Weirology: Ocyober 16

            Bob Weir celebrated his 34th birthday performing with the Dead in Amsterdam at Club Melkweg on October 16, 1981. With a 500-person capacity, Club Melkweg was the most intimate venue the band had played in many years, and they would never play a gig like this again. Towards the end of the underrated Europe ’81 tour, a pair of shows in France were rained out. Instead of taking a few days off, the band rented equipment and arranged to play a pair of shows in Amsterdam on October 15 and 16. These performances became known as the “Ooops” concerts. The first night was a typical two-set electric show with standard song selections. Although, there was nothing typical about seeing the Dead in this kind of setting with borrowed equipment. The following show was a surreal performance—unfathomable if it weren’t for the tapes.

            The Amsterdam bash began with a surprise acoustic set for those crammed into Club Melkweg. After the crowd sang “Happy Birthday” to Bobby, the music commences with “On the Road Again” and “Dire Wolf.” The performances during the acoustic set are on par with the high standards the band had set in Radio City Music Hall the year before. The only issue here is the sound mix. Phil’s bass was too loud for an acoustic performance. However, since this was quickly thrown together and the band is playing with rented equipment, there’s nothing left to do but smile, smile, smile. Phil and Jerry wowed Amsterdam with a wonderfully weaved jam in “Birdsong.” The one and only European performance of “Ripple” majestically concluded the set. It was the final time the Dead played an acoustic “Ripple,” and before they left the stage, Garcia said, “We’re gonna come back and play a little electric music in a little while.”

            Act two of Weir’s birthday shindig begins with “Playin’ in the Band,” the ideal vehicle for an unprecedented adventure. The jam soars as the band sufficiently settles into their new equipment. There’s a garage band sound emerging that must have had the Dead flashbacking to earlier times; perhaps they even had thoughts of their formative days in Magoo’s Pizza Parlor. As adventurous as playing Grateful Dead music was, unofficial rules, procedures, and patterns developed over time. Dylan sums up this type of scenario in “Ballad of Plain D” when he asks, “Are birds free from the chains of the skyway?”

In Club Melkweg, the Dead were liberated from the chains of their skyway. Eager to test their newfound freedom, they transition from “Playin’” into “Hully Gully,” a tune first recorded by the Olympics in 1959 and later covered by Buddy Guy, Chubby Checker, and the Beach Boys. “Hully Gully” set off a national line dancing craze. Weir took lead vocal on this one-time performance, and the joy in Jerry’s voice is obvious as he sings, “Hully, hully gully.”

The band spins back to common ground, following with The Wheel > Samson and Delilah, although those songs are rarely paired together. “Samson” rages out of control—the tone is gnarly, and the soundwaves threaten to tear Club Melkweg down.

There’s a slight pause in the set as The Boys contemplate their next move. Jerry and Bob strike up the unmistakable chord sequence of the rock classic “Gloria,” and Weir steps up and sings it: “Let me tell you ’bout my baby.” They had toyed with “Gloria” jams before, usually before Drums in the fall of ’79, but this is the band’s real debut of “Gloria.” Tonight’s the night to let it all hang out. Garcia’s guitar screeches the letters in unison with Weir’s spellcheck, “Her name is G-twang, L-twang, O-twang, R-twang, I-twang, A-twang.” Garcia’s solo singes Club Melkweg—crackling sonic energy fills the air.

A raunchy jam weaves out of “Gloria,” and if the band knows where they were headed, it’s not obvious, except that the music has a “Caution”-like intensity. Suddenly, Weir howls, “Without a warning you broke my heart.” Phil thumps out the mandatory bass riff, and now it’s official. This is the first “Turn on Your Lovelight” since Pigpen charmed London with his final version on 5-24-72. The band’s winging it. This is rock and roll fantasy camp in Amsterdam, a land where marijuana is legal. Every now and then I dream that I’m at a Dead or Dylan show and I either walk up on stage and sing with them, or I’m in total awe and disbelief as they play the most unlikely songs. This Amsterdam fantasy is a supernatural occurrence for both the musicians and their fans—Twilight Zone meets Field of Dreams. The Amsterdam “Lovelight” is raw and gripping, and it wouldn’t reappear in the band’s rotation until 1984.

“Lovelight” ends where a scorching “Goin’ Down the Road Feelin’ Bad” begins. This incendiary version rumbles—perfect background music for black-and-white film footage of jitterbug dancing. If any Deadheads in Amsterdam were at the Munich show four days earlier on 10-12-81, this phenomenal version wouldn’t have come as a surprise. Garcia goes wild on that one, turning the jam over time and time again in the fast lane.

Remembering to finish what they started, the dream weavers reprise “Playin’ in the Band.” The set took on a more typical flow with a Black Peter > Sugar Magnolia ending. These are good versions of “Peter” and “Mag,” and I like the way Jerry makes space for Brent. I can see him smiling as he listens to Brent on a different keyboard. This 10-16-81 barnstorm of Club Melkweg is an iconic show, impossible to compare to the others. It’s all a dream we dreamed one afternoon long ago.

The last Weir birthday bash, on 10-16-89 in the Brendan Byrne Arena, was a legendary affair that’s been immortalized on the official 2001 release, Nightfall of Diamonds.

During my active run as a touring Deadhead (1982–1990), I regret missing two local shows: 3-29-90 Nassau Coliseum, featuring the guest appearance of Branford Marsalis, and 10-16-89, Weir’s 42nd birthday bash at the Brendan Byrne Arena. In October ’89, Bob Dylan released Oh Mercy and toured the northeast at the same time the Dead were passing through. On October 10, 1989, I saw the Rolling Stones at Shea Stadium. Eric Clapton came out and jammed “Little Red Rooster” with the Stones, who had just released Steel Wheels. It was one of the best concerts I’d seen, but amazingly, Dylan topped the Stones in the Beacon on Friday the 13th (10-13-89). Dylan stormed the stage in a gold lamé suit and white pointy boots, and recklessly played an assortment of old tunes and new tunes, electric and acoustic. During the encore, “Leopard Skin Pill Box Hat,” Dylan put down his axe, snatched the mic from its stand, and played a harp solo on his knees by the front of the stage. He then dropped the mic and harp, casually stepped off the front of the stage, shook the hands of a few stunned fans, and split out the side exit onto West 74th Street. This was a surreal dream sequence for Dylan fans, similar to what Deadheads in Amsterdam must have experienced during Weir’s birthday celebration.

“Picasso Moon” is an unassuming kickoff to the legendary 10-16-89 Brendan Byrne bash. Sharp versions of “Mississippi Half-Step” and “Feel Like a Stranger” put the set on a righteous path. “Let it Grow” and a thunderous “Deal” close a way-above-average ’89 opening set. The band can do no wrong on a “Deal” from this era, and this one excels. This was the last night of a five-night run in the Brendan Byrne Arena, and for the most part, the other shows were forgettable. The band was off to a solid start on this night, and what followed was pure wizardry.

Pandemonium erupts as set two takes off with “Dark Star.” Billed as Formerly the Warlocks, the band broke out “Dark Star” for the first time in five years in Hampton on 10-9-89. There were multiple rarities at both gigs, but the Brendan Byrne Show is superior to the Hampton performance. This 10-16-89 show can’t be measured by what Garcia did here or what Weir did there. All the leaves fell from the trees in perfect sequence—a performance orchestrated by the gods.

Brent and Jerry are wheeling and dealing early; the “Dark Star” theme is certain, without detours. After seven compressed minutes, Jerry brightly sings, “Dark Star crashes.” Brent’s Hammond fills up space that previously was dominated by Jerry. The band is on fire, although it’s a different entity than a ’72 or ’74 “Dark Star.” Garcia’s guitar tones glow sharp and true as the band maneuvers towards their next endeavor, “Playin’ in the Band.” The gravitational pull of “Dark Star” draws a kindred song. Amazingly, this is the first Dark Star > Playin’. These huge jam anthems never connected in their prime. Garcia dials up some MIDI effects, and somehow, the unfolding “Playin’” jam seems predestined, although this is uncharted terrain.

“Playin’ in the Band” reaches for the familiarity of “Uncle John’s Band.” This show has no best-ever contenders, but everything smokes. A superb “UJB” is followed by a stunning jam that spools off the “Playin’” theme. These songs and jams are cogs in a master presentation, but I think this pre-Drums jam is the best improvisation of the set.

On the flip side of Drums > Space, Brent plays his lullaby, “I Will Take You Home.” This is a feeble jingle amongst the mighty lions in the Grateful Dead canon, but on this night, it fits as if it were part of a movie soundtrack. Weir follows with “I Need a Miracle,” and then the band weaves a passageway back to “Dark Star.” True transcendence was taking place as the band effortlessly created segues from the past to the present and back again. “Dark Star” transitions to American Beauty with “Attics of My Life.” The boys harmonized this pretty for New Jersey as if they were in a studio. This was the second performance of “Attics” in the last seventeen years.

“Playin’ in the Band” appears for the third time in the form of a reprise to conclude the set. The perfect landing is orchestrated by heavenly forces, and as the last chord is struck, Garcia goes off on a tangent, every conceivable guitar note crammed into a twenty-five-second crescendo. Flashing back to another old-school sing-along, the Dead harmonize a “We Bid You Goodnight” encore. This is an essential set of Dead music that defies labels. Looking back through the attics of his life, I’m sure Bob Weir will always cherish his 42nd birthday.

For more Weir birthday tales checkout Deadology: The 33 Essential Dates of Grateful Dead History