By March of 1968, the Grateful Dead were in the thick of one of the most fertile and untamed stretches of their early career. The classic five-piece lineup — Garcia, Weir, Pigpen, Phil Lesh, and Bill Kreutzmann — was pushing hard into psychedelic territory, still a year away from the double drummer configuration that Mickey Hart would bring, and not yet burdened by the formal studio ambitions that would shape Aoxomoxoa. They had just released their self-titled debut the previous year and were deep in the working-out of what would become their second album. This was a band that lived on the stage, and in early 1968, every gig was a laboratory. The Carousel Ballroom holds a special place in San Francisco counterculture history. Located on Market Street in the heart of the city, the venue was briefly operated as a collective by the Dead and Jefferson Airplane beginning around this very period — a utopian, communal experiment in rock and roll self-management before Bill Graham assumed control and rebranded it as the Fillmore West later that year. Playing the Carousel in early 1968 meant the Dead were essentially playing their own house, surrounded by the Haight-Ashbury scene at its most expansive and strange. The room had an intimacy and an energy that the Dead seemed to draw something extra from, and their performances here rank among the most exploratory of the era.
Of the songs in our database from this show, Cryptical Envelopment is a fascinating artifact. It functions as the brooding, lysergic opening frame of the "That's It for the Other One" suite — a piece that, at this moment in 1968, was practically new, having just appeared on Anthem of the Sun. In performance, Garcia's circular, descending guitar figures create a kind of trance threshold before the band explodes into the chaos of Caution or the Other One proper. Hearing it live in this period is to catch the Dead at the moment they were figuring out what psychedelic rock could actually be — not a genre but a practice. Recordings from Carousel Ballroom shows can vary considerably in fidelity, so manage your expectations accordingly, but even a rough tape from this room rewards close listening. There's a looseness here, a sense that anything could happen and usually did. Put on your headphones, find a quiet hour, and let 1968 wash over you.