Echos from the Aud

Auctioning off the Aud

Fast blog for thought . . .

     Is it just me or does the plan to auction off the savageable Aud seats qualify as an affront to local sports fans? I get where Mayor Brown's going with this. The idea's to raise as much money as possible for a city that needs every penny.

      But taxpayers purchased those seats in the first place and it's only fair they have the chance to buy memories at an acceptable price. Put those seats up for auction and the Average Joe will be blown out of the market by corporate buys and, more extensively, memorabilia dealers sure to raise the price on the resale market.

     Yes, the city needs the money? But should it trample Buffalo sports fans in the pursuit? Put on set price on those babies and give first purchase rights to those residing in WNY.

-- Bob DiCesare

Memorial Auditorium: Our intimate cavern

In the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s, the yardstick for stardom for your favorite bands was when they graduated from the clubs and small concert halls and came to play Memorial Auditorium.

Packed for a full-fledged sell-out, the place could hold 17,000, give or take a few, but compared with other arenas, it seemed surprisingly intimate, perhaps because the floor area was relatively small for a National Hockey League ice rink and the tiers of seats rose so steeply.

As a venue for listening, it was a challenge. Rarely could sound crews find a proper balance -- a notable exception was Neil Diamond's Hot Summer Night show in 1977, which made the place as clear a symphony hall. More often than not, listeners relied on their familiarity with the songs to fill in the voices and instruments that were muddied in the mix. But as a stage for spectacle in the days before giant video screens, it worked just fine. And frequently the crowd was half the show.

We must confess that The News did not pay much attention to concerts in the Aud before 1973, coincidentally the same year that the newsroom moved from Main and Seneca streets to Washington and Scott, just a short block away from the Aud's Main Street entrances.

There was no review of the Jimi Hendrix date in 1968, and rock concert writeups did not become a regular feature in the paper until the early 1970s. Unaccountably, we missed the fabled Led Zeppelin show of June 1972. Word on the street about that one was so strong that we made a point of covering their equally memorable return visit the following year. A News reviewer was there for virtually every concert after that.

In retrospect, the reviews pretty much speak for themselves and still are remarkably vibrant. Here are a few footnotes:


Alice Cooper 1973. Alice on New Year's Eve, complete with his gallows and rubber rats. The description in my review was so gruesome that the editors wouldn't print it.

Pink Floyd 1973. The Floyd in full spectacle occasionally was upstaged by the crowd. People still talk about the guy who took the header from the orange seats at the top of the arena to the floor below.

The Who 1975. I got a backstage pass to talk to opening act Toots & the Maytals, who were completely uncommunicative until the ganja came out.

Rolling Stones 1975. An event that just plain dominated all the news and all the talk in the city that week. The Stones liked Buffalo so much that year they came back at the end of the tour and played an extra date in what was then Rich Stadium.

Fleetwood Mac 1977. A milestone. A two-night show in the Aud was unheard of before this.

Boston 1977. First time they come to town, they play the Aud. These days it's remarkable to realize once again how much a sensation they were at the time.

Bruce Springsteen 1980. I don't know if any Springsteen show can top the Born to Run concert in 1975, but this came close. Notice how many songs and observations are echoed in the 1984 show.

The Who 1979. Great apprehension on the night after kids were crushed to death outside a Who show at the arena in Cincinnati. It almost got canceled.

Supertramp 1979. Buffalo was absolutely nuts for Supertramp. The fans here loved this band so much that the promoter immediately scheduled an extra date in the Aud less than three weeks later.

Bob Seger 1980. Seger did Fleetwood Mac one better by selling out three nights over Labor Day weekend.

--- Dale Anderson

Back to Basics: Tested Led Zeppelin ingredients wow Aud crowd

October 1995; reviewed By Dan Herbeck

A VERY good thing happened to Jimmy Page and Robert Plant sometime between last March, when they played a concert in Toronto, and Thursday night, when they played War Memorial Auditorium.

Somehow, the two veteran rock stars came to grips with the fact that they will always be best remembered for the music they made in late 1960s and the 1970s with their legendary band, Led Zeppelin. When Page and Plant took their "No Quarter" tour through Toronto's SkyDome, they almost seemed embarrassed by their old songs. They drastically changed the arrangements and refused to do many of their most popular numbers.

In the Aud Thursday night, it was a different story. With a few exciting new wrinkles, this was Led Zeppelin, all over again.

No, they still didn't play "Stairway To Heaven." But this time, Page and Plant featured songs like "Heartbreaker," "Whole Lotta Love" and quite a few others from their first four landmark albums. And this time, the duo appeared to be proud of the old songs, not ashamed.

The result was a loud, wild, hard-rocking show that absolutely delighted a sellout audience for two hours and 15 minutes. No exaggeration -- the screaming, foot-stomping, mostly over-30 crowd was one of the most zealous ever seen in these parts.

Even Thurman Thomas, the Buffalo Bills' sourpuss running back, seemed to be having a good time.

Just about every one of the 20 songs the band played was a Zeppelin song. But this was no mere "oldies" show.

While Page's atomic guitar solos and Plant's soaring voice are still the focal points, this concert was something really different. It had to be the first time any rockers played Buffalo backed by an eight-piece Egyptian band, a 20-piece symphony orchestra and a guy wailing away on an 11th century British instrument called the hurdy-gurdy.

Sometimes, as many as 34 musicians were on the stage. It may sound cumbersome, but it worked. The strings gave a bittersweet backdrop to the great blues number, "Since I've Been Loving You," and on the powerful finale, "Kashmir," the wall of sound was downright stunning.

Without the big backup group, the band sparkled on a blistering version of "Dancing Days," with Page's stinging guitar work leading the charge. Plant's high-pitched voice grates the nerves at times, but he is amazing in his way. Even when he wails like a cat in heat, his voice never seems to break.

The sound quality was excellent -- in fact, my ears are still ringing. And the overhead video screens were a nice accommodation to those in the (relatively) cheap seats.

Give Page and Plant credit. They may be rock dinosaurs, but they are not playing it safe on this tour.
The folks who plunked down their $38 for a ticket seemed more than happy with the result.

Opening the show were the Badlees, an impressive five-piece band from Selinsgrove, Pa. Lead by the strong vocals of Pete Palladino, they sound a bit like Hootie with a different, harder-rocking set of blowfish.

The Badlees are big on power chords, but they occasionally put a different spin on their sound with mandolin and harmonica accompaniment.

With Bono Playing in Pain, U2 Soars

October 1987; reviewed by Dale Anderson

This was the final straw. A fellow in his early 20s leaped onto the stage during the encore in Memorial Auditorium Wednesday night, ran up to Bono, the singer with the Irish group U2, and tried to grab him by the shoulders.

“Don’t touch my (bleep) arm, buddy,” Bono suddenly shouted in the moment before the security staff hustled the guy out. Bono had his left arm wrapped in a sling, having separated his shoulder when he fell on stage at the beginning of this new North American tour a couple of weeks ago. For the second half of the show, he’d been holding it with his good arm. The man was obviously in pain.

Nevertheless, he recovered his graciousness in an instant. “Excuse the bad language, ladies,” he said. “This has been a tough night.”

How tough was it? It was the kind of night when the Biggest Band in the World Right Now had to stop for a few minutes halfway through a sold-out arena show to sort out a nagging microphone problem. And then Bono’s voice started to fail. When he wasn’t holding his sore left arm, he was holding his throat.

Despite all that, U2 delivered a performance powerful enough to keep the entire crowd of 17,000-plus on its feet from start to finish. The band’s entrance was particularly dramatic, sweeping up the audience with the galloping rhythm of “Where the Streets Have No Name,” the invitational song that opens its breakthrough album, “The Joshua Tree.”

They were a study in black and gray on an almost empty black and gray stage that angled up to risers on three sides. Bono had a black jacket thrown over his shoulders.

The guitarist, the Edge, wore a gray shirt and his characteristic black hat. Bassist Adam Clayton was in black leather. Drummer Larry Mullen began the night in a black shirt.

A measure of their new musical potency could be found in the second number, “I Will Follow,” which comes from their 1980 debut album. The Edge sketched it out with ringing rhythm chords, then Clayton and Mullen nailed the beat hard. No longer an innocent-sounding promise, it had become a passionate pledge.

The 100-minute set included most of the songs from “The Joshua Tree,” as well as such vintage winners as “Sunday Bloody Sunday” (during which an Irish flag was thrown on stage), “New Year’s Day,” the title track from their previous LP, “The Unforgettable Fire,” and their tribute to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., “Pride (in the Name of Love).”

While Bono was having a tough night, the Edge was having a very good one, hitting his high mark in the Hendrix-like distortions of “Bullet the Blue Sky.” He was a master of textures throughout, making his guitar ring with harmonics, race with rhythm riffs and resonate with modal shifts.

Meanwhile, Bono discovered the Buffalo audience was a good singalong partner, particularly on the newer songs. At the end of the evening, when his voice could no longer reach the high notes, he even turned the verses of “With or Without You” over to the crowd. In the end, he exited as they sang, “How long/Will I sing this song,” with uncommon strength. Some of them kept singing it all the way out to the parking lots.

Included in the set were a couple of surprises – a lightly practiced acoustic version of a folk song, “The Springhill Mining Disaster” (“OK if we rehearse in public here?” Bono inquired after waving off an attempt to join in by Clayton and Mullen), and a particularly show and serious version of the Beatles’ “Help!”

Bono remarked to an interviewer earlier this year that he always thought it significant that John Lennon wrote so vulnerable a song when the Beatles were at their peak. Buffalo also has significance in Bono’s regard for Lennon. U2, he noted during the show, was playing its first date here in a club the night Lennon was shot to death.

Opening was Little Steven and the Disciples of Soul, a colorful quintet of rock ‘n’ roll gypsies led by guitarist Steve Van Zandt, formerly of Bruce Springsteen’s E Street Band.

Van Zandt managed to do what few rockers are able to succeed at: combine radical politics (Indian rights, Central American policy, South African apartheid) with a dancing beat. By the time he hit his closing “Sun City,” he had the crowd bopping.

“The Boss” Enjoys Working Overtime

Sept. 24, 1984; reviewed By Dale Anderson

A few things about Monday night’s sold-out Bruce Springsteen concert in Memorial Auditorium that tonight’s sell-out crowd ought to know:

· It really lasted until 12:30 a.m. Midnight found the band just starting to come around for the next installment on the encores. “You must be tired,” Springsteen declared after his third postscript. “No-o-o,” the crowd roared. “Well,” he said, “if you think you’re tough enough, then let’s continue.”

· The Boss was in superlative shape, as trim and muscular as if he’d been working construction all summer. He could’ve danced all night. He could’ve sung all night, too. At the end, when the band was vamping for all it was worth, he had so much left that he could scream exuberantly, “I’m just a prisoner of rock ‘n’ roll.”

· That little guy on guitar where Miami Steve Van Zandt used to be was Nils Lofgren. Lofgren’s an illustrious rocker in his own right, a point made more apparent by the easy flash of his soloing and his rubber-legged dancing, not to mention that backward somersault off the trampoline during the introductions.

· No longer was the E Street Band an all-male preserve. Holding forth on harmonies was new backup singer Patti Scialfa, formerly with fellow Jerseyite Southside Johnny. Although she joined the chorus line dancing across the stage in the final numbers, basically she and Springsteen were more platonic than Mondale and Ferraro. It was saxophonist Clarence Clemons who got the hugs and kisses, not Ms. Scialfa.

· Despite the way the editorial columnists and the president have been invoking his name, Springsteen didn’t quite get political, but when he introduced Clemons as “king of the world and master of the universe,” he added: “If there were any justice, he’d be the next president of the United States.”

· There was no chorus of “Happy Birthday” during the 40-minute intermission, though one had been threatened. Instead, there were hand-lettered greetings hanging from the balconies. Springsteen acknowledged turning 35 Sunday by noting, “The older you get, the more old times you got. I just got another year’s worth the other day. Clarence, he’s got more old times than me, but he wears his so well.”

· Audience participation was exactly what’s been reported at previous shows this tour. On familiar numbers, Springsteen simply stopped singing and let the crowd put in the words. He took his customary short walk into the front rows. And, yes, he brought a young woman on stage to boogie with him in “Dancing in the Dark.”

· This was one show where the production didn’t upstage the band. The sound was loud, the instruments well differentiated. For lighting, a grid full of floods and spots sufficed. The stage was a simple tiered affair, with drummer Max Weinberg and keyboardists Roy Bittan and Danny Federici on risers inside a ramp on which Springteen and Lofgren romped to the great delight of the ticketholders in the rear (or, as The Boss called it, ”the back seat.”).

· The first half of the show comprised 15 songs: The anthemic “Born in the U.S.A.,” the exuberant “When I’m Out on the Street,” the pounding “Tenth Avenue Freezeout,” a quartet of tunes from the “Nebraska” album – “Atlantic City,” “Johnny 99,” “State Trooper” and “Mansion on the Hill,” with Lofgren picking guitar like a mandolin. Then from the new album, “I’m Goin’ Down,” “Darlington County” (with Lofgren as a grinning sidekick) and “Glory Days,” followed by a mixed bag of “Promised Land,” My Hometown,” an unfamiliar song called “Trapped,” “Badlands” and “Thunder Road.”

· The second half contained 10 numbers, mostly new ones: “Hungry Heart,” “Dancing in the Dark,” “Cadillac Ranch,” “Downbound Train,” “I’m on Fire,” “Cover Me,” “Pink Cadillac” (preceded by a sermon on sin and the Garden of Eden), “Bobby Jean,” “Racing in the Streets” and “Rosalita.”

· For encores, it was “Jungleland,” “Born to Run” (with a tribute to Elvis Presley: “I guess his music kinda let freedom ring for me.”) and finally a medley of old rockers. No, make that two medleys, one built around “Devil With a Blue Dress On” and the other around “Twist and Shout.”

· The Aud was muggy. Springsteen’s black shirt and red headband were drenched within a few minutes. He’d duck back into the runway and douse his head with water, then return and shake it on his startled sidemen.

· The T-shirts were $12.

· See you there tonight. Like a lot of other fans, I’m going for two.

Springsteen sings hard and strong until well after midnight

December 1980; reviewed By Dale Anderson

Bruce Springsteen wouldn’t quit Thursday night in Memorial Auditorium. He started with “Born to Run,” the kind of rollicking anthem most performers save for the encore, and when the encores came finally – it was well after midnight – he was still going strong.

Then, after a breakneck “Devil With a Blue Dress” medley, just as his E Street Band was ready to retire to the dressing rooms for once and for all, Springsteen suddenly waved them back for another go-around, a Motown-type romantic rouser called “Just Raise Your Hand and I’ll Understand.” He decided to go for it, he said backstage afterwards, because he saw that the crowd still had a little more left in them.

It was a high-spirited sell-out bunch. Though their yells occasionally sounded like booing, what they really were saying was “Bru-u-u-ce!” One young woman waved a street sign for Bruce Street. Another one flashed an even bigger highway marker from suburban Clarence for saxophonist Clarence Clemons.

Ultimately, the throng was probably more exhausted than their hero. It was a long evening – two 90-minute sets with a considerable intermission in between. Both times The Boss had come out rocking, lifted the place to its feet, cooled them back into their seats with thoughtful balladry and finished in a flourish.

Springsteen and the band, having had the previous day off, were in an experimental mood. They threw in a few songs they don’t do very often, like the strong “I Fought the Law” in the first set and “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” to begin the encores. The versions of “Fire” and “Because the Night” made other renditions sound tame. The only flaws were the sound, which was muddy, and that draggy place late in the second set, where several slow numbers culminated in the dark and reflective “Wreck on the Highway.”

Springsteen’s hoarse urgency carried the other quieter moments, the single spotlight shrinking the arena. One felt the anguished passion in “Racing in the Street” and followed its themes as they flowed into the title song from the new album, “The River.”

Springsteen dressed the part of a working class hero. A small, skinny figure with close-cropped hair, black pants, boots and a blue T-shirt, he looked like a construction man without a hard hat, like Valerie Harper’s husband in the “Rhoda” TV series. The rest of the E Street Band dressed like blues brothers without the sunglasses – black suits, white shirts, black ties.

The show delved more deeply into singalongs and talks to the audience than his past performances. Again and again, he turned the microphone outward to catch the crowd singing. They obliged by doing the whole first verse of his new hit single, “Hungry Heart,” without a bit of help. The start of “Independence Day” included a reminiscence about listening to the Drifters on the transistor radio under his pillow late at night when he was a kid. “It was the only thing in my whole life that made me fell life was worth living,” he said, “and my old man used to think it was all noise. Later, I used to feel so bad that he’d missed it, that he couldn’t hear it.”

Since Springsteen had recently hurt his ankle, there were fewer leaps and splits. Instead, he danced, he mugged and he stalked saxophonist Clemons. He climbed atop speaker monitors and piano cabinets, but he slid down. He didn’t jump. He also didn’t boldly plunge into the crowd. He found it sufficient to go only as far as the pit in front of the stage, where he slapped hands and revved up the front rows.

For a couple who passed up the world’s largest song-request card, he put the band through a long intro to “I Want to Marry You” while the guy popped the question to his girlfriend at the edge of the stage. Yes, it was one of those great nights. No wonder The Boss didn’t want it to end.

“Heavyweight” Seger KO’s Buffalo Fans

"A real blast from the past, this one."

1977; reviewed By Dale Anderson

In Detroit, Bob Seger is the heavyweight champion of rock ‘n’ roll, and he came to Memorial Auditorium Friday night to give a demonstration of the moves that knock them out in the Motor City.

Seger started with his best punch, “Rock ‘N’ Roll Never Forgets,” and within seconds the crowd of about 14,000 was delirious. Before they regained their balance, the Silver Bullet Band had counterpunched into “Travelin’ Man” and then “Beautiful Loser.”

The outcome was never in doubt – 90 minutes of the most spirited boogie the Aud has seen all year. Success may have made the Silver Bullet Band slicker (witness Alto Reed’s blue cape), but it hasn’t made them weaker.

The set ran in a kind of seamless succession. The first numbers reflected the ups and downs of Seger’s own musical odyssey – the road-weary “Turn the Page,” the survivor’s wink of “Still the Same,” the reverie of “Down on Main Street” fading into the righteous recall of “Old Time Rock and Roll,” with the two female backup singers giving the chorus an extra kick.

As for Seger, his long hair swung around his shoulders and he smiled a lot. His hands were a lesson in rock-song pantomime. Shedding his coat on his first trip back to play the piano, he did the rest of the show in a vest and a blue Eagles T-shirt.

The band was trim and snappy, with the flamboyant Reed making the most of his wireless horns while guitarist Drew Abbott and keyboardist Robyn Robbins laid down steamy solos.

The final rounds found Seger reaching back to a song he said he used to play here in the old Gilligan’s in 1967 – “Heavy Music,” which segued perfectly into another boisterous oldie, “Katmandu.” He saved a couple hits – “Night Moves” and “Hollywood Nights” – for the encore.

Opening was a Boston quintet called The Cars, which was the very picture of the new bands that are being touted as the stars of the ‘80s. Unfortunately, the group ran through its 40-minute set and encore while thousands were delayed at the doors of the Aud.

The Cars were like Cheap Trick without the slapstick. Lead singer and bassist Ben Orr had the blond good looks of Robin Zander. Leader and guitarist Ric Ocasek embodied the angular weirdness of Rick Nielsen.

Their best numbers – “Best Friend’s Girl” and “You’re All I’ve Got Tonight” – mated a trebly ‘60s beat with high harmonies and catchy choruses. An exception was their radio hit, “Just What I Needed,” where left-handed guitarist Elliot Shapiro gave a stripped-down takeoff on Boston’s Tom Scholz. Not a bad model. The Cars should be good for plenty of mileage.

Eagles Fly High as Audience Crows for More

August 1978' reviewed By Dale Anderson

The Eagles swooped in and out of Memorial Auditorium Friday night with an early-bird concert that saw them fly the coop before 10 p.m. while some 15,000 fans stood and crowed for a third encore.

The county-rock quintet had nudged the starting time ahead an hour – to 7 p.m. – to accommodate the final leg of their migration to Toronto, where they flew immediately after the show to prepare for a Canadian National Exhibition date Saturday.

This 14-city tour is a midsummer break for the band, a chance to loosen their load and take it easy after slaving in the studio over the successor to their hugely popular “Hotel California” album. Wednesday they played Minneapolis. Thursday they played softball.

But there was little laziness in their 90-minute set. This being the eighth stop on the tour, their flourishes were crisp and occasionally elegant, as when they diminished “Dueling Daltons” to a single amplified harmonic.

Their guitar-laden attack and their three- and four-part harmonies on ballads like “Lyin’ Eyes” suggest that the Eagles have, for all intents and purposes, taken the promontory that Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young once occupied.

The mostly mild, melodic manner of the band’s nucleus – guitarists Glenn Frey and Don Felder and drummer Don Henley – found a refreshing counterpoint in Joe Walsh, the fun-loving heavy-metal guitarist who once fronted the James Gang.

Walsh, who has his own successful solo recording career, injected high decibels and crunching rhythms into the proceedings whenever he stepped forward to do one of his hits. It was his first encore, “Rocky Mountain Way,” that whipped up the frenzy for the second one, “Take It Easy.”

The Eagles drew from both their early and latter-day hits. “Hotel California” opened the show, but the album was not heavily represented. It was almost as if they’d left empty slots for new material, though no new songs were introduced.

The early start meant that the college-age crowd was picking its way to its seats throughout the opening set by Jesse Winchester, whose songwriting accomplishments far exceed his public exposure. On this tour, he’s making up for it.

Backed by a quintet, the gently drawling Winchester alternated slow and fast numbers until he struck a familiar concern in “Twigs and Seeds,” provoking howls of delight. He followed it with his best ballad, “Yankee Lady,” and exited to “Rhumba Man” with a funny little dance into the wings.

“Mac” Is Memorable In Two Super Sellouts

July 1978; reviewed By Dale Anderson

“This is a song about a witch.” Stevie Nicks murmured it into the mike, still saying it a year after “Rhiannon” went Number One, talking over the tawny riff of Lindsay Buckingham’s guitar intro.

She was all in flowing black and she stood absolutely still as the music rose into the first verse. She sang it with her arms folded under a pair of sheer black scarves: “Rhiannon rings like a bell thru the night/And wouldn’t you love to love her …”

The stoplight illuminated half her face and most of the frizzy blond abandon of her hair. This song, more than any other, burned the vamp image of Stevie Nicks into the libidos of all the young men in the 14,000-seat double sell-out in Memorial Auditorium Saturday and Sunday nights.

Nicks and Buckingham, who came aboard Fleetwood Mac about 2 years ago, have stepped right to the front of the band. The nucleus of the group, the former Mr. And Mrs. John and Christine McVie and drummer Mick Fleetwood, functioned like backup.

And what great backup. You couldn’t ask for better support. There’s Fleetwood’s brilliant, improbable shuffle, John McVie’s bass pinning it down and Christine providing a cushion for Buckingham with fat organ tones and a breather for Nicks by singing her own tunes, like “Oh Daddy” and “Over My Head.”

In the face of such superlative sobriety, Buckingham and Nicks sometimes seemed excessive. One pictured Nicks as the Theda Bara of rock and roll. And Buckingham matched his neatly honed guitar licks with every facial contortion in the book. By the time the firecracker-dotted double encore came, he was overplaying.

The buzzing allure of Nicks’ voice held up through “Rhiannon,” but she had a narrow escape in “Landslide” as her throat cracked on the last note before the instrumental break.

She got extra cheers for her recovery. Saturday she’d done all right, it was reported, but those on the tour acknowledged she could be a lot stronger. After singing in the first encore of “The Chain,” she watched the second one – Buckingham doing “Second Hand News” and Christine’s “Songbird.”

Kenny Loggins, on his first solo tour since separating from longtime partner Jim Messina, recovered from less than perfect sound Saturday night with a sound check and rehearsal Sunday. Good strategy, since this was his third date playing with Fleetwood Mac, and it paid off.

Loggins the bandleader, in gold velvet drawstring pants and a velvet hooded sweatshirt, luxuriated in the fullness in the punch and fullness of his seven-man aggregation.

His Irish tenor was in fine fettle and he jumped about leading handclapping and singalongs whenever he moved from his new numbers to the old ones he did with Messina, like “House at Pooh Corner,” “Love Song” and “Danny’s Song.” His finale was a powerful “Angry Eyes” and the encore a triumphant “Vahevala.”

Loggins, speaking backstage, indicated that the next year will make him or break him as a solo artist. From the looks of Sunday night’s show, he’s going to make it.

Audience Is Grateful For Return of “Dead”

"Perhaps my favorite aud show memory, but mostly because of the backstage interview I got with Jerry Garcia before the show (it appeared in the debut issue of Gusto 3 weeks later)." ... Dale Anderson
cheers,
dale

May 1977: reviewed By Dale Anderson

The little luminous sticker on Jerry Garcia’s solid-bodied electric guitar says, “The enemy is listening.” It must be Garcia’s strategy, then, to win them over by rocking their socks off.

That’s the little surprise tucked into the current edition of the Grateful Dead, and it took nearly 4 hours for all its rhythmic delights to unfold Monday night in Memorial Auditorium before 9,000 generally ecstatic witnesses.

With former mate Bill Kreutzman having returned to work beside Mickey Hart, there are two drummers now. And what a fine beat they lay down. It’s like instant power. No waiting.

So forget about that old half-hour warm-up period. The band is cooking within minutes under Garcia’s thin tenor and sensual chording as they open the night with “Help Is on the Way” from 1975’s “Blues for Allah.”

The heat of the following number, “Franklin’s Tower (Roll Away the Dew),” raises the possibility that they’ll boil the crowd out too early, but then they settle back to alternate selections from Garcia and guitarist Bob Weir.

Neatly-bearded Weir is the courtly cowboy on stage, sending up gunfighter ballads and ominous Western swing numbers like “Big River.”

Garcia, bushy-haired and graying, responds with energetic runs and spiffy trills, lifting fans to their feet, halting for intermission only after some rousing cosmic explorations in “The Music Never Stops.”

The second half features oldies like Buddy Holly’s “Not Fade Away” and the Rascals’ “Good Lovin’” and such Dead delights as “Bertha,” “Ship of Fools” and, finally, “Sugar Magnolia,” a sunny anthem from the height of their popular success 5 years ago.

Another aging talisman is their encore – the whimsical, Latin-flavored “Uncle John’s Band,” which embodies the innocent flipside of the road wisdom of what the kids are yelling for, the band’s all-time rave, “Truckin’.”

All is not perfect in this lively revised edition of the Dead, however. There’s the tuning problem. Long periods between numbers costs them some of their momentum and makes the crowd restive.

The fans, of course, offer a few surprises of their own. There’s the staggering crazy who nearly starts a brawl in this reviewer’s section. Particularly there’s the blond kid down front exhaling the flaming blast of lighter fluid. After half a dozen blasts, even the band is alarmed.