The Grateful Dead / Workingman's Dead (1970)

The summer of 1970 was the summer of the Grateful Dead. Talk about a busy group -- a mammoth American tour with New Riders of the Purple Sage, nightly concerts lasting until dawn, two studio albums, writing new material, a change of format.... you can tell I'm impressed. Although released several months before American Beauty, the slab Workingman’s Dead is definitely in the same vein, stylistically, but the records aren’t interchangeable. Workingman’s Dead is darker than the successor, in both content and production. The albums also had different producers. But together, they are the fraternal twins of the Dead’s americana period. As with American Beauty, the two characteristics that stand out most are the lyrical contributions of Robert Hunter and the band’s rich vocal harmonies, the latter influenced by a friendship with Crosby, Stills, and Nash. Both are introduced on the side one opener, “Uncle John’s Band,” which is an archetypal acoustic singalong affair, marked by a lighter touch from all involved and some uncanny vocal harmonies. Garcia’s work throughout the record is considerably more diverse than it was later that year. He picks 5-string banjo for the careening “Cumberland Blues” and his gritty licks on the Stratocaster take center stage for “Easy Wind” and “New Speedway Boogie.” The country ballad “Dire Wolf” is propelled by Garcia's masterful work on the pedal steel, and along with Bob Weir, his acoustic guitar is everywhere. Pigpen does the tough album’s toughest number, “Easy Wind,” before everything is drawn to a close with the unforgettable “Casey Jones.” Damn! What a good record. As with other CD re-releases in the Dead's back catalog, it comes with bonus tracks that make entertaining filler, but are what I consider to be nonessential material that should have been placed on a second disc. Am I the only person who wants to preserve original continuity? When I hear that telltale sniff at the beginning of Casey, I want the record to end. It's the whole point, after all. But I don't let that bother me, and I listen anyway.

Syd Barrett / The Madcap Laughs (1970)

This spartan solo effort from the lost founder of Pink Floyd is half-baked in parts, and beautifully complete in others. It’s uneven, sure, but so was its creator. It stands as a sad and beautiful testament to the mental and emotional decline of an outstanding creative mind, and the efforts put forth by his friends and former bandmates to salvage his gifts. The record sounds uneven, but it's not distracting and Syd was pretty uneven at the time so part of you is expecting to hear the consequences his mental state had on his music making abilities. “It’s No Good Trying” is a dark and noisy romp through squalling walls of feedback and topsy-turvy cadences. The hypnotic rhythm and droning lyrics march through the speakers like a musical zombie, intent on completing the song but with a reanimated or disembodied feel. “Love You” and “Octopus” are examples of the Kevin Ayers-style English whimsy Barrett proved so adept at writing for the first Pink Floyd record and it's nice to get another view of that facet before the window closed completely. Other songs, “Dark Globe,” “Long Gone,” and “She Took a Long Cold Look” speak to Barrett's emotional side, and offer listeners an intimate glimpse at the human being living behind the hype. On “Golden Hair,” Barrett interprets musically and with his voice the words of a James Joyce poem. If the rest of the album doesn’t do it, this track will hold you transfixed with its pure magic. Yes, magic.

Jerry Garcia and David Grisman / Shady Grove (1996)

Before he was “Jerry Garcia” of the Grateful Dead, he was a guy named Jerry Garcia with a passion for folk music and a natural talent on the guitar and banjo. As the Grateful Dead exploded, Garcia continued moonlighting with his other interests. Here he teams up with longtime friend and equally capable 8-string slinging partner David Grisman to treat a batch of old American favorites on their respective acoustic instruments. The atmosphere is that of a laid back jam between friends, both players clearly enjoying their time together. Listen to Garcia’s aged vocal on “Dreadful Wind and Rain,” adding an appropriately spooky air to the song’s story. Instrumental work by both Garcia and Grisman is of a very high quality, as you’d expect from either or both of them, and their patience and playing styles complement one another nicely. Garcia’s 5-string frailing on “Sweet Sunny South” or Grisman’s work with the banjolin (a mandolin with a banjo head – a positively obnoxious instrument) on “Stealin’” are both standout performances. Detailed liner notes assist listeners in interpreting the history of each song. It’s a disc that I return to time and time again, worn out and renewed after staying on the shelf for a while. If you enjoy Shady Grove, I encourage you to enter the rabbit hole that is Grisman’s Acoustic Disc label of “100% Handmade Music,” where you’ll find plenty more of this fare to choose from.

The Pogues / If I Should Fall from Grace with God (1988)

Aaah, the Pogues. They took Irish folk music, stripped it down to the nerve, and then strapped what was left to the back of a freewheeling, green-eyed punk machine. The result was a radioactive new music that blasted through speaker cones like Godzilla in a donnybrook. Out of all the Pogues' original albums and EPs, it's damned hard for me to choose a favorite. I even like Waiting for Herb, just so you know who you're talking to. But it's this Pogues slab that gets the most play around my house, and quite possibly because it's the only one that survived.

If I Should Fall from Grace with God was produced by Steve Lillywhite in 1988. His approach retained the attitude and drive of the band, while showcasing their skills as instrumentalists and songwriters. MacGowan's lyrics, his poetry, are a joy to read even without music, and here they finally see the light of day at the front of the mix. There's plenty of barking and howling, too, but between the primal punctuation marks, a listener can actually make out what he's singing. If you've ever burned time trying to discern Michael Stipe's autistic mumble in an REM song only to come up with more riddles than you started with, you'll appreciate the relative no-brainer presented by Grace. MacGowan has a gift for turning a phrase within the kinetic context of a rock and roll song that few other songwriters can manage. The product is something that works both melodically and as a narrative. Sketches of story fly by, vague impressions are tossed out, and any guesswork is left to the imagination, guided by the mood of the music behind the words.

Lillywhite's slick production is evident from the outset (these tracks sound organized!), but you know you're getting a Pogues record when you hear the aftermath of the title track's cascading accordion intro, MacGowan's cracked snarl, and classic shoutalong chorus describing a victorious day at the races. Instead of a bridge, many songs employ a thundering interlude where the band breaks into another tune. "Turkish Song of the Damned" has a Middle Eastern feel but is backed by the banshee wails of fellow band members, and sudden modulations in key follow each determined section. There's even holiday appeal in the twisted Christmas carol "A Fairytale of New York" where MacGowan trades barbs with Kirsty MacColl in call-and-response format. The cynical quips and rich imagery are pure Poguetry.

There's almost too much good music to get into here. If you buy the CD, you'll get two extra tracks that were omitted from the LP and cassette releases due to time limitations. Looking at prices around the net, I'd say it's a stonking bargain.

If you've read enough of this review and want to buy the record, try hitting up a seller at Discogs.com.
If you'd like to learn about the Pogues from a more credible source, then visit the Pogues official website.