By early 1987, the Grateful Dead were operating at the peak of their commercial and cultural resurgence. Brent Mydland had been firmly established at the keys since 1979, and his bluesy, full-throated presence gave the band a muscular edge that distinguished this era from the more ethereal Godchaux years. In the Dead's world, 1987 was the year everything was about to change dramatically — *In the Dark* was on the horizon, set for release that July, and with it would come an explosion of mainstream attention that would transform the Dead from cult institution to genuine arena phenomenon. But in January, they were still very much a band belonging to their faithful, playing hometown shows in San Francisco with that particular looseness that comes from performing close to home. The San Francisco Civic Auditorium — also known as Bill Graham Civic Auditorium, though it carried the city's name at this point — is one of those grand old rooms that carries real weight in Bay Area concert history. Its ornate Beaux-Arts architecture and booming acoustics made it a natural fit for the Dead, and San Francisco crowds always brought a special energy to these shows, the sense that everyone in the room had grown up alongside this music. Playing the Civic was a homecoming ritual of sorts, and the band invariably responded with something a little extra.
The one song we have documented from this date is "Throwing Stones," and it's a fitting window into this moment in the band's life. Written by Bob Weir and John Barlow, the song had entered the rotation in 1982 and by the mid-to-late '80s had become one of the most politically charged pieces in the Dead's arsenal — a sprawling, anthemic indictment of global dysfunction that hit differently as Cold War anxieties and environmental concerns dominated the national conversation. Great versions build from Weir's punchy chord work through a gradual intensification that can feel genuinely cathartic, especially when the crowd locks in on the "Ashes, ashes, all fall down" refrain. Listen for how Brent's organ swells underneath the final stretches, and the way Jerry's leads either tear loose into something transcendent or hold back into something moodier and more brooding — both approaches work, and both reward close listening. If a soundboard source exists for this date, it's worth tracking down just to hear the low end of that room properly rendered. This is a show for fans who want to understand the pre-*In the Dark* Dead on the cusp of everything changing. Press play and feel the last quiet moments before the flood.