You Can't Keep A Good Jam Down
Despite some early and feverish speculation (Eric Clapton on guitar! No,
no ... Carlos Santana on guitar!) the future of the Grateful Dead seemed
pretty much resigned to the history books when Jerry Garcia died in
1995. The remaining members of the Dead were all hovering around 50, and
it was virtually impossible to imagine the Dead without Garcia's
time-worn, reedy vocals and soaring, revelatory guitar leads.
Not that there weren't plenty of new and interesting ways for Deadheads
to spend their time and money. In the years immediately following
Garcia's demise, various members of the Dead toured as part of the
neo-hippie Further Festival, and Grateful Dead Merchandising has been
releasing archived, live Dead recordings at a rate of 10 new discs a
year.
Then, last year, proving you can't keep a good jam down, three of the
guys -- guitarist Bob Weir, bassist Phil Lesh and drummer Mickey Hart --
decided to join a cast of fellow travelers (including sometimes Dead
keyboardist Bruce Hornsby) and headed up the Further Festival shows as
the "Other Ones" (the title of a classic Dead tune about Neal Cassady).
Of the band's surviving members, only drummer Billy Kreutzmann decided
he'd rather continue his early retirement (keyboardist Vince Welnick,
who joined the Dead in the 1990s, apparently wasn't invited along for
the ride).
The results, as evidenced on the live The Strange Remain, are
for the most part a success. Weir, who split vocal duties with Garcia,
assumes the lead role here: on The Strange Remain, Weir lends his
weighty tenor to such Garcia classics as "Friend of the Devil" and
"China Cat Sunflower/I Know You Rider." Hornsby also picks up some of
the slack, throwing in a handful of his own tunes into the mix. And to
make up for the loss of Garcia's slashing, shivering, hallucinatory
guitar lines, the Other Ones add a trio of lead musicians: San Francisco
Bay Area guitarists Steve Kimock and Mark Karan and saxophonist Dave
Ellis all attempt to fill in the considerable gap left by the death of
Garcia. Overall, Kimock and Karan admirably fill their unenviable roles
-- they pay homage to Garcia, squeezing out shimmering cascades of notes
and playing soaring, clarion leads. But Ellis is unquestionably the best
"new" member of the Other Ones. Harking back to Branford Marsalis' dates
with the Dead earlier in the decade, Ellis is a wonderful melodic
centerpiece, driving the band on, reigning them in, shouting out
evocative leads and murmuring insistent affirmations.
Thankfully, the previously Dead Ones are also in prime form. Hornsby,
who invigorated the Dead when he joined them in the 1990s, is his usual
athletic self, with his slightly behind-the-tempo solos and endless
comping highlighting almost every track. Weir's rhythm guitar work is
surprisingly fluid and subtle, and his voice sounds great. Hart, joined
here by John Molo, lays down layers of percussive delights. And Lesh's
muscular and harmonically adventuresome basslines, long one of the
highlights of seeing the Dead live, are typically inspiring.
As is to be expected, the jamming on The Strange Remain is often
wonderful: the 13-minute "China Cat/Rider" combination is as focused and
tightly wound as it's been in years, and the languid "Jack Straw,"
fueled on by Ellis' screaming sax and some blistering guitar work,
builds to an admirably feverish pitch. The gorgeous, acoustic rendition
of "Friend of the Devil" is also a treat, as are a pair of Hornsby-led
tunes (his own "White-Wheeled Limousine" is one of the best tracks on
the disc, and his jaunty, soulful version of "Sugaree" is brilliantly
evocative). Finally, Weir's "St. Stephen," which the Dead had not played
since 1983, gets a masterful, revved-up, highly syncopated treatment,
with shining dueling guitars and great rhythm work.
Occasionally, the Other Ones lack a certain intensity and focus. Weir
breaks out a handful of his signature numbers, songs that were known
for their driving force when they were part of the Dead's repertoire:
"Estimated Prophet," "Playing in the Band" and "The Other One" are given
royal treatment, with each song clocking in at over eight minutes. But
despite the ample space afforded these songs, the power and direction
that Garcia gave them -- even in his most abject, drugged-out days -- is
sorely missing. The relentless explosions of "The Other One" and the
breathtaking ebb and flow of "Playing" are almost completely gone. In
their places, listeners are treated to some solid jamming, a few musical
flourishes and an almost total lack of real inspiration. Even worse, the
trio of new tunes -- "Banyan Tree," "Baba Jingo" and "Only the Strange Remain" -- are New-Agey, indulgent drivel, featuring regretful lines that seem to mock the
mythology the Dead built over the years: "Behind me is a tiger and a
killer with a knife/ One wants me for supper and the other wants my
life" and "Ask the lizard on the stone the way to no man's land" are two
of the worst offenders.
I imagine it will be difficult for any Deadhead to resist the
lure of The Strange Remain. At their best, the Other Ones offer
focused jams of a higher caliber than almost any band playing today, and
they promise a ride on a three-decade-long trip that doesn't look like
it'll be ending anytime soon.