May 18, 2014

The 1966 Mystery Reels (Guest Post)

By Michael Sheflin & Light Into Ashes

The Mystery Reels  

In 2006 a set of “uncirculated primal GD” reels surfaced, containing a number of previously unknown Dead performances from early 1966. The notes stated, “The dates and locations are as marked on the boxes of master reels. Let’s leave it to the Deadhead historians to figure it all out for accuracy.”
Historians examining the reel labels, though, would soon find that they were extremely misleading, if not useless in determining where these tapes were recorded; and the true dates have remained unknown.


This starts with a single question – When do these tapes come from? In this post, I examine the evidence for determining which shows the tapes are from.

All these tapes were recorded by Bear. He taped Dead shows up through July 1966, then was dismissed by the band after the Vancouver run and stopped working as their soundman, which is why there are so few Dead tapes from late '66.

At first, Bear was careless in marking his reels. According to Bear, “I learned to date [the tapes] more carefully after having to deal with tapes that said simply ‘Saturday night’ or ‘second set.’ I needed to make certain notations as to what night they were, what reel they were, what set they were, and I soon realized it was like a journal.” (Taping Compendium p.40) He later became better with his labeling!

Dick Latvala has said, “Bear gave me some stuff from the Acid Test era, but it wasn’t marked. The labeling was terrible. They taped a lot of stuff and labeled it very poorly. I’ve gone through that, and most of it is really terrible nonsense. Some of it could be used someday, but I don’t think it’s that compelling. Some of it’s unique and interesting and we will use it. There aren’t whole shows really, except for a few examples.” (Taping Compendium p.49)

David Lemieux has a stash of Bear's early '66 tapes in the Vault (only a few highlights have been released), most of which are poorly labeled as well. In the Rare Cuts liner notes, Lemieux described the state of Bear's Vault reels: "about 15 reel-to-reel tapes, most of which were unlabelled, while some had the most rudimentary identifications, such as "3/2 LA rehearsal," "Trips '66 3rd night" or "February 23 practice." ... However, further major discoveries came on those tapes that were entirely unlabelled. What looked like blank tape based on their markings (or lack of), these eight reels of 1/4" analog tape turned out to be, well, rare cuts and oddities."

The "Trips '66 3rd night" reel he mentioned may well be the same reel we have as "Longshoreman's Hall 3rd night" – the music is clearly not from the January festival, but the three-day run at Longshoreman’s in April ’66 was billed as the “Trips 196?” festival. Only Lemieux could say for sure which of the Vault reels are the ones that are in circulation.

Earlier, Latvala had mentioned a couple other of these reels: "two different seven-inch reel boxes, the [Watts] Pigpen rap in an unlabeled one, the other [with Schoolgirl>YDLM>Schoolgirl] marked "Longshoreman's #1," with no other information." So that matches the info in the text notes, such as it is.


January 28, 1966 – The Matrix, San Francisco

Mystery Reels, Tracks 15-18: “Pauley Ballroom #2” (10” reel at 15ips)
//You Don’t Have To Ask (end of first set)
Viola Lee Blues
I Know You Rider
Midnight Hour (plug pulled)

This canister was labeled "Pauley Ballroom #2", containing 10" tape at 15 inches per second.  I don't have great data on reel standards, but the reel labeled "Longshoreman's 3rd night" uses the same standard. However, it is probably precarious to base relative chronology solely on tape information.

The Dead are thought to have played the Pauley Ballroom in June and December ’66. A Pauley Ballroom show in June '66 may have been taped, as the label suggests - but the one in December, definitely not. It's also quite possible the Dead played earlier at the Pauley and we don't know about it (no surviving ads or posters). The tape clearly comes from early in the year, though.

These tracks come closest to something like 'objective proof' for their exact date.  There are two relevant comments in the banter - 1) Phil: "We're gonna move to LA next week, but, mean time we might be back a little later after the Loading Zone plays another set." - and 2) Weir: "Don't forget, don't forget that uh, next Saturday night, mm, this coming Saturday night, if you happen to be in Los Angel..."

Since we know they were in LA by Sunday, February 6th, this has to be roughly within the week before February 6th.  
The Dead are thought to have played at the Matrix on January 28-29:
(Although this site notes that it’s unclear if the shows happened, so total certainty is not possible.)
According to Deadbase, the show on the 28th was with the Loading Zone and Big Brother.

Here's a list of the Loading Zone's known performances - http://www.chickenonaunicycle.com/Loading%20Zone.htm      

While the Dead could have played The Matrix on the 29th (for which there is no certain evidence), Loading Zone was playing at the Open Theater in Berkeley that night.  So even though there's no definite evidence Loading Zone played with the Dead on the 28th, it's not likely they could have played together on the 29th.
Given the Dead's known gigs and Loading Zone's availability, it is most likely that they played together at the Matrix on the 28th.

The Dead and the Loading Zone also played together at the Longshoreman’s Hall in April 1966, however the reference to the upcoming move to LA means this tape can’t be from that run.
The audience sounds rather small, and seems consistent with the audience sound on other Matrix tapes such as 11/29/66. At the start of the Dead’s second set, Weir introduces it as a “benefit for that fine upstanding organization, the Viet Cong, bringing arms and supplies and spiritual guidance.” Musically, the Viola Lee Blues that follows is extremely primitive, the earliest live version we have.

There is an interesting exchange at the end, after the Dead’s power is cut – obviously this had happened to them before. (For instance, at the 1/8/66 Fillmore show.) This may have been due to a noise complaint.
Garcia: “Cut us off again. That’s what happens, there’s no place you can play.”
Weir: “The story of our lives, you play somewhere and somebody turns you off.”
Lesh?: “Good night, ladies and gentlemen, and you too, you pricks.”
Announcer: “Let’s give a big hand for the Grateful Dead – one of the best bands I’ve heard in a long time.”

The reference to LA “next Saturday night” seems to be to an unknown concert the night before the Northridge Unitarian Church gig. February 6 was the date for the Northridge acid test; as well, there is a Vault tape with that date.
But a week earlier, the Dead thought the first LA show would be Saturday, Feb 5. So there are a couple possibilities - either the Northridge Church test was originally planned for the 5th and bumped to the 6th; or there was a "lost" LA show on the 5th (perhaps cancelled) that we don't know about, though this is unlikely. Or perhaps the Dead were confused about the date – all the Acid Tests were generally on Saturdays.

Deadbase lists a 2/5/66 show at the Questing Beast in Berkeley, however that was simply a false tape-label.
http://www.chickenonaunicycle.com/Questing%20Beast%20History.htm – this site lists the actual shows at the Questing Beast. (The Lost Live Dead site also asserts that, contrary to old stories, the Dead did not use the Questing Beast as a rehearsal space.)

That said, the "Pauley Ballroom #2" tape certainly comes from the Dead's last week in San Francisco. Since the 1/8/66 Fillmore show was not taped by Bear but by the Pranksters, this is his earliest known live recording.


Late January 1966 – Rehearsal Room, Berkeley

Viola Lee Blues rehearsal

No date is known for this rehearsal tape, though it is presumed to be from January. But a comment in the band chatter makes it obvious that it was recorded the week before they went to LA. If that's the case, this rehearsal must be within a few days of the 1/28 show.

The rehearsal location is unknown, but is thought to be at Bear’s house in Berkeley. The tape is drenched in reverb, much of it intentional – judging by the echoes, the space is not that large (it’s clearly not, for instance, a concert stage).

At the start of the rehearsal, Garcia & Pigpen sing the verses, with Pigpen on organ. Pigpen also briefly tries a harmonica accompaniment. Garcia is in charge, correcting Pigpen and telling the others how it should go, insisting that it be tighter. Pigpen is rather wobbly and drops out, so Weir takes over his vocal part, and Lesh adds harmony – it seems that Lesh hasn’t sung this before. They go repeatedly over the arrangement, particularly the end of the verse (“you may know by that I’ve got a friend somewhere”).

Even without other evidence, January is by far the most obvious date for this tape; that is, it precedes the earliest live version, and they had changed part of the arrangement by March. The jam and the stilted rhythms are extremely similar to the primitive “Pauley Ballroom #2” version, which must have come shortly after this. It also makes sense to me that all the rehearsal difficulties, and Pigpen's (abandoned) contribution of singing & harmonica, would come when they were first trying it out, rather than after a month or two of playing it live. I don’t think they had played it live before, unless it was with much rougher vocals. It’s unknown whether Weir & Lesh sang in this song previously.
It is also interesting to hear the bigger part Pigpen played in this song when they started it – the song could have gone in a different direction, and the brief harmonica/guitar duet is tantalizing. His organ part remained integral to the song, though.

It is possible to narrow down the date for this session. In track 16, Garcia says, “We won’t be able to record at all next week, we’ll be busy recuperating….”
Phil: “As long as we get to LA in time to set up and do the thing Saturday night, after that it’s total freedom, we just have to get…”
From these references, it appears this rehearsal must be very close to the 1/28 show, perhaps just a day or two earlier.

In track 18, a drunk Pigpen leaves under a shower of insults from Phil. But in a discussion with Bear, Garcia seems to talk a little about why they’re doing this rehearsal: “One of the things that we’ve been doing all the time is trying to learn how to sing with ourselves without being able to hear each other, because that’s what it’s like when you’re on stage… You can hear yourself but you can’t hear the combination...”
Weir adds, “The reason we’re so good at it is because we’ve been working at it for about a year now, and we’re not that good at it.” (Garcia adds: “Yeah, pretty rough.”)
Bear suggests earphones, but Weir & Garcia reject that idea – Garcia says, “I don’t like the feel of it; I like to be able to hear what’s going on around the stage.” Bear specifies: “I don’t mean a pair of headsets, I was thinking about a little one-ear-only – ” But then Phil cuts in: “Hey, we were working on this song before we were so rudely interrupted.”
Much of this rehearsal is devoted to working on their harmony vocals, since they seem to have the instrumental arrangement mostly down already, though still finetuning some parts. Note that Garcia asks them to “just sing the three verses one right after another,” often skipping the instrumental breaks between verses (which they’ll play on 1/28).

Bear later wrote about this issue: “I could play you tapes of the early Dead that would make you cringe they’re so bad. They couldn’t sing for shit. Any one of them could sing on his own okay, but they sounded terrible together, and I think part of that was the fact that the technology of on-stage monitors was pitiful. It’s absolutely essential that musicians clearly hear themselves in order to blend their voices together. While they were sitting around practicing their vocal harmonies without instruments it was fine, but once they were on stage with the instruments going, each one would hear something else and they’d all be off-key. It was sometimes painful... I encouraged them to listen to tapes of their performances, not just so they could hear how they sounded, but also to correct me on what I was doing.”

According to Bear it was at the Fillmore acid test on January 8th when Phil asked him to be the Dead’s soundman. It is not known whether he did any recording at the Longshoreman’s Hall Trips Festival shows on January 22-23, but it seems doubtful. Perhaps it was at those shows where Bear first decided he needed to start taping the band. At any rate, he must have immediately started encouraging the band to hear how they sounded on tape, since he recorded at least one show and this rehearsal the following week. He would continue recording in Los Angeles, not only the shows but many demos and rehearsal sessions at home over the next two months. (Garcia might be referring to Bear’s plans to tape their rehearsals to help them improve.)

Bear said, “We listened from the beginning… We thought it might be good to hear what it really was like. Or someone might say, ‘Gee, I think that was terrible, let’s listen and find out whether it really was.’ Back in those days after the show we were usually wired up and weren’t ready to sleep anyway. As time went on, their vocals got better and they were singing in pitch with each other more and more. Everyone was working to try to get better. How can you get better if you don’t ever listen to yourself? We were all interested in what was going on. The only way you could find out what you had done was to listen to it later. In the heat of the show, no one can tell. Whose idea was it to listen to the tapes? I think it was everyone’s. They said, ‘You’ve got the tape, let’s listen to it.’” (Taping Compendium, p.40 – see also Conversations with the Dead p.327)


February 6, 1966 – Northridge Unitarian Church, Los Angeles

http://www.dead.net/features/tapers-section/february-5-february-11-2007
/Tastebud (cuts in)
Mindbender
One Kind Favor
BIODTL
Only Time Is Now// (cuts after one minute) 

Lemieux included more of 2/6 in a Jam of the Week selection than in the Taper's Section, which only has three songs. On the Taper's Section, Lemieux wrote of the 2/6 material: "Amongst the mishmash of unlabelled 1966 material in the vault, there was a short snippet of music at the end of the reel labeled 2/6/66, so perhaps [these songs are] from that show, but not for certain." (In the Jam of the Week selection, there was no note, just the date.)

This suggests that music from more than one show could be taped onto a reel, which makes sense – no reason for Bear to waste a blank half-reel. In addition, many of these early shows were clearly split across reels. On several reels, the first song cuts in (the "possibly 2/12" Viola Lee, the "Longshoreman's 3rd" It's A Sin), indicating a reel flip, so whatever was on the previous reel has presumably been lost. On the 1/28 tape, You Don't Have To Ask (the last song of the first set) cuts in, so the rest of the set was evidently on another reel.
We are obviously missing parts of the 1/28 and 2/6 shows. It is frustrating that these mystery reels tend to be only three songs or so, nowhere near full sets or full reels. If we had the physical reels in hand it may be easier to explain why they're so incomplete. The implication is that a lot of full reels have gone missing.

The mix is almost identical to the 1/28 show a week earlier. The type of reel is unknown.
Since this tape has the date of the Northridge Church show, it may well be the correct date. But there is no sign of an Acid Test taking place, which puts the date in question, though it must be near that date.
A newspaper report proves that the Acid Test was on Sunday night: http://deadsources.blogspot.com/2017/06/february-6-1966-acid-test-unitarian.html  (But the Dead are not mentioned.)
A week earlier the Dead clearly believed they would be playing on Saturday night, February 5, and Phil hints they'd be free after that (that is, no other shows that weekend). This raises a few possibilities:
1) Since all the previous acid tests were on Saturday nights until this one, they were mistaken.
2) It was originally scheduled for Saturday and moved to Sunday. (No account of the acid tests, though, mentions the date being changed.)
3) There was another show someplace on Saturday, of which all trace has been lost. 

My analysis focuses on Beat It On Down the Line, as a song that can be compared with other live versions from the period.  It uses an early intro that predates the “Longshoreman's 1st Night” tape, and certainly precedes May 1966.  Moreover, the solo on this version is not as fully formed as the pattern used in March and subsequently, but is conceptually similar to that found in the March 19th version, perhaps even identical.  It is probably the basis for the later solo usually heard in at least the ‘66 BIODTL's.  One might infer that the later solo was really just a more-open form of a basically planned and structured solo found in these early versions. The solo here is notable for being more wildly played than the later, cleaner versions – in fact, Garcia essentially keeps soloing through the last verse. (Later he would be more restrained with his fills.)

It might also be worth noting that the backing vocal arrangement is a little more complicated, including an extra part in the last line of the chorus which seems to be carried over from the Mother McCree’s version.


February 12th, 1966 – Youth Opportunities Center, Compton

Mystery Reels, Tracks 6-9 (on an unlabeled 7-inch reel, per Latvala)
“Who Cares”/Pigpen Rap
Vamping/Twist & Shout

This unlabeled reel is without doubt from the actual 2/12/66, as it matches participants’ accounts of this date. The “Who Cares Girl” at the Watts acid test became notorious – Owsley recalled, “There was a woman who Babbs was putting the mike onto who kept screaming ‘Who cares?’ over and over at least a hundred times.” Wavy Gravy said, “Well I certainly cared, at least to get her to shut the fuck up.” She was also written about in Tom Wolfe’s book:

The Dead’s musical contribution here is negligible. One participant remembered, “They kept tuning things up and trying to get things to work, but they didn’t play any actual music. They were just too high to function.” Lesh also recalled trouble setting up the equipment: “We may have played one, maybe two tunes, when Jerry decided he didn’t feel like playing anymore.” This must have been one of the Acid Tests Garcia had in mind when he said, “A lot of times we’d get just too high, really, to play. And we’d play for maybe a minute, and then we’d lose it.”
Though Twist & Shout cuts in, it evidently follows immediately after the previous goofing around. (Bear may have been called away from the tape recorder to work on the equipment.) Garcia only plays on Twist & Shout, and the band is accompanied by a harmonica player. After the song, they stop, announcing, “Our drummer flashed, we’ll be back later.” Apparently a tape of the song is then played back by the Pranksters!

This recording is in mono. It is possible this reel was taped by the Pranksters, not by Bear – they were probably both recording.


Bear’s Mixes

The tape mixes can also be used to help locate the earliest shows of the year. Sonically, the 1/28 and 2/6 shows have a very similar sound - the mix is basically identical, and both those tapes are notable for not featuring the simple "vocals one side, instruments other side" mix Bear usually used in 1966. (Actually, I think these early tapes sound better, with more depth.)

There was a dramatic shift in Bear's production technique by the 3/12/66 show.  He mentioned a synesthetic experience of seeing music circulating: “My knowledge of the true nature of sound dates back to…one of the rehearsals we had in the house in Watts, when I actually saw sound coming out of the speakers. It was total synesthesia… It was just a unique experience. And it so completely blew my mind…I went around and inspected it very carefully… And that became the foundation for all the sound work that I’ve done.”
Whether it was due to this experience or not, sometime in February or early March, Bear changed the way he mixed the Dead:  “I recorded the vocals in the left channel and the instruments in the right, Beatles style.” That remains the basic premise in every Bear production setup from 3/12 through July.

Bear wrote in the Rare Cuts liner notes, “I used a stereo reel to reel recorder with the (mono) PA signal in the left channel, principally vocals and drums…with the instruments which were not in the PA…in the right. The PA was flat-out just managing the drums and vocals in those early days. This resembled the Beatles' first 'stereo' record, and had a lot of 'space' or 3-D effect.”

The tapes of 1/28, 2/6, and the Viola Lee Blues rehearsal have guitars and vocals spread across the two channels in an interesting way: one channel has the bass, Weir’s guitar & vocal, and Pigpen’s organ & vocal; the other channel has Garcia’s guitar & vocal, and Lesh’s vocal. The drums are in the center, probably due to being so loud they couldn’t be isolated from any mikes.
By late February, Bear had switched his approach: all vocals and drums were now recorded on one channel, and the guitars & organ on the other. He was taping demos at the Watts house during this time – practice tapes from February 23 and March 2, for instance, survive, as well as various undated tapes released on the Rare Cuts collection – and these all feature the new mix. As well, three live Rare Cuts tracks simply dated “unknown location, February/March 1966” also have the split vocal/instruments mix.

In any case, the earliest dated concert with the new mix is the 3/12/66 Danish Center show (also labeled on the Archive as 2/25/66 Ivar Theater). As with the 5/19 show, it’s apparent that the Vault masters have a far wider stereo separation than the circulating Archive copies, which (perhaps due to copying) have more bleedthrough between channels, placing the music more in the center. So the Archive copies can’t always be used to judge the original mix.
The tapes can vary. The organ level differs widely between shows – for instance it is almost inaudible or far in the background on 2/6, 3/12 and 3/19, but very loud on 3/25. Later shows through July also vary, with the organ sometimes prominent in the mix and other times very low. (A reminder that what we hear in the mix does not always reflect what was heard on stage.) It’s also noticeable that in the March shows, the drums are confined pretty much to the vocal channel – the guitar channel sounds clean enough to be a direct line feed from the amps, rather than miked. In later shows, the drums are more in the center of the mix.
I believe Bear generally did not place anything in both channels, but often the drums or guitars will leak onto the vocal mikes, giving them a more centered sound. Vocals almost always remain confined to one side, since they were not loud enough to leak into the instrumental channel, except for sometimes a little room echo.

All the shows from March through July were recorded this way, including the remaining tapes in the “mystery reels.” Individual shows offer variations, though: for instance on 7/3, the mix changes midway through (it starts out unusually, with the vocals centered). The 5/19 tape is glaringly different from the others: bass and drums are on one channel, the drum levels loud to the point of distortion, and the guitars are more in the center, bleeding into both channels, at too low a level as if they were improperly miked. (It’s hard to tell if this was a taping experiment or just a poor recording. Note that the “true” mix of 5/19 can only be heard in a few tracks sampled on the Taper’s Section and misdated 3/12 – http://www.dead.net/features/tapers-section/march-12-march-18-2007 )


April 22nd and 24th 1966 – Longshoreman’s Hall, San Francisco

Mystery Reels, Tracks 4-5: “Longshoreman’s Hall 1st Night” (7” reel at 15ips)
BIODTL
Schoolgirl>You Don’t Love Me>Schoolgirl/ (cuts)

Mystery Reels, Tracks 10-14: “Longshoreman’s Hall 3rd Night” (10” reel at 15ips)
//It’s A Sin (cuts in)
Viola Lee Blues
Midnight Hour
BIODTL
Blues Jam w/ Jorma & Jack// (cuts)

Once again I focused on Beat It On Down the Line, since we have two versions from these tapes to compare.
In the BIODTL supposedly from February 6th, and in the version from March 19th, one finds an older intro, different from the ‘standard’ multiple-beat intro.  The two tapes labeled Longshoreman's contain two different versions of BIODTL, each of which uses a different intro - the earlier and the 'standard.'  The May 19th version is, very unfortunately, cut off at the beginning; but it uses a faster tempo that strongly implies it is the later version (i.e. with the later beats intro).  The 'standard' intro is found for certain by July 16th.
Since the 2/6, 3/19, and "Longshoreman's 3rd Night" BIODTLs all have the same alternate arrangement, they are evidently the earliest versions.
But it's in the solos that one finds a distinctive key. The Longshoreman’s solos are nearly identical – Garcia is evidently playing the same practiced solo, but it is not found in any other extant tapes of BIODTL (outside the Vault).  In short, this is strong circumstantial evidence of at least the proximity of these shows.

The version labeled “3rd Night” is peppier, but both solos use this ascending, syncopated quarter note approach offset by an eighth rest.  No other versions of BIODTL that I can find use that.  Listen back, and you'll see that the conceptual approach to those two solos is both unique to those two tapes and also offset from every other BIODTL solo on the extant tapes from 1966.  Along with the “1st Night” and “3rd Night” labels, that is somewhat telling.  
The similarities particularly at the beginning of the solos should be quite apparent.  In the other versions, it's generally a much more aggressive pattern involving an initial rest and a variety of triplets.  This, like early Cold Rain and Snow or Morning Dew, was probably originally a memorized semi-stylized but more or less not improvised instrumental part. This may have been an early attempt at experimenting with improvising solos for otherwise 'written' songs (since this was a Fuller song).  

Given the solos, I believe they are from concerts close in time to each other.  However paucity means that it's pretty hard to place things relatively, since most of the material is missing.  Nevertheless, those Longshoreman’s labels could be correct; they do exist, and I find no obvious reason to reject them.

The Longshoreman's gigs were from a three-day run.  It is not beyond the realm of reason that having played the song since at least 1964, the band got tired and the proximity of these shows provoked an evolution in the song. The change in the song’s speed and intro come from a liminal period - the realistic range is mid-March to mid-July; but if we infer the newer intro being played on May 19th, the range is really restricted to between mid-March and mid-May.  Along with the unique solo approach, the only 'run' in that period was the Longshoreman's run.

Longshoreman's 1st Night and 3rd Night could then correctly refer to April 24th and 22nd respectively - the last and first Nights in their Longshoreman's run.  Going from the BIODTL's, they are probably in reversed order.  The intro of the BIODTL on Longshoreman's #3 is 'older' than the one labeled Longshoreman's #1, so the “1st Night” is the later version. 

Also, the Viola Lee Blues evidently comes from the same period as the March 19 and May 19 versions. The tempos and guitar parts are the same – note that Phil’s bassline in the verses is the same here as on 3/19. This version is a bit punchier than the March performance, and chronologically this is the earliest version to have the acceleration in the middle of the jam, as heard again on 5/19. So it is certainly plausible that this performance comes from April.

LIA: Per Lemieux, "Longshoreman's Hall 3rd night" is in the Vault dated only "January 1966" (see the 1/26/09 Taper’s Section), which, based on the Viola Lee, is almost impossible. (Vault dates can't necessarily be trusted - for instance they have a set of 5/19/66 under the date of "3/12/66 Danish Center" – see the 3/12/07 Taper’s Section.)  

Owsley has said (from memory) that “the box labeled ‘Longshoreman’s’ would have been from the shows we did with Loading Zone in late April ’66, after the return to SF from LA.”
Although I don't trust the "Longshoreman's Hall" labels, another small bit of evidence in favor is that the Jefferson Airplane had no known shows during those dates, so Jack & Jorma were free to show up & jam with the Dead. Garcia announces that they’ll “come up and screw around with us a little.”  (Which is a telling sign of their early closeness to the Dead, since the Dead had just returned from being out of town for two months, and in fact hadn’t been on the same bill with the Airplane since December 1965!)

The mix and room echo sound nearly identical on both tapes, suggesting that they are from the same venue; but it's possible neither tape is actually from the Longshoreman's Hall. One curious thing in this spacious venue is that the audience response to the songs is miniscule – on the “3rd Night” in particular, it sounds like only a few people are half-heartedly clapping! In fact, it sounds like the Dead are bombing in a near-empty hall. Wherever this show took place, it seems not too many people were interested in seeing the Dead (or, at least, were too busy tripping to applaud the music). Of course most of the early ’66 shows have small or inaudible audiences as well – on 3/19 especially, it sounds like the Dead are playing to complete indifference. It’s easy to forget that the Dead were almost totally unknown at the time, and audiences at these events were not necessarily paying attention to the band.

Due to the difference between the BIODTLs, I have doubts that the two "Longshoreman's Hall" tapes were within two days of each other. Note the specific differences in arrangement between these two nights - not only are the intro & ending changed, but the little fill before the chorus is also changed (earlier it was a guitar/bass riff, but they changed it to full-band chords). These aren't improvised things; the band would've had to rehearse the changes. It struck me as improbable that they'd rearrange this song within the two days of this run. But assuming they were rehearsing during the daytime, it's certainly not impossible. 
(One catch is that on the "1st night" (which must be the later version) Garcia is playing badly - he muffs up the solo and doesn't play any fills during the verses, like he does in the other versions. Perhaps the new arrangement was throwing him.) 
Another consideration is that, according to McNally, during the week of this run, the band had just returned to San Francisco on April 22 and did not yet have any place to stay, so "the band separated, each member finding a place to stay wherever he could. Garcia passed the week until [May 1] 'staying with all kinds of strange people and getting really [financially] strung out, walkin' around.'" (McNally p.143)  This raises the obvious question, where could they have rehearsed to rearrange a song in between two dates of this run?

My original suspicion was that these tapes may have come from Los Angeles shows. 
Note that in the 3/25/66 show, after You Don't Have To Ask, Lesh starts announcing what sounds like shows from April 6-9 before the tape cuts, which are otherwise totally unknown; so we may not be aware of all the shows played that April.


July 31st 1966 – PNE Garden Auditorium, Vancouver BC

Mystery Reels, Tracks 1-3: “Possibly 2/12/66” (7” reel at 7.5ips)
/Viola Lee Blues (cuts in)
Don’t Ease Me In
Tastebud

At the end of Viola Lee, someone suggests they do Stealin' and Jerry says, "the jug band already did Stealin'..."  I believe this is most likely a reference to the pH Phactor Jug Band that played the Vancouver run from July 29-31. They're the only jug band that are known to have played with the Dead in 1966. I'll make the bold claim that the Dead didn't play with any other jug bands in 1966 - at least not that we know of.  Moreover, the pH Phactor Jug Band did include Stealin' in their repertoire (though only provably later).

The tape's sound and production is also consistent with that of the other two nights, and the audience sounds just as tiny and unenthusiastic on this tape as on the known Vancouver tapes.
The Viola Lee Blues is extremely similar to the one played on July 30, except that the band here does not play the spiraling riff between verses.

The GEMS copies of the shows from July 29 and 30 are accurately dated – their notes state, “The dates and song lists for 7/29 & 7/30 come directly from the boxes that the master reels are stored in.” The full set on July 29 is a short one, less than an hour (Dancin’ to Minglewood). It is not known whether they played a second set, but seems unlikely; the tape ends with Garcia saying, “Maybe we’ll see you later, then again maybe we won’t, we’re going off now…” The tape from July 30 is little more than an hour, and includes one full set (Standing on the Corner to Cream Puff War), and the start of a second set (Viola Lee to Schoolgirl, which cuts out).
There is no telling how long the Dead’s show on July 31 would have been, but it was likely also short. The tape is clearly incomplete – Viola Lee Blues cuts in, and there’s no indication that Tastebud is the end of the set.

Jerry did an interview the next month in which he recalled that the festival had “every band every night, so a band would only get to play maybe one set a night and it would be a short one. You couldn’t really get warmed up, you know, or get any kind of thing going. It wasn’t really much fun to play.”  
The Trips Festival poster reveals that the evenings were certainly crowded, with several bands each night, and the Dead listed in a different order each night.
http://www.deadlists.com/posters/1960s/19660729a.html

The band had a dismal time at the festival, unhappy with the stage and the sound; Phil called it "one of the worst performances I can remember." The Dead played at the Pender Auditorium in Vancouver the next weekend, on August 5, and Jerry remembered that "actually we did much better on the next weekend, when we played again at another dance, and had a fairly good crowd - it was really good, you know, it was responsive - much more so than the Trips Festival." But no tape is known to have survived.

This may have been the last Dead show Bear taped that year. After they returned home from Vancouver, he and the unhappy band parted ways. Bear later explained, "They had decided that the system that Tim Scully and I built was too clumsy and wasn't doing what they wanted. So they wanted to go back to using standard amplifiers... By then I was out of money, and the scene was in need of other things, so I went off." (Taping Compendium p.39 - see also Conversations with the Dead p.317-18)
As a result, the Dead stopped taping themselves, and the next few months of shows are concealed in silence.

LIA: I agree that the "possibly 2/12/66" reel is probably the latest of these tapes. There's no way to tell when they started playing "Don't Ease Me In," but I doubt it was a new tune when they recorded it in June. Its absence from earlier tapes is odd, though. Perhaps it was intentionally resurrected from the jug-band days.
I would just add that they may have played with a jug band somewhere earlier in the year as well – the PH Phactor Jug Band, for instance, regularly played in San Francisco. Though there’s no evidence of such a billing in the show information we have, our knowledge of the year is far from complete.
(As an aside, the PH Factor Jug Band released a single of “Minglewood Blues” in 1967, and briefly joined the Dead on their Pacific NW tour in January 1968.)


Reel Clues

One commenter has suggested that the 10" reels are from earlier shows than the 7" reels. This could be coincidental, but it matched my initial feeling for the relative order of the tapes.
On further investigation, though, the different reel lengths seem randomly scattered through the year. There may not be a definite rule for how Bear's use of different tape standards corresponds to dating. The 1/28 show was recorded on a 10” reel, but 2/12 on a 7” reel. “Longshoreman’s Hall 1st night” uses 7" tape at 15 IPS whereas the “3rd Night” uses a 10" reel at 15 IPS. The July 29th and 30th tapes mark the last inarguable, undisputed Bear tapes for that period, and are known to be 10" reels at 15 IPS; yet the tape I believe to be from July 31 is a 7" reel at 7.5 IPS. So it is possible that Bear randomly used whatever type reel was available.

Bear does not often seem to have tried to conserve tape by recording at a lower speed. Taping at 15 IPS as he usually did, the reels would obviously run out much faster – had he set the speed at, say, 3.75 IPS, he could have taped well over an hour on a single reel. Since the sound quality would have declined, evidently getting good sound was a top priority. As it is, most of these reels are far from complete – the 10-inch “Longshoreman’s 3rd night” is the only definitely full reel, at almost 34 minutes. The 7-inch “Longshoreman’s 1st night” reel may be full, with almost 24 minutes of music. The other reels here are all left partially blank, perhaps only half-full. There is no sign that Bear was ever very thrifty with his tape use.

Most of the reels are labeled. Given no other evidence, I don't find the argument that the labels are "wrong" to be compelling enough to discard them completely - though they surely are not always correct.  I have trouble believing that these are random labels rather than that Bear (for instance) misremembered some details or labeled some stuff ambiguously - and reels and canisters got confused.

LIA: I believe the labels on the reels are almost entirely wrong. There is no reason to trust the dates or locations. As we saw in this post, "possibly 2/12/66" wasn't even in February; the actual 2/12 reel had no label; "Pauley Ballroom" was most likely at the Matrix (any actual Pauley tape has vanished); and the "1st night" and "3rd night" reels, if the location was right, are reversed. This is, at the least, massive confusion & mixup of the tapes, whether Bear or someone else did the attempted labeling.

It is at least clear that all these tapes are from early in the year, from Bear’s time as soundman.  We are hobbled by having so few reliable show dates from this period - there are probably a number of lost, unknown shows, and there is no telling how many shows were taped. It also doesn’t help that all of these tapes are partial – it seems there were other reels from each of these shows, which would have helped us identify them, but they are now lost.
Whether Bear taped over older shows is unknown, but doubtful. Though it would explain why so much is missing, it doesn’t seem like him to do that.

So my initial conclusion was that we may be able to determine the relative order of these tapes, but our dating info is too unreliable to trace them to specific shows. Nonetheless, this post has advanced some strong arguments toward identifying the actual dates.


December 23/24, 1966 – Avalon Ballroom, San Francisco

I Know You Rider
It Hurts Me Too
It’s All Over Now Baby Blue
Dancin’ in the Street
Midnight Hour
Good Morning Little Schoolgirl
Lindy

In the early ‘70s Sunflower Records, a now defunct label, acquired a couple of 1966 Dead concerts from the Avalon and the Matrix, which were partly released on the Vintage Dead and Historic Dead albums. Most of the material seems to come from one concert; based on the liner notes (Avalon recording engineer Robert Cohen is credited as producer), we know this concert came from late 1966 and the Avalon. The relevant Avalon dates from late ’66 are August 19-20th; September 16-17th; November 4-5th and 13th; and December 23-24th. The concert is usually labeled September 16th, since the Vintage Dead album uses the poster from that date. 

I Know You Rider demonstrates that the show is from late in the year – it is most similar to the 12/1/66 version, with a prominent organ (which doesn’t feature in earlier versions, perhaps due to being low in the mix). These two performances also differ from the versions up through July ’66 in being longer: the Dead have added the “I wish I was a headlight” verse and a second solo in the middle of the song. Dancin’ in the Street is also very similar to the December 1st rendition, much more than to the July performances – Garcia’s playing is stronger in the later versions, and the Dead have dropped an extra vocal section before the jam that they sang in July.
  
Interestingly, I have noticed that Weir changed a lyric to Dancin' in the Street by the season in 1966.  It was probably originally for variety, but it helps immeasurably in relative dating, and sheds new light on the date of this show. Some examples:

7/16/66 – “Summer’s here and the time is right for dancin’ in the street”
 “9/16/66” – “Winter of the year but the time’s still here for dancin’ in the street”
11/19/66 – “Autumn of the year but the time [is] here for dancin’ in the street”
3/18/67 – “Spring of the year but the time is here for dancin’ in the street”

In the supposed September 16th version, Weir sings "winter." Since the few other available performances in this date range are consistent by season, that really rules out any date before late December. Within the Avalon shows of late '66, that lyric change is only plausible on December 23rd-24th. (In the December 1 Matrix performance, it sounds like Weir is still singing “autumn of the year,” though he is drowned out by the backing vocals.)

The tape was edited for release, so I have not found any banter that would narrow the date down further. The songs may well come from more than one show, though the sonic mix is consistent throughout. (Midnight Hour could have been an encore, as an announcer introduces it, “Ladies and gentlemen, once again, the Grateful Dead;” but that may be a production edit.)
Any further songs from this concert were likely erased by Cohen after the albums’ release.

As for the other songs usually included with the “September 16” show, Stealin’ and The Same Thing from side B of the Historic Dead album are not from the Avalon, but are from the 11/29/66 Matrix show; Peter Abram is credited as producer.

March 29, 2014

1972 Melodic Jams

One unusual trait of the Dead’s long jams in 1972 was that they would sometimes end Other Ones or Dark Stars with unique melodic sequences. Out of spacy or abstract passages, chord patterns would emerge that sounded rehearsed or familiar, but you couldn’t quite place where you’d heard them before, and generally they were never played again.
Of course this kind of jam happened in other years as well – I might just mention the 2/18/71 “Beautiful Jam” or the end-of-Dark-Star jam on 2/24/74 as examples – but for some reason there was a whole cluster of them in 1972.

Though they were improvised, I suspect these pieces may have been based on themes the Dead tried out in rehearsals, so when one bandmember suggested a chord sequence, the others could quickly latch on. Since ’69 the Dead had worked out a frequent technique of following a spacy or tense section of the jam with a “happy” chord sequence, relieving the tension and adding structure & dynamic contrast to the jam. They also had enough practice playing together that if Kreutzmann started tapping a new beat, or another player laid out a few chords or new melodic line, the rest of the band could rapidly form around it.
As I wrote elsewhere (about the Tighten Up & Feelin’ Groovy jams in 1970), “The Dead had a knack for doing these sequences that sounded familiar even if you couldn't quite place them, and their habit was often to play these after a passage of formlessness or building tension, so that these happy melodic passages would be kind of a release for the audience.”
Audiences frequently cheered these thematic jams, responding to them with joy even though they probably couldn’t have recognized the riffs. One reader suggests that this may have been a subconscious process that the Dead intentionally aimed for: “I think the Tighten Up jam as used by the GD worked a really cool magic trick on the listeners - it made a seemingly improvised piece of music suddenly sound perfect and just-right and totally satisfying… It is a pretty good trick to produce the enjoyment of something familiar within the framework of an improvisation. In other words, for a "typical" listener in 1970, the Tighten Up jam would have the best of both worlds - the newness and excitement of improvisation combined with the familiarity and satisfaction of a known theme, and without the listeners being aware of the precise reasons for their response.”

Weir described the Dead’s jams in a September 1972 Crawdaddy interview:
“We play cues to each other, and depending upon whether or not anybody’s listening, or whether anybody cares to second the motion, we’ll go that way. If you can get two on a trip, you generally go there. It can be something we all know or a completely new idea introduced within the context of what we’re doing. If the movement gets adopted, then we can go to a completely new place. Or if somebody introduces a familiar line from an old place – it may be a song or a passage that we’re more or less familiar with – we can go that way… Sometimes we know what we’re doing. Sometimes we’re completely lost in what we’re doing, and maybe it just grabs us and takes us there too. It seems to fall into place a lot to me also. It’s a tenuous art of trying to make format out of chaos, of course. As we get better practiced at it, we can get looser and freer in our associations, and let the music more or less move us in a given direction. Sometimes, if what we’re doing just really wants to go somewhere and the air is just pregnant with it, it’s undeniable, we’ll just go there. On a really good night, it’ll happen a succession of times. No one will even play a cue, yet bang we’re just off.”

Blair Jackson wrote about this process at work at the end of the Other One on 4/21/72 (in the CD liner notes): “The band doesn’t seem to have any idea about what, if any, song they might play next…so the Dead just float from one musical notion to the next. Squealing feedback gives way to a brief, lilting jam. At one point Billy clicks into a little groove and the others follow, and it develops into one of those lovely passages that feels familiar but isn’t quite – are those hints of Wharf Rat? is Sugar Magnolia around that bend? Instead they keep drifting about – Jerry gets into a hypnotic fingerpicking pattern at one point – until it all just peters out.”

Sometimes the band was not so successful, of course, and jams could peter out, drift away, or die undeveloped. They didn’t always play in perfect unison. There are plenty of instances when Weir & Lesh would play a chord pattern for Garcia, and he would ignore them. But there was also another side to “making format out of chaos” – the band generally had a strong sense of structure in the jams, keeping their destination in mind and listening to each other’s cues. A long jam would pass through several varied movements – a jazzy combo feel, a noisy Tiger jam, a peaceful quiet space, perhaps a bluesy interlude or fast rock shuffle – before ending in a new song or reprise. This broad outline could give even long Dark Stars a feeling of direction rather than aimlessness. And one of the Dead’s central techniques was to contrast sequences of noise, space or atonality with balancing sequences of melody and rhythm, bringing audiences from the void back to familiarity, as it were.

There were a few memorable times in 1972 when the melodic passages used to “climax” a jam took on a brief life of their own apart from the larger jam; when the groupmind took over and new themes poured out, never played before yet somehow familiar.
I thought I would make a list of the main unique structured jams from ‘72. I had a few rules for defining them:
- they almost always occur at the end of an Other One or Dark Star, often after a chaotic or spacy section, or around the verse.  
- they sound like distinct composed songs, with particular melodies or chords, and are sustained for more than a minute. Often they sound like familiar Dead tunes “recombined” and played in a new way.
- Feelin’ Groovy is not included. By 1972, the regular “thematic jams” the Dead had been playing back in ’70 were mostly gone. A couple early examples of the Mind Left Body theme are included, since the Dead wouldn’t develop that into a regular repeated jam until fall ’73. It’s possible some of these other themes could have turned into repeated jams, had the Dead chosen to do that; but clearly they decided not to play them more than once.

3/22/72 end of Caution [on the Rockin’ the Rhein bonus CD] – After a tense space and ominous conclusion to Caution, Garcia segues into a gentle Bobby McGee-type melody (at 3:30 on the CD), joined instantly by the band. This closely resembles the Bid You Goodnight theme, but is clearly a developed melody of its own. The fragile beauty lasts just three minutes before Phil awkwardly switches to Uncle John’s Band.
3/23/72 end of Dark Star, after 16:10 – Kicked off by Phil, this goes through several phases, including a Feelin’ Groovy and a country-picking Sugar Magnolia-type finish before returning to the Dark Star theme at 20:50.
4/8/72 end of Dark Star [28:10 on the official CD] – This comes out of a scary meltdown and has an ecstatic start similar to the 3/23 jam, with Garcia starting it off and the others immediately backing him. Weir & Garcia transition into an early descending Mind Left Body theme, and after four minutes Weir deftly blends in the Sugar Magnolia intro at the same tempo. (On a personal note, I broke down in tears the first time I heard this.)
4/21/72 end of the Other One [18:20 on the official CD] – After the verse ends, the Dead head into a short feedback space before Garcia enters a passage of Love Scene-type picking. As they float freely, Kreutzmann starts tapping a beat, and the band conjures a unique little jam from the air. Within two minutes Garcia brings it to an end with a repeated fingerpicked arpeggio in high notes.
7/25/72 Other One – Unusually, this jam is played before the first verse, from about 12:35-19:15. Growing out of a beautiful Garcia/Lesh duet, a beat materializes and something like an Allmans-style Spanish Jam emerges (some people also hear shades of St Stephen in there). Garcia even plays slide until Phil nudges them back into the Other One.
8/20/72 end of the Other One – After a jazzy Phil/Keith-dominated passage, they enter a stomping jam from about 18:45-20:30, structured by Phil’s chords, before falling back into the Other One theme.
9/21/72 end of Dark Star [30:35 on Dick’s Picks 36] – After a searching passage, Garcia starts a fingerpicking pattern; the band joins in and it turns into a Cumberland Blues-type jam that soon morphs into another lengthy, forceful Mind Left Body theme. Garcia emulates slide playing near the end (foreshadowing the late-’73 versions of this jam), before moving into Morning Dew around 36:50.
12/31/72 end of the Other One – After the verse ends, Garcia heads immediately into a peaceful, bluesy jam, the others & Crosby accompanying him so closely it must have been planned. They bid farewell to the year in amazing style (from 21:00-26:20), until Garcia finally volume-swells his way into Morning Dew.

One repeated theme that’s unique to 1972 is the Philo Stomp. In summer ’72 Phil had been playing inchoate solos in the Other One – in the fall these bloomed into the Philo Stomp, a distinct chordal riff in which the rest of the band would join. This was played in a few shows in Dark Star and the Other One (10/18, 10/24, 10/28, 11/13), but was dropped in the shows after that. Phil’s solos in later months would quote the theme, but remained more meandering and free-flowing. He also started frequently playing a jazzy 6/8 riff which would become a regular feature of 1973 jams (for instance, in the 6/24/73 Dark Star, after 6:20).

One thing about the Dead’s style of jamming was that the band would often coalesce around little structures within the flow of a longer jam. These might soon evaporate, or they could develop for a few minutes as short mini-jams. So there are plenty of shorter semi-structured jams that could be considered here. A few examples, at random:
4/17/72 Dark Star – jam after 24:20, lasts about 4 minutes
5/4/72 Dark Star – jam starts about 7 minutes after the drum solo (there’s a slight family resemblance to the 4/8 jam, til Phil starts a Feelin’ Groovy jam at 9:50)
5/10/72 end of the Other One – from roughly 32-33:30 minutes in (Weir’s chord pattern gives a solid structure to an airy space section)
11/19/72 Dark Star – from about 22:20-24:45 (a spontaneous chord structure is born and passes away; then from the void Weir pulls a familiar Prelude)
https://archive.org/details/gd1972-11-19.122784.sbd.miller-gans.flac24 
12/10/72 Other One – from about 18:00-22:35 (out of space, a rhythmic, jazzy proto-Eyes of the World jam)
https://archive.org/details/gd72-12-10.sbd.gorinsky.5801.sbeok.shnf

One reader also suggested a jam in the 9/10/72 Dark Star, which loosely builds from around 7:15–12:50. (This Dark Star also features small sub-themes at 4:20-5:10 and 17:00-18:15, and ends with an Other One-type jam after 27:55.)
https://archive.org/details/gd72-09-10.sbd.winters.17690.sbeok.shnf 
Earlier sections in the 12/31/72 Other One could also be considered: out of the bass/drums break, a fast jazzy jam lasting about 6 minutes; then later, a chordal jam from about 13:40 that blends into an Other One jam. Parts like these I think of more as rhythmic grooves rather than distinct melodic themes.
I haven’t done a comprehensive search, and I’m sure many more examples could be found. Perhaps someday we’ll have a complete catalog of these little structured sub-jams. (On the other hand, going too far down this path with numerous possible examples might obscure the structured melodic jams that are really distinctive and memorable.)

I may have missed some good ones – please let me know if there are other jams you think should be included here.

March 2, 2014

The Brotherhood vs. the Dead Machine

Musically, the early seventies are remembered as some of the Dead’s finest years. But some of those inside the scene had a very different perspective on what was happening with the band.

Robert Hunter recalled the Europe ’72 tour:  
“What I most remember about '72 was the tragedy of it. Looking back over empty years that should have brimmed with joyful greatness, I realize more and more fully how tragic it was... How much should be said? To me the '72 tour was about division. I joined to see Europe and to write songs (and because I always toured with the band) – endless European bus trips seemed like a God sent time to get the next album sketched out since Garcia was almost always otherwise occupied in the States - maybe a fourth album to follow the Workingman's Dead/American Beauty/Rambling Rose trilogy. Instead a major insurrection occured. The Bolo-Bozo metaphor was a way of laughing it off, but the always incipient schism between crew consciousness and artist orientation became decisive. Every meal was a food fight. Sensitivity to cultures was nearly non-existent. It was not only insinuated but bluntly proclaimed that the show could not go on without muscle and tech. Strike was threatened. The band was intimidated and no one was able to call the bluff. I split off from the group at the end of that tour, feeling alienated, groundless and forlorn, eventually moving to England. Though I continued providing songs and collaborating with Garcia, in essence I retired from the Grateful Dead touring and business juggernaut after 'the '72 tour. It was plainly headed for a brick wall. So was I.” [1]

This perspective of the “schism” between band and crew hasn’t really surfaced in other accounts of Europe ‘72, though McNally drops some hints that the crew was pretty hard to deal with on the tour. (Jon McIntire diplomatically said, “The equipment guys could be a problem since they were…emotionally willful.”) They were a boisterous bunch, swinging bats and flicking knives – in one famous incident, they dumped ice cream over a young protester in Paris, who then proceeded to sabotage their equipment truck. The Dead seem to have found all this more hilarious than Hunter did.

Hunter wrote more about his later disenchantment with the Dead scene:
“About midway through the ‘70s shows became a trial for me to go to. Before then I was there with every note, immersed in the adventure - the blossom was bloomin' and there was no telling what the flower would look like. But something indefinable that attracted me became increasingly rare. Not to say it didn't show up in a thousand instances right up to the end, folks say it did and I believe them.
On the other hand, maybe it was just that I was falling into disuse, my personal relations with these "Stars" becoming strained and less productive. Pig was gone, Keith hit the skids pretty quick, I never even got to know Brent. The drug stuff was no longer experimental, just stupid addiction. I'd break away and then wander back. Coteries became entrenched and the politics were insufferable. The understanding among the politicos was: all you needed to do to work your will was to get Jerry on your side - and the way to do that was to isolate him - the rest of us could go fuck ourselves. You can pretty well suss from Rock's book the kind of contempt in which he (and others) held everyone but the big G . They had contempt for him too, but it was tinged with astute respect for his actual power.
I think this Machiavellianism was the main source of the leaks in the dream. It conditioned everything. Jerry knew it for what it was and hated it. He retreated into dreams of his own, tried to make music apart from it, but the die was cast. He was like a lost dinosaur trying to fit into a trailer home.” [2]

Hunter missed the early years of philosophical banter with the band. “I often wish the interpersonal Grateful Dead scene had continued along those lines. We used to shoot the shit stratospherically, yes indeed we did. That's the part you won't find in the tell all books because who can begin to remember all that was said? It has to be created anew on a regular basis. Prior to 1972, the Dead was all about discourse and music. You can hear echoes of the dialogue in the music. After '72, drugs and earthbound elements established domination. Dialogue metamorphosized into employee gripes and road plans. The butterfly returned to the chrysalis and emerged a centipede with numerous legs, capable of infinite truckin'.” [3]

Hunter wasn’t happy to see the transformation of the Dead into an organization devoted to internal politics, “employee gripes and road plans.” The original vision seemed distorted, in particular by the band’s burly road crew. After one tour, Hunter wrote “The Ten Commandments of Rock & Roll” about the Dead’s crew:

1. Suck up to the top cats.
2. Do not express independent opinions
3. Do not work for common interest, only factional interests.
4. If there’s nothing to complain about, dig up some old gripe.
5. Do not respect property or persons other than band property or persons.
6. Make devastating judgments on persons and situations without adequate information.
7. Discourage and confound personal, technical and/or creative projects.
8. Single out absent persons for intense criticism.
9. Remember that anything you don’t understand is trying to fuck with you.
10. Destroy yourself physically and morally and insist that all true brothers do likewise as an expression of unity. [4]

Echoing this, old friend Willy Legate once wrote a note to the band about their scene:
“Bad-mouthing someone in his absence is an art form, deliberately cultivated here… Optimistic descriptions of situations are sometimes passed out to anyone nearby who is prepared to play the role of patronizing fawning multitude. The optimistic description is given with the understanding by all concerned that if it should change within the next hour or week, that adjustment will not be relayed; in other words, that anything good you’re told is meaningless. In the words of the prophet: if you don’t know by now, don’t mess with it.” [5]

The Dead had a very macho and intimidating road crew who made their own rules, and Hunter wasn’t alone in feeling aghast at their behavior. Stories abound of their hazing rituals, surliness, violence, and random abuse of outsiders. Once in ’73 a crewmember dumped the group’s dinners over a Philadelphia promoter’s head (it wasn’t the food specified in the contract), prompting his partner to write Sam Cutler: “The crew was given as many extra considerations as we could muster… We’ve had quite a few problems with your crew in the past. You say that the band knows that they’re animals but that they can’t do anything about the situation.” Cutler responded that they wouldn’t work with that promoter again. [6]
One Rolling Stone article in 1973 pointed out the roadies’ “habit of destroying hotel rooms,” but Steve Parish tried to explain: “We’ve shown a rough exterior to a lot of people, but that’s because you get jumpy on the road… We’re not gorillas. We’re all really sensitive guys. Well, yeah, it used to be a big thing to flip out – we were experts at flippin’ out. And we did a lot of machoing out too – a brotherhood swaggerin’ kind of thing.” [7]
But the Dead must have found it useful to have their own Hell’s Angels-type characters on the crew, keeping the growing audience at bay. (Band members trashed their own share of hotel rooms, too.) The Dead also took pride in having their own kind of anarchic democracy, where everyone in the crew would have as much say as the bandmembers in what went on. As Garcia said, “They’re there when we have our business meetings. We’re dragging them through life, shouldn’t they have some say about it? We’re all working on the same thing – why should we treat each other any differently?” [8]

David Gans wrote:
“In the beginning, I think, the presumption was that everybody would behave responsibly and look out for the group; but it was well known that you could pretty much do what you wanted to do in the Dead world. Those high tribal ideals the family once embodied gave way to the realities of the tour. Power went to the men who put the rubber to the road… Jerry Garcia was a most reluctant emperor. He was pretty much the only one who could have controlled any of it, from the thugs on his own crew on down, but for the most part he refused to correct anyone’s behavior. A long-time associate of the Dead left the tour in 1972, he told me years later, because ‘I realized that Jerry was never going to control his people, and I couldn’t stand to work in that sort of craziness.’” [9]

Mickey Hart told McNally that the crew “became so powerful, and we just said whatever. That was one of our downfalls, not taking a stand with the crew. They didn’t want to work, and we said okay, whatever. It was one of the stupidest things we’ve ever done, letting the crew run the show… Rifkin and Ram Rod were the great spirit of the Grateful Dead, the real souls, but some of the other guys had other agendas, partying animals… We let it go down. It was our cross to bear. We spotted it. We thought it was endearing and cute, letting the quippies run the show. That’s what I thought. What an odd thing. Everything else is so odd, why shouldn’t this be odd? Maybe they’re protecting us from some evil… I liked all of them.” [10]

Garcia admitted that “the quippies” were not always the kindest souls: “The Grateful Dead is not where you’re going to find comfort. In fact, if anything, you’ll catch a lot of shit. And if you don’t get it from the band, you’ll get it from the roadies. They’re merciless. They’ll just gnaw you like a dog. They’ll tear your flesh off. They can be extremely painful.” [11]

Garcia & Lesh joked about Steve Parish once –
Garcia: There’ve been meaner guys – Steve ain’t that mean…
Lesh: Now when Jerry breaks a string, he’s lucky he doesn’t get garroted – “How dare you break a string?”
Garcia: [Laughs] Right – “I don’t want to have to ask that big guy for something – I’ll just play without the string. God knows what he’ll do, holy shit.”
Lesh: “I’ll whistle the top notes.” [Laughter] [12]

Parish and Garcia reminisced about life on the road – 
Garcia: I loved it that time when you changed all my strings but one. He just wanted to see if I’d notice…
Parish: You’re in a world where everybody is trying to party, and trying to get you to party… You’ll be made fun of if you fuck up…that keeps you on your toes…
Garcia: The road thing is, some people can adapt to it and some can’t. Some people really go to pieces on the road…
Parish: Everybody was always playing practical jokes on each other…constantly. If you ever let your guard down your foot would be on fire, or you got a real weird haircut – and a lot worse stuff that I can’t talk about… You’ve got to be able to take a hotfoot as a joke at 5:00 in the morning when you’re trying to sleep sitting up in a seat and you’re pissed off and your back hurts and maybe you’re wounded…and then everybody’s laughing at you, so maybe then you’ll laugh…  We’ve had some [new] people we took out, and they only lasted like one trip… They couldn’t make it through the grueling, rigorous initiation, which goes on for years. You have to prove yourself on so many levels – little games that we play, sort of like initiation rites, on the crew. You have to run a certain gamut…
Garcia: You’ve got guys like Kidd nippin’ at your heels day in and day out…
Parish: When you’re getting yelped at, you love to yelp at someone else. We used to have some fights – people would look at us and say, ‘They must hate each other,’ but we loved each other. If somebody else from outside messed with us, they were like opening up Pandora’s box.  [13]

*

In his time touring with the Dead in 1974, Ned Lagin didn’t really have a problem with the crew in particular, but was concerned about how the wider Dead family was negatively impacting the music.
“There were crew members, particularly from Oregon, who were just great to me… There were a few members of the crew who were less gracious, cordial, and friendly, and some of the business and management and touring family were not particularly receptive to my being there. They did not want to see the band go off into outer space and not return. Collective composition wasn’t random, but it wasn’t particularly controllable; you got where you were getting when you got there. There were people who thought those prescribed happy sequences of Grateful Dead tunes should just go on.” [14]
The Phil & Ned segments of the shows ran into some resistance. “Sometimes there was acceptance and sometimes there was rejection – audience rejection, and comments by critics and writers that were not appreciated, I guess. Jerry didn’t like audience rejection; he worked very hard to be who he was, but also to be popular, quite honestly. And people weren’t as open as they said they were…and never would be. And I think Jerry was not happy in acknowledging that. There was a lot of criticism about weird music, strange music – which none of us really liked.” [15]

Lagin saw the conflict between the mainstream rock aspects of the Dead that were more popular and accessible, and the more esoteric improvisational possibilities that could be closed off if the Dead simply pursued audience acceptance. It must be said that the Dead managed to balance these two sides of their music, but offstage Lagin was wary of the internal culture that had formed around the band. The Dead’s “pirate brotherhood” was going sour.
“The Grateful Dead was a brotherhood like the Hell’s Angels in a certain sense, though by ’74-75 that was past being visible except as a rationalizing philosophy. Anybody who entered the brotherhood got a real, though unstructured, trial by fire. It lasted for months or years. It was like a screen test to be in the pirate movie.
“I grew up in New York, and I had a certain amount of toughness and dedication to what I was doing… They thought I could take it, and maybe give it as well. But when you were getting messed with by somebody, they chose almost always to not take responsibility.”
He mentioned a run-in he had with a Hell’s Angel at Roosevelt Stadium, where the band didn’t interfere but some crew members stepped in. “When authority figures in the band such as Jerry or Phil were present at…minor injustices taking place, they did not choose to exert a mitigating force. Some of the crew did, as regular stand-up guys… I thought there was a certain level of counterculture communal hypocrisy, of…not exercising any real level of control, involvement, and responsibility for situations they created. I think they had a highly contextual sense of loyalty and responsibility for their friends; it was a registration of some deep cynicism – and fatalism.”

“How the band members interacted in the musical realm should have been very different. But the “family” issues increasingly spilled over into the music. I think there was a lot of interpersonal politics and frustration, related to the growth of the band, the growth of the audience, and the change in the technology.
“We have a growth economy in the United States. Instead of living within our means, we have to continue to create new markets so everybody can have more and more. Although the Grateful Dead came from the counterculture, they wound up behaving just like the dominant culture… They thought they had to continue to expand to stay alive. They did that better than other groups, and longer than anybody else. But fundamentally, they were locked into the same American Dream growth paradigm…
“This was a period of transition for Phil and for Jerry and for the Grateful Dead – getting bigger and more famous and doing more stuff. Commensurate with their becoming bigger, there was, at least to my way of thinking, a bigger emphasis on a family culture of extremes and nihilism. Everyone seemed to want something from someone else… Music was not enough.”
In Ned’s case, he wanted to play in a different, more quiet way than the Dead were playing – his desire to play “minimally, delicately” wasn’t that suited to the rock-show context. “We couldn’t get back to the delicate places, the intimate, small, cozy, loving little spaces, and I really wanted to be able to play that kind of music… There was too much emphasis on electric instruments and technology, rather than on collective intuition and expression… Because of where the Grateful Dead were going, and because of the frustrations and dynamics within the band – Phil’s and Jerry’s nihilism and extremes and hardness and edge, and the requirements of meeting the demands of a rock & roll extrovert culture – it didn’t seem that we could get to moments of gentleness and delicacy that weren’t bracketed with dynamic or power contrasts.”  [16]

Aside from Lagin’s concerns, by the Europe ’74 tour the band was frazzled. He recalled, “Everybody was deeply upset…by the time we got to London, everybody was clearly doing too many drugs. We had a meeting with everybody who was on the road with the band. We agreed that everything was fucked up: to be blunt, cocaine was a problem. We all agreed to flush our stashes, which we all dutifully did.” [17]  The rest of the tour went more calmly, but “everybody was burned out…and very tolerant of excess.” [18]
Now and then there would be LSD nights as a way to reestablish group communion, “recoup the good old Grateful Dead.” Since Keith avoided acid, he would be dosed. “No one thought there was serious irresponsibility going on, particularly since it was within the pirate cowboy brotherhood.” [19]

*

Bear returned to the crew in 1972, after two years in prison, and noticed a dramatic change. In the earlier years, “Everything was a constant flow of ideas and so forth. And there was no isolation. Everybody was involved. That was the scene that I left. When I came back in 1972 [it was more like a compartmentalized union organization]…everybody had a job and a responsibility, and that was his, and this was his…all isolated. And this went on for two years. I come back, and there’s this scene that’s totally different, where nobody is going and helping the other guy – ‘Oh no, that’s my job, that’s your job…’ And all of a sudden I found that the three things that I did – recording, stage monitors, house mixing…there were three guys doing that job. Each one fiercely defending his little territory… It was ‘this is mine, this is yours…’
“Suddenly there wasn’t a place [for me]… I was still smoking a lot of pot, so I was being everybody’s fool. You know how with kids somebody would get down behind you and the next guy would push you over, stick you in the aisle and trip you? It seemed like that, psychically; that kind of thing was happening, so I was flopping down…and being a real nuisance… I had to figure it out: why is this different? Why are these guys not being nice to each other? Why is there this heavy jockeying going on?... [It was] power trips, lots of power trips…
“Going from something which I considered as being an almost tribal thing of everybody sharing in all of the work and all of the obligations, and helping each other like a bunch of brothers, all of a sudden I came back and it was like the union and the management…There was a lot of cocaine and they were bitching at each other and using abusive language, and a lot of beer and everything else. I was feeling very uncomfortable with the whole thing…
“I was getting pissed off at the way in which every time I tried to do something, somebody would interfere. I’m not going to lay any blame, it was a group-consciousness thing, and they didn’t even think of it that way… The scene had changed; it didn’t seem to have a place for me…  
“It was too fucking much. There was a lot of coke and a lot of beer and a lot of booze and a lot of roughness and there were too many people working, there was too much weird shit going on, and there were too many power struggles at the top – management against management against the record company. The whole thing was just this weird energy going, always this maneuvering. The brotherhood was gone. There was a lot of talk of brotherhood, but from my viewpoint there wasn’t any brotherhood. It was like a lot of guys protecting their territory, this is mine and this is yours… And I was in there with this concept of cooperative, tribal, brothers all working together… It wasn’t working. I was very uncomfortable. And every time I turned around, I was pushed a little bit closer to the perimeter. Or that was my feeling.” [20]

Perhaps the low point for Bear came when some equipment was stolen at one show and a crew member “picked me up and threw me into a water cooler.” After his experiences in late ’72, Bear apparently stopped working with the road crew for the next couple years, instead working on the band’s sound system.
“They started saying, ‘We want to be bigger… We want to go to bigger shows.’” The end result was the Wall of Sound, which Bear had mixed feelings about. “The thing was such a monster. It required so many people, so much bureaucracy, so much logistics, so many trucks, so many stages, so many boxes, so much wire, so many amps, it became this huge thing! Because it was very inefficient… It was a logistical nightmare. There were a lot of problems… This thing was out of control.” [21]
“Eventually it just became too much, and it collapsed on itself and the band just backed away from it suddenly…one day they came out and said, ‘Hey, we can’t handle it anymore…’ In this case they couldn’t fire anybody – they always felt like that kind of family. They didn’t know what to do, so they just stopped playing, hoping that the people would go off because they had to make a living… When they started back up, they started back up with the guys who hung in the tightest. Parish was working with the Garcia Band and Ram Rod was involved… The core guys were the guys who had clung to the Dead and made something to do…and the others had gone off in different directions.” [22]

Weir later said that in ’74 the crew was “drowning in mountains of blow… We had a crew that was being paid like executives for doing blue-collar work, and they were abusing our generosity.” According to Weir, one goal of the hiatus was to force many of the crew members to find other jobs. [23]

Lesh recalled ’74 in his book as a time of “stresses and strains” that produced “cracks and crevices in our unanimity of purpose.” Part of this was due to the businesses they’d formed – from the Dead offices sprouted not just two record labels, but also a booking agency and travel agency. Lesh sighed, “In our naivety, the band thought that we could control all this without falling prey to the infighting and dissension that comes with the territory. At the same time, no one in the band wanted to be bothered with the boring details of such control.” Infighting and dissension soon followed, with the band firing their tour manager Sam Cutler at the start of 1974 as a result of various office backstabbings and accusations. They rounded out the year by firing manager Jon McIntire on the Europe tour after more arguments.
“We now employed twice as many stage crew and truckers as before, meaning we had to play larger venues, sell more tickets, and play more often to be able to support the sound system. Luckily, our audience was continuing to expand; even so, the financial strain would eventually prove untenable… The expenses associated with the Wall of Sound meant that we were constrained to play only the largest venues…where the intimacy we’d prized in the ballroom era was a fading memory. The stages were ten to twelve feet high, further removing us from contact with the audience, who receded into a blur of shapes lacking any individuality. Our crew was twice as large as it needed to be, and could be quite surly. Simultaneously, the psychic atmosphere was beginning to cloud up with the emergence of cocaine as the drug of choice among the crew, generating an ‘us against the world’ mindset. The amount of security and backstage space needed in an arena had tripled from that of a theater or ballroom, and the band became more and more detached, withdrawing into the famous ‘bubble’ of isolation out of the sheer desire for preservation of our energy and sanity.” [24]
(Though Lesh says that “at that point I wasn’t drinking or using drugs,” other evidence makes it sound like he was already chugging beers pretty heavily by 1973.) [25]

In a November ’74 interview, Garcia sounded quite unhappy about how the year had gone.
“Basically, success sucks. And all the other crap that goes along with it. We've unconsciously come to the end of what you can do in America, how far you can succeed. And it's nothing, it's nowhere. It means billions of cops and people busted at your gigs. It means high prices and hassling over extra-musical stuff. It's unnecessary…
“Our whole development has been 'going along with the changes.' It's not as though we've plotted to get to a certain level. By just not thinking about it, or not making conscious decisions about what we were doing, we ended up in that place of stadiums, coliseums, large civic-owned and civic-controlled buildings, high ticket prices, enormous overhead, in an effort to fulfill the requirement of whatever the level change was. For example, we changed from playing theaters to large places…because there were more people who wanted to see us than we had time. So the obvious thing was to go to bigger rooms. [But] that meant we can only go to bigger rooms if we sound good in them, and that led to our whole PA thing, which is expensive. Our rationale was, 'We'll divert the income into developing the resource' because, really, we have a relationship with our audience...
“But the truth is we've been stuck in this total control situation; our whole lives are controlled by economic circumstances. We're sort of up against the back end of success… It's been gradual, but that's the really insidious thing about it. We were prepared mentally for any quick jump, but going slowly into this scene, it becomes almost habitual. Finally we all realized: 'it's gotten to the point where we can no longer really make enough money to keep it working at the present rate. And also there isn't anything for us to get off on. We're removed from the audience, we're removed from what we're doing and it just is a drag.’” [26]
"That's where we ended up in terms of the largeness of our audience and the greatness of demand for what we were doing and so forth. We felt that was a dead end and there was no place for us to go from there, so at that point the experience for us got to be totally controlled in the sense of [it being] airplanes to motels, motels to gigs, heavy security backstage, nobody near the stage. And what's worse is the way very large venues deal with people — they deal with them in a sort of cattle-prod methodology: lots of cops, lots of frisk lines. We felt like that was not what we wanted to do; that was clearly not it." [27]

*

Ned Lagin felt that the feeling of togetherness that the Dead’s shows were supposed to inspire had become more distant by ’74.
“The collective id of the Grateful Dead juxtaposed the American mythology of doing what you wanted to do in the wide open West…with a certain tribal psychedelic pseudo-telepathic conformity about ‘being on the bus or off’ – a juxtaposition that could be as destructive as it is empowering… ‘You’re either on the bus or off the bus’ was a real clubby, exclusionary, nonsensical thing to me. It’s the pirate creed: ‘You’re sailing with us or you’re not sailing with us…’ It’s not a question of being on the [bus] or off… The idea of sense of spirit and community…and interconnectivity – unfortunately, at least the way I see it, the audience didn’t become the Grateful Dead. They just wanted to get on the bus with the Grateful Dead.” [28]

Bear’s perspective was also that the communion between band and audience of earlier years was now gone. “The microcosm [the band onstage] and the macrocosm [the audience in the hall] are now separated. The macrocosm/microcosm of brotherhood and community, which was the Grateful Dead family, propagated out into the audience and took hold. When I went away, it was macrocosm/microcosm; the Grateful Dead and crew were the same as the people that were out there. Well, the band/crew thing, as the stages got higher…it produced a separation, a gulf. And the microcosm turned into something else, but the macrocosm continued to be what it was…
[Early on,] our stage was sometimes two feet off the floor. I was in the audience… [Now] when I’m walking in the crowd…I feel the sixties, I feel the way it all was. In the old days, there was no separation. The Grateful Dead, the deadheads, the crew, everybody was the same… It was like a family… The concept of tribalism, of brotherhood, has propagated out and maintained itself as the band removed from [it], as they got to the point where they come off the stage into limos and are gone, from the days when they walked through the hall, through the people, hung around – had a gig that would go to dawn, sometimes.” [29]

From their different viewpoints, each saw the Dead’s ideals eroding as the “family” and audience expanded. Hunter hasn’t talked directly in these terms about the distance between band and audience that I’ve seen, but he was focused on his own distance from the band.
“My tie with the organization has been that of an outsider ever since '72. I was once described as a maverick's maverick. All I ever wanted to do, back then, was to put my full energies into the songwriting aspect of the group, but that became harder and harder to do as other matters assumed greater immediate importance. I continued to write - there must be hundreds of lost songs, since that was before word processor files, and often there was only one typed or handwritten copy which, like as not, would go in someone's back pocket and end its life in the washing machine. "Hey Hunter, do you have another copy of that song?" I'd try to remember it, end up writing something else. A few phrases might remain.” [30]
“The pressure of making regular records was a creative spur for a long time, but poor sales put the economic weight on live concerts where new material wasn't really required, so my role in the group waned. A difficult time for me, being at my absolute peak and all. I had to go on the road myself to make a living. It was good for me. I developed a sense of self direction that didn't depend on the Dead at all.” [31]

No longer on the road with the Dead, he gradually stopped going to Dead shows altogether. Though it’s hard to trace the decline in his attendance or just what the last shows he saw were, he did say that in the later years “I only went to only one big outdoor stadium gig” (in 1987). Flabbergasted, he decided “the only way I could remain dedicated to my part of the vision was to stay clean away.” [32]
Though initially pleased by the Dead’s burst of popularity in ’87, over the following years Hunter came to see it as ruinous. “The "Big Time" was always problematic… I don't ache for the same thing the fans ache for, so my viewpoint is very different. I don't even ache for the promise I watched going down the drain for a dozen years. Big time success meant less than shit to me. It was like a forced death march. I was in the trip to write good songs. Nothing more, nothing less. My engagement was exactly equal to the opportunity to do that.”  [33]
He felt it was fortunate that financial success came late to the Dead: “Getting this far with my spirit and creativity intact are far more important to me than getting an olympic sized swimming pool. Having "big money" is a career of its own… The increased standard of living attendant on sudden and disproportionate wealth is, to my mind, the source of the major problems which destroy the camaraderie of successful bands... Two things which allowed the Grateful Dead to become what it was were lack of radio success over the years and lack of overwhelming wealth. We were given leave to grow musically, rather than as a financial empire. That came later, but the deed was already done.” [34]

During this time Hunter became suspicious that the Dead were intentionally dropping his tunes, even while Garcia was blocking him out as well. “Tunes dropped out of repertoire for years at a time, replaced by others, for no other reason than to have a different show. If a complex tune dropped out, it would need to be rehearsed to be brought back in, and there are so many songs some of them just went bye-bye. As I stopped going to shows, becoming less interested in pushing my material on an increasingly apathetic collaborator, a lot of my songs were replaced in the repertoire with cover tunes, which the audience found quite acceptable. I was never clear on what the message was, other than that my less than subservient stance, born of frustration, was unacceptable and I was being deleted insofar as that was possible to do, considering the backbone of the repertoire. It wasn't a highly motivating situation.” Hunter found Garcia at a “creative impasse – he was unavailable for years at a time, other than for musical projects he could accomplish standing on his head – and it was imperative that I seek elsewhere…[to find] the mutual respect and excitement in creating that is such an important part of collaboration.” [35]

Of course, on a personal level Hunter also felt robbed of his friend – not by the Dead, but by addiction. “Heroin, period, destroyed our scene. It destroyed Jerry… I hate the drug because it fucked my life over so bad, via my friends, without my even enjoying whatever the pleasures of taking it happened to be. Watching all human feelings die from the sidelines. Being excluded from creative participation because [I was] neither a junkie nor an "enabler"… My diving experiences with Jerry [in 1993] were the only time I felt in touch with my cantankerous old friend in a decade and a half.” [36]

In a way, by the stadium shows of the ‘80s the band were revisiting the problems they’d faced in the early ‘70s and had never really solved – if anything, most of the issues had gotten worse. Lesh wrote, “Suddenly we were drawing so many people to our shows that we now had to play mostly stadiums and huge indoor arenas… It’s a very rare stadium show that can sustain the shared intensity of focus that’s needed for ignition, let alone lift-off; the audience needs to know that they’re making the music… The psychic connection and sense of community shared by the band and the audience is the key to our music and to the Grateful Dead ‘experience.’ This connection can be diluted by the presence of too many people; especially if people were coming to our shows because they heard that it was a great party, or because they heard that they could score drugs there… Playing stadiums had been exciting at first, but the thrill of projecting our music across such vast spaces evaporated rapidly in the face of the mind-numbing sterility of the stadium environment. It came to feel as if we were playing into a vacuum, with no possibility of feedback or response from an audience that was barely visible from the stage.” [37] 

While in ’74 they could back off and try to start afresh, in the later years they couldn’t – they still felt trapped. By ’91 Garcia was starting to complain loudly about this.
One witness said, “He wanted to take a break; it was very clear… There was one meeting where they were talking about the stadium tour of ’91 and he stopped everybody and said, ‘Am I the only one who thinks that stadium shows suck? I don’t ever want to play in another stadium. Does anybody else feel the way I feel?’ And nobody said anything. But they were trapped: big overhead, big family, dates are reserved. Who’s gonna say, ‘Yeah, you’re right. Let’s cancel the stadium tour’?” [38]
Lesh’s book has a sample of the minutes from one meeting, summarizing Garcia’s statements: “We are a community, a family, a tribe. This pressure chokes off enthusiasm. It’s killing to keep doing the same tours. It has not much dignity. The pressure is so great that we can’t stop. It’s hard to be creative with a gun held to your head. It’s a huge responsibility. (Vince adds, “We need to take some time together to rework things. Doesn’t want to stop – can hardly afford his house now.”) Talking about 25 years and is burnt-out and wants to do what he wants to do… (Kreutzmann suggests taking six months off.) Can’t guarantee the workers. We can make enough to take six months off without shutting down. We did it in 1986…we can try to do it next year… Try to eliminate the fall tour.” [39]
Garcia went at length about this to Rolling Stone that year – asked if he’d told the band at meetings that he wasn’t having fun playing with them anymore, he said, “Yeah, absolutely… The last couple of times I’ve been there screaming, ‘Hey, you guys!’ Because there are times when you go onstage and it’s just plain hard to do, and you start to wonder, ‘Well, why the fuck are we doing this if it’s so hard?’… I probably brought it out in the open, but everybody in the band is in the same place I am. We’ve been running on inertia for quite a long time. I mean, insofar as we have a huge overhead, and we have a lot of people that we’re responsible for, who’re working for us and so forth, we’re reluctant to do anything to disturb that. We don’t want to take people’s livelihoods away. But it’s us out there, you know. And in order to keep doing it, it has to be fun. And in order for it to be fun, it has to keep changing… 
"We’re going to have to construct new enthusiasm for ourselves, because we’re getting a little burned out… So we have to figure out how we are going to make this fun for ourselves… To me the answer is, let’s write a whole bunch of new stuff, and let’s thin out the stuff we’ve been doing. We need a little bit of time to fall back and collect ourselves and rehearse…and come up with some new material… 
(RS: Do you think you might stop touring for a year or so, like you did back in 1974?) "That’s what we’re trying to work up to now. We’re actually aiming for six months off the road… I don’t know when it will happen…” [40]

It didn’t happen that way, but Hunter felt that by then it was too late for the Dead to recover. He wrote a year after Garcia’s death:
“Say, for example, the band had continued, with a break for a heart bypass operation for Jerry, and the problems with the crowd escalated even more? Suppose the shows became insuperably problematic to attend? It was not only headed that way, you know, it was full upon us. And say the music was suffering for this, the whole inspiration - because what kind of thoughtful musicians would expose crowds to that kind of thing just to make money or jam? What I'm driving at is the very likely probability that you and many others would find that what was so good and moving in what the GD was being destroyed by circumstance. Entropy, if you will. What happened had to happen pretty soon, whether via death or retirement. The fractalization into smaller units, forced by necessity, is probably the only real solution. Downscaling for the Dead was impossible. We were about ready for another quantum leap and it would have been a disaster. … A lot of people were already caught in that quandary. The music was often not all that hot and many didn't like what we were becoming. A mega-stadium powerhouse. Venues were closing their doors to us. Violence was erupting. It was a personal quandary for me. I often felt we should call it a day. Jerry often felt the imminence of true disaster. But who rides the tiger fears to dismount.” [41]

All of Hunter’s comments here were written around that time in 1996, which should be kept in mind considering their bitter tone. The interviews he gave while the Grateful Dead were active are generally optimistic about his work with the band, and (that I’ve found) give no sign of his estrangement. His bad feelings about what the Dead were becoming, he kept to himself until after Garcia died.
“My dream for the Grateful Dead went down in flames too and I am somewhat bitter, but not embittered. I think that's an important distinction. I believe in the community... All I can say for certain is contained in the old expression: "the jewel is in the lotus"…of course, the lotus is renowned for growing out of the muck and mire. The jewel is the community which flourished around the Grateful Dead. The lotus, muck and mire were the band and its internal scene.” [42]

*

NOTES

4. McNally, Long Strange Trip p. 57
5. McNally 60
6. McNally 268
7. Perry, “A New Life for the Dead,” Rolling Stone 11/22/73
8. Gans, Conversations with the Dead p. 57
9. Gans, “All His Children Grew and Grew” (from Tuedio, Grateful Dead In Concert) -
see also http://www.levity.com/gans/SFFocus.html
10. McNally 215
11. Henke, Garcia interview, Rolling Stone 10/31/91
12. Conversations 238
13. Conversations 223-5, 231-2
14. Conversations 362
15. Conversations 374
16. Conversations 362-64, 373-74
17. Conversations 365
18. Conversations 369
19. Conversations 366
20. Conversations 327-29, 331, 334-35
21. Conversations 332
22. Conversations 335
23. McNally 475
24. Lesh, Searching for the Sound p. 218
28. Conversations 362, 365
29. Conversations 339-40
37. Lesh 281, 301
38. Jackson, Garcia p. 405
39. Lesh 298
40. Henke, Garcia interview, Rolling Stone 10/31/91