Dylan and Lesh vs. Pop - A Review

By James Brennan

I personally feel that there are a lot of people my age (21-25) out there who have no real clue where the roots of the music that they listen to today lie. Yeah, everybody has a Led Zeppelin CD or two, but does that really constitute a working knowledge? Early in July, two people that have definitely been movers and shakers in the influence department for quite some time treated me to a concert: Bob Dylan and Phil Lesh. I'm willing to bet that at least 1/3 of the people out there in reality land don't know who Phil is. What a shame, but I'll tell those unfortunate few in a second.

About sixty-one weeks ago (four hundred and twenty-seven days ago, or spring '99), I saw Mr. Dylan at the SIU Carbondale arena, much to my demise. The only reason I say demise is because I've run a sound-system or two in my time, and it sounded like absolute "fertilizer" that night. I'm not saying that Bob didn't put on a good show ("I Know You Rider" as an encore, come on!), but the acoustics in that building are tantamount to evil. That's not the point, however. What I'm trying to say is that Dylan broke that stigmata that has followed him for quite some time: a general inability to understand the phonetics of the songs being sung (the words cannot be heard). That warrants an ovation as far as I'm concerned.

Even though he didn't play the ONE song that I wished and prayed and begged and even tried to convince myself that it was inevitable that its presence would be certain (Maggie's Farm), the show was very well put together. An almost eclectic mix of old and new collated into a blissful soundscape, causing the not nearly large enough crowd into bits of foot-looseness and even some fancy freedoms. I personally think that Tangled Up in Blue was the highlight of his set, but everybody has their favorites, and with an icon such as Dylan, one song can't be fairly held above another; they all have their merit.

Now, I must interject with a slight "political" rant here. For those who don't know, Phil Lesh used to play bass for the Grateful Dead (one of the most diverse and influential bands as far as I am concerned) before Jerry died and the subsequent dissolving of the band occurred. And in case you don't know, Dead shows were infamous for their parking lot scene (selling and bartering of goods ranging from "fatty" grilled cheese sandwiches and veggie burritos to tie-dyed shirts and bootleg concert cassettes). This was not allowed at this show, and the mere act would bring hefty fines beyond the means of the average touring hippie. Loitering, the mere act of waiting by your car for some buddies from another part of the state, was worth $100 if you were "caught". No fun at this beach.

Anyway, Phil took the stage after a brief interlude. When I say, "took the stage," I mean just that. Playing with members of Little Feat (If you like the blues and don't own anything by these guys, I suggest you get to your local CD purveyor and get your paws on something authored by them.), Phil brought back a bit of that nostalgic feeling to those who have witnessed the sheer magic of a Dead show. As far as I recall, he stepped on stage about eight PM, and the music never stopped until that horrible curfew that Maryland Heights has imposed.

Though I heard some people gripe that all he did was play a bunch of old Grateful Dead tunes, I must stand my ground and ask, "What is your problem?" Lesh took a bunch of Dead songs and reinvented them for the audience in a way that had never really been heard before. Unfortunately, the bass player is the most often looked-over member of most bands (Les Claypool of Primus and Flecktone member Victor Wooten are the exceptions to this nearly steadfast rule), but that does not mean, by a long shot, that this person is untalented.

With the "leash" off, Phil was allowed to roam some of the darker corners of the Dead discography. Add the fact that the handsomely ambrosial Pink Floyd tune, "Wish You were Here" was executed with an almost gossamer and dazzling ability, and the equation for an absolutely frivolous time has already been worked out. What's really funny about the whole thing, though, is that the corner he explored in St. Louis was one that the Dead were known for: Dark Star. The way in which it was approached, though, was unique in its entirety, and made a good number of us at the show feel like maybe we had come home, but just for a minute. If I were to make an understatement about this show, it would be that Phil has a whole different idea about how these songs should be played. According to what I saw, he thinks that the rhythm section (i.e. bass and drums) control the whole shebang; the rest are just in tow of what is puissant. I just wish Mickey Hart had had the percussion section under his charge.

After all is said and done, this concert has been the highlight of my summer months. Watching two old guys (one who has received a new liver in the last eighteen months) jam out some good old-fashioned rock and roll was beyond what these mere words can say. I won't even go to the bother to waste your time any longer with my explicative colloquy. These guys rock. Go see them before it's too late.