By January 1970, the Grateful Dead were deep in one of the most adventurous and fertile periods of their entire career. The classic early lineup — Garcia, Weir, Lesh, Pigpen, Kreutzmann, and Mickey Hart, who had joined as second drummer in late 1967 — was hitting its stride as a live unit of almost frightening power and looseness. The band had released both Aoxomoxoa and Live/Dead in 1969, and they were actively road-testing the material that would become Workingman's Dead just a few months later in June of 1970. This was a band in genuine transition: the psychedelic sprawl of the late '60s was giving way to something rootsier, more song-oriented, yet no less exploratory when the moment called for it. You could hear both worlds colliding on any given night. The Warehouse in New Orleans was one of the great rock rooms of its era — a cavernous converted warehouse in the city's warehouse district that became a legendary venue for late '60s and early '70s touring acts. New Orleans has always had its own gravitational relationship with music, and the Dead were particularly receptive to that energy. Playing there carried a certain weight, a feeling that the city itself was listening.
The room's size and reverberant acoustics made for an intimate-yet-large atmosphere, and crowds there tended to be deeply engaged, which the Dead always responded to. The one song we have confirmed from this date is "I've Been All Around This World," a traditional folk and old-time piece that the Dead folded into their repertoire during this roots-conscious period. It's the kind of song that speaks directly to their affection for American vernacular music — the same impulse that would produce Workingman's Dead and American Beauty. When the band let loose on traditional material like this in 1970, it could feel genuinely timeless, Garcia's guitar finding a natural home in the old melodic contours while Pigpen's presence added a lived-in earthiness that nobody who came after him could quite replicate. It's a small window, but it's a revealing one. Recordings from the Warehouse during this era tend to circulate as audience captures of varying quality, so temper expectations accordingly — but even a murky tape from early 1970 carries the electricity of a band right at the cusp of a major creative leap. Put on your headphones, let the room noise settle around you, and listen for the moment when Garcia finds the melody and the whole thing lifts.