Busy Being Born: The Legacy of Englishtown

To most folks in New Jersey, Englisthown is a haven for redneck extremes—drag racing, funny cars, and monster trucks. To Deadheads, especially those on the East Coast circa 1977 and beyond, Englishtown is where their beautiful obsession with the band began, whether the baptism was on the grounds of Raceway Park on September 3, 1977, or thru the radio broadcast on that blessed evening, or sometime in the future via bootleg tape or Dicks Picks Volume 15, the officially released three-CD set of Englishtown. 

My Englishtown tale began in 1981, two months after John Lennon was gunned down on the outskirts of Central Park, and a week after the attempted assassination of President Ronald Reagan. On that fateful morning, I arrived at Clarkstown South High School and quickly spotted the cat who sold the juiciest bones in town. On this morning he was also selling bootleg tapes. He showed me an impressive list of shows by legendary rockers, but one show leaped off the page: Grateful Dead at Raceway Park in Englishtown, New Jersey. Although I didn’t know the song list or the quality of the BASF tape, Englishtown was the tape I had to have, it was as if the tape chose me. 

  

As a youth, I spent endless hours listening to New York’s top hit station, Musicradio WABC. I used to hear Gladys Knight & the Pips, The Spinners, Stevie Wonder, McCartney & Wings, Sly & the Family Stone, Elton John, Marvin Gaye, David Bowie, The Eagles, America, Harry Chapin, Grand Funk Railroad, Linda Ronstandt, and Paul Simon battle it out for top spot on the charts week after week. Anyway, one of WABC’s top advertisers was Englishtown. The commercial began with a helium infused voice: “Ha- ha-,ha-ho, Raceway Park, Englishtown, New Jersey!” The follow up message talked of funny cars, drag racing, and other high-flying arcane activities. Englishtown and the Grateful Dead seemed like a fine connection, sure to arouse the ghosts of Old Weird America. 

 

I had recently started listening to some Grateful Dead albums, but that morning, I was blown away by Englishtown’s monumental “Mississippi Half Step.” The pre Rio Grande instrumental was the greatest piece of improvisation I’d ever heard. After hearing Englishtown’s radiant “Eyes of the World,” I finally understood why people considered Jerry Garcia to be the greatest guitarist in the universe, and why Deadheads would travel anywhere to see this band. 

Looking back at the summer of ’77, Englishtown could have been a disaster of Altamont proportions. Raceway Park was only forty-five miles from New York City, which was suffering from an overdose of the summertime blues. Son of Sam, the most feared serial killer of his time, was firing lead into lovers making moves in parked cars, and taunting police in the tabloids. The Bronx was burning from a never-ending series of arson fires. The New York City blackout on July 13 triggered chaos and rioting in the streets, and it exposed the rotten core of the Big Apple. In addition to all the madness, the East Coast experienced one of the hottest summer’s on record. With 150,000 restless stoners pouring into Englishtown on an oppressively hot Labor Day weekend, and the Grateful Dead coming off of a three-month touring hiatus, the outcome was highly uncertain. 

 
Outside of a massive traffic mess that forced concertgoers to park their cars several mile from Raceway Park, things fell into place. Deadheads and Southern Rockers swayed and jammed as one as the New Riders of Purple Sage and Marshall Tucker Band entertained. According to most witnesses, a plethora of acid was available and consumed, but the first hairy moment of the day was when a woman went into labor after the Marshall Tucker Band performance. A helicopter was flown in to evacuate mom, and she gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

 It was still hot and humid when John Scher introduced the headliners: “Okay. Here we go. On keyboards, Mr. Keith Godchaux. On lead guitar, Jerry Garcia. On vocals, a very nice lady, Ms. Donna Jean Godchaux. On drums and percussion, Mr. Bill Kreutzmann. On drums and percussion, Mr. Mickey Hart. On rhythm guitar, Bob Weir. And on bass, Phil Lesh. Ladies and gentleman, the finest band in the land, the Grateful Dead!” 

          After successfully going down the path of least resistance with the first three songs, Bob Weir urges the surging crowd to take a step back before the band bursts into “Mississippi Half Step.” There’s a gleeful bubbling to Jerry’s voice, he’s reunited with one of the defining masterpieces of the Grateful Dead’s remarkable ’77 run. The pre Rio Grande jam is smoking with a pair of climatic peaks. Before returning to the bridge, Keith begins to twinkle a lovely melody that captures Garcia’s fancy. Jerry responds with robin-like tweets as Phil’s bass begins to rumble in the distance. The jam escalates, but the band has the wisdom and good taste to reign the jam in before it becomes overindulgent. It’s a sublime moment, and Englishtown roars approval in unison. The perfectly harmonized Rio Grande bridge is pursued by an ample outro solo. There was a myth that the Grateful Dead failed to rise to the occasion on the biggest of stages. That myth was officially debunked by the Englishtown “Half Step,” The other highlights of the first set were a two solo “Peggy O,” and a hot “Music Never Stopped,” although it’s not one of the elite versions of the year. 

As the hippie throngs baked between sets in Raceway Park, millions of Americans were preparing for an emotional evening of television. The final episode of The Mary Tyler Moore Show aired on this Sunday night. America had to kiss the somewhat wholesome girl next door goodbye. In the world of popular music, Andy Gibb’s “I Just Want to Be Your Everything” was dethroned from the top spot on the charts by The Emotions’ “Best of My Love.” And with all the great albums available in record shops, Barry Manilow Live was the bestseller of the week. For those who preferred debauchery and improvisational theatre over American fluff and puff, the Grateful Dead took the stage for act two in Englishtown.  

Set two kicks off with a turbocharged Bertha > Good Lovin, and during “Loser,” Garcia nails a moaning blues solo that for all the ramblers and gamblers holding a losing hand. Now it’s time to show off Weir’s new pride and joy, “Estimated Prophet,” which segues into a stunning “Eyes of the World.” There are some better ’77 versions, but this “Eyes” is sophisticated and gorgeous. Garcia shines in his less-is-more motif, and when he cuts loose, the impact is heavy. This is magic and alchemy of the highest degree in front of an intimate gathering of 150,000. 

The next great segment takes shape as the band segues from “He’s Gone” into “Not Fade Away.” Let the cat and mouse games commence. The jam slowly builds and retreats, two steps forward, one back—one zig east, two zigs west. After the opening chorus, the music thunders, intense and dark, until it morphs into a zone where fusion, funk, and heavy metal grind. It’s as gnarly and gruff as the racetrack where Deadheads are still sweating as nightfall descends. When the NFA journey recedes, Weir blows a whistle to announce the first “Truckin’” in three years. For some of us tour veterans who saw “Truckin’” every three nights for fifteen years straight, it’s hard to imagine what a thrilling moment this was. Old school Deadheads fondly embraced “Truckin’” as a gateway song to long mind-bending jams, and the new wave of fans embraced this as the quintessential song from Skeletons in the Closet. And for historical purposes, the return of “Truckin’” was another notch of distinction for a show that was an instant classic. 

 

After a long, hectic day, Englishtown was revved up and begging for more. Jerry returned to thank the crowd, and Phil bellowed, “All right! Woo-hoooo! Alright ladies and gentleman, we’d like to play a little ditty from our newest album at your record stores currently.” Ah, the gold ole days when we’d hustle on down to the local record shop and flip through album bins. The “little ditty” Phil was referring to was “Terrapin Station,” an heroic eleven minute encore. Showing no signs of weariness, Garcia calls

upon the muses: “Inspiration, move me brightly. Light the song with sense and color hold away despair. More than this I will not ask, faced with mysteries dark and vast.” 


As they reach the final stages of the anthem, the crucial question is posed: “Terrapin, if it’s an end or beginning?” It may have been the end of a colossal concert, but for the band and their fans, it was the dawn of a new Dead era. With the mass exodus out of Raceway Park underway, thousands upon thousands of fans marched to their cars as the majestic “Terrapin” refrain echoed in the hot Jersey night. It was an experience that any rookie or seasoned Deadhead would never forget. They would pass on tales of this day to anyone who would listen. Being at Englishtown was a badge of honor that they would wear

Look Inside!

proudly. And as the radio and audience recordings of this show multiplied, a new crop of Deadheads were ripe for picking. Although Englishtown might not be the best show of the 1977, it’s one of the defining events of Grateful Dead mythology. Before they stepped on stage, a baby was busy being born in a sea of hippies. By the time they were finished with Englishtown, the Grateful Dead had turned on a new generation of fans. Terrapin Nation was busy being born. 

For more on Englishtown and a year beyond description, check out:
 Grateful Dead 1977: The Rise of Terrapin Nation 

When Walton, Elvis, and the Dead Were Kings

Grateful Dead 1977: The Rise of Terrapin Nation

The First Nine Days of June 1977

June 1: The Grateful Dead movie premiers in Manhattan’s Ziegfeld Theatre. After the band’s “Farewell” concerts of 1974, Garcia headed off to a house in Mill Valley with over 125 hours of raw footage from their last Winterland stand. Over the next two years, Garcia poured his heart and soul into this endeavor, as well as over a half million dollars from the band’s coffers. This was Garcia’s baby, and he spent more time on the making of the movie than any other artistic project of his career. Deadheads loved it, rock critics gave it mixed reviews, and predictably, there was no public demand for it. The movie was a short term financial fiasco. The film quietly, and gradually, became a midnight matinee classic, and matured into a masterpiece—the branding of the Grateful Dead experience. This quintessential and timeless documentary was born on the first day of June, 1977.

June 2: Stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues again, Elvis Presley performs American Trilogy for the last time during his final tour. 

Mobile, Alabama

June 3: Deadhead, Bill Walton, the best basketball player on the planet, leads the Portland Trailblazers to a crucial 110 – 104 victory over the Philadelphia 76ers in the City of Brotherly Love. After falling behind the mighty Sixers 2-0 in the series, Walton led his team to a pair of convincing wins at home, and then on this night, the Trailblazers stunned Philly in the Spectrum. Schooled by Wooden and inspired by Garcia, Walton was now one win away from basketball immortality.

June 4:  After a rather productive month touring east of the Mississippi River, the San Francisco prophets return to the Burning Shore for an evening in the Fabulous Forum, home to Kareem Abdul Jabbar and the L.A. Lakers. There was a roaring “Music Never Stopped” and the West Coast debut of Estimated Prophet > Eyes of the World, but when the fragile essence of “China Doll” sizzled into a turbocharged “Not Fade Away,” it was obvious that the Dead’s upcoming Winterland run was bound to be as brilliant as their ’74 residency in Bill Graham’s ballroom.

June 5: Bill Walton filleted and smoked Dr. J and the Philadelphia 76ers as the Portland Trailblazer won their first and only NBA Championship. Walton did it all—23rebounds, 20 points, eight blocks and seven assists. When Walton wasn’t swatting away shots, he was firing precise outlet and bounce passes leading to easy buckets. Walton’s bank shots kissed glass before swishing through nothing but net. When the final second ticked off the clock, the crowd instantly stormed on to the floor in a chaotic victory celebration/ stampede. Rowdy crowd celebrations were the norm in the Seventies. 

6-6-77:  Trailblazermania! The parade in Portland. 

June 7: The Grateful Dead kick off a three night run at the Winterland Ballroom as Deadheads in select East Coast and West Coast theatres enjoy the Wall of Sound and the ’74 Winterland shows via the Grateful Dead movie. The band simplified their sound system and tightened up their jams, but their energy and creative will surged. The times they were a-changin’ as the almighty ’77 hammer slammed down upon the Winterland.

The post drums segment on opening night was immense. The introductory “Samson” solo relentlessly raged on and on, conjuring up visions of Bill Walton, who may have been on hand for the show. After showing off their new anthem, “Terrapin Station,” Garcia struck the Holy Chord signaling “Morning Dew.” It’s a thunderous version, one of the elite Dews from a memorable year. A bone-crunching “Around and Around” pounding closed the set. It had been an average affair prior to drums, but the Dead rallied in heroic fashion. They were masters at savaging a shaky show. 

June 8: There’s nothing like an epic ’77 “Sugaree,” and Garcia and mates bless the second night at Winterland with a barn burner in the second hole. Jerry shines during the second solo, lots of slicing and dicing and blazing chord fanning. If this where a prize fight, the referee would have stepped in to stop it. The other extraordinary highlight from this show is a gripping and leisurely stroll through “Eyes of The World.” The band consciously slows down the pace and savors the journey. 

June 9: This is an excerpt from Grateful Dead 1977: The Rise of Terrapin Nation

Everything was lined up perfectly for the final show at the Winterland on 6-9-77. Now it was up to the Grateful Dead to play the songs that they’d yet to break out during this California stint, and to mix in other gems that were not played the night before. On this Saturday night, Stevie Wonder’s “Sir Duke” was the number one song in the land, and Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors topped the album charts. These were glorious days for American music. In the world of boxing, on June 9, 1977, Larry Holmes won a decision over Ken Norton to capture the WBC Heavyweight crown, and on the same day, ex-Beatle George Harrison and Patti Harrison got divorced. In the Winterland Ballroom on June 9, there were no hassles or squabbles, just music, sweet music filling the air—a performance that is one of the undisputed heavyweight shows of the year. 

It all begins with “Mississippi Half Step Uptown Toodeloo.” The music thunders and gives off a warm glow at the same time. Sloppiness is not an option as the band surges forward. I don’t know how a group of musicians can be more in sync with each other. Garcia unleashes a tremendous final solo as his mates feed off the inspiration. A great start is chased by “Jack Straw” from Wichita, probably the best ‘77 version to date. The bar has been set high, but as the Grateful Dead run through a set that includes “They Love Each Other,” “Cassidy,” “Sunrise,” “Deal,” “Looks Like Rain,” and “Loser,” everything is album worthy, and Garcia’s in the moment with each solo. The set-ending “Music Never Stopped” is hotter than kung pao chicken, and the best is yet to come. 

A slamming “Samson and Delilah” kicks off the second frame. It’s not as wild as the one two nights earlier, but it’s a potent rock and roll creation without an ounce of fat. Nothing on this night wanders aimlessly, but there’s an abundance of satisfying improvisation. The sonic landscape is dynamic and dominant—it’s the beginning of a new era for the Grateful Dead as they conquer a new generation of fans without alienating the old guard. This isn’t easy to do. Just ask Bob Dylan; although in his case, he wasn’t keen on building bridges or mending fences with critics or fans. He mastered the art of challenging his audiences. The Grateful Dead clearly shifted their playing philosophy after the hiatus, but the change was subtle enough not to offend their loyal fan base, although the band could almost do no wrong in the eyes of Deadheads. 

Following “Samson and Delilah,” Weir announces, “Our highly efficient and trained crack equipment team is busy at work making sure everything is just exactly perfect.” This is good news for fans of the “Funiculi Funicula” tuning. In the divine scheme of things, if everything happens for a reason, then “Funiculi Funicula” was born for this moment. The instrumental’s buoyant and carefree, and it’s obvious the band’s getting off, and everybody in the Winterland has a happy heart. Technical difficulties never sounded so sweet. The little waltz winds down and Weir proclaims, “Ladies and gentleman, we have a winner.” Indeed! 6-9-77 wouldn’t be the same without the “Funiculi Funicula” bridge between “Samson” and the beloved trifecta opening of Blues For Allah. 

“Help on the Way” kicks in like a heart skipping a beat—soulful anticipation full of promise rings sharply—jazzy riffs—Paradise waits. On a crest of a wave her angels in flame. Garcia and Hunter—inspired. This “Help On The Way” is as good as it gets, and then the “Slipknot!” ascension begins. Jerry, Bobby, Phil, Keith, Mickey, and Billy dart off to lands where only jazz legends roam: Coltrane, Miles, Monk. This summertime Winterland exploration is metallic and dark, a spiritual voyage linked to something past but not forgotten—the continuation of an eternal jam. The ghosts of Coltrane seem to find their way into every “Slipknot!” I envision Coltrane in a dark suit blowing his horn through a smoky haze in a dimly lit room on 52nd Street. Suddenly, we’re back in the Winterland Ballroom and the Dead are whipping through the intricate transition to “Franklin’s Tower.” No band delights in a segue like these guys, and this segue is July 4th fireworks and the New Year’s Eve countdown rolled into one. The ensuing “Franklin’s” is a seventeen-minute breakout aerobics session. That 1974 Winterland crowd from The Grateful Dead movie got weird with the best of them, but the dancing and spinning must have been outrageous on 6-9-77. Garcia’s singing is hyped towards the end: “I want you to roll away the dew. Yoouuuu better roll away the dew. Come on come on rollaway the dew!” This “Franklin’s” is superior to the one three nights earlier in the L.A. Forum. A grandiose “Slipknot!” transition is the best medicine for “Franklin’s Tower.” 

“Estimated Prophet” ignites the next segment with nuclear efficiency. There’s no spare parts or easy ballads in this set. Garcia scuba-dives through Lake Paradise during the Rasta/jazz outro. “Estimated” and “Slipknot!” are cousins inspired by the same muse. Jerry’s absorbed in the sonic sensations—the jam gets out there…too far gone to return. “Estimated” travels through time and space until it shakes hands with the past, “St. Stephen.” The transition is smooth and exquisitely understated. The intro explodes and extends. Garcia and crew skid down an icy runway in command, and wildly out of control at the same time. The first two solos are brazen and longer than usual. In Cornell, a standalone “Estimated” is followed by “St. Stephen.” This Estimated > St. Stephen hook-up is outstanding—a cosmic connection that should have happened more often. “St. Stephen” dives into “Not Fade Away,” and things heat up pretty good until the drummers change the flow with raging percussions. 

The “St. Stephen” reprise materializes out of drums, but it lacks the creative noodling and suspense of the Cornell reprise. A brisk “Terrapin Station” pops out of “St. Stephen.” The true tenderness of the anthem isn’t captured here, yet the power of the instrumentation is stunning—the almighty ‘77 hammer pounds away during the “Terrapin” refrain. “Sugar Magnolia” is the final destination of this express train. Totally drained, the Grateful Dead still manage to give up a double encore of “U.S. Blues” and “One More Saturday Night.” The energy of “U.S. Blues” is unreal, like a victorious warship rushing home through peaceful waters. The Grateful Dead delivered a fantasy set list for the ages—ballads and dirges never had a chance. This performance best embodies the unrelenting professionalism and muscular sound of ‘77—that bulldozer effect. And 6-9-77 is a snapshot into the future, a blueprint for the way the band wanted things to be; except the future rarely sounded this alive again. 

Grateful Dead 1977: The Rise of Terrapin Nation