After their Toronto adventure, the Dead breezed into the middle
of New York State and landed in Hamilton, one of the friendliest towns in America
according to Forbes Magazine. Hamilton,
which is 104 miles west of Albany, is home to one of the premier liberal arts schools
in the country, Colgate University. The similarities between Colgate and Cornell
were striking. A memorable evening was blowing in the wind on 11-4-77, which happened
to be my fourteenth birthday. I had just discovered Led Zeppelin, and the Grateful
Dead was a complete mystery to me. Although, any Deadhead takes great pride in a
legendary show on their birthday, whether they were there or not.
The Colgate affair begins with “Bertha” fireworks—sly, rapid-fire
guitar phrasing. Garcia’s full of creative impulse as he later sparks “Brown-Eyed
Women” with similar phrasing. Some nights Garcia finds a groove, or certain style
of playing, a motif that’s unique to that show and that show only. Garcia’s fingers
are flying in Colgate. Just when you think he’s finished a passage, he sneaks in
a quick run. Jerry also treats us to some wonderful vocal embellishments during
“Dupree’s Diamond Blues.”
Some of the finest group efforts since May are featured on
11-4-77. The set-ending “Let it Grow” is phenomenal, right up there with the one
from DeKalb five nights earlier. After Weir bellows, “Rise and fall,” Keith steps
up to lead the instrumental. The sonic landscape is elegant and jazzy as Garcia
smoothly connects the dots in a vacuum of high-velocity picking and strumming. Weir,
Lesh, and the rhythm devils shift gears precisely, and Garcia and Godchaux have
all the answers. This jam doesn’t explode like DeKalb. It’s an improbably fluid
display of elaborate improvisation. And the outro jam is the longest of any ‘77
version—The Boys are hot, and Jerry noodles on until “Let It Grow” recedes into
its final signature line.
Was 1977 the end or beginning of an era for the Grateful Dead,
or both? They were moving towards the future with an arsenal of originals that would
define them, but they were peaking as band, they would never consistently sound
this awesome again, and they would never have this much fun again, with each other,
and the audience. When they take the stage for act two, Lesh introduces his mates
as the Jones Gang. MC Phil saves his best roast for Weir, “In center stage, ladies
and gentleman, a star whose name has gone behind him, even on to the farthest galaxies
(diabolical laughter), Bob Jones!”
“Samson and Delilah” roars out of the gates. Pumped by his
fabulous intro, Weir’s vocals are ferocious, and the band causes quite a racket.
Following the final “Tear this old building down,” Garcia’s guitar saws its way
into the first “Cold Rain and Snow” of the
year. A traditional folk number that appears on the debut Grateful Dead album of 1967, “Cold Rain and Snow” is one of those tunes
with the Dead’s trademark magnetic groove. You can hear the excitement of the moment
in Jerry’s voice, and the band’s demonstrative playing as they try to channel the
energy into the soothing aura of the song. Many a ‘77 second set could have benefitted
greatly from a sprinkling of “Cold Rain and Snow.”
The weirdness begins in Cotterell Gym with a “Playin’ in the
Band” stomp. The roulette wheel spins—where and when she will stop, nobody knows.
Deep inside the beast, Weir introduces some “Eyes of the World” chords and Garcia
peels off some “Eyes” licks, but it sounds like this thing will swing into “Uncle
John’s Band.” But the “Eyes” seed has been sown, and Garcia latches onto it. Yes!
They’re storming into “Eyes.” This is the type of ingenuity that has been lacking
through most of October.
“Eyes” whips ahead at a terrific tempo as an amused Garcia
riffs this way and that way before breaking into piercing leads. Weir strikes up
some interesting-sounding chord progressions that aren’t synching with what Garcia’s
doing, but the clash of rhythm and pitch sounds brilliant and gives this “Eyes”
a unique tension. Garcia unravels a tasty intro before things settle into a hyped
groove. Any instant now, Garcia’s going to sing the opening verse, but it appears
he’s transfixed by the rolling rhythm, so he decides to reel off another cascading
solo, and eventually he ducks back into the chord motif. The delirious crowd roars
approval that can clearly be heard on the soundboard tapes. After Donna, Bobby,
and Jerry harmonize the opening chorus, the band storms ahead—a shuffling staccato
beat. This is loony tunes, Wile E. Coyote is chasing the Road Runner. Garcia’s solos
are aggressive, and there’s no indecision as he channels the muse that only he has
access to. At the end of the first solo, Garcia introduces the repetitive taunting
licks that I so admire. For the most part I prefer an “Eyes” with a slower tempo,
but this is an extraordinary display, a standout in a year of excellence.
Garcia’s still breathing fire as “Eyes” finds its way to “Estimated
Prophet” through the back door. Every once in a while you have to shake things up
by reversing the natural order. The melancholy wah-wah wailing of the post-verse
“Estimated” jam works its way into a wicked, wicked, “The Other One.” Phil bombs
as Jerry shreds, and each lap is more intense. There’s no putting on airs or teasing,
just primal Grateful Dead. This is a freaking hand grenade. The sonic spirals tighten
with each pass, the heat of their psychedelic past intertwines with their powerful
professionalism—1969 comes face-to-face with 1977. The spectacular jam culminates
with the opening verse, “Spanish lady come to me she lays on me this rose.” A drum
solo follows. Everything you ever need to hear in “The Other One” occurs in one
jam with one verse. Scintillating.
“Iko Iko” materializes out of drums. It’s the most complete
and best rendition of the year, and by the ‘80s, it will blossom into one of the
band’s beloved tunes. The segue into “Stella Blue” flows like a river to the sea,
and Garcia frames the magic with a unique opening “Stella” solo. Jerry has to get
in his introspective ballad, and this fits the bill. Garcia moans a final “Stella
Blue-uwhew” and scurries off into a high-frequency solo that eventually dips back
into “Playin’ in the Band.” This is such a fulfilling loop that you can forget how
it all began. The “Playin’” space is sparse, but the jam after they reprise the
last verse is insane; everybody in the gym is rocked and rolled to the cores of
their souls. “Johnny B. Goode” bids goodnight to Hamilton, New York.
It must have been an amazing two-hour ride for the musicians,
and those wise enough to be following them to the next gig at the War Memorial Auditorium
in Rochester, a Grateful Dead stronghold. Between 1973 and 1985, this auditorium
hosted ten Dead shows. Sitting near the southern shore of Lake Ontario, Rochester
is the third-largest city in New York State, and there are many fine institutions
of higher learning in the area, which equals more Deadhead conversions. Between
1982 and 1985 I witnessed five smoking Dead shows in the War Memorial. I can’t explain
the appeal of seeing the Dead in Rochester, but I’m glad I was there. There was
raw energy in that building—Rochester sparked the Dead and the Dead breathed life
into Rochester. Those who were there on 11-5-77 were treated to a memorable show,
although it wasn’t as brilliant, start to finish, as Colgate was.
When the Grateful Dead take the stage in Rochester, the crowd
surges to greet them, and Weir promptly asks them to take a step back before the
band busts into “New Minglewood Blues.” Real pandemonium kicks in when the crowd
hears “Mississippi Half Step,” the first one of the tour. You can tell the band’s
pumped, the vocals and between-verse solos are crisp. The pre-“Rio Grande” jam is
an escalating stream of jubilation—pure aural gratification that’s reminiscent of
the Boston Garden “Half Step” on 5-7-77. Phil’s bass registers readings on the Richter
scale. This is a tidal wave of sound—the band surfs with Garcia as he improbably
finds creative paths to extend the momentum and forward movement of the jam without
changing course. When the wave crashes and all that’s left is the pretty whisper
of the “Rio Grande” melody, the audience rejoices. The final instrumental is shorter,
but it’s cut from the same cloth as the previous one. To borrow a ‘77 Weir catchphrase,
“Ladies and gentleman, I think we have ourselves a winner. Everything is just exactly
perfect.”
“Looks Like Rain” is a soothing selection in the aftermath
of “Half Step,” although the crowd’s still surging towards the stage, prompting
another short rendition of “Take a Step Back.” A concerned Garcia makes this dire
proclamation:
“The people up front are getting smashed horribly again. If
everybody on the floor can sort of try to move back, that would be helpful. It’s
hard for us to get off seeing smashed human bodies up here. You know what I mean?
Give us a little mercy.”
A perky “Dire Wolf” takes flight, and pretty soon everybody
in the War Memorial is singing, “Don’t murder me. I beg of you don’t murder me.
Plea—ease, don’t murder me.” Surging crowds and rowdy group behavior were nothing
unusual back in 1977, whether you were at a Grateful Dead concert, a night club,
or a baseball game. After nine people were trampled to death trying to get into
a Who concert in Cincinnati in 1979, things slowly changed. Out-of-control mobs
became frowned upon.
Mama Tried > Big River follows. This pairing of electrified
Merle Haggard and Johnny Cash did little to settle down the hyped crowd. A stinging
solo with a nasty bite concludes “Big River.” Jerry belts out a soulful “Candyman”
that’s followed by “Jack Straw.” It’s great to hear “Straw” anytime, but it always
seems to be at its best late in the set, and this smoking version validates that
claim. The set closes with a “Deal” that’s as provocative as can be. Down the road,
Garcia added a solo to “Deal” that made it a tour de force set closer.
Set two starts with fiddle-faddle from Phil that winds into
a slow march, and an unprecedented third plea to take a step back. Phil takes the
honor of leading his mates into a leisurely paced “Eyes of the World.” Who is this
band? Last night’s “Eyes of the World” was a speeding bullet, as was this opening
set. It’s a welcome change of pace, and that’s what makes the Grateful Dead the
best at what they do, because they’re the only ones who do what they do. My apologies
to Bill Graham for mangling his iconic characterization of the band.
A fine “Eyes” bolts into “Samson and Delilah.” However, there’s
no reason to get excited. Garcia’s determined to keep things mellow. His ensuing
selections are “It Must Have Been the Roses,” “He’s Gone,” and “Black Peter.” The
jamming highlights of this set occur during Weir tunes. There’s a sparkling climax
to the second solo of “The Other One,” and the entire band goes bonkers during a
vivacious serving of “Sugar Magnolia.”
The 11-4-77 Colgate show was released as Volume 12 in the
Dave’s Picks series in 2014. And 11-5-77 Rochester was released as Volume 34 in
the Dick’s Pick’s series in 2005. No series has yet to claim the finale of this
three-set run in Binghamton’s Broom County Arena, a show revered by many Dead aficionados.
A two-and-a-half-hour car ride southeast of Rochester, Binghamton is situated near
the border of Pennsylvania. The two biggest institutions in town were IBM, and the
State University of New York at Binghamton. No matter how far these college towns
were from New York City, the enthusiasm of these adoring collegiate crowds turned
the Grateful Dead on as if they were playing a friendly facsimile of Madison Square
Garden.
Amidst a thunderous ovation and a thick cloud of marijuana
smoke, the ceremony begins with “Mississippi Half Step.” After such a phenomenal
performance the night before, the band can’t resist the temptation of playing it
again. As the Dead rolled into the ‘80s, it was pretty much an unofficial rule that
songs were never repeated at successive shows. Throughout their career they always
mixed up set lists and made shows as distinctive as possible with their improvisation,
but soon they would take that concept to another level. Although, I can’t imagine
that anyone in Binghamton was bummed because they had played “Half Step” the night
before, or that anyone in Rochester was stressed over the fact that “Eyes of the
World” and “The Other One” had been played the night before in Colgate.
Guess what? New York hipsters received another brilliant “Half
Step.” It’s hell to rank these things, but this is what I choose to do. I’ll give
the Rochester “Half Step” the nod over Binghamton by a split-hair decision. The
Binghamton jams have fierce, high-pitched fanning crescendos from Garcia. The Rochester
version is a cascading scale thriller without any superfluous fanning. If you have
no idea what I’m talking about, listen to these gems and compare them. Whatever
you conclude, you will be better off for performing this exercise.
“Jack Straw” follows in the footsteps of “Half Step.” The
essence of the song comes to life—the rhythmic flow is breathtaking, and the group
harmonizes with a soulful feeling. Bobby hollers, “You keep us on the run,” and
the fuse is lit, a cannonball of sound is fired with signature Binghamton high-pitch
fanning to close out the affair. Those crazy New York kids have to be warned again
about rushing the stage. The heat of the moment is captured in a tipsy “Tennessee
Jed.” There’s extra fire in Garcia’s singing and the guitar licks that accentuate
Hunter’s lyrics. Garcia winds the solo up, stutter-steps his way to the peak, and
hits all the notes that make you want to yodel and yell, “Yeee-hahh!”
Mexicali Blues > Me and My Uncle is absurdly exciting.
For years to come, Me and My Uncle > Mexicali Blues would be a less than thrilling
staple of the live rotation. I think they got it right in Binghamton. This outlaw
partnership sounds better in reverse. A plaintive “Friend of the Devil” is next.
After six songs, 11-6-77 has traveled all across Weird America…Mississippi, southern
sky, Rio Grande, Texas, Detroit Lightning, Santa Fe, Great Northern, Cheyenne, Tulsa,
Wichita, Tucson, Bakersfield, South Colorado, West Texas, Santa Fe (again), Denver,
Reno, Utah, Chino, Cherokee. By adding the tales of “New Minglewood Blues,” “Dupree’s
Diamond Blues,” “Passenger,” and “Dire Wolf,” you have the makings of a soundtrack
for a classic Western movie. “The Music Never Stopped” rockets the set to a screaming
conclusion. The build-up jam is unreal here, and then all speed limits are exceeded
as the band batters Binghamton into a state of sweaty elation.
An audience recording of the first set of 11-6-77 was amongst
my first dozen bootlegs. The audience contributions complement the fiery music.
For every noteworthy highlight, someone let out a heartfelt yodel or yelp that accented
the moment. This audience tape is a prime example of how the fans were, to some
extent, musical collaborators inspiring the Grateful Dead. Many years later when
I got the soundboards of this show, it took me a while to assimilate to the pristine
sound minus the audience energy. These soundboards were also my first exposure to
the second set of 11-6-77. I wasn’t overly impressed with the second set, although
I hadn’t listened to it all that much. As I revisited tour ‘77 for this book, I
eagerly anticipated hearing part two of Binghamton again.
On Sunday night, Weir ignites the second set with a biblical
favorite, “Samson and Delilah,” and then Donna sings her spiritual number, “Sunrise.”
There’s a conscious attempt to slow down the tempo of “Scarlet Begonias.” Everything
sounds fine until Jerry forgets a verse, but redeems himself with a searing solo.
The music is sparse and trippy as the Scarlet > Fire terrain is navigated. It
sounds as if the ghosts of Cornell past have entered the Broome County Arena. The
sound of Garcia’s guitar has a dreamy glow as “Scarlet” spins forward. Yet there’s
no magic in the transition. Cornell is immortal for a reason. Garcia makes this
a memorable “Fire on the Mountain” thanks to a blistering between-verse solo.
A standalone “Good Lovin’” builds a bridge to the big jam,
which commences with “St. Stephen.” A smooth run through this revered tune morphs
into a jam that gets spacey before segueing into drums. If this were May, I would
be thrilled with these developments; but after hearing the jams of the uninterrupted
“Stephens” from SMU, DeKalb, and Toronto, this is a little disappointing. Post drums
begins with a concise Not Fade Away > Wharf Rat > St. Stephen Reprise, which
rolls into the surprise highlight of the set, “Truckin’.”
The post “Truckin’” jam spirals to its usual crescendo and
mysteriously dissolves. The music slowly rises and the band stops, and then they
only play in short bursts to accentuate Garcia’s soloing, which takes on a Jimmy
Page-like tone. It’s a very cool and abnormal Grateful Dead moment. Pretty soon,
Lesh and the drummers are hammering away as the “Truckin’” monster revs up for one
last thrashing—an amalgamation of blues, acid rock, and heavy metal to end the last
East Coast set of ‘77. A “Johnny B. Goode” encore is the only choice that makes
sense at this point. Surprisingly, “Terrapin Station” wasn’t played at any of the
last three shows.
Colgate, Rochester, and Binghamton are up there with any successive
three-night stand the Dead put on. They left behind a trail of inspiration for those
who were there, and those who would listen to the tapes in the future. Friends told
friends, students told students, and the Grateful Dead continued to play on college
campuses year after year, especially in their favorite breeding ground, New York.
They played in Syracuse, Utica, Niagara Falls, Buffalo, Ithaca, Glens Falls, Troy,
Albany, Saratoga Springs, Lake Placid, Rochester, and Binghamton. Although some
of these venues weren’t on campuses, they were in centrally located areas where
the collegiate Deadheads could converge. The Grateful Dead and Jerry Garcia Band
were inspiring a new generation of Deadheads, a flock of devotees more rabid than
their predecessors. Terrapin Nation was on the rise, and central New York was a
fanatical hub.
GRATEFUL DEAD 1977: THE RISE OF TERRAPIN NATION
GRATEFUL DEAD 1977: THE RISE OF TERRAPIN NATION
