Always late for the bus, that’s us. But hey, we made it to the season’s lucky 13th episode! The Dead sure were lucky to snag Brent Mydland after Keith peaced out of the band then this realm of existence. Casey, Eduardo, and Kevin all agree that Brent’s gifts are many, but we’re not so sure we wouldn’t return his two (!!!) compositions on Go to Heaven for store credit. But all conflict, internal or external, melts away in the rainbow light of the Dead. Or maybe it’s just the gummies talking. One more synchronicity: we put this episode to bed on the anniversary of Brent’s death on July 26, 1990. RIP, dear one.

Ever tried to scrape cocaine out of a shag carpet? We haven’t personally, but if we ever found ourselves making the attempt, there’s a decent chance Ever tried to scrape cocaine out of a shag carpet? We haven’t personally, but if we ever found ourselves making the attempt, there’s a decent chance Shakedown Street would be on the Hi-Fi. In this episode, the gang examines one of the least beloved long-players in the Grateful Dead’s catalog. How an album at least partially produced by the legendary Lowell George of Little Feat ended up one of the Dead's least-beloved studio releases is an enduring enigma. We don't attempt to solve it so much as explore the realities it represents. With plenty of opinions, obviously. We welcome yours: info@deadtomepod.com

Featuring a tribute to Monique Ford, “A Beach Called Monique”:
https://deadtomepod.bandcamp.com/track/a-beach-called-monique

Dead to Me Bandcamp:
https://deadtomepod.bandcamp.com/

Was the Dead’s hiatus shorter than ours? What even is time anymore? We figure a global pandemic is almost as good an excuse as trying to finish The Grateful Dead Movie. Thanks for your patience as we hit pause and hunkered down—it’s great to be back! Spring seems like the perfect time to appreciate the progressive confection known as Terrapin Station as we collectively unclench. Up front, Casey offers his mea culpas to the Great Lost Year of 2020, then the gang talks turtles with Rusty Sutton—a manager and head of marketing at The Glow Management, repping acts like Wye Oak, Sylvan Esso and more. All that plus a track-length version of the Dead to Me theme, available now at our Bandcamp page. Happy Spring!

Freshly back from hiatus, the Grateful Dead delivered the potent yet polarizing Blues for Allah in September 1975. Containing soon-to-be set staples like “Help on the Way,” Slipknot,” Frankin’s Tower,” “Crazy Fingers,” and “The Music Never Stopped,” Blues for Allah has all the hallmarks of a classic Dead record. Still, it’s hard to make the case that these versions are definitive, especially with so many incredible live takes yet to come. In some ways, Blues for Allah is like software in beta—absolutely necessary to future iterations, but still a little buggy. That doesn’t mean it’s not worth revisiting or checking out for the first time. Stately, intoxicating, and occasionally impenetrable, this is a record that demands your full attention. And that’s exactly what we give it.

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In this episode, the Dead to Me crew check into the Mars Hotel, where rooms are cheap and the vibe is high. In March 1974, the Grateful Dead unleashed their fabled Wall of Sound live audio system at the Cow Palace in San Francisco—a few weeks later they holed up in CBS Studios on Folsom Street to lay down tracks for their second album on their very own Grateful Dead Records. From the Mars Hotel showcases a well-oiled band with a handsome assortment of tunes that run the gamut from psychedelicized ballads to raunchy rockers, with experimental flourishes courtesy of computer scientist and synthesizer enthusiast Ned Lagin. The last studio album before a year-long hiatus, Mars offers such Dead staples as “Scarlet Begonias” and “U.S. Blues,” along with a pair of delightfully obtuse Phil Lesh compositions, “Unbroken Chain” and “Pride of Cucamonga”—both featuring lyrics by Phil’s buddy Bobby Petersen. We consider how these songs fit into the Dead’s songbook and ponder the captivating and confounding aspects of a record that stands among the finest in the band’s catalog. 

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It’s hard to believe, but we’re finally back from set break. For our first number, we’ll talk to Dan Horne of Circles Around the Sun and Grateful Shred. Mark your calendar to catch both bands at the Skull and Roses festival, which takes place in Ventura County, California on April 2-5. Dan tells us how he stays chill and musically on-point, and what it means to move on with the Circles project after Neal Casal’s passing. Later in the show, Casey, Eduardo, and Kevin tackle Wake of the Flood—the first release on Grateful Dead Records, which arrived in October 1973. Spoiler alert: We like it! But you know there’s always more to it than that…

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A ChunkyGlasses Production

If we spell out what the Grateful Dead actually wanted to call their 1971 live album, we’d end up in Facebook jail, so let’s just refer to it as Skull & Roses. A funky little nugget by any name, it’s a snapshot of a band with evolving aspirations and an expanding songbook. We also dig out our passports for Europe ‘72—a release that deserves every ounce of hyperbole it gets (and there’s plenty of it to go around in this episode). In addition to highlighting some of our favorite songs from a record with no shortage of sensational performances, we investigate eternal mysteries such as how the Dead got their beleaguered label to send forty-three freaks and their equipment on a musical field trip across the Atlantic. We also celebrate the late, great Robert Hunter, whose contributions to the Dead are a big reason this show even exists. No Boomer jokes, but we do have Mailbag! And don’t fret: we’ll return with regularly scheduled episodes shortly.

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For this special set break episode, Jonathan Hart of Brokedown Podcast pops by to talk about three Dead-adjacent albums that helped shape the band’s creative evolution. Originally conceived as solo efforts, Jerry Garcia’s Garcia, Bob Weir’s Ace, and Mickey Hart’s Rolling Thunder each brought something special to the Deadiverse, including songs that would become staples of live sets for years to come. Jerry’s album gave us “Deal,” “Bird Song,” “Sugaree,” “Loser,” “To Lay Me Down,” and “The Wheel.” Ace delivered “Greatest Story Ever Told,” “Black-Throated Wind,” “Looks Like Rain,” “Mexicali Blues,” “One More Saturday Night,” “Cassidy,” and the ultimate jam warhorse, “Playing in the Band.” And speaking of “Playing,” Mickey’s Rolling Thunder also features an embryonic version of the tune, then known as “The Main Ten.” So why did the band choose to reveal studio versions of these classic numbers on non-Dead releases? Jonathan and Casey talk about the possible reasons while offering insights on several key cuts. It’s an Osiris Network crossover for the ages!

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This episode is dedicated to Neal Casal.

We honor the dead by living. Sometimes that’s not an easy thing to do. That’s why we’re grateful to have friends and music to get us through—it reaffirms our connection to what’s essential. American Beauty was written and recorded at a time when members of the Dead were bidding fare thee well to loved ones, and they channeled their grief on exquisitely sparse songs of heartbreak, hope, and resilience. From the high and lonesome to the rockin’ and rapturous, this record heralds the arrival of the Grateful Dead as songwriters who understood how to get their music across in the studio. This is a deeply human record that celebrates the joys and sorrows of being—there’s grace and grit in equal measures, with four-part harmonies to boot. You can put on at a backyard BBQ or become utterly enveloped in headphones. And crucially, American Beauty is good medicine. That’s something we all need from time to time.

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The Grateful Dead had a topsy-turvy 1969, the year the countercultural underground became a global youth phenomenon. There was the bum set at Woodstock. There was the nightmare of Altamont. And there was major financial stress, with large sums owed to Warner Brothers. Making matters worse, Mickey Hart’s father, Lenny—who the Dead brought on to manage their money—made off with all their cash, ultimately leading to Mickey’s self-imposed exile from the band. After two experimental albums and profound lysergic enmeshment, by 1970, the Dead were due for a refocus. Workingman’s Dead is the result of the blossoming songwriting partnership of Robert Hunter and Jerry Garcia, which produced timeless tunes of ragged glory. Newfound attention was paid to the group’s vocal blend, in part inspired by the Boys’ friendship with Crosby, Stills and Nash. All of this came together in a collection of songs that helped shape what we now call Americana music. But as with all things Dead, words cannot capture the true essence, although it’s always fun to try. So hitch your ride and pull up a seat in the cosmic country saloon that is Workingman’s Dead.

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“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” Juliet said to her Romeo. Although there may be sweeter slices of psychedelic pop than Aoxomoxoa out there, none of them are by the Grateful Dead. And that’s what makes this record special—it captures the sound of a young band coming into their own as songwriters while furthering their freak agenda. In this episode, Casey, Eduardo, and Kevin delve into the Dead’s final album of the original acid era. Aoxomoxoa captures the band at a creative crossroads: up to this point, they traded in mind-melting instrumental freakouts, malformed blues, and the occasional baroque hallucination. Now, with Robert Hunter as their in-house lyricist and a newfound compositional confidence, the Dead were positioned to blow even more of Warner Brothers’ money on a triptastic album that contains several Dead warhorses. The band is nearly ready to burst out of lysergic chrysalis as a kind of cowboy Mothra. But until they do, let’s admire the unusual but captivating cocoon known as Aoxomoxoa.

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What is the sound of thick air? This question is the koan at the chewy center of Anthem of the Sun, a sprawling psychedelic clusterf*ck originally released in July of 1968. According to legend, a young Bob Weir asked producer David Hassinger for this mysterious sound, which led to him quitting the project. Four studios and a mountain of spliced live reels later, and the Grateful Dead had their album. Well, a version of it, anyway. The band would go back and remix the record in 1972, in an attempt to make it more relatable to newer fans turned on to the then-recent Workingman’s Dead and American Beauty. But once you’ve “mixed it for the hallucinations,” it’s hard to get them out. Regardless of the edition, Anthem remains one of the Dead’s trippiest studio efforts—an awkward, insistent, and often thrilling record that sees the band at the peak of their lysergic powers. Or perhaps peak confusion. In this episode, we’ll consider the merits of Anthem of the Sun with a nod to the band’s rapid evolution. So climb on board as Captain Trips sets the controls for the heart of the Sun.

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For Season Two of Dead To Me, we’re taking a deep dive into the Grateful Dead’s studio albums. Or more specifically, we’re considering the original published sources of classic Dead repertoire. This distinction is important because not all of those tunes saw their initial appearance on official Dead records. Some, in fact, arrived on individual band members’ solo releases (which tended to feature contributions from many—if not all—core personnel). In addition to staples like American Beauty, Terrapin Station, From the Mars Hotel, Workingman’s Dead, and Anthem of the Sun, we’ll also cover Jerry's debut, Garcia, Bob Weir’s Ace, and Mickey Hart’s Rolling Thunder, along with—gasp!—official live releases that “substituted” for studio recordings (Skull and Roses, for example). We’re excited to explore the history and cultural context of these crucial audio artifacts. But most of all, we're psyched to riff on the music itself. Let’s start at the beginning with San Francisco’s Grateful Dead—a scruffy slice of pop-r&b with unmistakably psychedelic overtones that landed in March of 1967. Press play and get this trip underway!

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