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In Praise of Keyboards

by Dan Alford

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Detected now beneath the organ's note,
The organ's groan, the bellows whine;
And what the Sun made splendid,
Bereft of Sun is merely fine!
-Ernest Wheldrake, 1881

Truer words were never writ. What is it about those flat puddles of sound that ripple through the air? Why do they speak to us in tones so familiar that they could be the original sound of human voice? How is it that a few notes can slice through cerebral matter and open minds to the universes that they have created? How is it that their light makes otherwise fine terrain a splendidly subtle landscape that begs to be explored?

While there must be explanations to such questions, those answers would be too convoluted and layered as to make any true sense. In fact, like many such answers to many such questions, a real solution would be replaced by a dissection of the topic that would leave it fully exposed, but in so many pieces that it would no longer be what it was. Take, for instance, the previous sentence: overly complicated and never truly conveying the meaning.

Instead of floundering in a sea of words trying to express that which transcends language, let us merely extol the virtues of the instruments, their magic and the wizardry of those beings who make row upon row of narrow keys an extension of themselves. Consider the organ as background sound, filling the void behind those leading notes, lying just far enough behind so as not to infringe, but just close enough to blend perfectly, lengthening each guitar note. Think of Melvin's wide washes of sound that established the layers of framework on which Garcia was able to weave such elaborate tapestries... Or the way Page can drive along, hot on Trey's heals, enhancing an already raging solo.

Consider, too, the rhythmic potential of the keys. Certainly piano work is the foundation of many songs, its percussive attributes stepping to the forefront. A well-timed Hammond can ignite a fast flame where a guitar puts forth merely a spark. Think how many times it was Brent who really sent an "Around" flying... Or Keith stepping in at just the right moment as "Scarlet" slides effortlessly into "Fire"... Or watch Neal interact with Kras as he works through his solo in "Rudy's Way", pushing him farther and farther with bursting organ notes... Or Medeski laying it on hard and fast in the rhythmic masterpiece "Bubblehouse".

And what about the keyboards as a coloring instrument, an integral part of a musical construct, the special effects of a song? Listen to the "I See the Light" on Hot Tuna's Live at Sweetwater. Pete just erupts into the jam right at the end and absolutely makes the performance. I often wonder what the last years of the Dead would have been like if Pete had taken the hot seat instead of Vince... His lush, somewhat dark sounds would have sent the bus in an entirely different, perhaps retro, direction from Vince's bright, upbeat bells. But listen to a nineties Terrapin where the former Tube completes the end jam with large shafts of sound that gel so sweetly with the rest of the band. The extraction of those pillars would completely undermine the song.

Of course the finest moment for any fan of those black and white playgrounds for fast and furious fingers is when that solo rolling around. To hear Page tear it up on a "Funky Bitch" is one of the greatest experiences one can have... The piano becomes the focal point on the band, noise escaping with such abandon that the other plays have trouble keeping up. And as bar after bar blazes by, the peaks, each higher than the last, just keep coming until the jam pounds back into the song. When Hornsby would go point for point with Garcia on a "Jack Straw", an intense interaction took place that created something so much more than its parts. When the organ is the commanding force in a band, when Nate Wilson just lets loose, moving about his organ pit with practiced ease, forging a new path, you know you're going on journey. And who knows better how to lead a journey than the Bay Area's Boddhisatva of Boogie, Merl Saunders. Leading the audience through interstellar regions of cosmic debris and dying stars, or trekking deep into the primordial rainforests of our collective consciousness, Merl is a master. He pushes and pulls in all directions, an amorphous yet ultimately directed conduit for the energies at the birth of the universe. And just look at his smile gleaming across a smoke-filled bar or a sunny field of undulating dancers; he knows where it's at.

Truly the keyboards, be they Hammonds or harmoniums, Steinways or Moogs, have something that no other instrument can offer. They can be the afterburner that allows a song's potential to be realized, they can tear at your mind with broad strokes, or stab a thousand spidery legs into your soul... They speak to a part of humanity that resides somewhere beyond the realm of language. So the next time you're at a show, enjoy the lead guitar, wallow in the reverberating bass, but lock onto those boards and bask in their glory.