the book of the dead, 9

Come wash the nighttime clean. / Come grow the scorched ground green. / Blow the horn, tap the tambourine.... That might be my favorite Grateful Dead stanza of all, a call to attention, to seize the day, to be ready for all the twists and turns the road ahead will undoubtedly bring. For all my rhapsodizing about the greatness of Robert Hunter’s largely unrecognized contributions to the Dead’s body of work, it’s easy to forget that Weir’s wordsmith, John Barlow, is mighty fine with the pen as well. Hunter comes out of the tradition of the Beats, so there’s often a kind of low-level darkness in his approach.  When the down-on-his-luck gambler in Loser says, ‘I’ve got no chance of losing this time,’ we know he’s doomed.  When the ‘blind and dirty’ hobo in Wharf Rat proclaims that he’ll 'get up and fly away,’ we know it’s a fever dream and that the poor soul is much more likely to end up face down in the gutter. This is what used to be called irony, before that word got transformed into something different so that it now refers to some imprecise melding of sarcasm, self-satisfaction, detachment, inauthenticity… Where Hunter is ironic (in the classic sense) and translucent, Barlow is a realist poet, and even more naturalistic than Hunter.  I woke today / Felt your side of bed / The covers were still warm where you were laying / You were gone / My heart was filled with dread / You might not be sleeping here again…It doesn’t make you work like Hunter’s lyrics do, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t rip my heart in half and leave me curled up in the fetal position on the floor.  Another one that’s illustrative in a different way: ‘There’s mosquitoes on the river / Fish are rising up like birds / It’s been hot for seven weeks now / Too hot to even speak now / Did you hear what I just heard?  Barlow is proof that it doesn’t have to be fragmentary and illusive to leave an enduring impression. His words make you feel like you’re in the song, in a particular time and place, and that the meaning is directly applicable to your life.  I like that.  And when I say that his stuff is more transparent, I don’t know what Cassidy is about specifically. I've always assumed it was about Neal Cassady, the driver for the Merry Pranksters. Lost now on the country miles in his Cadillac. But I've recently discovered that it's only obliquely about Cassady and more directly about Cassidy Law, the daughter of a GD Roadie. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. The song has so many lovely lines, so many chunks of meaning to grab onto and make your own. Fare thee well now, let your life proceed by its own design / Nothing to tell now / Let the words be yours I am done with mine… The studio version of Cassidy, from Weir’s excellent first solo album, Ace, is the best I’ve heard. I think it’s a song made for the studio, where all the intricate 12-string chord changes come out crisp and clear. And - big surprise! - Donna Jean Godchaux’s harmonies are actually on pitch and sound great.  ...Save this one for a pensive rainy Sunday afternoon. It'll take the edge off and soothe your worried mind.