week of 3/20/02
 
 
 

Grateful Dawg — Documentary
By Hunter Pope
Director: Gillian Grisman (David Grisman’s daughter)
Cast: David Grisman, Jerry Garcia; Cameos by Bela Fleck, Peter Rowan, Ronnie McCoury, Vassar Clements
Rating: PG-13—some language

My old buddy, Jerry Garcia, was on the tube the other day. He looked good, yucking it up for the camera and throwing out that wry sense of humor that could prism a blackened heart. The last time I saw him alive he was belting out “Wharf Rat,” a chilling number about a recovering alcoholic, to 50,000 reverent followers in Washington, D.C. By 1995, Jerry was the crumbling king of the Deadheads, a bearded round fellow who daily wore black sweatpants onstage. As charismatic as Garcia still was in those waning moments (the Deadhead legions forgave every inaudible note or missed word), you could tell he was lonely on that big old stage.

Watching the “home movie,” “Grateful Dawg,” is like seeing the Jekyll persona of Jerry Garcia. Without the hordes of Deadheads lionizing his every step, I got to see a relaxed Garcia, a jolly old chap permeating goofiness.

Goofy? Jerry? Oh, yes. When people are doing the thing they love most, their real personality juts out. Acoustic music was Jerry’s first love, and his 1990-1995 sessions with mandolin maestro David Grisman (which ended abruptly when Garcia died in August 1995) is retold in Gillian Grisman’s documentary, “Grateful Dawg.”

Although not a remarkable documentary by normal standards, fans of both Garcia and Grisman will be floored by the unreleased live footage (as well as the video, “The Thrill is Gone”). They’ll also enjoy the mini cameos by otherworldly musicians like Bela Fleck and Ronnie McCoury, who add little testaments to the Garcia-Grisman connection.

Producer-director Gillian Grisman and associate producer Justin Kreutzmann (son of Dead drummer Bill Kreutzman, and the director of the music video) recorded many of the Garcia-Grisman sessions on video without any inclination of future use. “We had cameras,” Gillian said in a press release, “and time to kill.” The musicians managed 44 recording sessions before Garcia’s death. Both men were staunch musicologists, and they delved into a buffet of material, from sea shanties to children’s songs to tunes that dripped of flamenco.

When the idea to make a feature blossomed, Daddy Grisman had but one strict code to follow: Any song Gillian used had to be played in its entirety. No problem. The end result is a treat for those who like their music over substance. It’s an intimate 80-minute jam session, and the public’s finally been invited after six years. There is no retelling of Jerry’s heroin demons, or his “other” life in the Deadhead realm. It shows two men having that kind of kinetic energy that only a few duos have ever sustained.

“Beards of a Feather,” is how Grisman’s wife ruefully describes the two musicians, and their facial similarities are only outdone by their picking chemistry. It’s hard to tell from the video if the two men were close friends, but when they picked up their instruments, a fraternal instinct emerged that’s downright eerie (in a very gorgeous sort of way). The two fed off each other, and each of them took away a little of the others’ personality.

The ultimate compliment of their twining came from one of the cameo speakers — “Jerry loosened David up, and David tightened Jerry up.”

There are little brushstrokes of history that lightly ornament the film in between the live shots. The first shows Jerry’s and David’s first meeting at a Pennsylvania folk club to see the Big Mon, Bill Monroe; the next is their early ‘70s formation of Old and In the Way; and finally, their reunion gig (after a 15-year rift due to business ventures that were out of their control) at Sweetwater in Mill Valley, California. By then, Grisman had formed his own label, Acoustic Disc, and when he ushered the idea that he, Garcia and two musicians from the David Grisman Quartet — bass player Jim Kerwin and percussionist Joe Craven — record together, Garcia blissfully agreed.

The movie includes the unreleased live tracks “Grateful Dawg,” “Sweet Sunny South,” “Dawg’s Waltz,” “Off to Sea Once More,” “Sittin’ in Limbo,” “Friend of the Devil” and the epic “Arabia.” Each clip is salvation for the Deadhead who couldn’t get enough of Jerry, and it furthers Grisman’s license as an elite mandolin tweaker.

“Arabia” was perhaps G and G’s biggest undertaking at 17 minutes, and it’s chock full of varying tempos and genre splicing (despite the middle eastern “twang,” each performer put their own ethnicity into “Arabia.” Bassist Jim Kerwin added a bass line borrowed from a traditional Cuban song). Gillian Grisman does her best work here, infusing live shots of “Arabia” with the intensive studio outtakes. Watch (and then rewind) Joe Craven’s dismantling of the congas on this number. It actually emancipates sweat beads from the viewer’s forehead.

It’s also touching to see the bearded wonders doing the classic children’s album, “Not For Kid’s Only.” Rare footage of the duo volleying lyrics on “Roll, Jenny Jenkins, Roll” is a wonderment for any serious music junkie (regardless of musical tastes), and further displays Garcia’s and Grisman’s willingness to explore the guts of music.

“Jerry ended up enjoying [“Not For Kid’s Only”], but he initially resisted,” wife Deborah Koons Garcia explained, “because he disliked further attempts to pigeonhole him as a father figure.”

Too late, Deborah. Anyone who sees this footage will have a tough time not believing that Jerry had a warm cuddly side.

I’m grateful I got to see a sliver of Jerry’s beauty when he was with the Dead. No matter how downcast he was in the final months, there was still a light that radiated from his lonely mic. However, for those who never experienced Jerry Garcia, “Grateful Dawg” is a perfect chance to see an honest musician. It shows his purity and it never strays to the soiled part of his life.

“I think Jerry coming over to Dad’s house was like a little safe haven,” recalled Grisman’s oldest son. “He could come over here and there was no pressure to be Jerry Garcia. The man had a heavy burden, being king of the Deadheads. Here he could hang out and be one of the guys.”

One of the last shots shows Jerry talking to a person off camera about making time in his hectic schedule. The camera’s view makes out Garcia to be all alone in a foldout chair, with his trusty guitar leaning close at hand. “I’m not trying to pressure you to come over here,” the unknown voice tells Garcia.

“There’s no pressure,” Jerry calmly replies. “I love it. It’s good for me.” There’s almost a pleading in his voice — a need for a life preserver amidst the chaos. The good skipper Grisman was able to save his friend for a time, and it’s in those final moments in “Grateful Dawg” that make all of us realize that Jerry Garcia was just a man ... with a teensy bit of an individual streak.