Here's a few cuts from right after dumb ol' Garcia got somewhat back in good shape for a spell. His fingers worked again, as did the band. They worked hard and thoroughly did their jobs. Bobby Weir sings like a dragon looking for a fight; like a dragon that don't give a damn, but is eager. Doomed Brent Mydland breaks hearts with foreboding known only to him of what was down the Road of The Blues. The eight limbed drummer nails stars to the heavens. Lesh makes it all throb like that big dragon's heart. Not a beat is missed. The mighty Grateful Dead blazed once again, and you can hear all the kids in the The Grateful Dead Show lend their hearts and voices.
When the boyz tear into "Not Fade Away", I can see Buddy Holly smiling from Heaven at what they done with his little song. Tens of thousands of voices join in testifying that love that's real does not fade away, while twice as many hands clap out that rhythm borrowed from the Bantu of the Congo, appropriated by old Bo Diddley, and stolen by Holly for furthur good purpose.
Then the recoding ends with one of the most perfect, simple lyrics, and a stately guitar statement. Those make the rest of the music behind Garcia, the gushing of the bass, the pulsing drums, the keys and the rhythm guitar that rings like banging on steel beams into a an invisible magic carpet.
Yeah… I will die happy knowing that I got to be a small part of The Grateful Dead Show. Those chronic unemployables couldn't have pulled it off without me and a few of my friends; you maybe likely among them.