Bob Weir, Weir Here: The Best of Bob Weir (Hybrid Recordings, 2004)
The Grateful Dead, and all its associated myths and characters, live on in the world. I recall never being engaged by the mystique and music they made until it was too late. The recordings I did test were hugely unsatisfying to me, as a lover of clean, melodic song and focused, concise songwriting. I was more entranced by Cole Porter than Jerry Garcia, and however many people told me they were "good for me," I continued to ignore the long jams and celestial musings. Then one day -- and I cannot even begin to understand why -- I developed a taste for something different. I bought a tape (remember tapes?), called What a Long Strange Trip It's Been and played it in the car. Suddenly it made sense to me. I assure you, no chemical substances were involved in this. It just started to make sense. The rambling bass, the twisting guitar parts, the polyrhthymic percussion . . . I even accepted the weak vocals. I started PLAYING some of the songs myself: "Ripple," "Truckin'." People who knew me thought I was losing it. I had used the Dead as an example of what was wrong with music for years, and now I was quoting them, musically and lyrically. It was too late to actually experience the Dead live, I had missed my chance, Garcia was dead . . . and for that I'm grateful. I wouldn't be disappointed. Nor would I be transformed into a Deadhead, have to buy an old VW van and follow them across the country! But I could study the mythology, listen to the endless stream of concert recordings, and begin to appreciate what I'd missed.
Nowadays the Dead have become a series of linked businesses. Mickey Hart writes books about World Music, the Jerry Garcia juggernaut rolls on with books and music (most recently a six disc anthology), Phil Lesh leads The Other Ones (a band which also features second drummer Bill Kreutzman) and rhythm guitarist and second vocalist Bob Weir (an-Other One, too) appears with the band Ratdog. The album before us today is a two-disc set called Weir Here, which seeks to provide a balanced look at Weir's work, both with and without the Dead.
The liner notes provide the following introduction: "Bob Weir's professional creative life has been long -- 39 years and counting -- strange -- (trust me) -- and definitely a trip (ditto). And he's not remotely done yet. What you hold [I'll do the holding for you!] is songs spanning 33 years, from 'Cassidy', which he began working on in the summer of 1970, to Dylan's 'Masters of War', which Ratdog recorded in rehearsal in 2003. Even more important is the strange/trip factor." Hmmm. The notes go on to say that Weir was thought of by many in the Deadhead realm as "Mr. Showbiz of the band, the popmeister . . ." Take it from me, there is nothing on these two discs that remotely resembles "pop"! Okay . . . there may have been a wardrobe malfunction once or twice during the recording and performing of the 27 songs . . . but there's no video, so I can't vouch for it. What is here, most definitively, is proof that the Grateful Dead was not any one player's band! They were a collective, dependent on each other for the sound, the feel, and the creativity for which they were known and loved (or hated).
The discs are labelled studio and live. First, studio:
The first five songs are drawn from Weir's first solo album, on which he was accompanied by the Dead. "Cassidy," "Mexicali Blues," "Looks Like Rain," "Playing in the Band," and "One More Saturday Night" would all be blended into the Dead's setlist over the years, but here they are as originally conceived. The sound is not that different from a band album, maybe a touch on the acoustic side, with Donna Jean Godchaux's harmonies further up in the mix, but the rolling tempos and swirling guitar leads remind you who it is. Weir's lead vocals are thin, but fairly true. The mariachi band on "Mexicali Blues" reminds one of Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire." "Looks Like Rain" features Garcia's pedal steel, and represents the worst of the Dead, for this listener. Long, draggy, aimless songs that never end. But what is it that keeps you listening? Because I didn't push the skip button. Lots of Garcia's guitar makes "Playing in the Band" a highlight.
After the Ace tunes we get a couple from Kingfish. Kingfish was a band put together by Weir and bass playing buddy Dave Torbert, which featured Matthew Kelly, Robby Hoddinott and Chris Herold. "Lazy Lightnin'" is a jazzy mid-tempo song with weird harmonies, and "Supplication" is mostly an instrumental workout with a rap. "Feel Like a Stranger" is pulled from the Dead's Go to Heaven album. It uses a solid bass riff over metronomic drums and lacework guitars, a synth and a couple of time changes to "get on with the show."
Three tracks from the 1978 Weir solo album Heaven Help the Fool follow. Here Weir used some of the standard session guys to form the band: Waddy Wachtel, David Paich, David Foster, Mike Porcaro and Tom Scott; sort of a Bob Weir and Toto album. But the Little Feat classic "Easy to Slip" is given a creative turn, almost orchestral. Very nice, although very different from Lowell George! In 1981, Weir formed a loose-knit band called Bobby and the Midnights, which featured jazzers Billy Cobham on drums and Alphonso Johnson on bass. "I Want to Fly Away" is the only track included from this conglomeration! As you might expect, it's a bit tougher, strong on the bottom end, and uses more time changes than even the Dead! Is that reggae? No, it's fusion! Wait a minute . . . it's Bobby & the Midnights! Weird. WEIR-D!
Bassist Rob Wasserman released his album Trios in 1994. On it, he played in trio formations, with the personnel changing on each track. (Trios is a fantastic album in its entirety, and highly recommended!) Weir played on one track. "Easy Answers" is a raw rocker, with Wasserman's amazing bass, tougher than usual vocals from Weir and guitar by Neil Young. Whew!
Next up are two tracks from Ratdog's first album, Evening Moods. Released in 2000, it showed there was life after Jerry. Wasserman was part of the band for this album, and his superlative bass playing anchors the music. Guest Eric Crystal's tenor sax soars over the long structured jam that is "Two Djinn," and Mark Karan's lead guitar provides haunting references to Garcia on "Ashes and Glass." Weir seems more confident in his role as leader. The studio disc concludes with a track from Dan Zanes' childrens album, House Party. A rollicking rendition of the old staple "Wabash Cannonball" ends the disc on a high note!
Live is a disc of mostly Grateful Dead selections. As if the Dead don't have enough live albums . . . here's another one. "Truckin'" appears from 1971. Weir calls this " . . . a fuckin' tongue twister. It's diabolical. It's also one of the songs that's evolved the least since we started doin' it. Which means we probably wrote it right." It's a classic, and the version here is almost definitive. Raw, rockin', relaxed with some sizzling leads. Almost ten minutes. Diabolical is right.
"Estimated Prophet" is next, taken from a concert in my home town. I remember the day they came. A circus had been in town the week before, and had gone belly up, the performers leaving town and abandoning their tents and trailers. The parking lot became a slice of San Francisco for almost two weeks. Marching teddy bears. Trucking decals. The sweet smell of excess filled the downtown. Tie dye. Long hair. The concert took place, and then the parade marched on. We spent a fortnight in the 60s, and then we were back to the 90s. "Estimated Prophet" is described as a reggae song, but not really. That's as good a description as any! "Hell in a Bucket" is from Meadowlands, '89. It's a rocking steamroller of a song. Kris Kristofferson's "Me & Bobby McGee" comes from New York City, 1972. Weir recalls working the song out with Janis Joplin after learning it from a journalist on the Festival Express. Sure enough, the "la-di-da" part is here! Six of the tracks on live are previously unreleased. Five are Dead tracks, and one is the concluding song.
The album finally comes to an end with a Ratdog rehearsal tape of Bob Dylan's "Masters of War." The lyrics come from 1962, but they seem strangely appropriate over forty years later.
Come you masters of war
You that build all the guns
You that build the death planes
You that build the big bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks
You that never done nothin'
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it's your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly
Weir recites the lyrics over an aggressive rhythm section, swirling organ, saxophone, heavy bass and drums. Potent stuff. And then . . . you can start over again. Weir Here is a superb collection of songs, drawn from a long career in someone else's shadow. If there's justice in the world, the light should begin to shine on Bob Weir.
Bob Weir's Ratdog Web site is here.
