Grateful Dead—Gaelic Park, Bronx, NY, August 26, 1971

There is nothing not to like about the Grateful Dead in the summer of 1971. The band was absolutely raging, as evidenced in the high voltage shows at the Hollywood Palladium, Chicago’s Auditorium Theatre (featured on Dick’s Vol. 35), and the yale bowl—all of which resurfaced when Donna Godchaux discovered the original reels on a houseboat that was owned by Keith’s parents.

1971 is also the year when bootleg recordings begin to sprout up like weeds, and Grateful Dead bootleg LPs were selling like goddamn hotcakes. outside of Gaelic Park a number of freaks were peddling their pirated analog wares and the Dead’s manager, Sam Cutler, had other ideas. The Grateful Dead hated busting people, but they were fed up with this growing scene. Cutler and a posse of security guards descended on the LP-slinging hippies and informed them that Garcia told them personally, “We want you guys to go outside and liberate those bootlegs.” And this is exactly what happened on this evening in the Bronx, though word is that they would return many before the night was over.

In addition to discouraging bootleg sales, the dead were also cracking down on the tapers. One such taper who consistently eluded Cutler and head roadie Big Steve Parish was Marty Weinberg. Marty didn’t get caught, he was too crafty for that. The Bronx native was in front of the stage on this August night, holding his microphone level to his chest, an Uher 4000L portable slung over his shoulder. Marty had been taping the Dead since their central park gig back in ’68. Since then, he’d accumulated hours and hours of Grateful Dead music, taped in very high fidelity. Marty’s field tape from this night is first-rate and linked at the bottom of this post for your aural consumption.

The Gaelic Park show is notable for McKernan's superlative first set performance, highlighted by his recitation of Empty Pages—one of only two versions in circulation. This would be Pig's last gig until December '71, and he rocks it throughout. Big Boss Man and Mr. Charlie are both impeccable. Hard to Handle is a barnburner and certainly on par with 8/6 or 4/29; unfortunately, it would be the last time Pigpen would sing the Otis Redding number with the Dead. The remainder of the set is an exact balance of songs led by Garcia and Weir, including a ripping Bertha, a solid Sugar Magnolia, an early rendition of Loser with the soon-to-be-dropped ‘Sweet Suzie’ line, and a top-notch Sugaree, featuring impassioned vocals by Jerome.

Set two opens with Me & My Uncle and tonight's take is absolutely brimming with energy. From here, we get a succinct 10-minute China Cat > Know You Rider with some bright and wily lead bass from Phil. Jerry's Vox kicks out and Bobby takes his customary northbound train verse, an anomaly that I believe only occurred once during Garcia's tenure with the band. Following workman-like versions of Deal and Cumberland Blues, the quintet rolls out a 25-minute Truckin' > Other One that features some especially potent guitar playing from Weir. This Other One jam is classic '71, slashing and building to towering freaky heights. Three quick tunes, including a tight Uncle John's Band, gets us ready for another fabulous jam sequence that begins with St. Stephen, and then flows—with great alacrity—into a tasty Not Fade Away > Goin' Down the Road > Not Fade Away sandwich with plenty of zesty riffs. After a lengthy break, the boys return to the bandstand and send the crowd home with a rocking Johnny B. Goode.

This is the last show the Dead played featuring the original five members and they put their foot on the gas throughout, delivering a shitkicker of a performance. The following week, Carman Moore wrote about the event in his village voice 'New Time' column. Moore referred to the band's output as "good music making," and the structure of the concert as "...a general crescendo, light at the beginning and heavy-groovy at the end—not a shooting star, call-the-law finale, just a heightened physical-emotional climate...the goods delivered as promised...sort of like good preaching in a church known to be a happy place." In other words, an ideal spot to shake your bones on a late-August New York night.

According to Ace Frehley’s memoir No Regrets, the teenage Ace sneaks in, meets Jerry, gets drunk, and passes out. A real destroyer, that guy.

Marty Weinberg tape