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IN THE SPIRIT OF JERRY GARCIA: JGB @ The Cat's Cradle
By J. D. Edwards (September, 2000)

Many months ago, I wrote a decidedly antagonistic article about the continuing longevity of the Jerry Garcia Band, despite the seemingly insurmountable obstacle of the biological absence of their namesake and founder. In that piece, I expressed my growing displeasure with the never-ending flux of recent band members as well as an increasing predictability in song selection, after showing initial promise in both of those areas. Well, I decided to give them one last chance to atone for several disappointing experiences that included one gig where JGB didn't even show up, leaving mainstay Melvin Seals to play with some arbitrary, albeit talented, pickup band.

I had two specific criteria by which I planned to assess the current lineup. First, were the band members going to continue to fall away and be replaced with indiscriminate successors like the season Bo and Luke Duke held out on their contracts? And secondly, were they going to take full advantage of the enormous repertoire of Garcia material or continue to rely on the same five or six songs to carry the show? Well, I hate to say it, but their latest performance at the Cat's Cradle failed my first criteria with flying colors and faired only slightly better on the second one. So how did I walk away with my ass so thoroughly kicked?

My disappointment began the moment the band walked onstage, and Melvin sat surrounded by a stage full of unfamiliar faces. Not one other member remained from the previous incarnation I saw less than a year ago. Also conspicuously missing was the band's choir-like tandem of soulful backup singers, an unmistakable trademark of JGB's both past and present sound. Now this is where I must draw the line. I vigorously defended their ongoing use of the band name after Jerry died, but now I believe the time has come to find a new name. Melvin has solidified enough of a reputation for himself as a live presence and truly does not need the name recognition to draw a crowd anymore. Perhaps he should consider the names, "Melvin's Revolving Door Orchestra" or "Melvin's Journeyman Apprentice Academy," to describe the true nature of the current JGB more accurately.

My initial letdown was only worsened by several predictable song selections early in the show, but about forty-five minutes into the set, the new band's talent began to win me over, along with a majority of the audience. For myself, it started to happen after guitarist Bob Koons' Zappa-esque solo during "Fire on the Mountain," which featured some flashy finger-tapping and heavy metal crunch. The "Fire Jam" blazed through a drum break and into a power chord death-jam so far removed from the original JGB that it somehow seemed refreshing. But I became a true believer after guitarist Gail Mojo delivered her Janis-inspired reading of the bittersweet "Me & Bobby McGee." In addition to a gritty voice, her bluesy guitar solos, though limited, provided the appropriate, earthy grounding against Koons' ethereal wailing.

Oh by the way, did I mention that the show was broadcast live over the Internet as part of the four-day Festival 2000, sponsored by the Manhattan-based Digital Club Network? That's right, the experimental broadcast included over two-hundred bands web-cast from thirty-two stages across North America and probably had Lars Ulrich quivering in the back seat of his stretch limo, tallying lost revenue by the shavings of his former fingernails. But the intimidating prospect of playing for the vast cyberworld inspired Melvin's ensemble du jour to new heights on every solo, and they proved more than equal to the challenge.
And the buoyant bandleader was not to be outdone by the youth and exuberance around him. Melvin was in top-notch form at the show, locking into grooves with all band members but particularly with Bob's searing guitar. Like Jerry, Melvin has a tremendous ear for the other musicians onstage, intuitively knowing his space, when to add color and texture and when to completely take over. He truly embodies Garcia's spirit as a musician, learning firsthand from his two decades of tutelage, years he still romanticizes in interview: "There has only been one person that has touched my heart, enhanced my music abilities, given me a vision and introduced me to a new style. The time Jerry and I shared on stage was like the dream of a lifetime, and that dream must never die." And Melvin continued to dream by swirling on organ, dancing on piano and throwing a few chords around his compatriots, all the while having the time of his life and grinning like a little child.

By the time China/Rider closed out the show, band and audience had achieved a unified frenzy. Crescendo after crescendo developed enough dramatic tension to resuscitate Richard Nixon, and a club full of zealous converts (as well as a cyber-world of computer surfers) ecstatically called for more. Melvin like Garcia himself seems adverse to the whole charade of encores, but the band returned for a double encore that culminated with JGB's patented showstopper, "Midnight Moonlight."

Every time I think I know what to expect from the new JGB, they throw me for a loop. This time around, it happened to be a pleasant surprise. Although impressed as I was with Melvin's repeated ability to assemble fantastic bands and reinterpret the musical legacy of his mentor, I still can not wholeheartedly recommend that anyone see JGB because I have no idea what the next show will offer musically (nor would they, I'd imagine.) But the only thing I can promise, whoever fills in the spaces musically or whichever moniker adorns the marquee, is that Melvin will continue to embody Jerry's joy, his daring, his communicative openness, and his flare for slow, dramatic buildup and release as much as any one musician possibly can.