Grateful Dead—Celestial Synapse at the Fillmore West w/The Golden Toad, Don Hamrick, Don McCoy, and the writer activist Stephen Gaskin, February 19, 1969
Two weeks before the Live/Dead run, the band played one of their most unusual shows of 1969. Billed as a "Frontiers of Science Celestial Synapse," the invitation-only event was undoubtedly one of the most colorful musical gatherings the Fillmore ever saw. Invites went out to folks in the rock music field and the various psychedelic families, including Rancho Olómpali, Morning Star, and the Wheeler Ranch. The organizing body of the event was Frontiers in Science, an intentional community located at Harbinger, a former hot springs resort 100 miles north of San Francisco. Founded by Donald James Hamrick in 1967, the self-reliant community sought to be a center for learning, research/development, and exploration, in addition to carrying out Hamrick’s vision to establish order and unity on earth and to connect the physical and metaphysical aspects of science. A Rolling Stone article from April of that year began: "Fifteen hundred invitations were sent out for the February 19 event, and although there was no other announcement, probably double that number attended. After a stirring oboe and bagpipe introduction by The Golden Toad, Don Hamrick of Frontiers in Science spoke for a few minutes in a gentle rural accent, addressing the crowd as the 'goodly company.’ ‘It is our hope,' he said, 'that this evening there will be an opening and a free interchange, so that something new may emerge. let the barriers fall, let there be a merging.'"
So, what were the Grateful Dead doing offering their services for free at an event with pamphlets printed in a medieval Irish script that referred to itself as a celestial synapse? To begin with, Jerry Garcia was always ready for a chance to jam. He also really dug science, existential philosophy, and the transformative nature of psychedelics, which made a scene like this right up his alley. Garcia and Hamrick were also both associated with a hip economist friend of Jerry's, Don McCoy. McCoy established the Rancho Olómpali Commune on a 700-acre parcel of land in Novato, a location that, coincidentally, had served as the Grateful Dead's first north coast home for 6 weeks in 1966. After McCoy leased the estate and founded Olómpali, the Dead returned frequently for spontaneous all-night jams.
And that is loosely what helped these forces coalesce on this evening at the Fillmore. Bob Thomas, the piper for The Golden Toad summed up the happening: "It's like one of the old Ken Kesey acid tests...only less hectic and confused." In addition to the Grateful Dead soundtrack, there were three simultaneous light shows, plenty of Owsley magic, people happily shedding their clothes, and an abundance of flowers and incense—the epitome of a cosmic late-sixties gathering. As for their performance, the Dead played a flowing improvisatory set of new material that is said to have lasted four hours. Unfortunately, we only have about one and a half hours of music here. It's a weird, anarchic recording, that starts off in poor quality with a sloppy Lovelight > Not Fade Away > Lovelight; a muddy mix with some annoying buzzing from a bad electrical connection persists until midway through the first set. The tape continues to roll during the break, and we're treated to some odd rapping from Don Mccoy, audience chanting led by Stephen Gaskin who gallantly blows on a conch shell in between Oms, and various heads babbling on the stage mics and/or jamming on the Dead's percussion—a very strange and equally fascinating field recording.
The second set is a fantastic and ranging jam very much like one of the Mickey & the Hartbeats gigs. The music begins with a dense, mournful vibe between Weir and Garcia, and the rest of the band joins one by one. Pigpen's organ is finally audible, and the mix has improved greatly from the start of the tape. Lesh then ushers the jam into a dark, bluesy take on The Main Ten. Their first run through the theme of what will soon become the Playing in the Band intro is very satisfying. This flows into a series of ensemble jams that saunter and ebb, with Garcia gradually taking over and pushing the musicians forward to explore some new collective ideas. In time, Jerry starts an Other One jam which the band performs without lyrics, exploring different variations and rhythms. This, for me, is the highlight of the show and is stylistically much like versions of The Other One you might hear from early '69—thunderous and brimming with intensity. The jam keeps getting more fervent until they pound out the mighty Other One chords and then, in seeming exhaustion, slowly morendo to a stop.
To add a bit more intrigue to this already historically noteworthy gathering is the fact that the tape has often been mislabeled as the 6/19/68 Carousel Ballroom performance. Before now, it was thought to have been a glimpse into what a mid-'68 Dead show sounded like when improvised jams could veer in any direction. The fudged date on the vault tape was apparently Dick Latvala's doing. As for the real June 19, 1968? It was the Grateful Dead's last show at the original Carousel, a benefit gig for the Black People's Free Store. No recording of that date is known to survive. Fortunately for us, the mystery has been solved, and the famous lost Celestial Synapse show has been unearthed in all its chimerical glory.