his Muse. "Let my inspiration flow / in token lines suggesting rhythm / that will not forsake me / till my tale is told and done." The music to the song hadn’t yet been written (or if it had, Hunter wasn’t aware of it), so he was stating in the song itself what he hoped would come of the words he was then writing. He also notes that he hopes the words will be carried through to completion of a text. Hunter then introduces us to the setting: A story being told by a fire. Ominously, he writes, "While the firelight’s aglow / strange shadows in the flames will grow / till things we’ve never seen / will seem familiar." It is out of these shadows that the form of a sailor develops, and in fact whole of the narrative emerges. Anyway, you know how the rest of the song turns out and what happens between the three main characters. In the end the old storyteller quietly closes his book, I imagine, and vanishes. But the story’s end is never told.
The next segment of the suite, "Terrapin Station" proper, again opens with Hunter asking the creative Powers that Be for some help: "Inspiration, move me brightly, / light the song with sense and color, / hold away despair." My favorite line comes in the beginning of the second verse, "Counting stars by candlelight / all are dim but one is bright." It may sound contrived, but for me, a person turned on to the Dead in the 1990s, the stars in this line symbolized the incredible group of rock and jam bands that came out in late ’60s. By the 1990s, all the bands of import had long since stopped performing or creating music of any kind on a regular basis — all but one, that is. There is a line that more aptly illuminates that fact, from "Built to Last": "All the stars are gone but one."
There is an ingenious line woven in the second half of the second verse: "Crickets and cicadas sing / a rare and different tune." Deadheads chose to apply that last line to the song itself, and in fact many of the Dead’s songs. But the line creates a great image. Hearing crickets and cicadas singing anything but the usual would spark intense religious fright or scientific wonder. This line leads up to the end of the song, but not before Hunter’s lyrical genius shows through once more. The lines "Some rise, some fall, / some climb . . ." seem to me at least to want to end with "some crawl." But that would be the natural, easy progression. Hunter avoids the commonplace, instead ending the second line with ". . . to get to Terrapin." The crescendo and climax in the latter half of this song is overwhelming.

The earliest versions of the suite, those performed in the spring and summer of 1977, were introduced by a pronounced, four-note riff played by Bobby. This riff, never performed more prominently than when it appears on the studio version, is present as well in versions performed a decade or more later, but it is never used to open the suite; when heard at all, Bobby starts playing it after Jerry has introduced the suite with his own signature "Lady with a Fan" lick. It appears that in the early versions, the band would actually plan to play "Terrapin" ahead of time, and so that way Bobby’s riff could be played simultaneous with or before Jerry’s. In the later versions, Jerry would unilaterally decide that the band would play "Terrapin," and would begin playing his riff. After that, the other members would get the hint and follow.
But though easily recognizable, there is a good deal of confusion about what to call the sections of the suite, and about when the various parts of the suite begin and end. Like "That’s It For The Other One," "Weather Report Suite," "Blues for Allah," and "King Solomon’s Marbles," "Terrapin Station" is listed on a Dead studio album as having component subsections that are sometimes considered separate songs, sometimes not. All the suites pose labeling problems for Deadheads, but none of them are labeled as many different ways as "Terrapin Station."
"Terrapin Station Part One," the suite, appears on "Terrapin Station" the studio album, with seven subsections including "Terrapin Station" and "Terrapin." Two of those subsections, "Lady with a Fan" and "Terrapin Station," appear on "Terrapin Station" the limited-edition live album (recorded in Maryland, home of the University of Maryland Terrapins), but are listed together only as "Terrapin Station," even though they are listed separately on "Dozin’ at the Knick" and "Ticket to New Year’s." Besides all this, Robert Hunter’s book A Box of Rain lists nine sub-sections to the "Terrapin Station" suite.[2] Of the seven sub-sections on the studio album and the nine subsections in A Box of Rain, a mere three, the only three of the recorded seven that have lyrics, are listed in both places: "Lady with a Fan," "Terrapin Station," and "At a Siding." Hunter in his footnotes refers to these three sections as "Part One." The other six must be "Part Two." Another "Terrapin"-related subsection, "L’Alhambra," is listed by Hunter separately, outside his "Terrapin Station" suite pages.[3] DeadBase lists this section (without the L’) as having been played on a single occasion: 3/18/77, Winterland Arena. Finally, a review of that show in Dead to the Core [4] incorrectly states that "At a Siding" is the same musical piece as "L’Alhambra." (Hunter wrote that "L’Alhambra" "evolved into a wordless melodic segment of Terrapin Station" — implying that it is a separate section from "At a Siding," which has its own words listed elsewhere in his book.)
Of these 14 "Terrapin"-related sub-sections, only two, "Lady with a Fan" and "Terrapin Station," were performed regularly. DeadBase lists both under the heading "Terrapin," but applies the same label to instances when either one of the sections was performed without the other. The only deviations from the standard "Lady with a Fan" > "Terrapin Station" pairing that I have heard occurred on 5/22/77, Pembroke Pines, Florida (digitally preserved by "Dick’s Picks Vol. 3"), when the Dead performed a stand-alone "Terrapin Station" out of "Wharf Rat"; the 4/13/86 show at Irvine, California, when the Dead performed only "Lady with a Fan"; and the "So Far" video, in which "Terrapin Station," if it was played, is edited out. It seems likely that there were other instances where one of the two sections were omitted.

Of all the live versions of "Terrapin Station," the most interesting is the third performance, the famous and unique 3/18/77. The version from that night is singularly important because it was the most complete version of the suite ever performed live. Rea Simpson and John Corley, in their review of the show that appears in DeadBase, write that this version "gives us a taste of what the album might have sounded like without all the orchestration that was added." [5] But how does that night compare with the studio version? Actually, it sticks to the basics blueprint of the suite quite well. Here’s a breakdown of the studio version:

"Terrapin Station" studio version:
Starts / Suite Segment / Ends / Length / Characterized by . . .
00:00 Lady with a Fan 04:38 / 4:38 / 4-note lead guitar, "Let my inspiration flow . . . "
04:38 Terrapin Station 08:50 / 4:12 / Crescendo, "Inspiration, move me brightly . . . "
08:50 Terrapin 09:20 / 0:30 / Spacey interlude: violins, tinkling glass, gong
09:20 Terrapin Transit 10:09 / 0:49 / Soaring, easily-identifiable lead guitar theme
10:09 At a Siding 11:03 / 0:54/  Trumpets, "While you were gone . . . "
11:03 Terrapin Flyer 13:57 / 2:54 / Aural roller-coaster: Up-tempo, dynamic theme
13:57 Refrain 16:16 / 2:19 / Return to "Lady with a Fan" theme; choral section

Luckily, the segments are easily identifiable, all with clear-cut thematic or instrumental changes. The first two sections are the standard two that were performed live. The "Terrapin" section refers to the short "Space"-ish segment on the album version. "Terrapin Transit" is what Eric F. Wybenga so accurately described as a "hair-raising" and "eerie arabesque" section. [6] It is marked by Jerry’s distinctive guitar, which sails up and down the register like a falcon riding an atmospheric updraft in the Serengeti plain. The "At a Siding" on the album refers to the brief lyrical portion late in the suite that begins after the theme from "Transit" has ended, and has a different rhythm. The aptly-named "Terrapin Flyer" section refers to the tempestuous melody that follows the lyrics, heralded by staccato trumpet blasts and racing violins. The final section, "Refrain," consists of a return to the latter "Lady with a Fan" theme with vocals from The English Choral.
Here’s how the only near-complete live performance of the "Terrapin Station" suite compares:

3/18/77, Winterland Arena, San Francisco, CA:
Starts / Suite Segment / Ends / Length / Characterized by . . .
00:00 Lady with a Fan 06:24 / 6:24 / 4-note lead guitar, "Let my inspiration flow . . . "
06:24 Terrapin Station 10:58 / 4:34 / Crescendo, "Inspiration, move me brightly . . . "
10:58 Terrapin 11:12 / 0:14 / Indecision, Jerry holds long chords
11:12 L’Alhambra/T. Transit 12:50 / 1:38 / Bright keyboard chords in synch with Jerry’s four-note figure; then Jerry "takes off," at 11:53, with "Transit’s" eerie signature.
12:50 At a Siding 14:00 / 1:10 / 6-note, well-structured jam, but no vocals
14:00 Terrapin Flyer 14:32 / 0:32 / "Flyer" jam starts (Phil and Jerry alternating with drums), but band loses it before it gets off ground

The first two sections are performed as usual. Then, there is a 14-second moment of indecision, as the band decides to continue the suite. During this time, Jerry strums long chords and Keith noodles around on the keys. Then, while the audience remains silent, in rapt attention, Jerry begins playing an four-note figure never heard before or since and Keith brilliantly matches it. The two continue with the four-note structure that builds in volume and intensity to the soaring guitar section that constitutes "Terrapin Transit" proper. I have lumped "Terrapin Transit" with the four-note figure that precedes it because Keith continues the structure underneath Jerry’s lead as it is performed. I also call it "L’Alhambra" because it has the distinctive, four-note structure that is absent from "Terrapin Transit" as it appears on the studio album.
The jam shifts markedly after this section ends, in favor of the next section in the suite’s sequence: "At a Siding." This section is marked by its own rhythm and the same six-note figure that appears, nearly imperceptibly, underneath the vocals and rhythmic effects in the studio version of "At a Siding." After this, a few lackluster stabs at the "Terrapin Flyer" staccato blasts mixed with rapid drumming occur, but the band can’t quite nail the complicated rhythm down, and the last segment fades into "Drums." With that, a unique, historic version of "Terrapin Station" enters the history books.
Though this version is the most similar to the studio cut, it also contains several key differences. This version lacks the "Refrain" section, but adds to the suite elsewhere in the form of its two unique jams, the four-note figure that precedes "Terrapin Transit" and a stronger version of the underlying, six-note "At a Siding" jam. For these reasons in addition to the fact that there is none of that "overproduced" orchestration that accompanies the studio version, this version of the suite is different enough from the album version, and should be obtained by fans of Unique Dead or "Terrapin Station."

FOOTNOTES
[1] Anybody who has read Hunter's book Idiot’s Delight will notice Hunter’s obsession with the number eleven. That book is organized into eleven chapters of eleven stanzas, each eleven lines long.
[2] Robert Hunter, A Box of Rain (New York: Penguin Books, 1993), pp. 310-320.
[3] Hunter, p. 5.
[4] Wybenga, Dead to the Core (New York: Bantam Doubleday Dell, 1997), p. 136.
[5] Simpson, Rea, and John Corley, "03-18-77 Winterland," in John W. Scott, et al., eds, DeadBase X (Cornish, N.H.: DeadBase, 1997), p. 370
[6] Wybenga, p. 137

http://web.archive.org/web/20030626232353/http://www.elizabundledee.com/terrapin.htm