crazy from the heat
I would like to believe that the Grateful Dead spawned more than tie dye shirts and spin-off bands. The Grateful Dead ushered in the summer of love while tripping on electric Kool-Aid and nurtured a cult following for decades. The Dead broke ground in so many areas: although their first album allowed them to finally tour outside of the Bay Area, it was another three decades before one of their songs hit the Billboard Top 10. Album sales never kept them afloat: concert sales did. They not only allowed live taping at their concerts - they encouraged it by setting aside special areas for equipment.
They invested in one of the best sound systems in the world so their fans could hear them better. They maintained a list of fans and sent out newsletters with merchandise and advance concert information before direct marketing invented junk mail. And the veritable travelling circus of fans (Dead Heads) that moved with the Dead became a legendary alternative culture for the disenfranchised, the disgusted or the just -plain-fed-up with the "real world" advertisers spoon feed us.
But then suddenly it was over. My mom remembers where she was when Elvis died: I remember where I was when I heard the news that Jerry died. Alaska. Alaska's kind of far away, and friends called to discuss the rumors as we waited for a positive confirmation from the "Lower 48." It came.
The newspapers had a field day interviewing flower be-decked blondes in long gossamer skirts about "what they would do now that Jerry was dead."
The carnival was over. The strange social counter culture that had existed almost in a time zone that professed the "peace, love , and understanding" of the sixties was evaporating: kids would melt away and join other bands, join the mainstream, go home, get jobs - or not. Some would join up with the Phish traveling circus ("Phish-heads").
But in an age when you can buy a Ben & Jerry "Cherry Garcia" ice cream cone a scant 1/2 block from the Dead house on Haight Ashbury or a limited edition tie-dye tie from Macy's, it's pretty hard not to believe that the more liberal '90's have absorbed the Dead's counter culture into the status quo. After all: it's history now.
I suppose if you're a Dead fan, you can get your déjà vu by going to see Bobby Weir's band, Rat Dog, or Micky Hart's, "Planet Drum," or Phil Lesch's many projects. They are still playing around San Francisco. I'm not sure you would go to see "Crazy from the Heat." Crazy from the Heat describe their music as Psychedelic R&B - which it is. But that's only half the story because the material is entirely mined from the Dead catalog. I have no problem with Dead cover bands - and this is a good one - but c'mon kids lets call a spade a spade.
The small crowd that gathered at Club Cocomo to participate in Crazy from the Heat's live CD recording on Wednesday, February 10, was enthusiastic and enjoying themselves. All of the major stereotypes were there: the witch girl in the long batik shawl with an Australian back country hat over long greasy, knotted hair; the flannel shirted geezer dancing with the willowy girl half his age; the apparent anomaly of a long-haired bald hippie; the tie dyes; the birkenstocks; the shoeless dancers. Everyone dances to "Hand Jive" jams.
The band not only sounds like the Dead, but it looks like the Dead (sans Bobby). Lead singer guitarist Bruce Somerfield has a Jerry beard, and that frizzy graying mop that Jerry wore. Even though Somerfield has all of his fingers he holds the pick by hiding his forefinger replicating the appearance of Jerry's right hand. Jerry Mark plays a six string base (although he is left handed and Phil Lesch is not). After watching the band for a few songs, you get the creepy feeling that Jerry Garcia has been resurrected from the wax museum to perform live on stage.
Crazy from the Heat does a credible job presenting the music in all of its psychedelic glory and reminding me that this was the foundation for the Dead's massive appeal. By all means listen to the music: but without the crowds, the drugs, and the culture that imbued the music with its vitality, you might as well sit back in your living room and listen to your CD player if you want to hear vintage Grateful Dead.
Ultimately this is Crazy from the Heat's downfall. They are not the Dead - the Dead have been done. It's one thing to pay tribute (witness Super Diamond or Wonderbread 5) but it's another to try to BE the Dead. And as I looked around the vast Club Cocomo (it looks like an airplane hanger with a few potted palms) it occurred to me what a tremendous legacy the Grateful Dead have given us beyond their music.
Crazy from the Heat will be playing Wednesday, February 24 at Cafe Cocomo. Cafe Cocomo is located at 650 Indiana (loads of free parking). Telephone: 415-824-6910
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