I've had some of the most intensely pleasureable moments of my life listening to Jerry Garcia sing and play. Like many people, I saw and heard in Garcia an intense intelligence, by turns wry, gleeful, mournful, and cryptic. Some of my impressions were no doubt projections, and some were chemically enhanced, but these feelings were strong enough - and have lasted long enough - that they've taken on a life of their own.
So it may seem strange that at the time of his death, I did not grieve. But please understand: by that point, I hadn't seen him perfom live for more than fifteen years, and I was mostly unengaged with most his more recent recorded work. Plus, his overall deterioration from decades of massive substance abuse and generally hard living was not a secret.
Thus my lack of suprise or intense sorrow when he was found dead, in August of 1995. Like many people, I had seen it coming, and it was just a matter of when. The opposite of a suprise.
With the passing of more time, though, I began to experience some moments of sadness and loss when I thought about him. But still, just moments, and mostly while watching or listening to performances from his last couple of years, when he was obviously ill and often struggling to form the sounds he wanted to make.
Today, though, on the way to work, I tuned into the middle of a performance of I Know You Rider, from around 1977, and it was astonishing, particularly Jerry's guitar playing - uninhibited, loud; leads that were more clusters of rapidly executed chords. The opposite of tentative. Then he began to sing,
"I wish I was a headlight,
on a northbound train,"
and he was bellowing, insanely joyful, like a warrior roaring into battle.
And I started to cry. He had been this force, this beauty in the world, and his time is gone.
So it may seem strange that at the time of his death, I did not grieve. But please understand: by that point, I hadn't seen him perfom live for more than fifteen years, and I was mostly unengaged with most his more recent recorded work. Plus, his overall deterioration from decades of massive substance abuse and generally hard living was not a secret.
Thus my lack of suprise or intense sorrow when he was found dead, in August of 1995. Like many people, I had seen it coming, and it was just a matter of when. The opposite of a suprise.
With the passing of more time, though, I began to experience some moments of sadness and loss when I thought about him. But still, just moments, and mostly while watching or listening to performances from his last couple of years, when he was obviously ill and often struggling to form the sounds he wanted to make.
Today, though, on the way to work, I tuned into the middle of a performance of I Know You Rider, from around 1977, and it was astonishing, particularly Jerry's guitar playing - uninhibited, loud; leads that were more clusters of rapidly executed chords. The opposite of tentative. Then he began to sing,
"I wish I was a headlight,
on a northbound train,"
and he was bellowing, insanely joyful, like a warrior roaring into battle.
And I started to cry. He had been this force, this beauty in the world, and his time is gone.
3 comments:
I was a major fan and collector of 50s 'doo wop' music (a term I hate but it does explain what I am talking). Many of those acts were terribly hard living and by the late 1970's I would see stories of my heroes dying almost monthly. At a certain point those hard livers had all died out and now when I hear of someone passing it is just normal old age.
Well, Garcia by all accounts abused his body to absurd extremes - on one level, it was surprising he lasted as long as he did...
I've had a similar affinity for Know You Rider, sorta describes an intrinsic alienation most of us felt at the time.
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