The Grateful Dead had ended 1973 with a two night run at Curtis Hixon Memorial Hall in Tampa, Florida so outstanding and memorable that, 18 years later, when the band’s archivist Dick Latvala was asked to select shows for official release, his first pick was night two. The boys had weathered a rocky season on the road as they ventured into the uncharted waters of independence from major label control. They’d left Warner Brothers to found their own label, Grateful Dead Records, along with Round Records for solo and side project releases.
A week of downtime ahead of the shows after a rough season of touring ended on a high note after the band met a Hialeah businessman named Alberto San Pedro. Among other ventures, San Pedro imported cocaine from Columbia through his connections in the Medellin cartel. He’d already built up a healthy clientele base among Miami’s wealthy elites. Jerry Garcia had started getting into coke by the beginning of 1973, and with touring becoming steadily more profitable in recent years, the Grateful Dead were beginning to see real rock star money.
[Phil Lesh:] “Cocaine, for instance, makes me evil and makes me hate music. I hate music when I'm under the influence, so I can't use it, it's just impossible.”
Andy Childs, ZigZag 1974
Meanwhile, another seismic cultural shift was beginning to brew just down the street from San Pedro. Hialeah, Florida was also home to another upstart independent music label, TK Records. Founded by enigmatic New York financier Henry Stone, TK had their first success in 1972 with Timmy Thomas’ “Why Can’t We Live Together.” While the socially-conscious soul anthem draws heavily from Marvin Gaye’s transcendent “What’s Going On,” the moody samba beat that undergirds the song gives it a particularly ethereal quality. The foundation for this sound was the Lowrey Automatic Rhythm unit, an early primitive drum machine developed and marketed commercially as an add-on to home organs.
A young apprentice engineer at TK’s studio named Rick Finch and a part-time order filler in the warehouse named Harry Wayne Casey had been working in the studio after hours recording their own original material. Looking to appeal to younger audiences of the Miami club scene, Casey and Finch started creating tracks that emphasized danceable beats and simplistic lyrics. They also looked to incorporate Junkanoo, a regional musical style and cultural tradition that dates back to 17th century colonial Jamaica. Around Christmas, slaves on plantations were given a three day reprieve, and they would celebrate with music, dance and elaborate costumes.
Under the name KC and the Sunshine Junkanoo Band, they saw some minor R&B chart success with their first two singles, “Blow Your Whistle” (September 1973) and “Sound Your Funky Horn” (February 1974), and Henry Stone was impressed enough to ask them to come up with some more material.
One night in late 1973, Finch and Casey were working on demos at TK’s Hialeah studio. Rick Finch had been playing around with a sped-up version of the samba beat on the Lowrey. While a number of sources, including PBS, have claimed he was one of the first to make use of the Roland TR 77 drum machine, Finch confirmed in a 2011 interview with SongFacts that he was using the same Lowrey organ Timmy Thomas had used on “Why Can’t We Live Together.”
Meanwhile, Philadelphia soul giants Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes’ latest hit single, “The Love I Lost,” featured a distinctive syncopated hi hat against a four-on-the-floor beat by drummer Earl Young. Finch played a similar drum pattern over the samba beat, and came up with a chord progression that may or may not have been inspired by “Rock the Boat” by the Hues Corporation, at the time an album track that hadn’t been considered for a single. Finch laid down a bass line and Harry Wayne Casey added in an organ and Rhodes piano. The two immediately recognized they had something in their backing track but agreed neither had the proper range for the lead vocal they had in mind.
Their first call was to Gwen McCrae, one of the artists in TK’s roster, to see if she would cut a vocal track. Gwen agreed but ran behind getting to the studio. Her husband George was able to get there earlier and offered to give it a try. In his teens, George had lead a soul combo called the Jivin’ Jets before joining the Navy in 1963. That same year, George got married to Gwen Mosley a week after the two met. Both were 19.
After his discharge in 1967, George tried to reform the Jivin’ Jets, but his attempts to involve Gwen in the group quickly deteriorated and the two instead began performing as a vocal duo. They recorded three singles for Henry Stone’s Alston label which had some regional success. After Gwen’s cover of Bobby Blue Bland’s “Lead Me On” was picked up by Columbia and cracked the R&B Top 40, Stone signed her to a solo contract with TK subsidiary Cat. George formally retired from performing to become her manager but continued to pick up occasional session and club work around Palm Beach.
After two takes, Finch and Casey knew George’s smoldering falsetto would be near-impossible to top. TK session guitarist Jerome Smith was paid $15 to add in a guitar track. Henry Stone was convinced the song had commercial potential as a club single and slated it for a summer release.
This creeping fungus of pseudo-intellectual music passed off as rock, these long-haired bemused looking cats like Yes or the Electric Light Orchestra. Or these hideous, blatantly bland folksingers like John Denver. Or even these semi-legitimate rock groups which fell and refuse to emerge from the pit of that ugly, sticky adjective “mellow,” like the Grateful Dead, the most boring band inventable.
All of them - out. They’ve taken away the fun, they’ve tried - and succeeded, really - to convince the record-buying public that their profession’s a serious art form. That what they do is serious. That what they say has some meaning. That how they do it is important.
Bob Baker, Thousand Oaks News-Chronicle, February 8, 1974
“Things that are supposed to be groovy I find antiquated, like the Grateful Dead and the Allman Brothers.”
Ian Hunter, lead singer, Mott the Hoople, Merced Star, March 5, 1974
With high fidelity stereo and quadrophonic audio growing in popularity in the early 70s, the Dead’s obsessive commitment to sound quality kept them at the cutting edge of technology. But in their tenth year together, the band were by no means fresh faces in the music industry. As their fanbase (the “Dead Hands”) grew more devoted, new fans from the coveted youth demographic were often introduced by someone like an older sibling. As the mainstream continued to leave the 60s and everything it was said to have stood for in the rear view, Dead Heads began to cement an identity which held to the aesthetics, ideals and politics of the hippie movement. The promise of the Flower Power Era soon became the collective brand of the stable microeconomy that began to sprout outside Dead concerts.
Until late 1971, the Dead was basically a cult band, a group that relied on a soaring crystalline chipping away at the senses rather than the all-out aural assault popular throughout the acid-rock era.
But as styles and fashions shifted from the strobe light mentality of chrome and glass, black and white, loud and heavy, to more relaxed natural materils (sic), such as a wood and burlap and more quiet, earthy colors, bands like the Grateful Dead moved front and center.
As the country became the hip place to be, replacing the amphetamine scream of the streets of a nightmare New York vision, bands that could float the mind rather than damage it became popular, and the Dead moved to mass popularity.
Bill Mandel, Philadelphia Inquirer, August 5, 1974
Jerry Garcia spent the beginning of 1974 playing with Merl Saunders in smaller venues around the Bay Area along with Bill Kreutzmann on drums and Martin Fierro on sax and flute. He also began work on a new album with friend and bassist John Kahn. While his 1972 debut on Warner Brothers had been a true solo affair, to the extent that he played every instrument but the drums himself, for his sophomore effort, Jerry asked John to take the lead as producer. Apart from Irving Berlin’s Russian Lullaby, Jerry’s pick for a track, John chose covers of mostly album tracks by popular contemporary artists of the time like Dr. John, Van Morrison and Stevie Wonder along with one original cowritten with Robert Hunter, “Midnight Town.” Though, as with his debut, Jerry named his second album simply Garcia, it soon became semi-formally known as Compliments after a promotional sticker was added stating “Compliments of Garcia.”
Around this time, John also began dating singer Maria Muldaur. Maria had played with Jim Kweskin & the Jug Band in the 60s. After her divorce from bandmate Geoff Muldaur, Maria had released her debut single on Reprise Records, “Midnight at the Oasis,” which was beginning to see success in the charts by 1974. John was hired to play bass for her backing band as she set out on tour in support of the single. Maria later wrote in a Facebook post:
“John started playing bass with me in 1974 & soon became the love of my life.”
Maria Muldaur, Facebook, May 30, 2019
Maria’s eclectic musical tastes and her interest in roots music made her a natural fit for the Grateful Dead’s extended orbit. She contributed backing vocals to “Compliments” and became involved with some of Jerry’s side projects along with occasionally opening for the Dead that year.
The “Wall of Sound” originally referred to Phil Spector’s groundbreaking and commercially successful production style. Developed at Gold Star Studios in the early 60s with the help of engineer Larry Levine and the fabled Wrecking Crew, the key to Spector’s Wall of Sound was to record several instruments playing in unison with little to no track isolation. The bleedover saturated the mix resulting in an output that sounded “big.”
In several ways, Owsley Stanley’s Wall of Sound was the opposite. His penultimate PA setup consisted of six individual sound systems, one for each guitar, bass, drums, piano and vocals. The biggest technical advance for 1974 was the distinctive cluster of vocal speakers which connected the Two Towers.
Having run out of room for knobs, Phil Lesh switched out his trusty Guild, which he’d nicknamed “The Godfather,” for a custom piece from Alembic dubbed “Mission Control.” With “Mission Control,” Phil was now able to send the signal from each string to its own speaker stack. Bob Weir set aside his Gibson SG with the underperforming built-in phaser for his favored ’58 335. Keith Godchaux continued to play the Fender Rhodes alongside the grand piano and as he grew more confident on it, used the electric piano to full effect in expanding the group’s sonic palette that year.
In late February, the Dead played three nights at Winterland to warm up for the premiere of the Wall of Sound on March 23 at the Cow Palace, billed as “The Sound Test.” At the same time, Owsley was facing new charges for back taxes on about a quarter million in unclaimed income from 1967-68. Having already served prison time for related drug charges, Owsley avoided jail and was given a fine of $5000.
For all its legendary status in the lore of the highest-grossing concert act in modern musical history, the Wall of Sound existed for three two week sprints, a few one-off shows sprinkled in and a considerably condensed return to Europe compared to two years before. Up to now, the 1970s for the Grateful Dead had been grinding away on the road and, as Branford Marsalis aptly put it “earning their audience.” The weight of technical and chemical excess would make 1974 their least productive touring year on record.
While proceeds from touring over the last couple years had continued to bring in a fairly steady revenue stream, their newly founded in-house record label was not off to so good a start.
The Grateful Dead Recording Co.’s first album, Wake of the Flood, barely hit the streets last October before imitations started competing for sales.
‘We went out and bought 60 or so counterfeits for a couple bucks each,’ company president Ron Rakow said in San Rafael, Calif. ‘We gave the distributors a few copies each so they could compare them with the real thing.’
An FBI affidavit filed last December quoted one Los Angeles record dealer as saying he was offered 100,000 counterfeit Grateful Dead albums at $1.50 each, compared to a wholesale price of about $2.40 for the legitimate product.
A Berkeley, Calif. dealer purchased 297 counterfeits and a Denver dealer was offered the same Grateful Dead album at $1.65 per copy, the FBI said. Both outlets dealt with the same Van Nuys, Calif. distributor.
Columbus Ledger, June 13, 1974 / Sioux City Journal, July 3, 1974 [Associated Press]
That year, Grateful Dead Records along with the band’s publishing arm Ice Nine filed a lawsuit against John D. LaMonte, owner of a Philadelphia-area record store and wholesale outfit called House of Sounds, for $3,278,750 in damages due to alleged large-scale pirating of Wake of the Flood. While legitimate copies retailed for $4 to $5, knockoffs had a sticker price of $1.98. In addition to bootleg copies being sold at House of Sounds and other record shops around town, 5,000 were seized at Tower Records in Los Angeles.
With their first album on their new label now effectively a financial write-off, the group set out on a follow-up. Dissatisfied with the recording experience at the Record Plant in Sausalito as well as the outcome, the band opted this time for CBS Studios. Seven years before, when it was called Coast Recorders, it was where the Dead recorded their first single and what would go on to become their first anthem of sorts, “The Golden Road (to Unlimited Devotion).”
For the new album, Jerry brought in two new compositions, “Scarlet Begonias” and “Ship of Fools,” along with two songs which hadn’t made it onto Wake of the Flood: “China Doll” and “Loose Lucy,” and a mildly revised version of “Wave That Flag” titled “U.S. Blues.” Bob Weir, meanwhile, was still creatively spent from the patchwork experience of writing “Weather Report Suite,” a piece that was still coming together on the road throughout 1973. Under the gun to contribute new material, Bobby implored his writing partner John Perry Barlow for some lyrics to work with. Barlow offered up a poem he’d written in February, “Finance Blues.” The finished track, “Money Money,” would go on to be one of the most broadly disliked songs in the band’s catalog.
Phil Lesh takes the lead on two originals he’d co-written with friend and poet Bobby Peterson. “Unbroken Chain” was first tried out during the sessions for Wake of the Flood but hadn’t fully come together at the time. Once they were able to work out some of the complexities in the arrangement, it became a standout track on the album and a perennial favorite among the fandom. Their first live performance of the song wouldn’t come for another 21 years, giving “Unbroken Chain” a near-mythical status in Dead lore. Phil’s second track on the album, the uptempo Bakersfield country-inflected “Pride of Cucamonga,” would never be performed live by the band.
That April, Jerry began playing guitar and banjo in a new project lead by friend and wunderkind mandolinist David Grisman, nicknamed “Dawg.” The Great American String Band, sometimes referred to as the Great American Music Band, featured all-acoustic instruments similar to Old & In the Way. Unlike their last group, the Great American String Band expanded beyond bluegrass to incorporate the gypsy swing of Stephane Grappelli and Django Reinhardt. Jerry referred to this style as “Dawg Music.” The Great American String Band played their first show in Hollywood on April 20. A week later, they appeared at the Golden State Bluegrass Festival, where Old & In The Way also made a brief reunion. They also backed Dawg on the soundtrack for Roger Corman’s hicksploitation effort Big Bad Mama.
The Wall of Sound’s first time on the road would ultimately go the most smoothly and relatively without incident. The Pacific Northwest was solidly Dead country, as Vancouver, Seattle and Portland were some of the band’s earliest satellite bases outside the Bay Area. Most of the shows took place on college campuses, which tended to be more hospitable sites to play. Their first stop was the University of Nevada Reno, where the Wall of Sound made its official debut.
Thursday, what is billed as ‘the most powerful sound system in the world’ seemed to pose a problem….there is a possibility that the concert could be stopped by a court order resulting from petitions reportedly being circulated by residents near the campus.
University Police Chief Keith Shumway said, “If we’re served with an order to shut it off, we’ll have to shut it off.”
But promoter Norm Cheney said the sound system of the Grateful Dead, although it is the most powerful, is not necessarily the loudest.
A student union activities spokesman described ticket sales and response to the concert as tremendous, saying inquiries have come from Denver, Salt Lake City, Idaho and throughout California.”
Nevada State Journal, May 10, 1974
Out of towners without accommodations arriving in Reno to attend Sunday’s Grateful Dead rock concert at the University of Nevada Reno, can sleep on the campus soccer field.
“What brought this whole thing about is trying to prevent problems in the community,” [a spokesperson for UNR] said. “In essence, we’re protecting the private property owner by making sure people aren’t sleeping in his yard.”
Nevada State Journal, May 11, 1974
It was wall to wall bodies (or more properly, end zone to end zone) in Mackay Stadium Sunday where the “Grateful Dead” rock group was scheduled to blast off at 2pm.
Some records were played to keep things in tune but, what with the piano having to be switched around to satisfy the maestro, and the sound system being practically blown away, the first live chord out of the “Dead” came at 3:30 pm.
The “Grateful Dead” sound technicians were still struggling with what looked to be at least 200 loudspeakers, racked up like some huge beehive on a scaffolding that pokes up about 40 feet in the air.
The Washoe Zephyrs added their own tune to the festivities, and one of the Dead stepped to the microphone to say something about “these are some winds you have up here.”
Jack Stevenson, Nevada State Journal, May 14, 1974
Aside from the fact that the Grateful Dead was 1 1/2 hours late starting and [university police chief Keith] Shumway said drugs and liquor were freely dispensed, there were few disturbances and only a few arrests.
Reno Gazette-Journal, May 13, 1974
A few gate crashers were chased the length of the stadium and ejected by the police. One attempted to grab an officer’s pistol but was quickly convinced he should keep his hands to himself
Jack Stevenson, Nevada State Journal, May 14, 1974
Seven thousand Dead admirers filled the University of Montana Field House Tuesday night, expecting to witness an important part of the music of the 60s and 70s. They weren’t betrayed.
All the Dead…came through the phenomenal 480-speaker system individually distinctive, but wedded into a sound that is the Grateful Dead.
The wall of speakers, which cost about $35,000 (sic) to put together, made the music loud, but not a blare.
But the musicians were the important ingredient, and Garcia is one of the best musicians there is. He nonchalantly stood onstage, bracing himself with one leg as the other rose and fell with the tempo of the music.
But the night was not all roses. One incoherent jam in the four-hour concert rambled on for 40 minutes.
After the Dead left the stage from their second set, the crowd roared one of the loudest and longest ovations given to a band performing in Missoula. Several minutes later, as the Dead stepped back on stage, Weir was struck on the head by a plastic pitcher that flew from the crowd below him.
“Thanks a lot,” he said gruffly.
Steve Shirley, The Missoulan, May 16, 1974
Bobby debuted his sole contribution to their yet-to-be-released album at the PNE Coliseum in Vancouver, and played it again at the next two shows. The third performance in Seattle would turn out to be the final, making “Money Money” one of the shortest-lived songs in the Grateful Dead’s repertoire. But the May 21 show at the University of Washington’s Hec Edmunson Pavilion would be significant for another reason: their 47 minute rendition of “Playing in the Band” would hold the record for the longest single-song jam in the band’s history. They ended this run at UC Santa Barbara, where Maria Muldaur and the Great American String Band opened for them.
Meanwhile, in late May, TK Records released “Rock Your Baby”…
The prior month, KC and the Sunshine Band had put out their debut album Do it Good along with the first single “Queen of Clubs” which featured George and Gwen on uncredited backing vocals. A promotional push led to heavy airplay in the UK and the single reached #7. “Rock Your Baby” entered the Billboard Charts at #93 the week of June 1. On the back of the success of “Queen of Clubs,” “Rock Your Baby” began to pick up traction in the UK. Meanwhile, a remix of “Rock the Boat” by the Hues Corporation with the bass boosted had been released as a single just ahead of McCrae’s. It became a favorite in dance clubs or, discotheques, which spurred crossover success, driving it to #1 the week of July 6th. The following week it was overtaken by “Rock Your Baby.” Disco had surely arrived, but just as quickly came the discofication of the music industry.
Through the Grateful Dead’s business association with Alberto San Pedro, their initial connection to high quality large volume Columbian cocaine, an arrangement was made to transport kilos from Miami back to San Francisco via stewardesses who were able to carry personal luggage on flights without fear of inspection. As word spread along the West Coast, demand instantly took off, and Columbia’s Medellin cartel began to see the enormous market potential in the U.S.
Up to then, scarcity, poor quality and niche interest made cocaine costly compared to most other street drugs at the time. Miami’s wealthy elites had begun to embrace cocaine as a status symbol, the ultimate display of money to burn. As well-heeled Californians began mirroring the trend, the coked-up masters of reality began to convince themselves that the drug was harmless and nonaddictive. The overall duplicitousness of the Nixon Administration’s War on Drugs gave ammo to critics who began to push for decriminalization of cocaine. This newfound legitimacy along with its chic appeal as an emblem of conspicuous consumption paired perfectly with the incessant, pervasive consistency of disco music. In no time, artists of nearly every genre found themselves condensing their style into the same relentless out on top 4/4 dance beat.
On June 6, Round Records put out their first releases, Compliments alongside Robert Hunter’s Tales of the Great Rum Runners. The Dead played a show at Oakland Coliseum June 8 before setting back out on the road. The plan was an extended East Coast run throughout the summer built around the release of From the Mars Hotel scheduled for the end of June.
The feeling coming off stage Sunday was much more low-key than at previous Dead concerts.
The music felt fine, the performance was competent but some of the fire has died. Perhaps deliberately.
The tone quality of the PA was excellent and the mix on the instruments was good (i.e. you could hear the piano and drums). But the vocals, always the main hassle, weren’t out front. From the grandstand, in fact, they were buried.
Bassist Phil Lesh attributed part of the problem to an oversight - the “good mikes” had been inadvertently left behind.
James Healey, Des Moines Register, June 17, 1974
Dirk DeRaad, 20…was charged in connection with the stabbing of James Henneberry, 25, one of the concert promoters…state agents said the altercation began when DeRaad was cutting a hole in a fence on the border of the fairgrounds in order to let persons in without paying when Henneberry attempted to stop him.
Des Moines Register, June 17, 1974
The Dead, now a decade old, showed a standing-room-only crowd of more than 6500 at Miami Jai Alai Fronton Saturday night (a second concert was held Sunday night) that when you get back to basics, you get back to boogie.
Jerry Garcia, as always, challenges his guitar each time he plays it. (The audience found a challenge in recognizing him; he cut his beard and hair.)
The “five-hour” concert Saturday was actually four hours with an unforgivable hour-long break. It would have been better to package the affair as a three-hour concert with only a 15-minute intermission.
Hunter George, Miami Herald, June 24, 1974
While the exact nature and sequence of events aren’t certain, what is clear is that the Dead had intended for this stretch to finish with a huge 4th of July concert. And without a doubt, an Independence Day show like this had the potential to be one of the major rock events of the summer. But how things played out gets hazy…
On June 9, a 4th of July show was announced to be held at Beulah Park Raceway in Columbus, Ohio. According to the ads, Bill Graham was involved with this event, which was to be co-headlined by Eric Clapton and The Band, with a projected turnout as high as 100,000. Promotions for the show continued to appear as late as June 30 and while Clapton did play in Columbus on the 4th, it was on his own at the St. John’s Arena.
Meanwhile, on June 22, another 4th of July concert was announced by Chicago-based Zoom Productions that was to take place at the University of Wisconsin - Oshkosh. Though Titan Stadium only held 10,000, plans were made to open the grounds on campus to accommodate up to an additional 15,000 attendees. As fears began to grow that the overflow of Deadheads would inevitably lead to trouble around town, the Oshkosh City Council was pressured to deny a permit for the concert a week ahead of time. As they tried and failed to appeal the decision in court, Zoom scrambled to secure an alternate site.
Today’s Grateful Dead concert, scheduled for Titan Stadium in Oshkosh, Wis, has been postponed until Saturday 2pm and relocated at the Ridgewood Trace Park in Madison.
Chicago Tribune, July, 4, 1974
The Grateful Dead had been scheduled to perform at the University of Wisconsin - Oshkosh Titan Stadium Thursday, but officials refused to permit the concert to be held, citing inadequate health and security facilities.
The promoters then searched for an alternate site and Wednesday said they had found one in the town of Fitchburg, which adjoins Madison. Town officials had given their approval to Zoom Productions to hold the concert at a golf course and nightclub in an apartment complex.
However, the Dane County sheriff and district attorney said such a concert would violate the county’s zoning laws. The event was called off and the Grateful Dead left Wisconsin.
Galesburg Register-Mail, July 5, 1974
Another co-headliner event with Eric Clapton, this time a two night run at the LA Coliseum, had been announced back in May. But instead, Slowhand spent July 19th in Long Beach while the Grateful Dead played Fresno’s Selland Arena before appearing at the Hollywood Bowl two days later.
Their first stop on the way out to finish up the East Coast run was Chicago’s International Amphitheater, a make-up show for Zoom’s July 4th debacle. From Chicago, Roanoke…
The group came to Roanoke from sellouts in New York (sic), and they brought along their 480-speaker, 24,000-amp sound system, said to be second to none.
But the show, which featured the group for the full four hours, was little more than an instrumental show with the occasional bit of vocal prowess.
At one point in the show the Dead performed a 30-minute instrumental, followed by two minutes of singing, and then took an inordinate 45-minute break.
A group member tried to divert the audiences attention with a clumsily orchestrated Moog presentation.
He was unsuccessful and the crowd became bored, vocal and at times rowdy.
Ron Brown, World News, July 29,1974
The Grateful Dead are going to be in Philly August. 4 and will be playing at the Philadelphia Civic Center, not the Spectrum.
Electric Factory Concerts, who usually promotes the Dead arrivals in Philly, aren’t handling the gig because of some disputes with the band in connection with the joint Allmans-Dead concert in D.C. last summer.
Pottsville Republican, July 6, 1974
The reason, basically, is that Larry Magid and Alan Spivak, chief honchos at Electric Factory, got fed up with the Dead’s rather detailed demands for goods and services.
For example, the Dead supply concert promoters with a two-page list of food items they must have to serve their staff of 30.
Primary on that list is a complex sit-down steak dinner that must be served at the hall before the concert. The last time the Dead played the Spectrum for Electric Factory Concerts, they were served spaghetti dinners.
Alan Spivak ended up with spaghetti all over his Western cowboy shirt, compliments of some disappointed Dead equipment handlers.
Philadelphia Inquirer, July 31 1974
The Dead, who opened a sold-out two-night stand at the Civic Center last night under the aegis of Midnight Sun Co., gave one of the crispest, tightest concerts in musical history.
Dipping into the entire Dead repertoire, including Jerry Garcia’s and Bob Weir’s solo albums, the band showed what a major rock concert can and should be.
Bill Mandel, Philadelphia Inquirer, August 5, 1974
The 32,000 wet, soggy rock fans who showed up for the Grateful Dead concert at Jersey City’s Roosevelt Stadium will get a chance to dry off a bit before the city attempts to give the cancelled show a second chance.
Last night’s show failed to materialize for the fans, some of whom had travelled hundreds of miles, when heavy rains and lightning presented a possible hazard to the performers who would have had to play on a virtually unprotected stage.
Several thousand ticket holders who were being turned away from the stadium as a result of the cancellation pushed their way past wooden barricades at the gate.
Jersey Journal-Observer, August 3, 1974
Eight young men face drug charges today in Jersey City Municipal Court in the aftermath of last night’s Grateful Dead rock concert at Jersey City’s Roosevelt Stadium.
The eight, none of them from Hudson County, were all arrested inside the stadium itself or on the grounds just outside by detectives who said they were selling drugs to concert patrons.
All were charged with possession of and dispensing drugs which police said ranged from marijuana and pills to hashish. Most were from Brooklyn, with the others from suburban communities in New Jersey and New York.
The stadium was at capacity for the concert, which had originally been scheduled for last Friday but was rained out. An estimated 30,000 fans of the popular rock group turned out to hear the popular group at that time.
Jersey Journal-Observer, August 7, 1974
The Grateful Dead’s 1972 European tour was a watershed moment in their career. The triple live album that came out of it captured a distinct turning point into the “Godchaux era,” regarded by many as the band’s finest hour. In the time since they’d last been abroad, the Dead had redefined what a record label could be as well as revolutionized the live concert experience. By a number of metrics, their return to Europe two years later saw them as conquering heroes. However, by September 1974, the Grateful Dead were at the end of their rope. The logistical challenges of transporting the Wall of Sound, shady promoters with equally shady bookkeepers, and the sheer exhaustion of continually nursing the Grateful Dead over the last decade into the behemoth it had grown into had come to a head. Cocaine had promised energy, vitality and bliss but as always delivered only vanity, conceitedness, paranoia and hostility. And the parasitic hangers-on who inevitably came along with it only added to the tension and confusion.
[Jerry Garcia:] laying on the floor of Salter’s home…”The most rewarding experience for me these days is to play in bars and not be Jerry Garcia of the Grateful Dead. I enjoy playing to fifty people. The bigger the Dead get the harder it is to be light and spontaneous, and that's my biggest single dissatisfaction.”
Despite the success that Garcia so abhors, the group still don't make any money as such.
[Jerry:] “We turn it over. Our expenses are immensely high, because we're into doing it as good as we can, and as the resources and the desire of people to see the group grows, our plan has been to improve aesthetically the quality of the trip itself. Which is the reason for the PA.”
Any kind of fanaticism, Garcia reckons, however apparently well-meaning, is ultimately corrupt.
[Jerry:] ‘I think we've seen more than enough of the I've-got-followers-therefore-I'm-powerful mentality this century.’
Specific example? Well, take "Casey Jones," the "Workingman's Dead" favourite. Part of the chorus runs, you'll recall, "driving that train, high on cocaine."
[Jerry:] “Suddenly everybody was snorting cocaine, as though that was the underlying message of the song, which it wasn't at all. I mean those lyrics are dire. At best, they're pessimistic.
Drugs aren't necessarily good or bad. They may or may not help you see what you want to see. See, the Grateful Dead doesn't hold one particular philosophy about anything. Some people in the band don't take any drugs at all. Others take all drugs. We don't share the same perspective on that one. I think drugs are now just a part of life.
I'm always looking for new forms, and if the Grateful Dead at some point would prefer to cling on to old forms, I'll go someplace else.”
Steve Lake, Melody Maker, September 14, 1974
The depraved blueprint for this tour first reared its ugly head about a thousand years ago when a middle-aged Cockney suffering from cocaine dementia knocked at the door of the Grateful Dead offices in San Rafael. His name was Tom Salter, and he had a grand plan. He had a briefcase full of blueprints, wads of five- and ten-pound notes and more blow than we had ever seen.
Jerry, Bobby…everybody is charmed by him. He is mesmerizing in that maniacal sort of way Jerry has always found irresistible. And like Charles Dickens on a coke binge he keeps on repeating ‘Wait till you see the Ally-Pally, lads! Blow your bloody little hippie minds, it will. Wot’s left of ‘em. Ha! Ha! Ha!’
He’s bald as a badger and tenacious as a terrier. Salter can steamroll you to death, and we don’t at this point have that kind of stamina. The man is there at eleven o clock at night and he’s back again at nine the next morning all bubbly and cheerful and still raving on about this trip to Europe. Out of desperation we give in. We agreed to do it (whatever it is.)
Rock Scully, Living With the Dead
Described as more of a groupie than a tour manager, Tom Satler plied the band with unlimited quantities of drugs. His crew leader, Johnny Binden, had a lengthy criminal history and casually boasted about murders he’d committed.
[Rex Jackson, September 8, 1974:] “We’re tearing each other apart. The band hates the roadies, and we have had it up to here with them. It’s a fuckin’ horror, man, it’s a nightmare.”
Rock Scully, Living With the Dead p. 241
They have bought themselves some new hardware, massive amplification equipment, and a Rolling Stones-style lighting rig with reflecting mirrors, but on Monday night they had problems with it and the stage remained in almost perpetual darkness. The performance started over an hour late…long stretches of it were competent but frankly dull.
Robin Denselow, The Guardian, September 11, 1974
What Salter tells me he’s sold is off by half according to the band’s estimate…We do one more show, and it’s the same damn thing all over again. Now I am worried.
A good half the tickets for our shows are going to the London underworld. Sold in pubs, at the door. There are tickets available everywhere. We ask people, ‘where did you buy your ticket?’ And they say, “Oh, at the Arms.’ The pirates have taken over, and they’re underselling our ticket price! Now who do you think is going to sell more tickets? By the last night in London we have a packed house, but the number of tickets sold stays the same.
Rock Scully, Living With the Dead p. 242
Following their European tour, the only thing the group has planned is an album scheduled for recording in January. Their overhead (about $100,000 a month, is one of the problems they will study during this low-profile period.
Rolling Stone (King Features Syndicate) October 3, 1974
Success took a heftier toll on Jerry than it did on me, personally, because I could always retreat or go hang out with the crew or something. But everyone wanted a piece of Jerry, all the time, until he had nothing left for himself. He used to take time to talk to that random fan who had taken too much acid and who needed to discuss the universe with him, or thank him or just have some kind of personal exchange…that was really admirable. Heroic. But when your audience swells to a certain size, you can’t do that sort of thing anymore. There’s just not enough time and there’s always someone else in line, raising their hand, demanding attention. By the end of 1974, Jerry was done being that kind of hero. He needed a change of scene.
Bill Kreutzmann, Deal p. 195
The rebearded, resident guru of rock Jerry Garcia, led his tightly knit family through an opening set that was simply pure and clean.
The show had its flaws to be sure. The most notable is the Dead’s excruciatingly long jam sessions which feature anywhere from one to seven performers on stage.
Lesh’s playing entered into musical space-aged journeys that rambled in infinite directions. True Dead fans survived through sheer love, while many in the crowd became anxious for some melody or beat they could dance to.
Another low point was an overabundance of lighting necessary to get the affair on film. At one point, a crew with handheld cameras waded through and over people to film some young joyful dances.
Regretfully, this may be the final appearances of the Dead, for a while anyway. The band has been caught in the web of a business that has grown out of control. A tremendous overhead has forced the Dead into an endless chain of producing albums and playing concerts.
Dan Roach, Palo Alto Times, October 18, 1974
Outside Winterland last Sunday, tickets for the final concert by the Grateful Dead were scalped for as much as $30.
SF Examiner, October 27, 1974
Someone convinced Mickey Hart to show up and bring a drum kit with him, in the back of his car. The thinking was that if this really was the last Grateful Dead concert, Mickey should participate and be a part of it. I was not cool with that.
Bill Kreutzmann, Deal p. 196
The double drummer setup dates back to the earliest days of jazz when, before the advent of the trap kit, two percussionists would take up the alternating roles of snare and bass. The first appearance of twin drummers in a rock band was LA-based Clear Light, whose debut album came out in 1966. They can be seen in an uncredited cameo role as Barry McGuire’s backup band in 1967’s The President’s Analyst.
It’s uncertain exactly when Michael Steven Hartmann became Mickey Hart. What is documented is that Leonard Bernard Hartmann legally changed his name to Lenny Hart by the time he signed up for the draft in 1940, while Mickey’s given name continues to appear in trademark documents well into the 21st century. It is said that five-times divorced father of seven Lenny was at one time a champion rudimental drummer. He married one of his wives, 19 year old Leah Sylvia Tessel, on October 23, 1942. Shortly before their son Michael was born on September 11, 1943, Lenny abandoned the family. According to lore, Leah was a drummer herself, and she strongly encouraged her son to take up percussion through school. Leah went through several more marriages beginning in 1946 to Martin Kassover. By 1958, she was going by Leah Berkowitz, and in 1977, she married for a (presumably) final time to Milton Farrow before her passing in 1995.
Michael joined the Air Force around 1961 where he played in the Airmen of Note. While stationed in California, he briefly made contact with his estranged father, and the two stayed in touch. Following his discharge from the Air Force in 1965, Michael went to work in Lenny’s San Carlos store Hart Music, which became Hart Drum City after Mickey began offering workshops. On one occasion, Hart Drum City was visited by Sonny Payne, Count Basie’s legendary drummer. Ever the networker, Mickey would leverage this connection to maximum advantage in August 1967, when Basie’s orchestra was playing a run at the Fillmore. He met Bill Kreutzmann (or is it Bill Kreutzmann met Mickey…?) at one of the Fillmore shows. Through Sonny, Mickey was able to ingratiate himself to Billy, and the three left to check out Big Brother and the Holding Company at the Matrix. Sonny was utterly unimpressed with the show and took off. Mickey and Billy spent the rest of the night getting drunk on Scotch and roaming the streets.
On September 20, 1967, the Dead were playing the Straight Theater on Haight Street. Billy invited Mickey to sit in for the second set, and Mickey Hart instantly became a member of the Grateful Dead. Almost as quickly, Lenny Hart took over as the band’s business manager.
"When I joined the Grateful Dead, I entered a new world entirely foreign to any previous experience - a lot of money floating around - everyone ripping off each other - I just succumbed to the temptation to take my share," Hart told a probation officer.
Camden Courier-Post, Jan 7, 1972
As best as I could find, out of Lenny Hart’s reported five marriages, Leah appears to be his first. After abandoning her in 1943, Lenny remarried before his deployment to the German Front, where he incurred a minor injury. He abandoned his second wife not long after returning to stateside and, in 1948, married again. Bride number three, Renee, was a 17 year old aspiring dancer and actor who performed under the stage name “Gail Adams.”
By this time, Lenny had taken up the real estate game. Operating as a realtor and mortgage broker, Lenny began flipping properties in Brooklyn. In February 1954, he was reporting a record profit of $4 million a year. By September that year, he and “Gail” separated and filed for divorce. At the time, Gail was performing as an extra in the Broadway run of Cole Porter and Abe Burrows’ “Can Can.” She had to leave the cast after he began showing up to harass her at the Shubert Theater. By March 1955, Lenny had a warrant out for his arrest after getting three months behind on child support. Although he was registered as CEO of eight different corporations at the time, he claimed his income only amounted to $96 a week.
In April 1957, Lenny Hart set up the Crest Investment Company in Van Nuys along with the American Loan Company in San Bernardino. In December 1960, he was arrested on nine charges of grand theft along with two counts forgery. He was found guilty of operating a deed fraud scheme, offering ten percent profit on investments and skipping out with the money when investors tried to withdraw. Hart was able to negotiate a plea bargain and was sentenced to 10 year probation in April 1962.
Towards the end of 1969, Jerry recorded several tracks of solo guitar to be included in Michelangelo Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point. He and Lenny travelled to L.A. together to record on the MGM sound stage. Jerry was to be paid $11,000 for his work along with the use of some excerpts from the Live Dead version of “Dark Star.” Zabriskie Point was released in February 1970, and Jerry and Carolyn “Mountain Girl” Adams had just given birth to their first daughter Annabelle. Jerry Garcia had endured an upbringing marked by hardship and trauma and adopted a near monasterial devotion to the pursuit of musical development. While he hadn’t experienced anything quite like overnight success, his serious commitment to his craft had elevated him among his peers. And at 27, Jerry was going to be able to buy his first house with the money he was expecting for his work on Zabriskie Point.
[Gail Hellund:] I saw the check from Warner Bros. — “Jerome J. Garcia” — put it on Lenny’s desk, and called Mountain Girl. She says, “Oh my god! I’ll be right up!”
She comes up, and “Where is it?” “It’s on Lenny’s desk.” She goes in, and Lenny says, “There’s no check here for you.”
She goes, “What the fuck? Yes there is. I know it’s here.”
He says, “No.”
She comes into my office and says, “What’s going on?”
I said, “I guarantee you, that was the check. I didn’t open it, but… Let’s call Warner Bros.”
I called Warner Bros. They said, “Yep, we mailed it two days ago.”
She goes back in and starts storming at Lenny. Lenny says, “That was something else. You’re wrong about that.”
She calls Jerry, and the word gets out. Pretty soon, every single member of the band is in my office, and Mountain and I are telling the story. Mickey is standing there. It’s a little rough…
Mickey is freaking out. He doesn’t say a word, and people are asking. “Did you know this? Did you know he was like this?” Mickey was just numb.
This Is All a Dream We Dreamed: An Oral History of the Grateful Dead by Blair Jackson and David Gans
Lenny Hart disappeared in March 1970 along with an estimated $155,000 of the band’s money. He was arrested in San Diego on July 26, 1971 after private detectives hired by the group tracked him down. By then, “Reverend” Lenny Hart was offering baptisms under the auspices of the Assembly of God church, who for their part denied any affiliation whatsoever.
Meanwhile, the Grateful Dead forged ahead, touring heavily throughout 1970 largely out of necessity to recoup their losses. In February 1971, the band began a 6 night engagement at the Capitol Theater in Port Chester. Mickey only made it through one show.
But Mickey was in bad shape during that run…he had been getting into dark drugs…this was before Jerry and I had gotten into heroin…thank God it didn’t kill Mickey Hart. But it did get him bumped from the band…he was getting really spacey and just getting so far out there that he wasn’t able to deliver the music. It became impossible for me to play with him.
Bill Kreutzmann, Deal p. 152
It fell on Billy to break the news to Mickey, who retreated to a disused parcel of land he was able to rent from the city of Novato for $250 a month and use as a hobby ranch. He soon began building a commercial-grade recording studio in the barn. With little residual income from his time in the Dead, Mickey’s source of funding for top-of-the-line audio gear remains a mystery. (Unrelated, out of the $155,000 believed to have been embezzled, less than half was recovered…) At any rate, Mickey remained in the Dead’s orbit by offering up the use of Mickey’s Barn for less formal projects. Mickey also produced a solo album, Rolling Thunder, with Jerry and Phil backing him.
Meanwhile, following his arrest in 1971, Lenny Hart was sentenced to probation. He continued to outwardly identify as a man of faith while working with school music programs in the area. Lenny began promoting an instructional program called “Music in Motion,” and published the first volume in 1973.
Since returning to Marin, [Lenny] Hart has lived in a "religious commune" in Novato and has done volunteer work in the Mill Valley School district's music program.
Camden Courier-Post, Jan 7, 1972
Winterland Ballroom, Sunday, October 20, 1974
Mickey didn’t know the new material and we hadn’t rehearsed or played with him in years, so I didn’t think it could possibly be any good - and it wasn’t, that night. Personally, I was insulted that everyone else backstage rallied behind Mickey. The whole situation became really uncomfortable for me. And that was the last Grateful Dead show before the hiatus.
Bill Kreutzmann, Deal p. 196
Tellingly, this performance was so unusable that, despite the significance of the reunion, only the encore of “Johnny Be Goode” would make it into the Grateful Dead Movie. Aside from Mickey’s unfamiliarity with newer songs, he even struggles to lock into any kind of groove on “The Other One,” a jam he’d been instrumental in developing. Billy’s frustration with the situation becomes audible at points. Regardless, once again, Mickey Hart had sat in on the second set and instantly became a member of the Grateful Dead.