Jazz Is Dead, a Grateful Dead inspired fusion-rock supergroup, headlined a show at Metropol in support of their debut album "Blue Light Rain". I was definitely excited for the chance to see legendary powerhouse drummer and Miles Davis alumn, Billy Cobham with my own eyes. The resume of bassist Alphonso Johnson was undeniable, adding to my pre-show anticipation. And although I had yet to witness guitarist Jimmy Herring in a live setting yet…his known kinship with another band recently on my radar at that time - Gov’t Mule…and his reputation for mahavishnu-level shredding...had me simmering with optimistic anticipation that night. Rounding-out the band's all-star line-up was versatile keyboardist T. Lavitz, most notably of The Dixie Dregs. Still, all anticipatory musical pyrotechnics aside, it was the addition of Merl Saunders as opening musician that cemented my attendance to the show that now would feature Jazz Is Dead as Merl's closer.
My love and respect for Merl was already solidified at that point…as a musician and rock-steady organist in his own right…but especially as a bandmate and a genuine friend to Jerome. From the start of their friendship, Merl offered Jerry a safe haven and alternate stage that taped into parts of his musical and personal fabric that were as much pure-Garcia as the 2nd movement of Dark Star ever was. Aside from his own complicated and diverse personality, there were more facets to Jerry’s musical passions than there are on a cushion cut diamond. So, Jerry the cosmonaut needed his Grateful Dead mission control to explore the unknown and play the occasional cowboy song…but then Jerry the flat-picker needed David Grisman to help on his continual hunt for that high lonesome sound…and in Merl’s case, he provided Jer a pressure-free environment to allow a seamless and logical transformation from Motown crooner to Trenchtown prophet within the same set of music and typically in front of a smaller but more die-hard audience of music lovers instead of less discerning grateful disciples. But I digress…
It was a cold, damp February night in Pittsburgh…or, as we referred to them locally as - a February night. A light drizzle fell as I parked my Plymouth Horizon (an ’87, black with a red pin stripe…not to brag) and walked the three blocks to the venue. Stopping under the awning of the venue’s side-door, I capitalized on the overhead covering and began to enjoy a dry cigarette by myself before going inside. I was a half-dozen drags deep when a black Town Car pulled up in front of the awning, opened its back passenger door, and out pops Merl Saunders walking straight towards me. I shook the disbelief from my hamster wheel and stuck out my hand to shake his as he reached for the venue’s side-door. He thanked me for coming out, especially given the Gotham-city like conditions…and I thanked him for as much as I could think to thank him for…and without setting off any crazed fanatical-alarms either. Calm, personal and brief vs. overly-excited, blathering and disingenuous has always been my MO in these situations. Lest I spend the rest of the night relieving the awkwardness of the disjointed encounter as it continually replays in my head while the self-loathing skyrockets. Having already been satisfied with the exchange and the level of circumstance at work that allowed us to cross paths in that moment, I was already turning around to walk away (float off) to experience the gravy remainder of my already phenomenal night. But as I did, Merl called back to me to ask if there was a particular song I wanted him to play that night. And without hesitating to think, immediately replied - “Wonderin’ Why”…a languid and self-reflective blues tune, played frequently in the ’72-’75 Saunders/Garcia Band days, featuring Merl on lead vocals. He smiled at the suggestion and slipped inside with a twinkling wink, waving goodbye as the door closed behind him.
His set was excellent that night, full of warm Leslie fueled tones and heartfelt vocal delivery. The Garcia-related anecdotes shared between most songs were joyfully told, with an unmistakable hint of love and melancholy that prevented it from coming across like the typical on-stage saccharine banter of an aging musician. And as the set drew to a close, my pre-show song request was long forgotten, washed away in a 50-min flurry of dancin’ feet, sweat and smiles. But sure enough, Merl announced the evening’s encore - “This last song was a request from a really nice young man I met before the show tonight…hope you enjoy this one, Mike.” I was in the process of turning around to hit the bathroom before the JID took the stage and never lost my pivot foot when he said that…and immediately turned the other 180 degrees and braced myself for impact as I locked eyes with the stage. It was absolute chicken-skin country…mercy!
I’ll never forget how his eyes sparkled back at me before the show that night. As the side-door locked shut behind him, I stepped out from the cover of the awning to search for a dark star in the sky, exhaling the last draw of smoke from my lungs.
