Baby Who's to Say That It Makes No Difference

• Oct sixteen, 2014

  https://www.dead.internet/features/greatest-stories-ever-told/greatest-stories-ever-told-accident-away

  Greatest Stories E'er Told - "Blow Abroad"

  By David Dodd

  Here'due south the plan—each week, I will weblog about a different vocal, focusing, usually, on the lyrics, but also on some other aspects of the song, including its overall impact—a truly subjective matter. Therefore, the best part, I would hope, would not be anything in particular that I might have to say, only rather, the conversation that may happen via the comments over the course of fourth dimension—and since all the posts will stay upward, you can experience free to weigh in any time on any of the songs! With Grateful Expressionless lyrics, at that place's ever a new and different have on what they bring upwards for each listener, it seems. (I'll consider requests for particular songs—just private message me!)

  "Blow Away"

  I'm hoping to practice something a piffling chip different this week, given that information technology'southward my 88th mail for this weblog. 88 is a magic number: the number of keys on a standard pianoforte keyboard. I hope to live to be at least 88, so I can celebrate that magic number in my life, having played piano since I was too little to accomplish the keys, at which indicate I apparently used a toy hammer I had, and wound upwardly chipping the ivory on the family pianoforte.

  And then, while this week's post is ostensibly virtually "Blow Away," information technology'southward really meant to be an homage to all of the Dead'south keyboard players through the years, some of whom might never be mentioned here in a blog near songs, since at least ii of 'em accept no Grateful Dead songwriting credits at all.

  Let me endeavour this off the top of my head—I tin can rely on the readers of this blog to right me if I get things wrong, after all. Pigpen, Tom Constanten, Ned Lagin, Keith Godchaux, Brent Mydland, Bruce Hornsby, Vince Welnick. I don't think Ned was ever counted equally an actual ring member, but he did play with them both onstage and in studio, and so I'thousand calculation him to the listing. That's vii keyboard players over the years, some of whom overlapped with each other, similar Pigpen and Constanten, and Vince and Bruce.

  

  The keyboard seat in the band is sometimes called the hot seat, due to the high bloodshed charge per unit of those who've held that position. Pigpen, Keith, Brent, and Vince—all gone before their time.

  When I hear recordings of the Dead, information technology's the keyboard sound that cues me into the era most speedily. Each of these players brought a distinctive sound to the band, and I am very fractional to much of what each actor contributed, in the context of that particular incarnation of the ring's audio. Pigpen's swirling organ and repetitive motifs on much of the early piece of work; Constanten's delicacy; Keith'south romping fashion and incredible fills; Brent's mix of color and rhythm; Bruce's majestic approach; Vince's synthetic audio—each brought the ring into a different kind of focus. Mayhap some listeners take that same approach to listening to Garcia's tone over the years every bit it adult; or to the departure between ane drummer and two. But for me, it'due south the keys.

  Brent's songwriting for the Expressionless is something I have been thinking nearly for awhile. I have a feeling that he contributed, through his songwriting and especially through his singing, a certain authentic anguish that gave the band a special border in the years he played with them.

  "Blow Away" is a practiced example. I know the lyrics are credited to Barlow, but either Brent completely internalized the grapheme, or Barlow wrote the perfect lyric for Brent. (Hmmm…I simply noticed an interesting phenomenon: some of the band members and lyricists seem to demand to exist called by their first names; for others, the surname seems more than advisable. Wonder why that is?)

  When you heed to (and read, thanks to the transcription efforts of careful listeners like Alex Allan of The Grateful Dead Lyric and Song Finder site) to Brent's closing rap / rant from the version of "Blow Abroad" captured on Dozin' at the Knick, you accept to admit that, whether the words were improvised or not, they come from the heart, and have a potent sense of immediacy and urgency. And they are startling in places:

  You call up you got love correct here in your paw
  And it's like you wanna put it inside yous
  It'southward like y'all wanna put it deep within you
  It's like y'all want to keep honey in your heart
  And the only fashion you're going to exercise it is not to permit information technology go
  It's like you lot remember your rib cage is a jail prison cell
  It's similar you lot don't recall dear tin can get past your ribs

  And the words, this sung cadenza, motility from pain to promise:

  But you're wrong
  The only thing you're doing
  Is keeping that case out, keeping dearest out
  Keeping it out, keeping it away from you lot
  You gotta open up the door
  You gotta open upward the door, let love in
  And into an exhortation:
  Then assist me out, help me out a minute
  Would you aid me out
  Sing it after me
  I want real beloved
  Say I want real, real love
  I desire real, real, real love
  I want real, real, real dear
  Gimme real love, real love
  Real, real, real, real love

  I think this is amazing lyrical improvisation, if it was improvised. And yous know what? I don't actually care if it was completely planned out, and repeated night after dark. The delivery was accurate to the bone. You believed him.

  I was devastated when Brent's death was reported. I remember where I was (on campus at UC Berkeley, during my stint at Library Schoolhouse) and how it felt. Information technology felt similar the wind was taken from my sails, to tell the truth.

  And I felt much the same nigh hearing of Keith'southward death, although it came after he had left the band. And most Vince's, though the band was no longer at that point. I was besides immature to register Pigpen'due south passing, and could only mourn in retrospect. Sending out my thanks to the universe of those who serve Grateful Dead music through keyboards. There are more names to add to those I've mentioned. Jeff Chimenti. Bob Bralove. Jackie Greene. Rob Barraco. Jason Crosby. Let's keep expanding that list—each one of these keyboard players has something completely different to offer. Peradventure the fact that and so many dissimilar keyboard players were band members over the years has made this particular avenue of exploration fifty-fifty more open to the contributions of a wide variety of players. Bralove brings extreme experimentation. Chimenti brings gospel and jazz. And so on.

  Here'south to those 88 keys.

  

  373246

Past David Dodd

Hither'southward the program—each week, I volition blog nearly a different song, focusing, normally, on the lyrics, only also on some other aspects of the song, including its overall bear upon—a truly subjective thing. Therefore, the all-time function, I would hope, would not exist annihilation in particular that I might accept to say, but rather, the conversation that may happen via the comments over the form of time—and since all the posts will stay up, you lot can feel free to weigh in any time on any of the songs! With Grateful Dead lyrics, there's always a new and different have on what they bring up for each listener, it seems. (I'll consider requests for particular songs—just private message me!)

"Blow Away"

I'm hoping to practise something a picayune bit unlike this calendar week, given that it'southward my 88th post for this blog. 88 is a magic number: the number of keys on a standard piano keyboard. I hope to live to be at to the lowest degree 88, so I can gloat that magic number in my life, having played piano since I was too little to reach the keys, at which point I obviously used a toy hammer I had, and wound up chipping the ivory on the family unit piano.

So, while this week's post is ostensibly about "Blow Abroad," it's really meant to be an homage to all of the Dead's keyboard players through the years, some of whom might never be mentioned here in a blog about songs, since at to the lowest degree ii of 'em have no Grateful Dead songwriting credits at all.

Let me endeavor this off the peak of my head—I can rely on the readers of this blog to correct me if I get things wrong, after all. Pigpen, Tom Constanten, Ned Lagin, Keith Godchaux, Brent Mydland, Bruce Hornsby, Vince Welnick. I don't think Ned was ever counted as an actual band member, but he did play with them both onstage and in studio, and so I'm adding him to the list. That's vii keyboard players over the years, some of whom overlapped with each other, similar Pigpen and Constanten, and Vince and Bruce.

The keyboard seat in the band is sometimes called the hot seat, due to the high mortality rate of those who've held that position. Pigpen, Keith, Brent, and Vince—all gone before their time.

When I hear recordings of the Expressionless, it'southward the keyboard sound that cues me into the era most quickly. Each of these players brought a distinctive sound to the band, and I am very fractional to much of what each player contributed, in the context of that particular incarnation of the band's sound. Pigpen's swirling organ and repetitive motifs on much of the early work; Constanten'south delicacy; Keith'southward romping manner and incredible fills; Brent's mix of color and rhythm; Bruce'south majestic approach; Vince's synthetic audio—each brought the band into a dissimilar kind of focus. Maybe some listeners accept that same approach to listening to Garcia's tone over the years as information technology developed; or to the difference between one drummer and two. Just for me, it's the keys.

Brent'south songwriting for the Expressionless is something I take been thinking about for awhile. I have a feeling that he contributed, through his songwriting and especially through his singing, a certain accurate anguish that gave the ring a special edge in the years he played with them.

"Blow Away" is a good example. I know the lyrics are credited to Barlow, merely either Brent completely internalized the graphic symbol, or Barlow wrote the perfect lyric for Brent. (Hmmm…I merely noticed an interesting phenomenon: some of the band members and lyricists seem to demand to be called by their first names; for others, the surname seems more than appropriate. Wonder why that is?)

When you mind to (and read, thanks to the transcription efforts of careful listeners like Alex Allan of The Grateful Dead Lyric and Song Finder site) to Brent'southward closing rap / rant from the version of "Blow Away" captured on Dozin' at the Knick, you have to acknowledge that, whether the words were improvised or non, they come from the center, and accept a strong sense of immediacy and urgency. And they are startling in places:

You lot retrieve y'all got love right here in your paw
And it's like you wanna put it inside you
It's similar you lot wanna put it deep inside you
It's like you want to keep love in your heart
And the merely mode you lot're going to practice it is non to allow it get
It's like yous call up your rib cage is a prison cell
It'south like yous don't retrieve love tin can get by your ribs

And the words, this sung cadenza, motion from pain to promise:

Only you're incorrect
The but thing you're doing
Is keeping that case out, keeping dear out
Keeping it out, keeping information technology abroad from y'all
You gotta open up the door
You gotta open up up the door, permit love in
And into an exhortation:
And so help me out, help me out a minute
Would you help me out
Sing information technology after me
I want real dear
Say I desire real, real love
I want existent, existent, real love
I want existent, real, real beloved
Gimme real honey, real beloved
Real, real, real, real beloved

I think this is amazing lyrical improvisation, if it was improvised. And y'all know what? I don't actually care if it was completely planned out, and repeated dark after night. The delivery was accurate to the bone. Yous believed him.

I was devastated when Brent's decease was reported. I call back where I was (on campus at UC Berkeley, during my stint at Library Schoolhouse) and how information technology felt. It felt similar the wind was taken from my sails, to tell the truth.

And I felt much the same about hearing of Keith'south decease, although it came after he had left the ring. And virtually Vince'due south, though the band was no longer at that signal. I was too young to register Pigpen's passing, and could only mourn in retrospect. Sending out my thanks to the universe of those who serve Grateful Dead music through keyboards. There are more names to add to those I've mentioned. Jeff Chimenti. Bob Bralove. Jackie Greene. Rob Barraco. Jason Crosby. Let's keep expanding that listing—each one of these keyboard players has something completely unlike to offer. Perhaps the fact that so many dissimilar keyboard players were band members over the years has made this particular artery of exploration fifty-fifty more open to the contributions of a wide variety of players. Bralove brings extreme experimentation. Chimenti brings gospel and jazz. And then on.

Here'south to those 88 keys.

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I'm hoping to do something a little bit different this week, given that information technology's my 88th mail for this blog. 88 is a magic number: the number of keys on a standard piano keyboard.

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Greatest Stories Ever Told - "Accident Away"

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I'm hoping to do something a little bit different this calendar week, given that it's my 88th post for this blog. 88 is a magic number: the number of keys on a standard piano keyboard.

Custom Teaser

I'm hoping to practice something a footling bit dissimilar this week, given that information technology's my 88th post for this blog. 88 is a magic number: the number of keys on a standard piano keyboard.

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Source: https://www.dead.net/features/greatest-stories-ever-told/greatest-stories-ever-told-blow-away

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