One Man Gathers…
Furthur @ Madison Square Gardens
11.10.2011

The tie-dyed lights of the Empire State Building towered over the Midtown crowd of finger out-stretched devotees and travelers interspersed with undercover hippies, paddy wagons and New York’s Finest, indicating that something just like a Grateful Dead show was happening at Madison Square Garden this particular Thursday night.

This year that something is called Furthur. Bob Weir and Phil Lesh’s latest kick at the can has been touring for more than 24 months and has played more than 150 shows in that span. John Kadlecik (late of Dark Star Orchestra) takes the helm as the lead guitarist (not-so derisively known as Fake Jerry to some) and the band is rounded out by the exceptional keyboardist Jeff Chimenti and Octopus rhythm machine, New York’s own, Joe Russo (Benevento/Russo Duo).  Inside the same walls that housed fundamental runs in Grateful Dead lore, including an emotional Fall 1990 stand that many believe was a late high-water mark for the band, expectations were high.

Sugar Magnolia kicked things off and set the tone for an expected light-hearted romp through the songbook. While the opening strains were muddied, the sound goblins picked it up early and by the time we were ringing that bluebell everything was crisp. The positive vibrations continued as Phil steered the train through that archetypical Scarlet Begonias bass line. Here, Kadlecik took over vocals and delivered the words, in unison with the crowd, with confidence. The band was tight, too tight perhaps, as they ran through the familiar anthem with minimal diversions. The cheerful sing-along vibe continued through Bobby’s take on Ramble on Rose. The much anticipated, “Just like New York City” line was flubbed, but isn’t that part of the charm?

The first couple of Levon Helm’s Midnight Rambles Larry Campbell and Teresa Williams were then introduced, continuing a tradition of MSG guests that includes Mick Taylor, David Murray and Warren Haynes.

The pair added a welcomed bit of country honk to Tennessee Jed and Uncle John’s Band with Williams’ genuine twang and Campbell’s violin. After the guests’ exit, the band veered into Eyes of the World with Chimenti grabbing the spotlight, always playing within the rhythm’s parameters, adding flourish on his grand piano in measured servings. They did it right, allowing the song room to breathe life into the crowd who were by then counting their good fortune that all things Grateful Dead didn’t end in the Summer of 1995. The groove subsided more or less into the melancholy of So Many Roads. A searching ballad that felt a bit crow-barred into the set. The end of the beginning was Box of Rain. Some of the more literal amongst us wondered if the overcast skies outside had finally opened up, while most just enjoyed Hunter’s evocative words sung in that idiosyncratic drone.

While setlist junkies might surmise that the first set was actually “very second set”, with a long Eyes and Uncle John’s not to mention a Scarlet Begonias, the first chords of the Shakedown Street second set opener reminded all that the tried and true structure of a Dead show still has gravity. Simply put, the second set is for jamming.  The groove was in place as the band began to live up to their nom de plume and take songs to places they haven’t yet been. Veering into uncharted territory, there was nothing in the extended Shakedown Jam that sounded anything remotely like “a Grateful Dead cover band,” the most scathing epitaph hurled at any new iteration of the band.

With Phil calling the shots, everyone got their licks in; Bobby piercing with jagged a-symmetrical rhythms while Kadlecik plied his trade inside the always becoming soundscape. The rhythmic framework firmly established by Lesh and Russo gave the others sturdy footing upon which to two-step.  Things were getting heavy by the time Bobby summoned Cowboy Neal and plowed The Other One’s post-psychedelic ground only to uncover that more-than-a-song St. Stephen.

After a complete stop came Unbroken Chain. A lovely piece that, made all the better by a finely structured jam smack dab in the middle, bled into The Wheel. Another soft-anthem that brings the listener face-to-face with the Dead’s core appeal, Hunter’s poetically furnished fatalism – if the thunder don’t get you, the lightening will – welded to an uplifting swirl of musical invention.

The crowd now at full boil was then left to simmer by Weir’s take on the second late period Hunter/Garcia ballad of the evening, The Days Between. While the band did its best to aurally match the dark intensity of the lyrics, Weir’s delivery lacked and the once engaged crowd devolved into chattiness. Sensing the need for a shot of adrenaline, Williams was soon back on stage leading the blues standard Keep Your Lamps Trimmed and Burning. While sufficiently raucous, the diversion from the canon did perplex. Safe familiarity returned with Fire on the Mountain, as if closing the Scarlet loop from the first set, followed by a Sunshine Daydream that was, let’s face it, a sweetly inevitable conclusion. The Attics of My Life encore was soulful and reverential, greatly assisted by the duo of backup singers along with Campbell and Williams.

The lights broke the spell. The crowd slowly remembered that they were, in fact, in the middle of a basketball arena. Elated and rejuvenated nonetheless, everyone melted back into the night. Of course, no show can be perfect. Any performance worth a damn has moments of confusion and just plain weirdness. It has never been about absolute perfection; it’s always been and still remains a work in progress, just like us.