Sure, he may well have been the most lethargic and shambolic superstar rock has ever known, but the late Jerry Garcia, he of the Grateful Dead, somehow made it work, at least more often than anyone would have expected. His work went from laid-back to comatose, but that suited the Deadheads just fine; they were all lost in their trips, and had no use for amphetamine rock’n’roll; no, they preferred Garcia’s songs because they could actually WATCH them as they rolled slowly by, like day-glo trains, through the freight yards of their minds. Only Garcia could take Chuck Berry’s immortal “Let It Rock” and play it at Quaalude tempo, as he did on his 1974 LP Compliments, and against all odds make it work.
Garcia, Jerry’s 1972 debut solo LP, was a two-person project, with the Dead’s Bill Kreutzmann handling the drums and Garcia doing everything else. And like Bob Weir’s Ace, which was released the same year, it was an auspicious debut, including as it did some half-dozen songs the Grateful Dead would add to their live repertoire. I’d give it an A if it weren’t for the 10-minute prog rock meets musique concrete of “Late for Supper/Spidergawd/Eep Hour,” which finally evolves into a listenable melody featuring some excellent piano and pedal steel guitar somewhere past the five-minute mark, but which is recommended solely to people who are (a) demented and actually like this sort of thing, or (b) just took six tabs of good Owsley acid, and are listening to it from the ceiling or another solar system.
But aside from that long piece of experimentation, the LP is a perfect example of Garcia doing what he does best. Opener “Deal” is a keeper, loping along as it does like Robert Crumb’s “Keep on Truckin’” guy, and is an example of laid-back funk every bit as likeable as a beagle puppy’s ears, thanks to a lovely melody and Garcia’s masterful guitar work. As for “Bird Song,” it opens with a groovy organ riff and a bluesy electric guitar, and so what if long-time Dead lyricist Robert Hunter’s words are so much hippie hoodoo voodoo? The song captivates, the chorus provides a flash of the loveliness that characterized 1970’s American Beauty, and Garcia’s guitar work is as pristine as a clear mountain stream.
Like the long but lovely “To Lay Me Down,” which opens with some truly pretty piano and proceeds to take its good old time getting from Point A to Point B but never bores thanks to some truly moving organ and pedal steel guitar, the classic “Sugaree” is Garcia at his most shambolic. Ah, but it still captivates, and it’s no wonder the Grateful Dead made this one a staple of their live shows. Meanwhile, “The Wheel” is a piece of mystical hoodoo boasting a melody that has always struck me as ungodly lovely. Garcia’s pedal steel guitar is positively transcendental, and the lyrics are a perfect example of lysergic philosophy (“The wheel is turning and you can’t slow down/You can’t let go and you can’t hold on/You can’t go back and you can’t stand still/If the thunder don’t get you/Then the lightning will”) and sound like advice to somebody having a bad acid trip to me.
“An Odd Little Piece” is just that, a minute and a half of Garcia on piano, accompanied by Kreutzmann playing some truly off-kilter percussion. It’s as likeable as it is negligible, which leaves us with “Loser,” another slow number with great lyrics in which Jerry gets tough (don’t push me baby, etc.) because he’s a loser when it comes to games of chance. “Loser” perks up during the choruses and Garcia plays some fine guitar, and this one wins by losing, with Garcia singing that delusional gambler’s refrain, “But I got no chance of losing this time.” If you believe him, you’ve already lost, because odds are he’s cadged some money off you to continue his streak of bad gambler’s luck.
Garcia is both proof positive that its maker possessed formidable musical gifts, and a boon to anyone who has ever liked the Grateful Dead. I don’t think he ever cut a solo album even half as good again, as the title track of 1982’s Run for the Roses, the bad funk of “They Love Each Other” off 1976’s Reflections, and “Russian Lullaby” and the subpar version of the Stones’ “Let’s Spend the Night Together” off 1974’s Compliments demonstrate. But like everything the Dead put their hands to at the dawn of the 70s, Garcia is a demonstration of a group of musicians at the top of their game. Which makes their tragic decline to the execrable likes of Terrapin Station and Shakedown Street just that much sadder. Oh well, that’s life. And as Jerry says, you can’t go back and you can’t stand still, and if the thunder don’t get you then the lightning will.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A-
