Dancin' in the Streets (Guest Post)

THE DEAD'S THREE DECADES OF "DANCIN' IN THE STREETS" (1966-1987)

by Daniel J. Dasaro & Christian Crumlish, 1999

The Grateful Dead covered the Martha and the Vandellas song "Dancing in the Street" during three distinct periods in their 30-year career. They first started taking this Motown hit, co-written by Marvin Gaye, to outer space in 1966 (or possibly 1965, although no tapes survive), reaching dark-interstellar spaces by 1970. As if exhausted as an improvisational vehicle, the song made only one reprise appearance in 1971, on December 31.

In 1976, when the band reconvened after a nearly year-and-a-half hiatus, they debuted a radically revamped arrangement of the song. It became a mainstay of their sets until the departure from the band of Keith and Donna Godchaux, with only a few disappointing versions after they left in late 1979 and one feeble try in ’81.

In 1984, they reintroduced the original version of the song, only slightly rearranged for the ’80s psychedelic-pop version of the band. Without ever reaching the pure freedom of some of the late ’60s versions, the Dead still managed to stretch this one out significantly, and frequently segued into or out of it, before playing their final version in 1987.

A Note about the Title:

While Motown published the song as "Dancing in the Street," most people – Deadhead or not – call it "Dancin’ in the Streets," and in fact the Dead published the song under that name on their 1977 album Terrapin Station (in the "disco" version), so it’s not worth arguing about. (Compare to how Deadheads almost universally refer to "Playing in the Band" as "Playin’.") In fact, the song appears on two Dick’s Picks releases as "Dancing in the Streets."

Why Play "Dancin’" at All?

When the Dead first started playing Dancin’, they had very few original songs in their repertoire, which was made up mostly of R&B covers and electrified old-timey songs. It’s important to remember that the Dead started out as a dance band (and in their own way, continued to be a dance band throughout their career), albeit one given to really stretching out each song they played.

Covering a recent hit song about kids dancing in the street (also the topic, more or less, of a song destined to be their first original single, "The Golden Road (to Unlimited Devotion)" from 1967’s The Grateful Dead), then, makes perfect sense. Aside from other R&B hits of this period, the only other time the Dead covered a current hit song is when they played "Werewolves of London" in 1978. [Not really true. - LIA]

Improvising a jam inside the song that transcends its basic structure provided a way to carry new minds along on the psychedelic journey, both leaving from and returning eventually to a familiar station. In their own way, the Dead achieved something akin to John Coltrane’s radical reworkings of "My Favorite Things."

As with the Dead’s 1970 FM hit, "Truckin’," "Dancin’" features the road-song virtue of naming a long list of major cities. It was also an appropriate song for a band that often played on flatbed trucks to a crowd that was literally dancing in the streets!

The Sixties Version

The Dead’s earliest versions of the song are about six minutes long, with an uptempo delivery. Like most of the band’s 1966 material, the arrangement starts with Pigpen playing the song’s main riff on organ (hum that hook for a kid under 20 today and she’ll probably identify it as Cypress Hill’s "Insane in the Membrane"). Bob sings the lyrics through, repeating all but the first verse. Jerry and others back up with the "whoah, whoa-oh," and then, "dancing in the streets." They then jam for about two minutes without getting too far out there, reentering for one minute of lyrics, repeating the first verse and parts of the rest of the song, and then wrapping it up. The arrangement is heavy on the drums. As for the sound, the version on Greetings From The Living Dead (a 1966 rendition) features very pronounced drums and organ, with the guitars chopping out the changes and the organ adding a constant layer of chords. [This is from 7/3/66. – LIA]

By late 1967 the song had become a launching point into jams that could go 12 minutes. The same intro and three minutes of lyrics dissolved into a freeform jam that visited spaces similar and parallel to those discovered in Dark Star. This exploratory version of the song reaches its peak in 1970, perhaps with the famous Harpur College version of the song, released on Dick’s Picks Volume 8 (1997).

In these spacey jams, there are times when Bobby is strumming chords that identify the song, but at other times the song is off on tangents that make it impossible to identify. In the deep jam on the version from San Francisco’s Family Dog on 2/27/70, for example, Bobby plays his chords up high, while Jerry stays in the lower register most of the time. There are times when the jam consists mainly of chords from the guitars, with Phil providing the only single notes. Jerry moves to long, bent notes late in this jam.

The Seventies Version

After two dozen performances in 1970, the band shelved the song in '71 except for the New Year's Eve show, only to bring it back in June of 1976 in a completely new form, not at all an evolution of its past, but with a revolutionary new structure. The song now featured an extended introduction that starts with Bobby strumming a jazzy chord on the first beat, followed by a quick up and down strum on the second beat, and punctuated by two high notes on the third beat. This is repeated while Jerry plucks an eight-note riff over four beats using an envelope effect that quickly mutes each note (the word "nyou" comes to mind when trying to describe the sound of each note). Jerry, Bob, and Donna then sing "Dancin’, dancin’ dancin’ in the streets" repeatedly before Bob and Donna launch into the verses. The basic lyrics themselves were also phrased differently, the first word of the first line (Calling out around the world) drawn out, whereas Bobby emphasized the second word in the original arrangement. When singing the lines listing the cities, Donna echoes Bobby in a similar manner to the version sung by the Mamas and the Papas. A few runs through the opening phrase, "dancin’, dancin’, dancin’ in the streets," serve as periodic breaks in the song, showing up between verses, before the jam, and at the end of the song. For those interested in timing, the jam begins about five minutes from the start.

This late-seventies arrangement still features a spacey, exploratory jam. The sound is much more electronic, with Jerry using various effects, at times approaching the pan-flute MIDI sound he used in the late ’80s and beyond, when more sophisticated electronics became available (see 5/8/77). The harmonics in the jam give it a jazzy feel, although the overall arrangement is often classified as disco. In fact, during the jam of 8/4/76 at Roosevelt Stadium, Jersey City, NJ, there is a hint of the Bee Gees’ disco hit "Stayin’ Alive." [No - that song wasn't released til Dec. '77 - LIA] The jam features distinct sections, with a unison chord sequence toward the end reminiscent of the jam that followed "Eyes of the World" in 1974. Typical ’76—’79 versions of the song run 12 minutes or more.

The work that went into the rewrite apparently was not wasted. The Dead played "Dancin’" more times – 26 – in 1976 than any other year (and those performances didn't start until June of that year). The tune even sandwiches other songs, such as "Not Fade Away" and "Wharf Rat" four times in 1976, the most interesting example being 10/1/76's combination of: "Dancin’ in the Streets" > "drums" > "The Wheel" > "Ship of Fools" > "Dancin’ in the Streets."

The Dead recorded this version of the song on Terrapin Station, and it remained in heavy rotation until Keith and Donna left the band in 1979.

The Eighties Version

After several sloppy versions of the "disco" arrangement in late 1979, with Brent Mydland on keyboard, and one in 1981, the band abandoned the song again for several years. In 1984, they broke out a reworked take on the original 1966 arrangement. Bill Kreutzmann issues the same little introductory drum roll followed by Pigpen’s riff as delivered by guitar. Bob sings, doubled throughout the song by Brent. Jerry and Brent sing the "whoah, whoa-oh, dancin’ in the street," backing vocals, a token pop gesture that adds to the fun of the song. Jerry throws a very youthful "everywheeeeeerrrrre, whoa ohhh" after one line on the 7/1/85 version.

Many of the ’80s versions of the song are more laid back. The rhythm guitar has a very "warm" tone; the solo often gets a typical Jerry "sweet" sound. As in the first versions in 1966, the song covered a little over six minutes at its reintroduction, with just a few minutes of jamming after the lyrics. By late 1984, and in some versions throughout ’85 and occasionally ’86 (most notably, 12/27/86) the jam has stretched out further (although not ever to the 1970 extent) and the song starts clocking in around 12 or 13 minutes again. After a final, unremarkable rendition in 1987, the Dead dropped the song for good.

Lyrics

As with other songs, the band sometimes varied the lyrics from show to show. Comparing two 1966 versions (9/16/66 and the [7/3/66] version on Greetings From The Living Dead), Bobby runs through the lyrics and then repeats some of them. However, three more lines are repeated on Greetings than on 9/16/66. It appears that these three were not part of the plan, as we hear Jerry begin his solo while Bobby sings the last line, his voice fading away as he sings the line, as if he was stepping back from the microphone once he realized the mistake. On 9/16/66, the "summer’s here" line is changed to "the winter of the year, but the time’s still here, for dancin’ in the street." [This version is actually from December ’66. – LIA.]

A notable variation is that the line, "This is an invitation, across the nation, a chance for folks to meet," is dropped on some dates throughout the years. For example, it is not sung on 2/27/70, but is there throughout May. The song was given room to take its own direction each time it was played. It is ironic, however, that Weir would drop this line, considering the many fans who traveled the country to see them, meeting each other at shows. If nothing else, the Dead scene was "an invitation across the nation, a chance for folks to meet."

Another variation concerns the place where the band picked up after the jam. In at least one 1966 rendition, they went back to the very top of the song, but more often returned to the line "All we need is music…" (1966-1970, 1980s). The jazzy version came out of the jam with "Doesn't matter what you wear…." There are many other small changes that won't be discussed, but suffice to say each rendition is interesting listening.

Year-by-Year Highlights and Notes

For obsessive fans of the song, here are some comments on collectible or otherwise noteworthy renditions of "Dancin’ in the Streets" down through the years:

1966

There are a half-dozen or so known versions from this year, perhaps more.

7/3/66

Fillmore Auditorium (great version) – on Greetings From the Living Dead (Living Legend, 1988 Italian bootleg).

“9/16/66”

Vintage Dead (MGM/Sunflower), 8 minutes, classic.

1967

There are three known versions from this year. [Only two complete versions are available. - LIA]

3/18/67

There’s a SBD available of the amazing 11-minute version that belies the idea that this song didn’t jam till ’70. Weir sings "spring of the year, the time is here." Lots of backing vocals, then a hot Jerry-led bluesy jam, then an insanity jam, and then the reprise.

1968

There is one known version this year.

1969

There are seven versions this year. [Eight now known. - LIA]

6/22/69

A good version from Central Park, contains first proto-"Tighten Up" (an Archie Bell and the Drells song) jam. [Not really. – LIA]

12/5/69

Great jam.

12/7/69

Another great jam, with a hint of "Tighten Up."

1970

There were 25 versions this year.

1/3/70

No "Tighten Up," but a unique jam that the band revisits in the 9/18/70 version, according to illustrious DarkStarologist Dwight Holmes.

2/14/70

Fillmore East, available on Dick's Picks 4 (1996).

2/27/70

Good mix of the whole band. With a second drummer, we get a cowbell holding the beat too. Two and a half minutes in, a deep jam starts that takes several tangents. You might not know what song they are in if you dropped into the middle. Bob plays chords in a high register; Jerry solos low and high but stays low most of the time. At times the jam is more chord-based, without any individual notes, except from Phil. After 10 minutes, Jerry starts soloing on long, bent notes, sort of in the Dark Star neighborhood.

4/12/70

This 11:40-long outrageous version opens the Fallout from the Phil Zone CD. Weir sings "Coming out around the world." The song delivers a guitar-driven epiphany with a reentry into "and all you need is music."

5/2/70

Harpur College, Dick’s Picks 8 (1997). This is many folks’ favorite version of the song, and this CD release has the song intact, whereas the beginning was cut on some tapes in circulation. It’s probably the most Dark Star-like rendition. According to Holmes, this Dancin’ has a "Tighten Up" jam from 4:26 to 10:17. "The transition out of this ‘Tighten Up’ is exactly as in 9/17/70 Dark Star," he writes. "Note also that this "Dancin’" concludes with a ‘birth of a star’ (a/k/a ‘telstar’ jam) which [once] led me to murmur that, at this time, the Dead couldn’t tell their ‘Dark Stars’ from their ‘Dancin’s’...."

5/6/70

Free outdoor show on Kresge Plaza at M.I.T., during nationwide student strike in the wake of the Kent State shooting. The tape is cut near the beginning of the song. This version is slower, ’lude-y, laid back. It’s a confident excursion with Jerry still getting into the backing vocals. The jam has a pronounced "Dark Star" feel four minutes into it. There’s heavy bass counterpoint about nine minutes in. Near the end, there’s an out-of-tune reentry. The whole thing is 17 minutes!

9/18/70

The organ is prominent in the introduction. Weir sings, "C’mon everybody, form a big long line, dance around" before the jam (but do they?). The bass jam is more developed. There’s a tape glitch five minutes in. The song is 12 minutes long.

11/8/70

According to Holmes, this "Dancin’" features the second "Tighten Up" jam of the evening.

1971

Played just once this year, on New Year’s Eve. The 12/31/71 version is a dud, but hints at the ’76 arrangement to come.

1976

There were 30 performances in 26 shows this year (it sandwiched other songs in 4 shows).

6/14/76

Beacon Theatre, NYC (broadcast on the 6/6/88 Deadhead Hour, #43). Before they start Phil says, "There’s a ringing at 1000 cycles… Let’s hear it for 1000 cycles," and Bob chimes in. The song starts with a long drum intro and develops into a screamer. The tune is 13 minutes long and then segues into a languid "Cosmic Charlie."

6/19/76

An 11-minute version.

8/4/76

After five minutes, the jam starts. Bob holds down the chords. Jerry starts throwing in a few single notes then moves into a solo. Lots of whole or half notes at first, then it becomes spacier. Bob moves away slightly from the theme but still hints at it. Phil bounces around. Hints of current hit disco songs appear before the transition to the jam similar to the "Eyes of the World" outro jam from ’74. After eight minutes of jam, repeat and fade into drum transition into Wheel one minute later.

10/1/76

Features the following segment: "Dancin’ in the Streets" > "drums" > "The Wheel" > "Ship of Fools" > "Dancin’ in the Streets."

1977

There were 14 versions this year.

5/8/77

Sixteen-minute first-set closer with crisp vocals and the famous fretless sound of that show. Jerry uses an envelope to quickly decay each note. After four minutes, the lyrics end and the jam starts. Jazzy ’74 Eyes-style outro jam hits at eight-and-a-half minutes into the solo. Ten minutes later, it’s back to the lyrics for a minute and a half, and the finale.

1978

There were 14 this year.

1979

There were seven this year (two with Keith).

1981

There was one (botched) version this year.

1984

There were six versions this year.

6/24/84

A rainy day at SPAC, the first show for one of the authors of this article, sees the triumphant return of "Dancin’," opening with a short guitar-based intro. The backing vocals wake up quickly. Jerry sings "sweet, sweet music," Bobby sings "form a big long line," and "Frisco Bay." The jam has a Bird-Songy guitar lead, still questing. There’s a slight outro jam at the end, but no real space in the song. It’s more like ’66 than like a ’69-’70 version.

7/15/84

This rendition at the Greek Theatre was the California debut of the Mark III version of the song (two days after the famous Dark Star). The still-brief intro is played on guitar, with chime-y keyboard embellishments. The song has a chugging feel and the sound improves quickly. Jerry’s backing vocals are desultory. Inspirational lyric for Deadheads: "doesn’t matter what you wear." The jam sounds committed to going out there, but stays close to the form of the song for the most part. Jerry eventually takes a diving leap, buoyed by Bob’s counterintuitive bolstering chords, but he never gets too far afield, more like a Music Never Stopped jam, each line singly running out its tether. Slight taste of "On Broadway" signals the reentry. After seven minutes the outro jam segues into Bird Song

10/18/84

Full-throated guitar opening, with some organ, choogling bass. Weir sings, "the time’s still right" and gets a big New Jersey reaction for "New York City." No Jerry backing vocals on the first chorus but some guitar touches, some grace notes. Jerry sounds raring to jam (this is a rare second-set appearance for this song), playing off the "nanny nanny na-na" feel of the song’s main riff. Then he starts with the long fillips. By six minutes in, the jam is out there, but it’s somewhat solipsistic, the band tagging along as Jerry hunts for the elevator. It gets spacey, but crystalline, not formless, not chaos, but long fribbly guitar lines stacked one on another. After the reentry, Bob sings "form a big long line, anytime/hey now they’re dancing!" On the outro jam, Jerry seems ready to go again, and it segues into an upbeat Touch of Grey after 8 minutes.

1985

There were six versions this year.

4/7/85

A run speckled with breakouts (such as "Big Boss Man"). Weir says, "Did you ever just know you were not going to remember the chords?" before they leap into the guitar-guitar-keyboard intro, Jerry embellishing and filling throughout, delivering full backing vocals (Phil singing too?). The placement in the set is unusual, unless you think of "Dancin’" and "Deal" as a double set-closer. In the jam, Jerry takes off into a "Bird Song"-like free space right away, rushing the precipice, revisiting the promontory, but the jam is not overlong before it returns to the reprise. Even with a longish outro, this version clocks in at about seven minutes.

7/1/85

A squat, flat opening (forgetting the chords?), then a "Truckin’" sort of feel, uptempo. Weir sings "Way down in L.A., every day," and "Down in Frisco Bay." The jam is by rote, but by the end they loosen up. It’s a party song, kickin’ off a summer show. Bob and Brent’s scat-howling duel at the end fires up the crowd near the audience mics, briefly. The song is a little over six minutes long (followed by an excellent "Dupree’s").

1986

There were three versions this year.

12/27/86

Fantastic version of the song in the second set after a "Quinn the Eskimo" opener, eventually (after a hellaciously spacey middle jam) seguing into the second-ever "Black Muddy River").

1987

There was one unremarkable version this year (4/6/87).

http://web.archive.org/web/20030624125339/http://www.elizabundledee.com/dancin.htm

Deal (Guest Post)

DEAL

by Paul Wozniak and Bob Clinton, 1999

Let’s begin with the vital statistics. Deal was officially released on the "Garcia" album in 1972, and subsequent live versions have been released on 1981’s "Dead Set", Dick’s Picks "Nine" and "Eleven" as well as on the 1991 release, "Jerry Garcia Band Live". Dr. John also recorded it on the Dead tribute album "Deadicated". The first live performance was at the Capitol Theatre in Port Chester, New York on February 19, 1971, a show which also featured the first Bird Song (which also was first released on "Garcia"). This is a run of shows that to Paul represents the absolute turning point for the band as they began aggressively pursuing a more song oriented structure rather than the all-out jamming which defined the 1960s Grateful Dead. The last live performance of Deal was at Giants Stadium on June 18, 1995.

As an interesting prelude to this essay, we note that Robert Hunter posted on Deadnet Central (11:43pm Aug 23, 1997 PDT (#930 of 2252)): "I wrote ‘Deal’ and ‘Loser’ one morning before breakfast, handed it over to JG when he got up and he set them to music after breakfast. I didn't write any music of my own to either of those, just jotted them down." We know the army used to boast that they did more than most folks before 9:00am, but this feat puts the army to shame!

Before discussing the musical evolution of Deal, one has to first take a look at the lyrics. Some have always viewed much of the Grateful Dead phenomenon as a metaphor for life, and these lyrics really drive that point home! "Since it costs a lot to win, and even more to lose, you and me got to spend some time wonderin’ what to choose" Profound? Maybe not at first glance, but *think about it* these are words that are true in any given situation! To some, it sounds like Hunter is trying to tell us that winning is what to strive for, even in our confusion of "wondering what to choose". Plus it will take some time to determine what we want/need. Patience is a virtue you know! "Goes to show, you don’t ever know, so watch each card you play, and play it slow" Yes, this is true in Las Vegas-but equally true in life! Every choice we make, be it choosing a job, buying a car, or picking a vacation has an element of "winning or losing" which is determined, albeit euphemistically, by how you play each card dealt in life! "I been gambling here abouts for ten good solid years, If I told you all that went down it would burn off both your ears" Who doesn’t feel this way about their own life? This verse also gives us the background of the old card player who is telling us his philosophy. He’s been around a while and seen a lot. This gives us the "credentials" of the guy, the reasons why he can tell us about poker and also about life. He’s seen it all! Jerry would sometimes say, "if I told you ‘bout all that went down, it would burn off both your little ears!" This bit of condescension is accepted because he is so much older and wiser than we are. "Since you poured the wine for me, and tightened up my shoes, I hate to leave you sitting there, composing lonesome blues" Perhaps a reminder that we need to care for our brothers and sisters who have helped us "get" to wherever we are in life? I think so! The refrain, "It goes to show you don't ever know, watch each card you play, and play it slow. Wait until your deal come round, don't you let that deal go down". The refrain is more like a statement of philosophy, as opposed to a set of instructions for someone’s life. It’s definitely more applicable to poker playing than the verses. In life, like poker, you have to "watch each card you play" and "wait until your deal come round". But occasionally Jerry would add something that would make it more instructional. He would sing, "watch each card you play, people and PLEASE play it slow!" It made it seem like he cared about how we lived our lives. A good friend of Paul’s recently shared a story about a woman passing him in the crowd at the Dead’s fifteenth anniversary shows at in Boulder, Colorado, when upon overhearing him comment that both first sets in the run closed with Deal, told him well, of course, "The Deal" is what defines the Grateful Dead, it is what it is ALL about! In a sense, perhaps truer words were never spoken?

As to the musical evolution, let us begin by using the studio version of Deal as the baseline to assess the progression of the song. It is more than fair to say that Deal, like many tunes, improved greatly with age. The Deal on "Garcia" is a slower, rollicking version, featuring a very prominent slide. It has a steady backbeat, and at this point, we would classify Deal with the spate of "cowboy" tunes the band was beginning to prominently feature in the first set in 1971. Overall it is calm, but there is a slight hint of the intense buildup of energy towards the end of the song that would occur in later years. Cruising through the early seventies, "Dick’s Picks Eleven", recorded at the Stanley Theatre in Jersey City on September 27, 1972, shows Deal to be remarkably true to the original recording in tempo and feel, but is notably different in the absence of slide guitar and the addition of Keith Godchaux’s ragtime piano. The guitar solos are quaint and short, and again, do little to hint at the sizzling solos the future would hold. Vocally, there is a bit more enthusiasm from Jerry here, but that is generally to be expected when comparing a live version against a studio version. The end of the song is much more frenetic and satisfying as well, but still isn’t ready to become the Garcia showcase vehicle it would become. The song remained virtually unchanged from this point through to the Hiatus of 1975.

When the band came back in 1976, so did Deal, and it was still quite true to the way it had been played since ’71. But as 1977 rolled around, Deal became faster and more upbeat. Donna steps in and is found helping Bobby with the refrain, and doing a fine job of it. Keith seems looser on the piano and the guitar solo has progressed and is much more expressive and quite a bit longer. Bobby is helping out much more on the guitar. The final verse begins to build to a crescendo and the refrain has Jerry, Bobby and Donna singing equally and stronger and stronger. It is soft at first, but quickly the singers start belting out "Don’t you let that DEAL go down" over and over again. This is the part of the song where you really wanted Donna to scream (as opposed to at the end of Playin’ in the Band)!

Next, by virtue of our time machine, we find ourselves in 1979. Keith and Donna have left the band and Brent has taken over the keyboard duties as well as much of the higher-end vocals as well (we don’t count Bobby squealing during Estimated Prophet as higher-end vocals!). Listening to a tape from McNichols Arena 8/13/79, you could hear the changes developing in the structure of the song. Deal had more or less become a first set closer by the fall of 1977, and it stuck there like pasta to the wall of your college apartment kitchen. This version is found in that slot, and represents the future of the tune. It is played very fast, much quicker than in 1977 or for that matter, the original tempo of the studio version. The refrain is still Jerry and Bob, but now Brent is in the mix. With Brent Mydland replacing Keith Godchaux, the piano is gone and the Hammond B-3 organ has made the song a flat-out rocker. The driving chords on the last verse have become even more pronounced, and the refrain at the end has taken on a proportion all its own. We in the crowd are forcefully reminded to not let that deal go down!

By 1980 the band has worked all of the kinks out of the new lineup and this year’s version of Deal is very fast, and showcases Jerry singing with a lot of emphasis on favorite lyrics. The guitar solo is more intricate and the drummers are really forcefully driving the tune, with Phil bringing up the bottom. It’s similar to the 1979 Deal, but different in a very important way. The energy builds at the end like never before – the band sounds like they are going to burst at the seams, and there’s no let-up until nearly the last refrain.

By the time the Dead played their famous series of shows at San Francisco’s Warfield Theater and New York’s Radio City Music Hall in the fall of 1980, Deal was in full blossom. The bloom was definitely on the rose! These shows produced two live albums, an acoustic collection titled "Reckoning" and the electric release called "Dead Set". "Dead Set" is the first official release of a live version of Deal. Recorded in October of 1980, there isn’t much change to the body of the song from the versions earlier in the year. The band does, however, change the ending in a substantial and vital way: the blistering instrumental section at the end of the song. This comes at the expense of the very high-energy vocals that built up to the close of the song, but, in one opinion, the blistering Garcia solos make up for it ten-fold! But in another opinion, this instrumental section seriously detracts from the buildup of intensity at the end. It's like a detour and they just can’t get back on the path with it stuck in there.

From this point on, the song retained the same structure and almost always rocked. Poorly played sets like the one at City Island in Harrisburg Pa. on June 23, 1984 produced a phenomenal Deal. Jerry virtually always stepped up for it. [Deal wasn’t played at that show; 6/22/83 is probably meant. – LIA]

The last of the Brent Deals that we will look at is from the video release "Downhill From Here". This was from a show on 7/19/89 at Alpine Valley. They seem to have slowed it down from the early '80s. The power guitar chords have turned into Brent really blasting an organ chord. This version is actually very satisfying, it may be what they were shooting for with the instrumental break at the end.

We move now to basically the final incarnation of the Dead. "Dick’s Picks Nine" is from 9/16/90, and Brent has been replaced by Vince and part-time Bruce. This version has both of them on it. Bruce has brought the piano back to Deal. The backbeat seemed a bit stronger, and the pace had slowed back down some, but the song retained the same theoretical structure, though Jerry’s voice does sound a bit weaker. Bruce seems to be helping Jerry along, with the piano leading at times. Vince is also here, but not as prominent as Bruce is. Phil is playing a more complicated bass line. The final instrumental is different, not as Jerry-driven, and for those who object to it, it is even longer. Then they come back and start the final refrain, which is like an afterthought to the instrumental. This version from 1990 is not nearly as good as the Garcia Band version from the same year. It’s probably due to this that so many people have the opinion that Garcia Band Deals were the best Deals. Looking at the two, 9/16/90 and "Jerry Garcia Band Live", one can see it. But if you include something like 5/31/80, then others might disagree.

No discussion of Deal can be had without touching on the Jerry Garcia Band. Listen to the version of Deal that is on the 1991 "Jerry Garcia Band Live" CD, you will find that Jerry has perfected the musical break at the end with the JGB. Garcia soars on top of Melvin Seal’s Hammond B-3 organ and the pace is quicker than the Dead’s. The instrumental is mind blowing. The JGB uses it to bring up the intensity to a point unparalleled by the Grateful Dead. Then they go back to the vocals and slow down to the ending. In some views, the Grateful Dead never played Deal as well as the Garcia Band.

Time for a brief digression. The Dr. John version from "Deadicated" is very similar to the "Garcia" studio version in tempo, except without the slide guitar. Since Dr. John is a pianist, the piano takes over for the guitar as the lead instrument. His voice is so different from Jerry’s, but it works very well with this song, you can just picture the guy sitting at the table playing poker and smoking a big cigar. Much more so than trying to picture Jerry doing the same thing. When Jerry sings, it’s more like he’s trying to tell you something about how to live your life. "Don’t you let that deal go down!" means something different coming from Jerry than it does coming from Dr. John. With Dr. John, the imagery is more literal, it’s more about a card game than life.

The way Robert Hunter sings it is closer to Jerry, as if he’s putting forth a philosophy. His live versions of the song are very different from the Dead. Of course he is playing solo, typically only with a guitar. But he manages to build the vocal intensity at the end of the song, much like the Dead did in the mid seventies to early eighties. A recent version was 10/30/98 and it was every bit as intense (and enjoyable) as when it heard performed in 1982.

The Dead’s long run at Madison Square Garden in October of 1994 produced a really good Deal. On the 10/15/94 show the first thing you notice is that Jerry is quite strong here, especially for a 1994 show. Vince’s piano is very much in the forefront as well. Bobby’s guitar sounds like it is doing double time, and Jerry’s solo is slick and sharp, especially played against Vince. The power chords are very coarse and fuzzy, sort of a different twist. The musical interlude is actually quite interesting. Jerry, Vince and Bobby are all playing off of each other. Comparing this version to the one a scant four years earlier (9/16/90) it is so much improved, much like the improvement between the 1979 Brent versions and the 1980 Brent versions.

  

From about 1978 on, the Dead used Deal almost exclusively as a first set closer. It was used to energize the audience, to get them ready for the second set. It almost always accomplished this goal. There were a couple of exceptions to the first set closer position. One in particular comes to mind. It was New Year’s Eve, 1982. The second set was drawing to a close, after the band had begun the year with a really sharp Sugar Magnolia. After the drum solo the band moved into a typical Not Fade Away, and it was slowly coming to an end, when Jerry started playing Goin’ Down the Road, but abruptly took everyone by surprise and changed course to Deal. It seemed that he was very insistent on playing it that night. Nothing was going to stand in his way! They got through a very satisfying Deal and then closed the set with the Sunshine Daydream that had been virtually promised from the beginning of the set. It was an interesting and actually very good way to close a set.

For many, Deal was always one of those songs where you are required to dance. From Bob’s very first Deal he remembers standing up and dancing. He remembers, in particular, the Deal that closed the first set on 2/28/81. He was standing in the back on the mezzanine at the Uptown Theater in Chicago and they launched into the tune. When the characteristic guitar notes that signaled the song he instantly jumped up into the air and screamed, and started to dance in the hallway with many other Deadheads. That is the memory that Deal always brings to Bob.

It seems like Deal, a song for which the words were written before breakfast and the music scored afterwards, found a home as the best first-set closer for both the Dead and the Jerry Garcia Band. It served its purpose well, building the energy of both the crowd and the band before the break. When the Deal was on, it made the second set anticipated that much more!

http://web.archive.org/web/20030814074657/http://www.elizabundledee.com/deal.htm

Drums and Space (Guest Post)

THE EVOLUTION OF "DRUMZ AND SPACE"

by Michael Parrish, 1999

Depending on your musical inclination, the middle of the second set of any Dead show from spring 1978 on was either the high point of the show or time for that nap or beer run. As celebrated (or derided) as the Dead were for never playing a song the same way twice, these were the points in the show where the band were best able to flex their improvisational and experimental muscles. What became a ritualized occasion for a bathroom (or whatever) break for band members emerged slowly, became an institution, and changed subtly over the years.

What came to be known as 'drums' (or drumz, or Rhythm Devils) can probably trace its origins to the fabled (and uncirculating) Straight Theater show on 9/29/67 when Mickey and Billy first collaborated, on a version of "Alligator" that was purported to have gone on for two hours. Although I'm sure Kreutzmann took his share of drum solos before that (I can't think of any on tape), the presence of a second percussionist obviously set the stage for a fertile, interactive collaboration that, because of the dynamic, intuitive nature of drumming, both as the rhythmic heartbeat of a band and as a means for channelling emotion, tended to go different places at different times. Songs like "Alligator," the "Other One" suite, and "Good Lovin'" made internal spaces for percussion breaks, and these tended to go on at length, although their appearance was sporadic.

The influence of Classical Indian percussion to these percussion breaks can be traced to the band's early exposure to Ali Akbar Khan and his students up in Marin County. Another fabled (but again, generally unheard) "Alligator" is the one from Berkeley 9/20/68 in which Kreutzmann and Hart collaborated with Shankar Ghosh and Vince Delgado on a four man percussion raveup. The 'taketa, taketa' vocal percussion break frequently heard during 1968 and early 1969 (check out Alligator on 4/5/69 or Lovelight on Hartbeats 10/10/68) is directly drawn from the performance tradition of Indian tabla players like Zakir Hussain.

It was also during this era, particularly in 1969 and 1970, when Mickey started incorporating a number of other percussion instruments into his arsenal. Particularly memorable are the monster cymbals that were onstage for most shows during that era (used to great effect on the Live Dead Dark Star) and hand percussion instruments like the Guiro that also embellishes the same performance.

Some late 60s shows have fiery drum duels as well. Particularly recommended are 2/14/68 ("Alligator"), 2/28/69 ("Alligator"), 3/27/69 ("The Other One"), 5/29/69 (bridge between "Alligator" and "Lovelight"), 6/14/69 ("Lovelight"), 6/21/69 (bridge between Alligator and The Other One), 10/25/69 (Good Lovin'). For most of these, it is good old high powered drums against drums, with Kreutzmann usually providing the rhythmic backbone and Hart inserting creative fills or going fist-to-fist with his co-conspirator creating a maelstrom of sound and fury. The second electric sets of February 13 and 14, 1970 immortalized on Dick's Picks IV are good examples of this power drumming, as are the versions of "Good Lovin'" from M.I.T. 5/6/70 and Winterland 10/4/70.

Hart's departure at the beginning of 1971 certainly made things a bit tamer in the "Drums" department, but it did allow Kreutzmann to shine on his own, starting with his first 'solo' show at the Capital on 2/19/71. The solo drum passages from 1971-74 exhibit Kreutzmann's extraordinary fluidity, and his ability to switch tempos and styles in mid-stream. On pieces like "The Other One" on 7/2/71, the bridge between "Dark Star" and "The Other One" from the Harding Theater on 11/7/71, he tended to take off from the familiar confines of the melody into free form flights of rhythmic fancy. By 1972 (8/22/72; 3/31/73), these had evolved into full blown, Buddy Rich-style show stoppers. Short by post-77 standards, these nonetheless are some of the most exciting examples of Kreutzmann's work. More often, he would just settle in and create the fluid, often furious, underlayment for the memorable space jams of this era. On 10/20/74, Mickey Hart returned and the multiple drum duels in sets two and three showed that the chemistry between the two percussionists was still there. During the first two years after the 'retirement,' drum solos were relatively frequent, but generally concise, and in the middle of tunes like "Let It Grow" (Boston 6/10/76) or as a transitional bridge between tunes like "Slipknot!" and "Wharf Rat!" (Oakland 10/9/76).

The beginning of the 1978 spring tour was the point when 'drums' became a ritualized part of the Dead's performances. During that tour, the 'percussion jam' featured not only the two drummers, but also the other band members, roadies, and hangers on, all onstage banging on a variety of percussion instruments. These free-for-alls appeared to be fun for all concerned, but rarely made for memorable music. By the summer, the drum duels were stripped down to Billy and Mickey going at it furiously.

In 1979, Francis Ford Coppola called upon the drummers to come up with a primeval percussion score for his epic Apocalypse Now. Recruiting a cast of collaborators headed by Phil Lesh, Flora Purim, and Airto Moriera, the ensuing score is documented on the Rykodisc CD Apocalypse Now Music: Rhythm Devils Play River Music and a bit of it also appears on the movie's soundtrack. The drummers commissioned a number of instruments for these sessions, most of which ended up becoming part of the duo's touring arsenal. Most notable was "The Beast" an enormous metal ring with bass drums mounted around it, and "The Beam," which is just what it sounds like, an enormous, resonant steel girder. As these instruments were taken on tour, the drums portion of the show became longer and more varied, as the two drummers usually started on their traps, generally moving back to pound on the beast, etc. a bit later in the segment.

Around this time, percussion guests also became common, most notably fellow rhythm devils Flora and Airto (check out the monster drums at the Long Beach Civic, 12/13-14/80). Other percussion guests over the years included Hart's student Mike Hinton, Egyptian percussionist Hamza Al Din, African drum maestro Babatunde Olatunji, Neville Brothers band members Willie Green and Cyril Neville, Taro Hart, Sikiryu Adepoju, even Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters (see especially set two of 12/31/78).

In the last six years of the band's touring history, Midi drums became an increasingly important part of the drum segment, allowing the two drummers to summon up a virtual percussion orchestra, rain forest sounds, or virtually anything else they and Bob Bralove could cook up. Although to the non-percussionist, this segment might sometimes sound like just pounding away, the drums segments became a formidable showcase for the band's two master percussionists, and one that never went the same place twice.

Despite oral history to the contrary, Space was not a characteristic of early Dead performances. In the Electric Kool Aid Acid Test, Tom Wolfe described the Dead's music at the Acid Tests as "dragon music," but the bits of Dead music from the acid tests we have on tape are short, succinct and linear songs. The earliest long songs that circulate on tape are epitomized by the twelve minute "Cream Puff War" from the Matrix 12/1/66, which goes on and on, accelerando, but the band stays within the melody and tempo of the song. It was with "Caution" that the Dead first left the bounds of tempo and meter, delving into the feedback-drenched soundscapes that represented some of their most adventurous aural explorations. It was common for shows in 1969 and, more rarely, in 1970, to end with blasts of amorphous feedback that usually led into "We Bid You Goodnight."

In the heart of nearly every Dead show after 1967 was found transitional passages that bridged conventional songs, or appeared in the center of exploratory vehicles like "Dark Star" and "Playing In The Band (see the separate essays on these pieces). It was not until the late seventies, after the drum segment became a ritualized part of a Dead performance that 'Space' assumed its now-traditional position as the bread surrounding the drums sandwich, so to speak. The practical role that drums and space provided in giving potty breaks to the various band members in succession does not negate the exquisite beauty and awesome power of some of these passages. Because this was usually seat-of-the-pants stuff, the group improv misfired, or failed to inspire, nearly as often as it succeeded. Who participated was also unpredictable. Usually Jerry and Bob were out most of the time, with Phil and the keyboardist(s) of the moment participating more rarely. Some of the most lively space segments occurred during Hornsby's tenure in the band, when he would egg Garcia, in particular, on to unparalleled flights of fancy (check out, for example, Boston 9/20/91).

Of course, the 'space' segments did have some repetition, and such familiar, Deadhead-named passages as "Spanish Jam" and "Mind Left Body Jam" consist of repeated tempos and chord progressions upon which the band hung their improvisations. These often appeared in the midst of other tunes back in the early seventies, but eventually came to be occasional bridges between songs and ultimately became a frequent egress out of the deep space following the drums.

Some of the most intense space passages were accompanied by spoken soliloquies. Some of the earliest of these (excluding oddities like Neal Cassidy's raps from the mid sixties and the strange ravings at the 8/16/69 Woodstock show) were Phil's two memorable raps in the spring tour of 1982. In Hartford on April 18, he dramatically revisited the scene of the San Francisco earthquake, as he and the rest of the band dropped appropriate depth charges. The following night, in Baltimore, he instead quoted from Edgar Allan Poe's the Raven to a similarly dramatic effect. Then, as mysteriously as he had emerged, Phil the orator disappeared from the space segment.

One of the most gut wrenching space segments occurred on Halloween, 1991, six days after Bill Graham's sudden demise in a helicopter crash. As the band burned a path towards the drums from the first part of "Dark Star" with Gary Duncan's stinging guitar adding fuel to the fire, Ken Kesey stepped out on stage and delivered a riveting farewell to Graham ending with a devastating quote from Cummings, "and how do you like your blue eyed boy now, Mr. Death?" Few Dead experiences have touched a raw nerve as potently as they did at that moment.

Less profound, but more joyful, was Ken Nordine's brief appearance during the space at the Rosemont Horizon, March 11, 1993. Nordine, whose huge round voice is immediately recognizable from years of radio ads and the epic Word Jazz recordings, had help emcee the 1991 New Years broadcast, and subsequently recorded a memorable Grateful Dead records CD, Devout Catalyst, with the Garcia-Grisman band. With the Dead on their home turf, Nordine came out during the space and delivered a brief foray through some of his greatest hits, including the beat era classic "Flibberty Jib," with the band cruising along in full regalia behind him.

"Space" was also fertile ground for contributions from musical guests, a trend that started in the Sixties (e.g., Stephen Stills at the Thelma Theater 12/10/69) but didn't become commonplace until the late '70s, when folks like John Cipollina (check out Oakland Auditorium 12/31/79), Harmonica whiz Lee Oskar (Pauley Pavilion 12/30/78), and the Merry Pranksters and the Thunder Machine (Winterland 12/31/78, Eugene 8/16/81) adding their instrumental voices to the fray.

As the eighties wound to a close, the band started working with saxophone players, starting, less than satisfactorily, with E Street Band alumnus Clarence Clemons. Clemons' straightforward R & B work was an asset to rockers like "Iko Iko," but he seemed incapable of making the subtle turns required during the space segments. Next up was Branford Marsalis, whose always-welcome appearances (3/20/90, 9/10/91, 12/10/93, 12/16/94) goosed the band to new highs not only during 'space' but also during open ended pieces like "Bird Song" and "Dark Star." Many consider his first appearance, at Nassau Coliseum on 3/29/90, to be his most memorable.

Free jazz blower David Murray moded into the Dead's musical circle in the early ‘90s, playing some dates with the Garcia Band and working with Weir and Taj Mahal on the Satchel Paige musical. His performance with the band at Madison Square Garden 9/22/93 contained some of the most spine tingling free blowing the band was ever inspired to execute, even on straight songs like "Estimated Prophet."

After Garcia worked with harmolodic pioneer Ornette Coleman, the saxophonist returned the favor by guesting on one memorable show, at the Oakland Coliseum on 2/23/93 (and again in L.A. on 12/9/93). Although Coleman's talents were wasted on songs like "Corrina" and "Lazy River Road," he certainly challenged the boys in the mammoth "Space" that preceded "the Other One."

Another mind boggling space segment occurred at the Shoreline Amphitheater (6/2/95) when the Guyto Monks, with whom Hart had worked on numerous occasions, came out onstage and contributed their eerie, wordless vocals to a mammoth space segment. Another memorable vocal extravaganza occurred at the Garden on 9/20/93, when Edie Brickell contributed her own wordless vocals to another 'out there' space exploration.

More than any other segment of the concert, the Space segment reflected the electronic setups the musicians were using. Because the '60s equipment mostly consisted of stock amplifiers and off-the-rack instruments, the variety of sounds that were produced can mostly be attributed to experimentation and ingenuity. Moving into the seventies, the band, and Garcia in particular, started running their instruments through an increasingly complex circuit of effects boxes. 1973-74 saw a myriad of technological advances, including the advent of custom built Alembic guitars and basses and the stageful of MacIntosh amplifiers that ultimately led to the Wall of Sound. The particularly wild space passages from this era reflect the musicians stretching the boundaries of this technology, particularly Lesh's tooth-rattling bass bombs.

After the 74-76 hiatus, other experimentation ensued, with Garcia reveling in the seemingly endless sustain of his metal bodied Travis Bean guitar and all three guitarists messing around with the E-bows, a compact hand held pickup which allowed them to generate controlled feedback-like noises at lower volume (not that they took advantage of that aspect of the technology too often). [Did they ever actually use e-bows? – LIA] Garcia switched to his trademark Irwin guitars and Weir dabbled with some custom made Ibanez guitars.

As the band gradually became Midified throughout 1989, the three guitarists started switching over to guitar synthesizers during the 'space' segments. Garcia, in particular, was enamored of trying to find the most unexpected and interesting voices to play through his fingers, most often resorting to horn-like tonalities or chime like sounds. By 94, however, these extravagant explorations became less common as the band returned to less gimmicky aural explorations.

I polled other Compendium authors as to what they considered to be the most memorable 'drums and space' segments. The consensus was that some of the most dramatic and memorable performances occurred during the band's Fall 1994 east coast tour, and in particular their Boston 9/29/94 and 10/1/94, both rife with bass bombs and strange sounds perhaps unmatched since the Seastones era. Other favorites included 12/26/79 (immortalized on Dick's Pick's Vol. 5), 8/21/89, 10/5/94 Philadelphia (on which Garcia remained onstage for the entire drums segment), and Tampa 4/7/95.

As varied, and occasionally hit-and-miss, as the 'drums' and 'space' segments were, these were always the clearest channels for manifestation of the band's fabled ex-chemistry. Live or on tape, these adventurous passages embody some of the band's most subtle and advanced improvisational moments. At other times, they still serve as a wonderful excuse for a potty break.

http://web.archive.org/web/20030814074736/http://www.elizabundledee.com/drumz.htm

Good Lovin' (Guest Post)

GOOD LOVIN'

by Aaron Donovan, 1999

Most Americans born in the latter two thirds of this century know this song as the 1966 pop hit performed by The Rascals that survives today on oldies radio stations. However, the song had another, much different life away from the spotlight of pop culture. It was a Grateful Dead staple for nearly all of their touring career, coming in two distinct phases. First, there were the 133 known Pigpen versions between 5/7/69 and 5/25/72 (and at least one very early Pigpen version, on 5/19/66) and then there were the 293 versions sung by Bobby between 10/20/74 and 6/24/95. "Good Lovin’" was the first of the former Pigpen tunes that the Dead revived, and it was the only former Pigpen number in the rotation throughout the whole of the post-Pigpen 1970s. The band didn’t revive Pigpen’s other songs until much later. "Turn on Your Lovelight" was brought back on 10/16/81, "Big Boss Man" on 12/26/81, "Hard to Handle" on 12/30/82, "In the Midnight Hour" on 12/31/82, "Smokestack Lightning" on 10/09/84, and "I’m a King Bee" on 12/08/93.

The band used the Pigpen versions of "Good Lovin’" as an early vehicle for extended jamming. These monster versions, which easily lasted more than 15 minutes and usually included about five minutes of drum solo sandwiched in the middle, were likely to comprise the core material of a set, around which all else would be based. They were full-blown productions: the song would start out of complete silence with a familiar and energetic drum rhythm to the same ecstasy-inducing effect as when done in "Not Fade Away." With the drums laying down a strong rhythm, each band member would make a distinct entrance: the two guitarists would come in almost simultaneously, followed by Phil’s power-bass, and finally Pigpen’s husky vocals.

By the spring of 1971, Pigpen would use the song to play matchmaker to the audience, suggesting courses of action to the audience, such as, "Now I want everybody in the place to turn around and say ‘Hello’ to the people standing beside you."[1] Generally his "Lovelight" raps were more inspired (they usually came later in a particular show), but one of his all-time most famous raps in any song came during the classic version of "Good Lovin’" performed on 4/17/71 at Princeton University.[2] Besides clearly taking a personal interest in seeing members of his audience go home happy, Pigpen’s habit of singing the lyrics in the first person makes it seem as if Pigpen is talking right to each person in the audience. When sung in the first person, Pigpen makes "Good Lovin’" sound like romantic advice to an old friend. (Weir, in his versions, would often add brief personalized rap stanzas like, "You need it, I need it too, I’m talkin’ about me and I’m talkin’ about you," but by then the shows were too large and the band members too famous, so most of the personal affect is lost.) While the early versions of "Good Lovin’" never quite matched the intensity of a Pigpen-driven "Lovelight," they were often the highlight of a set in which they appeared. The best of these early "Good Lovin’" performances is probably the spectacular 5/2/70 Harpur College version.

The song’s second phase began during the show known as "The Last One," a show that thankfully turned out to be more about firsts than lasts. The band surprised the audience with an unexpected "Good Lovin’," which opened the third set on 10/20/74. At the time it was played, Deadheads hadn’t heard a Pigpen number since the band played the closing bars of "Chinatown Shuffle" way back on 5/26/72, the last show of the "Europe ’72" tour. It was also the first time they heard another band member singing vocals formerly sung by Pigpen. If anyone that night thought poorly of the practice of reviving a song formerly sung by the late keyboardist, their sentiment is nowhere to be found today. Adding to the emotional milieu of that unique night, many people expected the band to open that set with "Dark Star," as Mike Dolgushkin notes in his review of that show in DeadBase.[3]

Frankly, however, for all its historic importance, the breakout version is not that great. Probably, the band wanted something to spice up an auspicious night, and chose to break out an old song that they all sort of remembered how to play. The version is over 12 minutes long, but the jam is weak at places — it even sounds almost like a proto-"Fire on the Mountain" (which had just been written by then) beginning at about 6:15 minutes into the song - and the backing vocals are not quite polished to their usual gleam. Evidence that the band hadn’t rehearsed the number all that thoroughly comes at one point when Donna (the only person on stage that night who wasn’t in the band when the song was last performed) sings "Mr. M.D." where she is supposed to sing "Doctor," and Jerry corrects her on the next entrance by singing his "Doctor" more loudly than usual. It is, however, a good version to have, since it’s a great window into what the song would have sounded like if it had been played more often during that great, unique era — 1973 and 1974.

Nearly two years later, the band decided to keep the song in the rotation, placing the song in the middle of the second set during the show of 10/3/76. It stayed in very heavy rotation (once every 2.6 shows) from that time until mid-1984, after which time it was played less frequently, once every 9.4 shows. There were two ways the song was performed during the post-revival years of the song’s life. First, after thrice experimenting with putting "Good Lovin’" after "Fire on the Mountain," the band decided it flowed better following "Bertha." The chord structure in "Good Lovin’" guaranteed a smooth transition from "Bertha," and the two songs seemed made for each other. The two formed a high-energy pair that was often used to fill the crucial slot of second-set opener. The performances of the two in tandem began with the famous 5/9/77 Buffalo version and mostly occurred in ’77, ’78, and ’79 though the pair continued to show up in setlists occasionally all the way until the show of 6/6/93 at Giants Stadium, when it opened the second set.

Second, beginning in 1980, the song was used to close the second set, alternating with such rockers as "Sugar Magnolia," "Around And Around," "Turn on Your Lovelight," "Johnny B. Goode," and "One More Saturday Night," and "Throwing Stones" > "Not Fade Away." In the early and mid 1980s, it usually followed "Around And Around," as if the band didn’t think either one alone would be a good closer. Then the boys gradually split the two, using either one alone to close the second set, a move that added variety to the part of the show where it was most needed.

In general, Bobby’s versions seem somehow cleaner (both musically and lyrically). His voice is smooth and more controlled compared with Pigpen’s gruff bluesy style. Regarding the lyrics there were several differences, such as the fact that Bobby sings the song in the second person, singing "All you need," where Pigpen had used the first person, singing "All I need." Another difference is that while Pigpen used the rap to highlight the need for sexual contact between those in the audience, Bobby, while preserving the rap at the end of the song, used it to much different effect — he used it to describe the shrinking global village and de-emphasize the Cold War. He often notes that people need good lovin’ "Even in Russia," "Way down in China," and "All over the world!"

But the main distinction between the two phases of the song’s life is at the band doesn’t jam out as much on the later versions. While it had been a song that showcased the band’s talent at improvisation, it became a get-up-and-dance showstopper. The Weir versions are not as prone to cause the listener a mental meltdown, but they do have great moments of catharsis nonetheless. A classic example of prime Weir/Garcia interaction comes on Halloween 1980 during a particularly high-energy "Good Lovin’," that was caught on the Dead Ahead video. Weir gets into what can only be described as "a zone" during his rap. He is so out there that he stops playing guitar, gazes off into space, and arms waving for emphasis, tells the audience that they’ve just got to have a little good lovin’. Weir gets so into it that even staid Jerry cracks up. When the camera shows Jerry, he’s shrugging and smiling in a friendly way, as if to say, "I can’t believe this guy."

In general, Bobby did a good job of carrying on a lyrical tradition begun by Pigpen. He continued to add a rap section of the song, and he paid tribute to Pigpen during the rap segment of the song with words like, "It’s like a friend of mine used to say, gotta have some lovin’ each and every single day, or I’m just gonna dry up and fade away."[4] I always interpreted that as a salute to Mr. McKernan, but of course, maybe Bobby was just talking about some other guy he knew who used to say that.

In the later versions, Jerry tended to lay back vocally, allowing Weir to rap and generally dominate the vocal portion of the song. Garcia would just chime in with the words "Good lovin’," when the time was right — singing them with an upbeat, almost pop feel. There were exceptions to this, though. In September 1987 the Dead performed four versions of "Good Lovin’" in which Jerry sings a couple of verses of "La Bamba." It was a nice flourish for a song that some would say was not as innovative as some of the high-rotation Dead originals. The Spanish verses, which lasted about two minutes each, fit well with the rhythm of "Good Lovin’," and they came as a welcome shakeup to Dead fans. The most famous of these "La Bamba" versions was on 9/18/87, at Madison Square Garden.

But no matter who sang the song, "Good Lovin’" makes the short list of extremely successful cover tunes performed by the Dead. Like "Turn on Your Lovelight," and "Not Fade Away," "Good Lovin’" was a cover tune that became a Grateful Dead staple, serving the band and Deadheads well over the long haul. No matter what the composition of the band, the song sent the crowds home happy year after year. I won’t go so far as to say, "It’s just the one song you just can’t have too much of," but for a cover song, it’s one that can be listened to more often than most.

FOOTNOTES

1: 4/6/71, Manhattan Center.

2: These lyrics can be found reprinted in Gans, David, and Peter Simon, Playin’ in the Band, pp. 129 - 133 and DeadBase VIII, p. 377.

3: DeadBase X, p. 365.

4: 10/31/80. Bobby says something similar on 6/14/80: "A friend of mine once used to say, ‘Gimme some lovin’ or I’m gonna fade.’

http://web.archive.org/web/20030817113617/http://www.elizabundledee.com/good.htm

Morning Dew (Guest Post)

MORNING DEW

Evolution of Morning Dew as a Grateful Dead Song

and Sunday afternoon musings on the song:

by Stev Lenon, 1999

Morning Dew was penned by Bonnie Dobson in 1961 and recorded by her in 1962 on the album Bonnie Dobson At Folk City. It began life as a rather plaintive, strongly emotional plea for peace in an age when nuclear annihilation was all too likely. The softness of the folk music styling and structure of the song underplayed the impact of the lyrics, capable of cutting to the bone. The song was restyled to a more rock-like format by Fred Neil. Neil also re-wrote the line, "Take me for a walk in the morning dew," to read "Walk me out in the morning dew." These two changes take the song from conception to the instruments and voices of the metamorphosing Grateful Dead.

Morning Dew's first recorded performance by The Grateful Dead was 1-14-67 at the Polo Field, Golden Gate Park in San Francisco, CA. [Not actually  played that day; the album version is the earliest recording. – LIA] The band performed Morning Dew for the last time on 6-21-95, Knickerbocker Arena, Albany, NY. The song appeared 241 times in the band's setlists.

Those of us not fortunate enough to have direct access to the band's early venues, were usually first exposed to the song on the original Grateful Dead album issued in 1967. The impact of the song was instant. Like everything else on the first album it suffered from chemical engineering during recording. The tempo is several shades too fast to have the greatest musical impact possible. By late 68 the song began to approach its own tempo in the show with the music demanding to be slowed down and stretched out. The early ‘70s gave us a more stately and powerful Morning Dew which the band could open out more than any other ballad played in this period.

During the first half of the band's existence the song could and did appear anywhere in any set. It was unlikely to appear as a show opener but when the first recognizable notes appeared in Set 1 Song 1, it gave instant notice that the show would be above average. This pattern held through to the departure from touring at the end of ‘74. When the band returned to the road, a more formalized structure in set configuration relegated Morning Dew to the "Garcia Ballad Slot" after Drumz. It shared this spot with other songs of great power, Stella Blue (probably Garcia's favorite and certainly one of mine), Wharf Rat, Black Peter, and in the later years Standing On The Moon and Days Between. Garcia tended to view the ballads as songs designed to wind the show down and reach that perfect place where the only acceptable next note is silence. This is a difficult concept for some to accept and an even more difficult one to achieve from the stage. More than with any other ballad, Garcia took us there with this song.

By ‘73, the song had matured, and save for random tempo changes really experienced no evolution in the band's ability to produce the powerful effect the song deserves. Changes in keyboard players provided much of the day-to-day changes in the song. In the earliest readings, the song is a masterful interplay between Garcia and Lesh. Pigpen’s organ is there but other than provide fill, does little to change the song. That’s OK. Pigpen’s most important contributions were not keyboards.

There was a noticeable change when the Godchaux family came aboard. Keith’s bass chords dancing with Phil's profundo counterpoint while his right hand feeds riffs to Garcia as Jerry plays into the stratosphere and back down to earth much like the bombs he is singing about are pathognomic for the song during Keith's tenure.

Brent's arrival shifted the balance a bit too with his Hammond calling the dance, often between him and Jerry while Phil powered the whole from beneath. Note that Phil was not left out of the mix; he was rather more submerged in the construction and was generally more subdued after the late ‘79 period. Then in the ‘90s the duet is once more as it began, Jerry and Phil, point and counterpoint, orchestration as grand as Bach or Beethoven, a symbiosis of two musicians’ hearts and hands into one musical thought.

Each keyboardist changed the outer structure of the song. And in truth, each keyboardist had less impact upon the performance than is commonly accepted. The song, the lyric, the chord structure and the musical vision of Lesh and Garcia define the performance. The rest of the band fills and supports. Even the jazz-born stylings of Keith Godchaux or Brent’s inspired Hammond B-3 had little effect on the overall song.

The song is, when successfully performed by the Grateful Dead, entirely driven by Phil. The 5th and 6th strings as added gave immense power and presence to Phil's notes and chords. During the shows when Phil had his volume levels down, the song fails to crystallize quite correctly, needing a touch of something to make it taste just right. This is a song that should never be performed by a band with a 4 string or even a 5 string bass player. It should never be attempted by a band with a bass player who is merely an additional rhythm player. Garcia excels playing Morning Dew. Lesh powers and animates Morning Dew. Together, they generate and unleash the power and beauty resident in the song.

Which Morning Dew is best of all 241 readings? John Dwork in Dupree's Diamond News lists 13 versions in a best-of article. Many Deadheads including Mr. Dwork and Dick Latvala, keeper of the vaults, feel 5-8-77 to be the pinnacle reading. This is a very impressive show with a quite good Morning Dew (prepare to witness published heresy) but, falls far short of at least six other readings. 5-8-77 lacks something significant in sound. It is tightly performed, beautifully played and comes after a truly wonderful performance. But for me, the fire is lacking; the image never quite appears.

9-18-87 is far superior for it's sheer power and energy. 9-18-87 is probably the best performance with Brent on keyboards. 5-2-70 has more energy. 5-26-72 has more intense jams. 11-8-79 has tremendous Phil presence, always a marker for a great reading. Newly surfaced soundboards of 10-19-73 offer a superb early reading, probably my favorite of this 73-74 period. Which is my overall favorite?

Of all Morning Dews I have encountered my favorites arise from the high plateau of Lady With A Fan/Terrapin Station. 5-22-77 provides one moment of supreme delight springing from Terrapin Station (without Lady With A Fan) following an elegant Estimated>Eyes> Wharf Rat. This is an absolute feeding frenzy for Lesh and Garcia with the second of perfection occurring as a grace note on an ascending riff by Garcia as Lesh feeds chords of incredible power to the band. Listen to the song. You will know the single note I write about if this is the best reading for you. If not, keep listening.

Even more impressive and my favorite reading is 6-7-77. A full Lady With A Fan>Terrapin Station follows Drumz and Lesh realizes Morning Dew needs to be next. Garcia agrees and the result is Morning Dew as performed by a rock and roll orchestra tuned to the tonality of a Bach organ. This is the Morning Dew to record for musical posterity. This is at 15 minutes, 23 seconds by my watch, one of the longer readings around. Garcia soars on the first jam and reads the vocals well. The second jam is a high-octane sequence of crescendos and ascending riffs with long examples of "fanning". Lesh refuses to end the song and keeps pushing Garcia to new explorations of the musical space while thundering counterpoint and harmony with the impact of a bomb exploding underground and shaking the world around you. That night in Winterland, it must have felt like an Arclight going in on the Ho Chi Minh Trail; a sensation with which I am all too familiar. When the song finally ends, Jerry's voice, stretched, thin and so poignantly real, cracks on the final word. “Guess it doesn’t matter anywaaaaaaay!” It should crack. This is perfection achieved partly by accident, partly by exhaustion, partly by emotion. The show should end right then. But here comes Weir with an instantaneous Around And Around. Ah, well! Jerry tried, Phil tried, I agreed, Bob disagreed. Bob started another song. That's what made them who they were. This is, for me, the ultimate performance of Morning Dew. 

That's how a great Dew affects me: cold chills of flashback down my spine, visions of mushroom clouds, ‘Duck and Cover Drills,’ overwhelming sense of pathos and impending loss. Then the music sweeps over me and it’s today again!

Will I change my mind? Maybe. I have yet to hear all 241 readings. So if there is a better version out there, I want to listen to it.

One thing is for certain however; the meaning of this song is not debatable. I have read threads on various usegroups debating the meaning of the song. Is it about a dying lover/friend? Is it about ecological disaster? What does this song mean?

This was the end of the age of above-ground nuclear testing. Strontium, cobalt and other radioactive isotopes sprayed into the stratosphere from national displays of bigger and bigger bomb detonations. They fell to earth in rain and dew, clung to the grass and were ingested by cattle. Strontium 90 fell from the skies daily and there were warnings not to let children and pregnant females drink milk. Strontium can replace calcium in physiologic uptake. We were all at danger of having a skeleton that would serve as a nightlamp long after we were otherwise dust. The very morning dew was becoming deadly. ‘Can’t walk you out in the morning dew, my honey!’

I am 52 years old as I write this. It is impossible for me to hear the song performed by anyone in any fashion without flashbacks to The Cuban Missile Crisis, as a 14 year old helping to dig a fallout shelter into the hillside through a hole knocked in a neighbor's basement wall. We were all glued to TV sets and radio played continually on either 640 or 1240 kHz stations, waiting for the high pitched scream of the ‘Emergency Broadcast System’ to announce that only Conelrad would now be trying to send us anything over the electromagnetic spectrum. The world was within 11 seconds of nuclear war. Overlay this image with scenes from the movie "On The Beach." ‘You didn’t hear no baby cry today;’ isn’t it a shame you never will again. ‘Thought I heard a young man moan this morning!’ ‘You didn’t hear no young man moan!’ ‘Don’t you worry about all those people.’ ‘Guess it doesn’t matter anyway!’ And it wouldn’t have. That's what Morning Dew means. Total ecological nightmare, social destruction and a dead world caused not by means beyond our control but within our control.

Dark Star became The Grateful Dead’s signature platform for a jam. Throwing Stones was perhaps the most politically active song they performed. Morning Dew was the most powerful plea penned by our generation for nuclear disarmament. Nobody performed it better than The Grateful Dead; no one ever will.

http://web.archive.org/web/20030626230150/http://www.elizabundledee.com/morning.htm