By the summer of 1988, the Grateful Dead had settled into a remarkably stable and powerful configuration. Brent Mydland, now a full decade into his tenure as the band's keyboardist, had long since shed any journeyman awkwardness and was playing with real fire — his Hammond and piano work giving the band a muscular, soulful backbone that suited the arenas they were increasingly filling. Jerry Garcia's tone during this period was clean and cutting, and the band as a whole was running a tight, professional operation without sacrificing too much of the looseness that made them worth following. The summer '88 tour was a strong one, and Alpine Valley catches them mid-stride. Alpine Valley Music Theatre, nestled in the rolling hills of East Troy, Wisconsin, was a beloved stop on the Dead's circuit — a massive outdoor amphitheater that could hold enormous crowds and had a reputation for drawing the faithful from across the Midwest in serious numbers. There's something about an outdoor shed in summer, with the Wisconsin dusk settling in and a few thousand Deadheads spread across the lawn, that tends to bring out a certain communal looseness in both band and crowd. Alpine was that kind of room — big enough to feel like an event, open enough to breathe.
The three songs we have documented from this show give a nice cross-section of the evening's texture. "Me and My Uncle" rolling straight into something would have been a tight, punchy opener — the Dead played that Charley Pride-penned cowboy number with such regularity it became almost a talisman, Garcia delivering it with easy authority every single time. "Hey Pocky Way," the Meters groove that the Dead adopted and made wonderfully their own, is always worth tracking for the way the rhythm section locks in — listen for how Mickey Hart and Bill Kreutzmann handle that syncopated New Orleans feel, and whether Brent adds his gospel-inflected vocals to the mix. And "The Promised Land" — another Chuck Berry barnburner the Dead used as a reliable set-closer or set-opener — tends to crackle with energy, a test of how hot the band is running on any given night. Recordings from Alpine Valley in this era vary, but circulating sources tend to be listenable at minimum and often genuinely good. If you can find a clean audience tape or a matrix, this is the kind of summer evening show that rewards just letting it run — warm night, warm band, the Midwest rolling out in every direction.