Review — Evening Moods
by Rob Turner
While Bob Weir has had a very successful career outside of The Grateful Dead as a live performer, I think it's safe to say that his studio work as a front man has been at best spotty. While the brilliant "Ace" was an impressive debut, it was essentially a Grateful Dead album consisting of Weir songs. The full band performed each of these songs; Weir merely sang them and composed much of the music for them. The self-titled debut album from Kingfish was also an impressive collection of music (this is where "Lazy Lightning'" and "Supplication" first saw vinyl), but his later released projects with the band often flirted with the "watered down Grateful Dead" category. Weir's "Heaven Help The Fool" album featured some great songs, but it suffered from heavy-handed production. This album, and the two releases from Bobby and The Midnights in the eighties gave the impression that Weir was longing for a commercial hit. The Midnights were a powerful group of incredible musicians who delivered invigorating performances. However their first CD only gave a tiny window into the prowess of this band, and the second CD ("Where The Beat Meets The Street") was downright dreadful. Weir has released one very strong disc with Rob Wasserman, but it was culled from live performances.
So, as someone who has followed Weir's career closely for over twenty years, I am delighted to report that "Evening Moods" is his strongest solo studio release ever. With the exception of some moments of weird-sounding backing vocals, the mix is absolutely flawless. Literally all of the instruments are clearly discernable, and Weir's guitar and Wasserman's bass each leap out to the ear on literally every track. There is a breadth and strength to the songwriting that we have not been treated to on a Weir release since "Ace." Although this may partly be due to the fact that The Grateful Dead are no longer around to cherry pick Weir's strongest songs away, credit should also be given to the compositional input of recent and current Ratdog members (particularly Jeff Chimenti and Dave Ellis), and an army of lyricists. Weir's singing has also never sounded better in the studio. Even his toughest critics should take note that not only does he resist the urge to over-sing, but he also centers more on expressive subtlety than the sometimes-too-familiar desperate wailing.
This is possibly most evident during the fiery "Odessa." When Weir sings "If the river flood, woman say I brung the rain. If the quake shake, who gonna take the blame," we hear a man that has become very familiar with the strengths of his own singing. Weir charges through this white boy version of, "Baby's Got Back" with undeniable earnest. The tempestuous woman that is celebrated in the song is big-legged, headstrong, and equipped with a mouth that would "put a junkyard dog to shame." The chorus urges Odessa to "ease up," but a close examination of the lyrics and the lusty feel of the powerful horn arrangement might make one wonder if the voice of the song has reveled in some of Odessa's overbearing qualities. I'm guessing Odessa is only being asked to "ease up" for a few minutes, not for good. There is a sense of humor evident also, as during one rockin' sax solo (judging by the liner notes, I assume this is Ellis) we hear a phone ringing in the background. After the third ring, it sounds like it gets picked up, and longtime Weir collaborator Matthew Kelly kicks in with his harmonica solo, commencing it with a trill that almost quotes the phone ring.
"Odessa" is an example of Weir continuing his penchant for singing about the many joys of the women of this world, but in a more reverential fashion. "October Queen," offers another window into the modern day Weir. The introduction reminds me of some of the many late nights I've spent in jazz clubs. Jay Lane eases into the piece with a gentle shuffle sprinkled with some fancy cymbal work and Wasserman's walking bass line slides into the mix to set the table appropriately for this lil' Dixiefied Weir number. Andre Pessis has lent a hand in the lyrics here, and he has created a song that whimsically tells of an annual liaison between a working stiff, and this October Queen. Pessis offers some lyrics that are not only packed with wisdom, but also clearly written with a Weir sensibility. This song is a pleasant melding of bawd and insight. The lyrics capture the cross-sectionalized mayhem that is New Orleans, particularly in this stanza:
"Bars and alley are runnin' wild with Frat Rats
And your three piece Bible-belt conventioneers.
And your Drag Queens and your strip bars and your hazy purple streetlights.
All steamin' up the atmosphere"
My personal favorite line is the description of the Queen's lusty "come hither" look; "She's got that far off, smokey, leaves-are-falling look in her eyes. A true last chance October Queen." The Dixieland horn arrangement and robust hook in the song take the mind right down to The Big Easy. The beauty of the song is that its voice comes off as the dirty element, and the clearly promiscuous woman is the essential character driving the lyrics. She is the one who slips out in the middle of the night, leaving the voice of the song to, "wake up in a haze of sweat and cheap perfume." We get the idea that he is the one saddled with feelings of regret and betrayal as he reflects about going back to his life of country clubs and nine-to-five work. Clearly, the Queen is playing the King. This song slides effortlessly into the instrumental "The Deep End" which lends a feel that should be familiar to anybody that has enjoyed some live Ratdog jams. Even though it's a studio album, you get the idea that it could take off in any direction. There are subtle references to "The Other One" here (time for Rosenberg to change a bunch of those "Other One Jam" listings in his set lists to "The Deep End" on ratdog.org.) and some sweet interplay between Weir and guest saxophonist Eric Crystal. This is one of two segues on the disc, serving well as a representation of Ratdog's live capabilities.
Surprisingly, this does not segue into the final track, "Even So," even though it sounds like it would make musical sense. Weir collaborated with Gerrit Graham on this one, and like another of their collaborations, "Victim Or The Crime," it chronicles a painfully depraved individual submitting to his demons. This character is so far gone that even the "wolf man" is spooked away by him. Weir's vocal is extremely expressive on this one, and he gives the song emotional strength when he gently wails as the song nears its close, and keyboardist Jeff Chimenti takes it home with some delicate piano.
Perhaps Weir has become more appreciative of the wisdom of the female side of the world. "Welcome To The World," and "Lucky Enough" are two songs that suggest that Weir has been touched by fatherhood (Weir has recently become a parent). I would never expect a Weir of the past to sing, "And, when I look through your eyes. And see again each day as new. I can see my soul reborn. And what I know, I never knew." This stanza, from "Welcome To The World," finds Weir refreshingly vulnerable. His mind is (at least temporarily) out of the bedroom, which allows his heart to soak in the children's room. The gentle, elegant arrangement, is anchored by Wasserman's sturdy, don't-waste-a-note bass, and decorated by the sweetly elegant Chimenti piano work. There is sincerity in the delivery of this piece that makes tolerable an arrangement that might otherwise have seemed flowery. Let's face it, Weir's come a long way from, "Gloria Monday," or "Me Without You" (two lyrical lightweights from The Midnights days). This could also be said for the hopeful "Lucky Enough." This song starts with a gentle little riff that sounds like it could have come off of a CSN album in the seventies. Are we seeking Adult Alternative radio airplay here Bobby? Here, we find Weir offering a character seeking grace, rather than an exciting bedmate. Again I am impressed by lines like, "Oh to see the beauty, joy, and the tenderness. The reasons why a man's alive." Amen, Bobby…. where have ya' been? Weir surprises everyone with one stanza that demonstrates sensitivity for the long-term side of a relationship.
"The deepest journeys pass through the wilderness
The desert where the burning question resides
To taste the magic you must first suck the emptiness
From a cup that is always dry."
The two most ambitious songs on the disc are "Ashes and Glass," and "Two Djinn." Although they do not get the full instrumental workout that they receive in the live setting, these are clearly the lyrical masterpieces of this collection. The former follows up on the later-day Dead classic, "Throwing Stones," by speculating on a world after a nuclear disaster. There is an interesting contrast in the lyrics. The verses are filled with ominous thoughts, "If all the earth were baked to hard red clay, not so far from where we are today." However, the two bridges (delivered in the style of the pop staple, "Mockingbird") have a playful, but guarded optimism, "And if that better way don't float, Daddy gonna find us a tighter boat. And if that tighter boat don't sail, grab a bucket, babe, start to bail. And if that bucket spring a leak, Little Miss we're up the creek." On "Two Djinn" Weir chronicles the wild self-examination that his character embarks on after encountering a couple of Djinn on the way to West Marin. Djinn are supernatural beings that take human form and influence us with their advanced intelligence. We get the sense that the Djinn are leading the song's character astray, "my strange heroes lead me on, but when I get there they'll be gone." The twisted, allegorical song is bolstered by some outstanding sax and guitar lines which weave in and out of the verse section. Throughout the disc we are treated to savory Weir ornamental guitar, and particularly on this track. At one point he sends out a little guitar quirk that echoes one of the, "by the dark of the moon" lines in the infectious chorus. Bobby even revisits the Aboriginal concept of dreams being the real side of life on the last lyric of the number. Weir has alluded to having a fascination for this idea before, sometimes in interviews, and even once from the stage during a particularly memorable "Sunshine Daydream" (Merriweather Post 06/20/83 I believe) performance by The Dead.
"Two Djinn" segues into the only song on the release that was performed by The Grateful Dead, "Corrina." This song has been heavily criticized over the years, but I believe this criticism in unfounded. One problem is that it was introduced into The Dead's repertoire when the band was particularly lazy about learning new material. As a result, there were many lackluster versions of this challenging song, and more than a few Dead Heads gave up on it. Not to say that the band never nailed this one (check out the 12/3/92 Denver version) and those who enjoyed a dancing challenge generally savored this number. Others claim that it is a sexist song. These people probably only listen to the chorus, where Corrina is commanded first to "shake it up," and later to "shake it up, now!" I think the character of the song is pining in this chorus, not commanding. When one breaks down the rest of the lyrics, one may find that the voice of the song is painfully obsessed with an elusive Corrina, perhaps even from a distance. There are lines; ("I'm down by law, but true to you,") and couplets ("I would love you even if you flew away from me. I'll just stand here waiting, on the far side of the sea. There is no fear that lovers born will ever fail to meet.") in the song that are a far cry from sexist. This version benefits from a powerful Weir lead vocal, the strongest backing vocals on the disc, and a funky, almost Stevie Wonder-ish attack from Chimenti. My only criticisms would be that the guitar break could have a little more bite, and the one new Ratdog tune omitted from this collection ("She Says") could have fit perfectly after "Corrina."
And finally we get to the lead track. Weir is his typically unusual self by kicking the disc off with the menacing, "Bury Me Standing." His restrained lead vocal belies the spooky feel of this classically Weir-ified piece. Even if there weren't direct lyrical references to Robert Johnson in the song, I believe his presence would be palpable. The idea of being buried standing suggests a character that expects to keep moving after his demise. In Johnson's "Me and The Devil Blues" he wrote, "you may bury my body, down by the highway side, so my old evil spirit can catch a Greyhound bus and ride." Weir is clearly familiar with this song (hell, he performed it with Widespread Panic once), and he seems to reference two Johnson songs when he sings, "Bury me standing, I been a lifetime on my knees, bury me at the crossroads, lay me down and let me be." This song oozes along with a Halloween-like darkness, and Weir plays some the best lead guitar ever heard from him (you didn't sell that soul know did ya' Bobby?). Guitarist Mark Karan seems most at home in this blues setting, and he even steers the band into a lil' bit of a South American feel during some sections. The last jam affords Weir and Wasserman an opportunity to let their instrumental personalities shine brightly.
This is a fine release that should win over even the most anti-Weir Grateful Dead fans. And for those of us who have hung with him for all these years, this release is sweet…so very, very sweet!