By the summer of 1984, the Grateful Dead had settled into the particular groove of their mid-eighties arena incarnation — a leaner, more electrified outfit than the sprawling jazz-inflected ensemble of the early seventies, but one that had found a new kind of muscle with Brent Mydland firmly established at the keyboards. Brent had joined in 1979, and by this point his gospel-tinged Hammond organ work and his forceful, soulful vocals had become load-bearing elements of the band's identity. Garcia's tone was deep and singing, Weir was a rhythmic anchor, and the Hart-Kreutzmann tandem gave everything a physical propulsion that suited the outdoor shed circuit perfectly. The Dead were in the midst of a busy summer tour, playing the amphitheaters and sheds that had become their natural habitat — big enough to hold the growing tribe, open enough to let the music breathe. Blossom Music Center, nestled in the rolling hills of Cuyahoga Falls just south of Cleveland, was exactly that kind of venue — a classic lawn amphitheater with a covered pavilion and a reputation for warm summer nights that brought out some of the best crowd energy in the Midwest. The Dead returned to Blossom reliably through the eighties and early nineties, and the room has a way of sounding generous on tape, with the outdoor air giving the mix an openness that tighter indoor arenas sometimes lack. Ohio Deadheads were a devoted and loud bunch, and shows at Blossom tended to feel like homecomings.
From what we have in the database, "Bird Song" was on the setlist this evening, and that alone is reason to pay attention. Jerry Garcia's meditation on Janis Joplin — written in the weeks after her death in 1970, with lyrics by Robert Hunter — is one of the most spacious and emotionally generous vehicles in the Dead's entire repertoire. A great "Bird Song" is an act of collective levitation, built on Garcia's long, searching melodic lines and the band's ability to sustain a mood without rushing toward resolution. By the mid-eighties, versions could sprawl beautifully into exploratory jamming or stay relatively compact, but either way Garcia's phrasing in this song carries a tenderness that's hard to find elsewhere in the catalog. The recording circulating from this show is worth tracking down for any fan curious about what a summer evening at Blossom felt like in 1984. Put on your headphones, find a patch of grass, and let Garcia's guitar do the talking.