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EM commented recently on my frequent discussion of Comes A Time, pointing me to the Roanoke 1987 show as a version for me to check out.
I decided that I needed a diversion from my continuing focus on May 1977 and the 1971-73 eras (the latter being several distinct eras themselves, apparently), so I headed over to the Internet Archive and listened to the tune.
Now, I may come off as Rip Van Winkle here, like I slept through all of modern music history, but I am shocked and stunned at the frailty of Jerry Garcia’s voice and his lack of basic vocal control.
I know he was in a diabetic coma in 1986, and that he made a great recovery from it, and had to re-learn how to play, etc. I accept that at face value, and can only imagine the pressure he put on himself to get back to what he loved to do, as well as the pressure from the fans, and from the “machine” so dependent on him for earning a living.
But come on! I had heard that the background talk at the time that the Dead wasn’t what it used to be anymore, but never realized just how bad things had gotten as far as Jerry’s vocals.
Thinking I had listened to the wrong show, I went back and realized there was a second show the next day.
Sorry, same issue. Jerry’s about 15% better, but I remain amazed in a bad way.
If my math is right, he was 45 or so years old for the 1987-07-07 and 1987-07-08 shows.
Surely in another few months I will have acclimated to the deterioration in their faculties and will be able to date a show based simply on the sound of Jerry’s voice.
However, the beauty of this little diary in real time is that my initial reaction is captured forever, and I have to tell you, my mind is racing with all kinds of questions and accusations as to how this was allowed to happen like this. I will leave that mostly to another time, lest I be a “blind man” saying “don’t you see”. I need to learn and listen more before shooting off my mouth in a way that will surely disappoint some.
Maybe Jerry insisted. And he was the boss, despite the thing where he pretended he wasn’t. No one could make him change his ways. But really, it hints of collective denial on a massive scale. And I’m sure it got worse, I did take a peek at the final Soldier’s Field show a few weeks ago, but never imagined it was close to that bad all the way back in 1987.
Now, as an aside to EM who pointed out Roanoke 1987 to me, I have no doubt that the show(s) meant a lot to you, and that they might have been standouts for that era or for that tune in specific. I am just on a 50,000-foot level unable to get much beyond the decline in the main man’s voice and presentation ability from the golden days I have steeped myself in recently.
I have not done a lot of evaluation of the guitar playing, but there seems to have been a lot of decline there too, sad to say. The quick truncation of the second solos alone, before the compositional challenges of the change in tone in the best versions of the song, speaks negative volumes.
Not having lived through the coma as a fan in real time, I am not really able to bring the poignancy of the situation into the mix as far as judging the music, in the cold light of day.
I am just very sad about what I may face as I move into those eras and beyond. I fear for an eight-year slow motion ride into death.
[OK, so I hit 'Publish' on this, and then hit Google, and come up with this great article on The Burden of Being Jerry. Nothing this frank came through to me in the McNally book I read.]
As far as songs that are built to set up a killer guitar solo, Comes a Time is sure right up there. I have already sung the song’s praises before, not so long ago.
When I tackle listening to a new show, I find myself for the first time now checking out the setlist in advance. It’s not just jibberish anymore, I find certain expectations creeping in depending on the tracks ahead of me.
Comes a Time is the first song that promises me a near-holy experience — two Garcia solos to savor. A shorter, set-up solo to establish the theme, then the finale, where anything can happen or be accomplished.
As far as holy experiences go, this reminds me of the times I overheard people recounting a favorite Grateful Dead moment — usually involving Morning Dew. Think stoner inflection here — “Morning Dew, they played Morning Dew!”
I never understood the excitement about Morning Dew, given that I had heard innumerable radio ads for Dead concerts in my high school days backed with that incessant background clip “roll away, the dew”. Surely Morning Dew couldn’t be that transcendent a song if the hook was that melodically flaccid.
Of course, I recently learned from my listening labors that “roll away, the dew” comes from the song Franklin’s Tower. Little did I know that rolling away the dew has to do with a way of manufacturing bells so that they don’t crack when rung (think the Liberty Bell and Benjamin Franklin). As a teen, I would have guessed the chorus was inspired by something much more inane than that.
Surely Morning Dew is a worthy song to get excited about, and it reflects a similar structure as Comes a Time in that it is sung by Jerry, and he gets two solo slots. As I was never one to be worried much about being annihilated in a nuclear war back in the late 70s/early 80s (or anytime really), I perhaps am not a good candidate for finding the song’s premise to be as fruitful a set-up for a guitar solo as that of Comes a Time, which lyrically addresses that point in life where you’re so blind that the blind man is taking your arm and leading you.
My journey is now being wonderfully influenced by comments from readers to this blog, and Josh kindly pointed me to his favorite version of Comes a Time from the Brent era (Cleveland 8-26-80). There is much to recommend that final solo, and it harkens in some ways to “my” version from Buffalo 1977.
Suffice it to say I appreciate his tip and will avoid trying to decree here that one or the other is “better”, despite my overwhelming tendency to try to do that sort of thing. In a way, I see it as un-Dead-like to engage in that, although I do see a lot of that impulse among the GD fans writing on the Internet (and I love reading it).
Posting these thoughts in public will hopefully keep me honest in that regard. If there is any benefit to accepting the Grateful Dead with an open heart, it should be in changing one’s overly reductionist ways.
“You’ve got an empty cup, only love can fill”
It’s a little early for me to be deciding on the best Jerry Garcia guitar solo ever. I’ve only listened to about ten shows with any frequency thus far.
But it’s not too early for me to decide on the best guitar solo I’ve ever heard.
By anyone.
Ever.
I heard this one a few days ago and held off writing about it because I wanted to make sure it wasn’t just a strange mood I was in, or something. I am a little excitable about guitar solos.
I have been writing about the Cornell Barton Hall show from 1977, and have been reading a bit of commentary about it as well. Many have noted that the string of shows in that spring of 1977 were remarkable. Many point to the Buffalo show of 1977-05-09 as equal, or even better, than Cornell the day before, and someone commented that the May 7-9, 1977 string of shows along Interstate 90 in Boston, Ithaca and Buffalo were the best three contiguous shows ever played by anyone (I like bold statements, at least when there’s the possibility of their being accurate).
I put this show on as background music for some intensive work (reading and writing), at a low enough volume that the novelty of the music wouldn’t overwhelm my pitiful powers of concentration.
The first set is unusual, setlist-wise, compared to the 1971-73 era I have largely focused on to date. About half of the tunes were unfamiliar to me. I was enjoying the music, it definitely was registering in terms of providing some additional energy but I was not listening actively at all.
About all I had consciously concluded was that the tenor of the Barton Hall show was quite different from that of Buffalo, with Barton Hall seeming more deliberately accessible, and Buffalo more dreamy.
I had decided that I would in the future be listening to Buffalo again more actively before moving on to other shows from that stretch in the Northeastern U.S.
Deep in the show arrives Comes a Time, a Jerry Garcia ballad with mournful pacing and great harmony vocals from Donna. I like ballads because there is usually a strong melody line for a lead solo to spring from and around, and so I am not surprised when Garcia plays a nice short mid-song solo along the lines I expect.
About 15% of my brain is following the music and I am plowing away at my project, and there’s Jerry back into another solo, I am almost not consciously aware of it, but it is there and it is good and I know that much. It is consistent with the tone and mood of the song and he’s playing nicely and well and actively.
Then WHAM! Something happens. Something changes. What the !? . . . .
I scramble to the volume control and turn it up. What is going on? What just happened?
Did Garcia change scales (not that I know anything about scales)? Did he change keys (same — what do I know about keys)?
No, he seems to be playing in the same way — same note ranges, same effects/tone, there’s no trickery here, nothing obvious, no switch was hit, but it’s changing! It’s different. It’s stunning.
I don’t want to be a spoiler.
But this solo morphs in the middle in a completely natural and miraculous way, it is literally like the sun suddenly appearing through a rainstorm. I have listened to thousands of guitar solos and while I have heard solos deliberately evoke different feelings in different portions, I have never heard anything remotely like this.
Seriously.
By the solo’s coda (around 10:52 on the streaming version on Internet Archive), I am suddenly weeping. Like a baby.
Not because I have listened closely to the lyrics and been moved, because I have not.
Not because I realize Jerry is gone and he played a great solo, although it would have been a good reason.
I am weeping as an automatic unconscious reaction to a guitar solo — a string of single notes over several minutes that, even not consciously listened-to for most of it, caused my brain to go haywire.
=================
I was listening to a soundboard, and there was little audience feedback to hear. The audience tape version provides some more cues as to reactions, but I think few really absorbed the solo at the time as easily as we can when we are, decades later, listening in relative leisure and focus in our homes or cars.
After another few listens, I decide to do some research. Maybe this song is known for its great solo, and Jerry recreates it the same way every time. I listen to a few other streaming versions, they don’t come close. I can’t tell exactly how unique “my” Buffalo version is, and I don’t want to kill the magic I feel by analyzing it too much.
But I think it’s safe to say, on this particular night, Jerry reached a special place on Comes a Time.
If this is not his best solo ever, and there are many more such moments, I will be a very busy guy for a long time as I work through thousands of shows.
If this solo does not end up in my top 3 of all time in my life I will be shocked, and lucky, I suppose, to hear better ones.
Some comments on the Buffalo show indicate I’m not the only one who thinks this solo was something special.
Would it have been so wrong for me to be the only person to be reduced to a puddle by this solo? No. But somehow it feels good to know there are others out there similarly affected.
Please let me know if you feel the same, or differently, about it.
And play it loud and don’t cheat, listen from the beginning!
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