"the world’s most recorded musician in the world’s most famous arena"

Jerrybase: https://jerrybase.com/events/19911115-01

The Red Light folks tagged GarciaLive 16 (MSG 11/15/91) with the subject line, and I have to say that it's badass. That crew does a good job, IMO. I am not kissing up. It's a hard job and they have released some amazing stuff. And that's just a good line. Tip o' the cap.

I wanted to post my review of this release from Grateful Dead Studies.

It contains some pretty good distillations about which you will read again in Fate Music.

The performance by the ... JGB at Madison Square Garden on November 15, 1991, represents the acme of Garcia’s solo career, the culmination of a nearly quarter-century name-claiming journey by which he established his identity as an individual American musician, Jerry-Garcia-full-stop, beyond and distinct from his wider fame as Jerry-Garcia-of-the-Grateful-Dead.

...

Jerry Garcia never planned a solo career; it just sort of happened as he sought more and different avenues for expression than the Dead allowed. Inchoate jams at the Carousel Ballroom became tempo études (“Mickey and the Hartbeats”) at the Matrix, which became regular but musically formless Monday night jams with Howard Wales, which morphed into ongoing and more musically grounded gigs with Merl Saunders. Even after four years, the amorphous aggregation resisted naming itself, going by “The Group” in the Bay Area, or just listing members’ names, before coalescing into “Legion of Mary” for its last eight months. The meantime saw numerous aggregations under other (and others’) names, playing diverse musics, cutting some records, running some drive-by tours, and banking an increasingly sizeable pile of accomplishments, including the country New Riders of the Purple Sage, the space-jazz Hooteroll? proj- ect with Wales, and the incandescent bluegrass all-stars Old and In The Way. Otherwise off-nights found Garcia making a singular solo record, engaging protean Dawg Music (David Grisman’s Great American Music/ String Band), renewing bluegrass ties with the Good Old Boys, vibrating electrons with Ned Lagin, and making time for a vast array of sessions, sit-ins, dalliances, and one- and few-offs.

But the Jerry Garcia Band (1975–1995) bore his name, and it played the music its eponym liked, the way he wanted to play it. Over the years the JGB, always featuring Garcia’s friend bassist John Kahn but with an evolving array of other musicians, grooved to soul, R&B, Motown, contemporary gospel, reggae, and other Black idioms that fit the band’s changing personnel, especially after the arrival of church organist Melvin Seals in 1981 and his handpicked backing vocalists starting the next year. A second tranche of cover tunes drew from the contemporary White Anglosphere, both the British Isles and North American settler colonies, heavy on the Americana. Garcia-Hunter originals, some shared with the Dead and others exclusive to the JGB, rounded out the repertoire. The six players integrate seamlessly. This is the canonical Jerry Garcia Band, a lineup that lasted 1984–1993, the core three plus steady David Kemper on drums and harmony vocals by Jackie LaBranch and Gloria Jones, Oakland church singers with day jobs who took to calling themselves the Jerryettes.

Read the whole thing as they say. I dig this show, and I dig imagining how this son of an immigrant musician might have felt seeing that family name in lights at the Garden.

The Reedman vs. The Gunslinger: JGB with David Murray, Madison Square Garden, November 12, 1993

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The man had conceived the band bearing his name as a way to scratch some musical itches, play some mostly consonant music with mostly-simpatico (or at least deferential) people, and make a little bit of walking around money. The Jerry Garcia Band provided its namesake with a comfortable and, eventually, highly lucrative musical diversion which allowed him to be himself, do most of the soloing, not have to figure out where Mickey Hart put the one, and maybe share some laughs (among other things that release endorphins, kill pain, and produce euphoria [Dunbar et al. 2012]) with his ol' buddy John Kahn.

Yet, Jerry was Jerry, with all that implied. Like Midas, everything he touched turned to gold, and that included his bar band, half of whose members played for free in Oakland churches on Sundays. By contrast, on Friday, November 12, 1993, this group sold out Madison Square Garden, grossing almost half a million as part of its twenty night, fifteen gig swing through the eastern time zone, its last real tour. Unlike a decade earlier, a relatively punishing bus tour with Garcia deep in heroin haze, this one was first class all the way, with the band staying in New York City and flying in and out of Teterboro, while battalions of squeaks (sound techs) and squints (light techs) did the heavy lifting. It seems like only half the gigs sold out, but these were mostly good-sized rinks and arenas with five-figure capacities, the kinds of places the Dead had been playing only a few years earlier.

The Garcia band's cozy sociality also meant that guest shots became scarce once the years' third digits turned to nines. The E Street Band's good-time "Big Man" Clarence Clemons sat in once in 1990, reprising his steady gigging with the JGB from late 1989, and banjo wiz Béla Fleck joined in on a couple of numbers at the Greek Theater in Berkeley two months later, in the dark early weeks following Brent Mydland's passing. As good as Fleck is, he played in a decidedly consonant mode, picking some pretty accompaniment to Pete Rowan's "Midnight Moonlight" and, doubly improbably, some mandolinish lead reggae banjo on "Harder They Come". The next fall, while still a member of the Dead, the great Bruce Hornsby sat in with Jerry in Hampton, Virginia, on the decade's other east coast swing, in November of 1991.

Hornsby certainly had the chops and the chutzpah to challenge Garcia, and he did so regularly in the Dead before stepping back off the scene to pursue his own extremely successful career, and perhaps to ward off the curse of the Dead's keyboard players. The one guy to really push Jerry around on his own stage was hotshot jazz saxophonist David Murray, who showed up two years after Hornsby's visit, and six weeks after sitting in with the Dead, at the aforementioned Madison Square Garden gig. The man BLEW, which is to have been expected. As Dead family insider Gary Lambert put it, "expecting a force of nature like David to function as a 'sideman' for the JGB (or any band) is kind of like saying to Jackson Pollock, 'Gee, I really admire your work. Now, could you paint me a nice Andrew Wyeth?'"

The reedman put some air into a number of very sharp notes, with a Garcia Band that was mostly soft, cottony round edges by this point in time. Garcia appears to have taken notice. Attendee Eric Pooley recalls that "Murray was in Garcia's face a little more than Garcia would have liked: [he] attacked, and Garcia retreated into shoetop space", chin on chest. Jim Powell observed that "Murray cut Jerry to shreds at that MSG Jerry Band show - maybe the only time old gunslinger Garcia ever came out on the short end." But the evidence of the night's "Lay Down Sally", normally a smooth, easy, good-time roller hewing closely to Clapton's original, belies this perspective, with all due respect to the poet and Macarthur Genius grantee who proffered it.

Segueing out of the churchy "My Sisters And Brothers", Garcia displayed little Christian charity in first feinting at the Stones' "Everybody Needs Somebody To Love", then shifting into "Lay Down Sally", taking a couple of extra measures at the start to let Murray his footing and thus making it, if not quite a fair fight, at least an honorable one. Typically, in the Garcia Band, Jerry gets the first solo (and usually the second, third and fourth). Here, Murray challenges the old fella in the light purple shirt right out of the gate, and they step on each other for a minute or two before Jerry lets him have his say, comprised of some sharp, loud bursts that might have blown back his shock-white mane. After that, still only fifty-one despite the white hair and haggard mien, the gunslinger drops the hammer, pursuing a million aggressive leads, syncopating some minor chords, and generally, all due apologies, not taking "no" for Sally's answer. Clocking in at over sixteen minutes, and finishing with an emphatic strum over the setbreak announcement, the "Lay Down Sally" from November 12, 1993 provides one of the finest musical displays of Garcia's late solo career, proving that he could still rise to a challenge when the occasion called for it.

I picked and chose from the two filesets named at the top, so some sketchy listening notes follow the fold. "Shining Star" also illustrates the reedman and the gunslinger trading blows, and both "The Maker" and "Don't Let Go" from the 86-minute second set are outstanding and worth your time.