Furthur Do ‘The Dew’ at Barton Hall

Text By John Ammons, Photos by Justin Zoll / Free Air Photo

Anticipation is a strong force, and it began tugging on me as the Barton Hall Furthur show approached. There was, of course, the historic significance of the venue; almost 33 years ago The Grateful Dead played a seminal show here that helped cement their legend. And then there was this still fairly nascent band, Furthur, less than six months old and about a third of the way into their first full-length tour.

Furthur has come, well, a lot further in that relatively short time span. They began as a painfully tentative unit September 18, 2009, in Oakland’s newly renovated Fox Theater, feeling their way set by set, song by song, and jam by jam. At the forefront of their learning curve was Phil Lesh and Bob Weir’s musical relationship with lead guitarist John Kadlecik, a man whose intimate knowledge of The Dead’s repertoire must have been somewhat spooky to the original members. Having played 1,500+ shows over twelve years with his band Dark Star Orchestra, John arguably knew Phil and Bobby’s music better than they did. But integrating John into their new band didn’t prove as smooth as one would have imagined. His guitar was often left in the background during those first few performances, and many of the Garcia/Hunter vocal parts he knew intimately were instead taken over by Weir. To this Grateful Dead purist, the results were often excruciating.

Fast forwarding through a Northeastern mini-tour in December, 2009, a New Year’s run in San Francisco, and about a dozen “public rehearsal” shows in front of a couple hundred lucky souls in Marin County early in 2010, Furthur had established a solid foundation, each musician gaining a grasp of their respective roles. In the first handful of shows, Garcia/Hunter ballads were conspicuously absent. But gradually they began to work their way into the second sets; first with John singing “Wharf Rat,” and then others crept in during the public rehearsal run.

* * * *

Now more on my anticipation – while “Morning Dew” found its way into one of the rehearsal shows, Furthur had yet to unleash it for a wider audience. As this winter tour unfolded, all signs of The Dew converged on Ithaca. The 1977 Barton Hall Morning Dew is, for good reason, widely considered the greatest version The Dead ever performed. So I must confess I took daily peeks at the set lists as Furthur made its way up the East Coast from Miami, not to digest the song choices in detail but rather to check and see if there had been a Dew. There hadn’t. Were they indeed waiting for Barton Hall?

Although too young to see The Dead there, as a native Ithacan I’ve seen my share of concerts in Barton Hall (not to mention playing endless hours of pick-up basketball there!); enough to know that the acoustics are inherently abysmal. The place is after all essentially an over sized barn. So I determined to stake some space close to the stage where the hall’s ambience wouldn’t be a factor. With a half dozen local Ithaca buddies to hold space for, I set out with a nice sturdy moving blanket and managed to arrive about ten minutes before the scheduled 6pm door’s opening. In quintessential Cornel Concert Commission fashion, things were largely disorganized as the first waves of folks were let through the doors. First, no one scanned the bar code of my home-printed ticket. I could have used my Delta boarding pass for admittance. Then I was told I needed to go to a centralized table to have my blanket looked at. Incredulous, I turned to a police officer and asked him, “What’s the problem?” He patted the blanket quickly, proclaiming, “You’re fine.” So I hustled up the steps and scurried across the massive open floor to a spot dead center about 6 feet from the stage where I claimed ample space for my group. Everything was in order. I was confident I had a privileged vantage point to history in the making.

Not only is Baron Hall a barn, it’s a big one, large enough to hold indoor track and field events. The back stage area was adjacent to the front of the building and took up perhaps a fifth of the total floor space. This left ample room for the published 4,800 capacity, although it’s hard to believe there weren’t many more there once the show started. The space is asymmetric, with about six rows of bleachers along one side, elevated above a 15-foot protruding wall. The other wall was covered by a thick floor to ceiling curtain, and tall curtains also flanked the outside of the speaker stacks, separating the front of house from the back of house. Certainly these damping elements helped the sound for those further from the stage. Along the back wall were pullout bleachers, used in the days when Cornell’s basketball team played its home games at Barton. Above this seating is a huge trapezoidal array of glass panels, with “Cornell University” printed side to side in prominent red lettering long the bottom of the panels. Above this moniker is a majestic map of the world, an opaque design against the lighter backdrop that could be confused for modern art with a too cursory glance. The soundboard was almost to the rear of the hall, suggesting that the mixing engineer use a closer than usual ear to how the acoustics were affecting the far recesses.

The band slowly drifted onto the stage about ten minutes after the scheduled 7:30pm show time. Fundamentally similar to the later incarnations of The Grateful Dead, keyboardist Jeff Chementi plays both grand piano and Hammond organ, and drummer Joe Russo lays down the beat while percussionist Jay Lane otherwise colors the rhythms, using bongo drums, various shakers, and other devices. One notable difference between Barton Hall and the first Furthur shows was Lane’s lack of aerobic output. He had previously bounced around his percussive array like a man possessed, but on this night, while he never used a stool or and rarely stood, his feet stayed planted.

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Although as Furthur has matured their song placements have become increasing less wild and wholly, at least from a long time Deadhead’s perspective, it’s still wise to expect the unexpected. So I took in stride their opening selection of “Midnight Hour.” This was an upbeat, energetic version, and a nice way to get the party going. The song’s finale moved smoothly into “They Love Each Other,” the only segue in the first set. “They Love Each Other” was a beautiful, textbook rendition, the stuff to make a Jerry Garcia freak ecstatic. John Kadlecik nailed it. At this point the first set settled into typical Grateful Dead rhythm, with each song set apart from the others and traditional Garcia and Weir songs alternating. “Beat It On Down The Line” was crisp, with Phil’s bass really getting into the heart of the mix for the first time. “Tennessee Jed” calmly loped along, with Bobby taking several of the verses.

Then things slowed down with “Peggy-O,” easily the weak point of the first set. Phil has taken over the vocals on this number, and while I concede he does a better job than I’d have expected this speaks more to my low expectations than to Phil’s performance. The song is simply too light and delicate for his vocal range, and there are no other elements in the song’s structure to compensate. But all this was quickly forgotten with a very strong “Looks Like Rain.” Bobby preened for the audience, whipping back his head, slinging saliva about the stage, and working himself into a frenzy as he somehow managed to reclaim his falsetto range for one final “can’t stand the rain” refrain. All the while John was working up varied and intense guitar flurries, often punctuated by removing his hand from the fret board and shaking off his wrist. Building on the momentum of “Looks Like Rain,” Furthur launched into “Sugaree.” It bears note that during Furthur’s inaugural Oakland run Bobby took the vocals of “Sugaree” to horrific affect as he subjected the song’s mellifluous lines to a vicious blend of rapping and scat singing. Barton Hall suffered no such fate, as John stepped authoritatively to the mic. John took the first solo, his spiraling notes cascading through the venue. Jeff Chementi took the middle solo on the keyboards, and then John hammered things home with an incendiary finale, scrubbing through cords with blazing intensity – a real wow moment.

* * * *

This brings me back to The Dew, which at this point was perhaps bordering on an obsession. In Grateful Dead lore, there’s an unsaid sentiment surrounding the hallowed Dew. Morning Dew couldn’t simply materialize out of thin air; the show had to warrant its appearance. I had asked myself this question a time or two as the first set unfolded: “Is tonight’s music commensurate with a Dew?” At the culmination of “Sugaree” the answer was an unqualified, “You’d better believe it!” It seemed certain that “Sugaree” would close the first set, but the band surprisingly paused and remained onstage. Then they delivered a taut “Good Lovin’” which gave way to the set break.

“Uncle John’s Band,” one of The Dead’s greatest anthems, was a nice second-set opener. For whatever reason, Phil and Bobby have decided to take the vocals themselves, leaving John out of the harmonies. Perhaps not coincidentally, the evening’s most glaring miscue took place during “Uncle John’s,” when Bobby tried to start in on a verse off cue. The rest of the song proved solid if not spectacular, then in typical Grateful Dead fashion the second set began to gradually open up. “Peaceful Valley,” one of several Ryan Adams songs that Phil has added to Furthur’s repertoire, came next. John takes the lead on these numbers, and it’s clear that he’s becoming increasingly comfortable with this material. But ultimately “Peaceful Valley” earned its keep with an impressive final jam.

Another transition seemed to be gradually leading into “Throwing Stones,” but wait – this didn’t sound quite right. Indeed, it was the Ratdog song “Ashes To Glass.” Having never followed Ratdog, I’m not too familiar with “Ashes To Glass.” In fact I’d heard it just once, in a Sausalito park adjacent to the San Francisco Bay when Weir and Rob Wasserman played a benefit concert called “Stop The Spray”. At this benefit Weir creatively altered some lyrics to reflect the cause de jour. Unfortunately at Barton Hall one might not have known what he did with the lyrics, as they were largely unintelligible. Maybe it’s just based on a lack of familiarity, but I can’t help thinking “Ashes To Glass” is nothing more than a poor man’s “Throwing Stones.” Nonetheless, it did open up nicely in the central jam. Afterwards, the band paused briefly for the only time in the second set before breaking into “Unbroken Chain.” Phil plays this with sufficient frequency that one can’t help but wonder if he regrets waiting so long to dust it off in ’95 with The Dead. And “Unbroken Chain” has certainly blossomed in its time with Furthur. I saw them play it in Oakland, where it was solid but concise, then I saw it again over the New Year’s run, where it was protracted. In Ithaca it was extended and soaring, going into uncharted territory as it reached multiple peaks. Never had the show sounded better. Surely the band was in the appropriate groove for…wait…yes…”Morning Dew”!

* * * *

Six months and endless hours of coalescing had led here, now, to this moment, this epoch. In consummate Grateful Dead terms, “Morning Dew” was not perfect, the beauty of course being that nor did it need to be. It needed power, depth, dynamics, nuance, emotion, enthusiasm, and an explosive finale. It needed to prove itself worth the wait, worthy of the moment. Mission accomplished. The evening’s most beautiful tonal shadings came through in spades during The Dew, and the finale unleashed the evening’s most orgasmic bliss. Between these lines, John managed to perhaps get air born as he assaulted the microphone for the “young man mourn” verse. I’ve never seen him so animated. He also managed to finish the crescendo of said verse meekly, a not insignificant point. And Phil didn’t recover for him with the onslaught of bombs commiserate with his intro to the first jam. But no matter. When John gradually and painstakingly worked the final jam into its conclusion, all was aligned in the Dead universe.

The show could have stopped there, a five song second set, and Barton Hall would have been a success. Instead, the band had considerable music remaining. “Morning Dew” slipped into a jam that I thought might in turn burst into a set closing “Not Fade Away,” but instead the jam worked itself into “The Other One.” This version proved less than exploratory and a bit truncated, giving way to “China Cat Sunflower” immediately after the second verse. This made sense, as I’d seen Furthur conclude the show the night before New Year’s Eve with an incendiary “China > Rider.” But tonight, “China Cat” was also quick, cascading awkwardly into Bob strumming some cords, finding his cadence, then leading the band into “Standing On The Moon.” Despite how nicely John has been worked into the mix over the months, this is obviously a song Bobby made his own during the years with Ratdog, and stubbornly he doesn’t want to give it up. This version seemed to survive, perhaps on the fumes left behind by “Morning Dew.” But ultimately it was Bob meandering lamely through the lyrics and no meaningful solo. The transition out of Standing was in stark contrast to the abrupt transition into it, with the band earning their night’s pay as they gradually worked their way into the set closing “I Know You Rider.” Somehow “Rider” lacked the power it might have had coming out of a nice, extended “China Cat” jam, but in the end it’s always intriguing to see them mix it up and feel their way through uncharted transitions. Since it was Sunday, and we were certainly in an old building, it seemed fitting to have “Samson & Delilah” send us off into the brisk, snowy darkness.

* * * *

I confess that I’ve largely boycotted Phil and Bobby’s various projects over the 15 years since Garcia passed. The rhythmic foundation has been there, but without the echoes of Jerry’s leads and his consistently impassioned vocal deliveries the allure has just been missing. John Kadlecik is a proven a game changer in these departments. I wonder what this band could do with Bill Kruetzman and Mickey Hart on board, but I don’t think Furthur suffers for their drumming line-up. An exception might be Barton Hall’s version of “Samson,” which seemed disjointed without the Billy and Mickey signature tribal beat.

But mostly, I never felt wanting for any musical elements. Although Phil dropped no noteworthy bass bombs, his playing was solid throughout the show. But I’ve seen him better even recently, notably during the final Furthur show in Oakland last fall where he was a bassist possessed throughout the entire second set. Bobby looked healthy and was in good spirits, mustering a few good jokes as band manager Robbie Taylor came onstage to spray Phil and Bob’s floor level electronics due to static shocks. When John’s gear wasn’t touched by Taylor’s spray can, Weir quipped, “John doesn’t get that treatment. He needs the jolts to stay awake!” As for John, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him better. One can imagine his quivering excitement over the opportunity to enhance the Grateful Dead’s Barton Hall legacy.

But Phil’s consistently beaming grins across the stage say it all. At almost 70, to look at him is to know what it’s like to be young.

Tagged as: Barton Hall, Bob Weir, Furthur, John Kadlecik, Morning Dew, Phil Lesh, Valentine's Day