Greatest Stories Ever Told - "Weather Report Suite"
By David Dodd
Okay, so first off, before we get to this week’s song, I just want to say that today is my birthday. (You can send presents in the form of commenting on this post—that’s all I want for my birthday from y’all.) Being born on Valentine’s Day has been a mixed blessing over the years. It was embarrassing when I was in elementary school, but it came in handy a couple of times later in life, as in when I got down on bended knee and proposed to my sweetheart 19 years ago: she cemented a very romantic episode by saying yes, and gave me the best birthday present ever.
In Grateful Dead land, I remember being very happy to note, early on in my fanaticism, that the Bear’s Choice album was partially recorded at a show on February 14, 1970. It is a special occurrence in our lives when we get to see a show on our birthday, and I was lucky enough to have that happen, twice! 1986 and 1988 at Kaiser. Anyone else have the chance to see a show on your birthday?
Then there is the whole Valentine’s Day thing, which makes me think about romance and the Dead. I’ve had my share of romantic episodes at Dead or Dead-related concerts over the years, including one particular version of “Morning Dew” …well, maybe I shouldn’t go into detail. More comment fodder, perhaps.
This week, by request, we’re looking at “Weather Report Suite,” (Prelude, Part 1, and Part 2). For a short time, the three pieces that comprise the Suite were played as such, but that was relatively short-lived by Grateful Dead standards.
The Prelude debuted in November 1972, originally as a separate piece from its eventual companions. The Dead played it, according to DeadBase, four more times in the spring of 1973 before it was first matched up with Weather Report Suite Parts 1 & 2, in September of that year. It was played regularly through October of 1974, and then dropped from the repertoire. The instrumental “Prelude,” composed by Weir, sets the stage for the two pieces to follow. I think it’s one of the most beautiful little pieces of music I know—I have never once skipped through it over years of listening. I just let it wash over me and know that its simplicity and beauty are preparing me for the melancholy of Part 1, and the sometimes epic grandeur of Part 2.
Part 1 is a song co-written with Eric Andersen, a well-known singer-songwriter who wrote the classic “Thirsty Boots.” He was on the Festival Express Tour (of “Might As Well” fame) across Canada along with the Dead, and I’m guessing that’s where Weir and he met and concocted this piece. Happy to be corrected on that by anyone who knows better. Andersen and Weir share the lyric credit, and the music is credited to Weir. Once it appeared in the rotation, in September 1973, it stayed in the repertoire only as long as the Prelude did, dropping entirely in October 1974.
The song addresses the seasons, and their changing mirrors the the singer’s state of mind as he reflects on the coming of love, and maybe its going, too: a circle of seasons, and the blooming and fading of roses. I particularly like the line “And seasons will end in tumbled rhyme and little change, the wind and rain.” There’s something very hopeful buried in the song’s melancholy. Is that melancholy just a projection of mine? I think there’s something about Weir’s singing that gets at that emotion. Loss, and the hope that there might be new love.
Weather Report Suite, Part 2 (“Let It Grow”) is a very different beast. It remained steadily in the rotation for the next 21 years after its debut, and the band played it 276 times. Its season of rarity was 1979, when it was played only three times, but otherwise, it was not far from the rotation. It could be stretched into a lengthy jamming tune (clocking at over 15 minutes several times), building to a thundering crescendo. And the “Weather Report” aspect of the song is what was really the most fun many times.
I think many Deadheads have stories, shared experiences of times when it seemed like the music was making the weather, or vice-versa, as rain clouds piled up during outdoor shows, and occasionally cut loose. Would they play “Cold Rain and Snow” or “Looks Like Rain” or “Let it Grow”? Whatever, we would madly caper about in the downpour, reveling in the unity of the music and the environment. (The reverse was also true, when a hot and dusty day would give rise to a “Me and My Uncle” or a “Jack Straw.”)
The song’s lyrics are almost over the top in their profundity: John Barlow, the theology student, outdoing himself in his invocation of several major doctrinal issues, such as the name of the divine—“What shall we say, shall we call it by a name?” The name, he points out, is on the earth, and in the thunder, that shouts its existence: “I am.” This is a direct biblical reference, of course, when Moses, wandering in the desert, asked the burning bush its name, and was answered “I am.” (Exodus 3:13-14).
The way I hear the song, Barlow invokes the earthly elements of water, earth, air, and fire and compares the lives of us who live on the planet to the significance of the totality. We won’t ever know what “the work of the day” will eventually signify, but we are a part of the big “I am,” too.
Over the years, there’s been a lot of ink spilled, some of it wonderfully, on the question of the Grateful Dead and spirituality. There are Christian Deadheads, Buddhist Deadheads, Atheist Deadheads, and Deadheads of every other spiritual and religious stripe. (I myself am a Unitarian Universalist Deadhead.) We each have stories about how the band and the music have affected or been affected by our spiritual seeking and our choices. This might be a good place to share some of those stories, too.
Your turn. Birthdays, love, spirituality, weather. Good topics for your comments.
I think Prelude is the best Bobby ever composed. Never get tired of this, interesting that it was retired so quickly. Was nice to hear him play it again with Furthur, still sounds freaking sweet.
Birthday show = Serendipity
Never went to a show on my birthday, but I love WRS. The version on the bonus disc of the Grateful Dead movie gets a lot of play.
I've even loaned it to a few friends, telling them "watch and listen. If you still don't like the Dead, I'll never mention them again"
Some convert, some still don't get it, but its a good test.
Lake Geneva= cool clear water with magical rejuvenating and restorative powers.
I saw one show on my birthday, an acoustic Garcia/Hunter gig in Rochester. Had a nasty cold and felt lousy but I went anyway.
Traveling down the pike we were passed by a little black sportscar with plates that equated to 'SEE ME FLY'... and he did.
Furthur does a real nice job with WRS by the way... they opened the second set with it at 'the Eleven' show in Syracuse.
Is definitely one of the Grateful Dead's top 5 compositions. It had an eerie power onto itself. It could be extended and played by an orchestra and as easily divorced from every other part of the show except perhaps for Here Comes Sunshine.
I never had the opportunity to hear it in person (even, as I have learned in this thread, that it was partially played by The Dead in 2003) and I feel more bummed about that than missing such tunes as Doin' That Rag or Cosmic Charlie,
A stellar version should have been put in the National Archives rather than the Cornell show. Or maybe as the encore or PS. It was and still is a beautiful composition that is a pleasure to hear and let your mind drift along with and glean incites from.
Alas, I never figured out how many angels dance on the head of a pin....
uh, I think that would be Lake Geneva!
Nice! You mentioned sliding in the rain in Alpine 89....crazy..1988 was the "Dust Bowl" and 89 was a flood zone. Great times, remember 'bathing' in the Lake in town (not sure name of town...about 8 miles down a country road)..heads everywhere, many of them trying to get the 1/4" of dust off their bodies!! Great times in Wisconsin. Also remember the sun coming up at like 5am...longest days of the year..nothing worse than 'cooking' in your tent,,,,the heat and light waking you up at 5-6am dehydrated from the night before...wow! But worth every second of it.
Can't forget the "sausage on a stick" in Telluride!! How about taking pics at town park and Jerry posing with a ear-to-ear grin!! Standing behind Brent at the bar and trying to build up the stones to talk to him while Robbie Taylor is giving us the stink eye, sending a message of "don't do it boys."
1987, August. Three Red Rocks shows, 8-11--13, then off to Telluride. My birthday is the 13th, front row center WITH A TRIPOD, the boys are lookin right at me while I snap pic after pic. Super psyched! Take film for developing. Bummer...had exposure all wrong. Great color, all blurry. Bet the guy at Skaggs wondered what the hell all these photos were doing in the rack, never picked up.
Another birthday-not mine. Saw the Hamilton shows in 90 on my (now) ex-wifes bday. Big surprise that union didn't last, eh?
Also at the Rocks, always a good rain venue. 82 and 84, super soaked and lovin it. Also slid down the hill at Alpine in I think 89, really wet.
Favorite may have been 94 at Eugene, when damn near every song had a rain reference. Fuggin miss it.
Lookin forward to FURTHUR on Sunday though.
I think what's really remarkable about "Weather Report Suite" is the way that the lyrics of Part 1 (Anderson and Weir) and Part II (Barlow) mesh so well. Part I begins with a first-person (singular) speaker ("Winter rain, now tell me why"), but shifts to first-person plural for the last stanza ("We'll see summer come again"), while Part II begins with a more remote third-person perspective ("Morning comes, she follows the path to the river shore"), but then shifts to first-person plural in the penultimate stanza ("What shall we say, shall we call it by a name?"). But this variety of perspectives is neatly unified by certain images that are invoked by each point of view, in particular, the circle motif ("Circle songs and sands of time" and the cycle of seasons in "Darkness fall and seasons change" and "We'll see summer come again") that is established in Part I and elaborated upon in Part I ("Round and round, the cut of the plow in the furrowed field" and "As he dances the circular track of the plow"). And there's also more elemental concerns that unify the two parts: rain, and its role in the seasons of living and dying, is one example. But all this aside, I'm curious about which came first; Part I or Part II? It seems like it was written in the order that we've come to know; Barlow's first line, "Morning comes, she follows the path to the river shore", seems to be an awakening following the dreamier consciousness of the speaker in Part I, but maybe it was the other way around. Anybody know?
It's a very psychedelic night during the last run before the hiatus, October '74 at Winterland. The first set ends with "Weather Report Suite." During Let it Grow, the thunder shouts "I AM." An intense jam builds up to a final chorus. Again the thunder shouts "I AM." From the balcony, I experience the entire crowd below, individually and collectively, psychically shouting "I AM" with the thunder, each person in the audience affirming his or her individual existence, while also affirming the collective existence of the group mind, which is also shouting "I AM."
During the break, Ned Lagin and Phil Lesh take the stage for the "Seastones" segment. As the segment progresses, Jerry takes the stage, and Bobby, and Keith and Bill, and Seastones turns into Dark Star which turns into the most emotionally charged Morning Dew I've ever seen.
And the second set was still to come! An amazing night in an amazing run.