Jerry Garcia Band- Live at Shoreline
Benjy Eisen
2005-08-09
Until recently, the Jerry Garcia Band hasn't been able to share much shelf space in the supermarket that feeds Deadhead Nation. As the Grateful Dead vaults appeared to open frequently, bearing gifts to the outside world, JGB material was harder to come by. The self-titled double-disc set was out of print. Good sounding live tapes were rare. Videos didn't exist. It's always been a tragic mistake. Jerry Garcia Band concerts had a divergent energy from their GD counterparts. The difference was palpable. Sure, Garcia's singular sense of melody, his voice, his style, his sense of adventure were all present in both, but they manifested themselves differently with his solo band than with the Grateful Dead. And now, with the Jerry Garcia Estate opening the chest to so many Garcia treasures as of late, it looks like the "Dead Mart's" JGB aisle is about to make room for a DVD section. They couldn't have picked a finer first offering. The band's show from September 1st, 1990 is as symbolically significant as it is magnificently played. Originally a gig intended for the Grateful Dead, the band had to cancel when keyboardist Brent Mydland died of an overdose just two months earlier. Garcia used his solo band not only as a substitute, but also as a vessel: the show was a way to mourn the loss of a friend, while celebrating his spirit with an entire community. As evidenced on the DVD, it was an emotional night; Garcia throws his heart into the music and connected, emotionally, through the notes and through the melody. This night became a send-off to a fallen brother. Sometimes, as on "I Shall Be Released," it's the lyrics that take on this added responsibility, sometimes it's the jams themselves ("Deal"), and then other times it's just the expression on Garcia's face ("And It Stoned Me"). And through it all, the music remains vibrant, crackling with energy, as if, in the face of death, it insists on being that much more alive. It's an affirmation, a confirmation, "like church" as they say. Melvin Seals delivers fiery organ parts, bassist John Kahn holds down the thump-and-sway, and the back-up singers make it all angelic. This is the line-up I think of when I think of the Jerry Garcia Band. Previous versions were all substantial for their own reasons, but this configuration was the arena band, the honey band, musicians as well as entertainers. To the credit of the producers, who understand that DVD buyers want more than a main feature, the bonus material on here is appreciated. Interviews with lyricist Robert Hunter and with the surviving members of the band are admissible except for a few brief moments when they degenerate into cheap sentimentality. More engrossing are the song histories provided by Deadhead journalist Blair Jackson. Viewers have the option of watching short biographies of each song at the beginning or end of their performance and these capsules are usually enlightening. Many of these songs are covers; Jackson traces their use in the Garcia catalog back to their humble beginnings, be it Peter Tosh's split with Bob Marley ("Stop That Train"), the lyrical significance of "Dear Prudence," or the Tin Pan Alley roots of "That Lucky Old Sun." The Grateful Dead was an institution; the Jerry Garcia Band was a pursuit. I know it would be awkward to end this review with that last sentence, but I almost feel like it would be justified. It really exemplifies not only a lot of the differences between the two bands, but also hints at what viewers will find in this DVD — maybe not a "drumz -> space" brand of transcendence per-se, but a restless pursuit of joy, to be sure. And a great performance from a great band.
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