Tag Archives: Bill Kreutzmann

Day of the Dead, Disc Four – some thoughts

It seems unfair – not in the right spirit – to attack a band for choosing to rearrange a Grateful Dead song and do something different with it musically. I can’t even say for sure that the Dead never played this particular song in a Dylan-does-barroom-reggae style themselves. I can only say that I hate the Walkmen’s version of Ripple that begins Disc Four of Day of the Dead. It sounds lazy and self-satisfied to me, in a way that nothing else on the compilation does. Even when I don’t like what an artist has done with a tune, I don’t doubt their good faith. The Walkmen sound like they’re snickering behind their hands. Seriously, fuck these guys.

Marijuana Deathsquads (great name, by the way) completely transform Truckin’. I’m not even sure what you’d call the end result. There’s free-jazz saxophone, synth bass, warped vocals, isolated drum hits, and a double-time electronic thrashcore wig-out at the end. It’s bizarre, but it’s pretty great (and shows up the Walkmen’s half-assed hack job even more).

I can see the thinking that led to the Flaming Lips being approached for Day of the Dead, but they don’t actually manage to do anything interesting with Dark Star. They replace the iconic riff with a bass groove and drum loop, feed Wayne Coyne’s voice through the inevitable oscillators and modulators, and pair the chorus melody with mock-grandiose tympani and Mellotron chords. The problem is that the whole thing is so inert. The essence of Dark Star is the real-time interaction between the instrumentalists. Which, in all fairness to the Flaming Lips, isn’t their thing. Having constructed a framework, they layer some sound effects on top, but the thing never really goes anywhere. It starts and, six minutes later, it ends.

Local Natives’ take on Stella Blue seems to have used some of the song’s spookier chord change as inspiration, at least for the first half of the song, which is built over a half-time, vaguely dubstep drum loop. Once the band start joining in, the influence of their producer – inevitably a Dessner, in this case Adam – becomes plainer, and while frankly the arrangement becomes less musically interesting at that point, the vocal harmonies are very cool. So in Siskel & Ebert fashion, it’s a thumbs up from me.

Shakedown Street is the oft-reviled Lowell George-produced Dead-go-disco track from 1977. Unknown Mortal Orchestra remake it essentially note for note. It’s fine, but it needn’t detain us long.

Franklin’s Tower is a much denser text than it first appears, at least if we grant primacy to Robert Hunter’s explicatory essay (DH Lawrence’s maxim to trust the tale, not the teller would counsel us not to give Hunter the last word on the song simply because he wrote it). What is certain is that the song changes drastically for an Anglophone audience when it’s placed in the hands of Orchestra Baobab and its original lyric is abandoned. The muscular precision and simultaneous playfulness of the music becomes the main thing, and what a thing it is.

Tal National’s Eyes of the World is similarly exuberant. Tal National are from Niger (indeed, they are apparently Niger’s most popular band) and while they retain Robert Hunter’s lyric and pretty much stick to the vocal melody Garcia sang on the Dead’s version, they reconfigure the song at its rhythmic base. Eyes of the World was recorded when Mickey Hart was on sabbatical from the band and Bill Kreutzmann was its only drummer. Kreutzmann’s style for the studio version was straightforward two-and-four rock, but live, with Hart also in attendance, the song could get more polyrhythmic. Whether Tal National heard any of these versions, I couldn’t say, but their interpretation of the song begins where the most expansive Dead versions leave off. Drummer Omar practically bursts out the speakers.

Béla Fleck is a name I’ve heard many times over the years, but I must confess to having spent most of my life in avoidance of banjos, so I’d not actually heard any of his music. It was actually a huge pleasure to get acquainted with Fleck’s playing through his cover of Help on the Way (like Franklin’s Tower, a track from 1975’s Blues for Allah). Fleck plays in a bewildering array of styles – bluegrass, jazz, contemporary classical, rock, folk and more besides – so he perhaps stands greater comparison to Jerry Garcia than any other musician involved in this project. There are amazing musicians on these discs, but none whose virtuosity extends through so many styles of music. The passage from 4.20-5.30 of the track has about the most impressive section of soloing on all five discs, and the support from Edgar Meyer on double bass (bowed and pizz) and Zaakir Hussein on tabla is first rate.

Terry Riley has a link with the Dead going back to the band’s beginnings. Before joining the Dead, Phil Lesh and keyboard player Tom Constanten had been in an improvisational group with Steve Reich – the same group that premiered Riley’s In C, widely cited as the first minimalist composition. Riley, along with his song Gyan (the pair are credited as the Rileys), reinterpret Bob Weir’s Estimated Prophet as a raga-like instrumental piece, dominated by Gyan’s guitar, played with heavy delay, and chanted vocals from Terry. While it dispenses with John Perry Barlow’s lyric (inspired by the element within the Dead’s audience who, having taken too much dope, would get messianic and hang around backstage to try to deliver their sermons), the Rileys’ take on Estimated Prophet does capture its heaviness and religiosity.

stargaze’s What’s Become of the Baby is pretty damn well fantastic, replacing Garcia’s heavily filtered and effect-laden voice on the original (how did they do it?) with doom-laden bowed double bass and spooky woodwinds. It’s by turns gorgeous and unbearably tense.

King Solomon’s Marbles, from Blues for Allah, is a showcase for Mickey Hart’s north African percussion and Garcia’s fluid soloing (with sterling support as ever from Lesh on bass). On Day of the Dead, pianist Vijay Iyer’s imaginative exploration of the tune incorporates Hart’s busy drumming patterns before going off on fast scalar and arpeggiated explorations of Garcia’s melody, occasionally slamming down powerful bass chords.

After a disc that’s dedicated mainly to the Dead’s experimental side – the Hart/Lesh axis, if you will – it’s something of a surprise to finish on Bonnie Prince Billy’s reading of If I Had the World to Give. The recording is spare (much sparser the Dead’s Shakedown Street recording), just Josh Kaufman’s piano and Will Oldham’s voice. In this setting, with Oldham’s tremulous voice, the song sounds much frailer and less McCartney-esque. It’s pretty, but it’s perhaps a little too on the nose as an ending, goes a little clumsily for the heartstrings.

My keepers from Disc Four are Truckin’, Stella Blue, Franklin’s Tower, Help on the Way and What’s Become of the Baby.

Some recent music to stream or download (pay what you want):

 

 

 

 

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Day of the Dead, Disc One – some thoughts

Not a fan of either contemporary indie or the Grateful Dead? This series of posts may not be for you.

This week I’ve mainly been spending my time (or at least my music-listening time) on Day of the Dead, a 5-CD compilation of contemporary artists playing music by the Grateful Dead, organised and produced by Bryce and Aaron Dessner from the National in aid of the Red Hot Organisation, a charity that raises money and awareness to fight HIV/AIDS.

The Grateful Dead’s approach to music was wholly unlike that of most other rock bands. Sure, they could do brief and straightforward takes on their songs live in concert, but the idea that they’d go on stage and do every song exactly the way that it was on record (or almost the same but with a slightly longer solo) was anathema to them. Songs were simply vehicles for the guys to be what they were: a major nexus of American music, connecting folk, blues, country, bluegrass, rock ‘n’ roll, jazz and the contemporary avant garde. Their songs are hugely malleable, so the fun of a compilation like this is in seeing how all the artists involved approach the project (and guessing who are the deep fans and who’s in it for the prestige and PR).

Things get off to a strong start with the War on Drugs’s take on Touch of Grey, the Dead’s big MTV-era hit. Musically, Adam Granduciel ups the tempo by a couple of bpm and goes for that mix of mechanised-sounding live drums topped by exploratory guitar that will feel instantly familiar to anyone who connected with Under the Pressure or Disappearing from 2014’s Lost in the Dream. It’s great, and the song’s a fine vehicle for Granduciel’s signature sound, but that doesn’t stop his vocal impression of Bob Dylan being absurd.

Jim James plays Candyman straight, with a pretty evident love for the material. He transforms Garcia’s pedal steel solo into a heavily modulated fuzzathon, and sings the choruses with an audible grin. As ever, though, I could do without the omnipresent reverb haze he, along with so many bands, feels compelled to shroud his music in. I’ll never get what some people like so much about reverb.

Black Muddy River is a song from In the Dark, the same mid-1980s album that gave us Touch of Grey. On Day of the Dead, Bruce Hornsby (who played more than 100 shows with the Dead between 1988 and 1995, maintained a close musical connection with the surviving members after Garcia’s death and was part of the band when they did their farewell shows at Soldier Field in 2015) tackles the song with a specially reformed DeYarmond Edison, the group that split into Bon Iver, Megafaun and Field Report. Hornsby and (I assume) Justin Vernon sing the song beautifully, and the musicians (Hornsby most of all) play with a moving commitment and reverence. No one else involved in the record sounds as thrilled to be there and as determined to do right by the material.

Phosphorescent’s take on Sugaree, with a guesting Jenny Lewis, and the Lone Bellow’s Dire Wolf are both fine, but they both lack a little of the sly humour that is always inherent in Garcia’s delivery (a verse like “When I awoke the Dire Wolf, 600 pounds of sin, was standing at my window. All I said was ‘Come on in, But don’t murder me'” is darkly hilarious when Garcia sings it).

Morning Dew by the National sounds exactly like you’d expect. Matt Berninger’s doleful baritone is a good fit for such a bleak song. Courtney Barnett’s New Speedway Boogie has been overpraised, I think. The decision to recast half of the song in a minor key changes the melody and harmonies in a way that weakens it, though I’m sure the guys would salute the attempt to put a new spin on the song. More problematically, Barnett’s deadpan vocal takes all the fun out of the thing.

Ed Droste from Grizzly Bear does a good job with Loser, a hard song to get a handle on. Robert Hunter’s lyric is one of his most cynical and violent, and if a singer doesn’t commit to it, they’ll sound like a little boy playing at being a tough guy. Droste sings the song on the cusp of falsetto, yet I never doubt him. (That said, the song is called Loser, the implication being that for all his protestations, the guy has every chance of losing this time).

Anohni’s Black Peter, turned into orchestrated chamber music and given a typically tremulous reading, is weighed down by its own solemnity (again, the gallows humour of Garcia is missed), while Perfume Genius does an Art Garfunkel impression on To Lay Me Down. It’s as if he heard the title, asked himself where he’d heard the phrase “Lay Me Down” before, then decided to give the song the full Bridge Over Troubled Water treatment. As with Sugaree, the big-name backing singer, in this case Sharon Van Etten, doesn’t get to sing a verse. It probably would have improved matters.

Still, being as fair as I can, neither are big misses, and neither anger me. The big miss is of course Mumford & Sons’ horrific take on Friend of the Devil. Now, I wanted to like it. Honestly. I’d have been thrilled to like it, to have my preconceptions about Mumford challenged, maybe even overturned. Perhaps hearing them take on a beloved Grateful Dead song would allow me a way into their music? But no, it’s as awful as anything else they’ve ever done. I’m sure their presence sold a few more copies, and the money is going to charity, so I’m guessing that’s why they’re there. It can’t be because the Dessners like them. No one with working ears ever could.

So that’s Disc One. My picks are Black Muddy River, Touch of Grey, Loser and Candyman.

Back soon with Disc Two, where things get weird.

jerryJerry. Was he the greatest guitar player of his era? Very possibly.

Tennessee Jed (live) – Grateful Dead

In 1972 the Grateful Dead embarked on their (at the time) biggest-ever tour of Europe. It was their last major tour with founding member Ron “Pigpen” McKernan (he died in 1973) and their first with pianist Keith Godchaux and his wife Donna (whose first-ever studio session had been as a backing singer on Percy Sledge’s When a Man Loves a Woman in Muscle Shoals). It was the only tour with Pigpen and Godchaux there in tandem.

The triple album that was compiled from the tour starts with a tremendous version of Cumberland Blues and doesn’t let up from there. It’s the Dead at the very top of their considerable game, Garcia audibly fired up by having a new player to spar with in Godchaux. The vocal harmonies that they’d begun to feature under the influence of CSNY*, so tentative on some of the Workingman’s Dead tracks, are now practised, even slick. The group is expansive while always sounding at ease with what they’re doing. The aching version of He’s Gone (written about Mickey Hart’s father Lenny, who took off with most of the band’s money) is one of my very favourites. The reading of China Cat Sunflower is likewise tremendous.

But the finest moment on the triple-album set is the version of Tennessee Jed that appears on side four of the triple album. Recorded in Paris, this is the definitive version of one of the era’s defining Grateful Dead songs. The group get so close to the spirit of The Band that may as well be The Band; it was no surprise when half a lifetime later Levon Helm covered it on his Electric Dirt album, the last record he ever made. It’s not merely a sonic impersonation either; the lyric mines the same surrealistic old-timey South that Robbie Robertson’s Band songs inhabited (I’m thinking of tracks like Caledonia Mission). Tennessee Jed was a character from an old radio show in the 1940s, sponsored by Tip-Top Bread (hence “When you get back you better butter my bread”).

With Mickey Hart and Bill Kreutzmann in their ranks, the Dead were a two-drummer band. But Hart didn’t travel to Europe in 1972, taking a break from the band after the business with his father. Kreutzmann, dare one say it, revelled in the freedom being the only drummer gave him. He only had his own feel to worry about; he could place the backbeat where he wanted it to go. He’s got a serious case of the funk on Tennessee Jed. Garcia, meanhile, has himself a tonne of fun with the chicken’-pickin’ groove, and fires off a great solo. Godchaux just sparkles.

The early 1970s (starting with Workingman’s Dead) is my favourite era of the Grateful Dead. All of my favourite Dead songs were written in this era, and I love how they reconciled the expansive, psychedelic side of the band with the, essentially, folk and country songs that filled up Workingman’s and American Beauty. The Europe ’72 live set is an indispensable document of this era, and Tennessee Jed is its most irresistible moment.

Dead
Jerry Garcia & Bob Weir

*Mickey Hart: “Stills lived with me for three months around the time of CSN’s first record and he and David Crosby really turned Jerry and Bobby onto the voice as the holy instrument. You know, ‘Hey, is this what a voice can do?’ That turned us away from pure improvisation and more toward songs.”