“They’re not the best at what they do, they are the only ones who do what they do.” — famous quote from Bill Graham, concert promoter, operator of the Fillmore West, Fillmore East, and Winterland venues, trying to describe The Grateful Dead.
The Grateful Dead are one of the most polarizing bands in the history of rock. (If they do not claim the top spot in your book it is probably fair to assume that they at least crack the top five.)
If you strip everything away about them, they are a band that: a) has never had a singer with a polished voice, and b) is best known for their live performances (and the atmosphere that encompasses their shows). To the cynical person, The Grateful Dead are nothing more than an untalented band whose lifeblood is a blind adoration from countless kids and adults who inhale (or ingest) copious amounts of drugs. To a devoted fan, the Dead are “an experience” and makers of music rich in its own mythology. Some people will even tell you that what the Dead wrote says more about America than anything than guys like Springsteen or Mellencamp or Dylan could have ever written. Where you sit in this debate—even if you are apathetic or neutral—is of no real matter.
And that is because, probably more so than any other band, The Grateful Dead are a mirror. To their fans, the Dead reflect an idea of easygoingness combined with community; a place where the softer spoken (and sometimes perpetually squinty and red-eyed) outcasts can fit in. To a lot of other people, the Dead reflect an image of a series of feelings brought on by an intangible irritation (as only a dogmatic stereotype can produce). What I mean is: to the Dead Head haters, The Grateful Dead are seen as something that should have never lasted in the first place. The Dead should have gone the way of all of those other Counterculture era bands who never sniffed success after the heaviness of the ’70′s set in. For every one person who says “You know, you may like this live version of ‘El Paso.’ You should give it a listen,” there are probably a hundred who thought that Jerry Garcia transcended the word overrated, or that a dancing tie-dye bear is a symbol of indefensible taste. These are also the same people who may flinch when the words ‘jam band’ is used in any context.
Bottom line: trying to sell The Grateful Dead can be an extremely tough sell.
And I am not trying to sell them here per se, but it would be foolish and close-minded to claim that The Grateful Dead have no place in the Pantheon. (Just as it would be foolish to think that N.W.A. or Public Enemy has no place in the Pantheon, even if you do not like rap or hip hop.) Their longevity and amazing ability to cultivate and connect to a wide audience aside, the Dead did produce two noteworthy and very good albums (The Grateful Dead and Workingman’s Dead) as well as a no questions asked masterpiece (American Beauty), and from that masterpiece a truly perfect and beautiful song—“Ripple.”
Most Dead haters, I think, have an image burned into their head of a band that always played thirty minute tracks and were always in Jam Band Mode. While it is true that the Dead performed sitcom-length live versions of “Dark Star” and “Playing In The Band”[1] from time to time, they were, during the early ’70′s, a legitimately solid band that made some great music. American Beauty is probably the lone Dead album that non-Dead Heads could enjoy with relative ease. If nothing else, it is the album that could be described as “the one with ‘Truckin” on it.”
“Ripple” is the opening track of side two, and it is quite possibly the most beautiful song I have ever heard this side of “Blackbird” by The Beatles, “Sweet Thing” by Van Morrison, and Neko Case’s “John Saw That Number.” To say that the music of “Ripple” is pitch perfect would be an understatement: from the beginning chord that is strummed from Jerry Garcia to the light skipping of Mickey Hart’s drums to Phil Lesh’s anchoring bass to the chorus of uplifting “la la la”s, this is a song that is so wonderfully layered and crafted it could be used as a soundtrack to just about anything, ranging from the shiniest of days on the beach to the memory of someone at a funeral.[2]
Lyrically, this track is brilliant: its philosophical and spiritual tone is never over-reaching or winking. Sometimes the most poignant words are the ones written when absolutely no one is looking for them or paying attention to them. Written by Robert Hunter during a night of very heavy drinking by himself, “Ripple” was not born out of an orthodox desire to find spiritual truth or answers. It was born out of the thoughts of a flawed but creatvie mind (and those are usually the best and most resonating thoughts).
“Ripple” ends with the lyrics,
“You who choose to lead must follow
But if you fall you fall alone
If you should stand, then who’s to guide you?
If I knew the way I would take you home”
The last line, to me, perfectly encompasses everything about Jerry Garcia: if you love him, this lyric reinforces that emotion; if you cannot stand him, this lyric reinforces your disdain for him. Again, all of it—the band, their music, this song—is pretty polarizing. Few people ever get in to heated conversations about their dislike of Bruce Springsteen or Counting Crows (or Lady Gaga).
But then again, they are not mirrors either.
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[1] As well as uninterrupted, police procedural-length medleys like “Turn On Your Love Light/Goin’ Down The Road Feeling Bad/One More Saturday Night.”
[2] Or, as a way to convey self-discovery like the indescribably great final scenes of the Freaks and Geeks series finale with Lindsey leaving home for a couple of weeks during the summer, and getting picked up by her new friends.
