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The fact is, the Grateful Dead have always had too much respect for Deadheads — and I am most assuredly counting myself "among the faithful." The 30th Anniversary Edition of their silver screen excursion, The Grateful Dead Movie, is being feted with a double-disc DVD set containing over two hours of never-before-available concert footage, behind the scenes documentaries, and a few hidden "easter egg" goodies to boot. The accompanying five-CD soundtrack boasts 40 songs spread over six total hours, many of which were either included in the original cut, or as one of the bonuses on the DVD. But when has the band ever been satisfied offering their audience anything except the full monty?
Every note has been taken from the legendary five-night (October 16 - 20, 1974) stand at San Francisco's Winterland Arena. At the time, the shows were touted as their last, prior to a sabbatical of unknown length ? none of the band members, their crew, or extended business ?family? knew whether the Grateful Dead would ever play together again. That said, there was one thing they had all come to realize ? a first-hand understanding of the personal strains, the ever-escalating costs, as well as the logistics associated with many months of incessant touring. Thankfully, the ?retirement? or ?farewell? run turned out to be 21 years premature.
Prior to a 12-day, 7-show European excursion in September of 1974, a meeting was held and the possibility of taking some time off was discussed. Extreme fatigue, the financial drain that came from toting around their 604-speaker/26,400 watt "Wall of Sound," coupled with the respective personal excesses of the era, had finally taken an inexorable toll. In true Grateful Dead style, they planned to go out in a suitably grandiose fashion. Although the combo was admittedly light of coin, Jerry Garcia (guitar/vocals) and then Grateful Dead Records president Ron Rakow were motivated by the possibility that this may well be the last vestiges of the band's nine-year musical experiment.
According to Dennis McNally, Grateful Dead historian and author of the definitive biography A Long Strange Trip (2002), the prospects of making a movie had been in the air since the spring of 1974. The idea was certainly not a novel concept either, as an attempt had been made two years earlier to cinematically document the charisma of a Grateful Dead concert. An amateur, but competent film crew captured an August 27, 1972 benefit concert. The band played in support of author Ken Kesey (One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest) and his family — first generation Deadheads whose roots extended back to the days of the mid '60s Acid Tests — and their Veneta, Oregon-based Springfield Creamery. Although undeniably entertaining, the resulting film, Sunshine Daydream, was deemed unsatisfactory and remains unreleased to this day.
What Garcia and Rakow had in mind for The Grateful Dead Movie was something on a decidedly more ostentatious scale. This was especially true of Garcia, whose infatuation with the cinema dated back to his childhood. Eddie Washington, an old friend of Jerry's who had attended film school at Stanford University, and Leon Gast, who called the shots during the actual film shoot, were brought on board to help Garcia and Rakow work out the details. Less than two weeks before the performances, Rakow hired a 46-person crew to document every aspect of the proceedings. In addition to the obvious on-stage action, these cinematographers would also interact with the ever-enthusiastic Grateful Dead audience and road crew, all of whom were rightfully considered as integral as the performers themselves.
Gast brought with him a nine-man camera crew consisting of Johnathan Else, Thomas Hurwitz, Kevin Keating, Don Lenzer, Stephen Lighthill, Albert Maysles, David Myers, Richard Paup and Robert Primes. In the case of Keating, Lighthill, Maysles and Primes, their most notable and related experience had been on the Rolling Stones' infamous rockumentary Gimmie Shelter (1970), while Lenzer and Myers were veterans of Woodstock (1970). Without question, both films remain social, as well as visual and musical, time capsules of the late 1960s.
To finance what was turning into a considerable endeavor, Garcia and Rakow begged, borrowed, and possibly stole from every available source. Dennis McNally states in the liner booklet essay accompanying the DVD set, ?He [Garcia] spent more than two years sweating over that film, and it damaged him some.? When asked to expound on that, McNally added, ?The price of the movie to Garcia was the problem of financing. They didn't know what it was going to cost, and in order, in the end, to pay it, he had to run in ragged circles to find money. Considering that it was band money but, ultimately, his personal project, this created divisions. And his final decision, to present it as a concert rather than go through normal film distribution channels ensured that they'd not make their money back — good art, bad business.? Garcia and Rakow were able to pull off a major coup by convincing the Bank of Boston to front big bucks to the Grateful Dead's record and film companies, euphemistically dubbed Round Records and Round Reels. After the shows had been played (and already in debt up to his fretboard) the 20-plus hours of footage was given to Garcia to somehow create a cohesive film.
 The 30th Anniversary Edition of The Grateful Dead Movie features more than 95 minutes of never-before-seen concert footage and a new Dolby Digital 5.1 audio mix. |
Every note has been taken from the legendary five-night (October 16 - 20, 1974) stand at San Francisco's Winterland Arena. At the time, the shows were touted as their last, prior to a sabbatical of unknown length ? none of the band members, their crew, or extended business ?family? knew whether the Grateful Dead would ever play together again. That said, there was one thing they had all come to realize ? a first-hand understanding of the personal strains, the ever-escalating costs, as well as the logistics associated with many months of incessant touring. Thankfully, the ?retirement? or ?farewell? run turned out to be 21 years premature.
Prior to a 12-day, 7-show European excursion in September of 1974, a meeting was held and the possibility of taking some time off was discussed. Extreme fatigue, the financial drain that came from toting around their 604-speaker/26,400 watt "Wall of Sound," coupled with the respective personal excesses of the era, had finally taken an inexorable toll. In true Grateful Dead style, they planned to go out in a suitably grandiose fashion. Although the combo was admittedly light of coin, Jerry Garcia (guitar/vocals) and then Grateful Dead Records president Ron Rakow were motivated by the possibility that this may well be the last vestiges of the band's nine-year musical experiment.
According to Dennis McNally, Grateful Dead historian and author of the definitive biography A Long Strange Trip (2002), the prospects of making a movie had been in the air since the spring of 1974. The idea was certainly not a novel concept either, as an attempt had been made two years earlier to cinematically document the charisma of a Grateful Dead concert. An amateur, but competent film crew captured an August 27, 1972 benefit concert. The band played in support of author Ken Kesey (One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest) and his family — first generation Deadheads whose roots extended back to the days of the mid '60s Acid Tests — and their Veneta, Oregon-based Springfield Creamery. Although undeniably entertaining, the resulting film, Sunshine Daydream, was deemed unsatisfactory and remains unreleased to this day.
What Garcia and Rakow had in mind for The Grateful Dead Movie was something on a decidedly more ostentatious scale. This was especially true of Garcia, whose infatuation with the cinema dated back to his childhood. Eddie Washington, an old friend of Jerry's who had attended film school at Stanford University, and Leon Gast, who called the shots during the actual film shoot, were brought on board to help Garcia and Rakow work out the details. Less than two weeks before the performances, Rakow hired a 46-person crew to document every aspect of the proceedings. In addition to the obvious on-stage action, these cinematographers would also interact with the ever-enthusiastic Grateful Dead audience and road crew, all of whom were rightfully considered as integral as the performers themselves.
Gast brought with him a nine-man camera crew consisting of Johnathan Else, Thomas Hurwitz, Kevin Keating, Don Lenzer, Stephen Lighthill, Albert Maysles, David Myers, Richard Paup and Robert Primes. In the case of Keating, Lighthill, Maysles and Primes, their most notable and related experience had been on the Rolling Stones' infamous rockumentary Gimmie Shelter (1970), while Lenzer and Myers were veterans of Woodstock (1970). Without question, both films remain social, as well as visual and musical, time capsules of the late 1960s.
To finance what was turning into a considerable endeavor, Garcia and Rakow begged, borrowed, and possibly stole from every available source. Dennis McNally states in the liner booklet essay accompanying the DVD set, ?He [Garcia] spent more than two years sweating over that film, and it damaged him some.? When asked to expound on that, McNally added, ?The price of the movie to Garcia was the problem of financing. They didn't know what it was going to cost, and in order, in the end, to pay it, he had to run in ragged circles to find money. Considering that it was band money but, ultimately, his personal project, this created divisions. And his final decision, to present it as a concert rather than go through normal film distribution channels ensured that they'd not make their money back — good art, bad business.? Garcia and Rakow were able to pull off a major coup by convincing the Bank of Boston to front big bucks to the Grateful Dead's record and film companies, euphemistically dubbed Round Records and Round Reels. After the shows had been played (and already in debt up to his fretboard) the 20-plus hours of footage was given to Garcia to somehow create a cohesive film.
