(This piece originally appeared on the Rhapsody Blog.)
The other night I wandered out to the front porch. There, with a sixer of Bell’s Oberon at my feet, I cranked a little New Riders of the Purple Sage and watched the fireflies light up the trees late into the night. It was my own private send-off to John “Marmaduke” Dawson, who died from stomach cancer on July 21 in Me
xico. Apparently, the former N.R.P.S. frontman had been living south of the border for quite some time. I always suspected Dawson was battling a serious illness. YouTube footage of a one-off appearance with the New Riders in 2001 shows a tiny man, frail and weak, who looked far older than 56.
Dawson, who co-wrote the American Beauty classic “Friend of the Devil,” was one of the elders of the Grateful Dead tribe. Jerry Garcia, Robert Hunter and he were pals in the mid-1960s, years before Haight-Ashbury and the whole acid rock/hippie thing. Back then, they all hung around Palo Alto and picked old folk music: jug-band tunes, bluegrass, country blues, etc. Another member of the inner circle was guitarist David Nelson, and after the Dead became a national act, Dawson and he began developing a new sound: psychedelic country rock, aka cosmic American music: a mix of hippie vibes, Bakersfield honky-tonk and vintage rockabilly.
Though it’s Los Angeles legends like Gram Parsons, the Byrds, Gene Clark and the Flying Burrito Brothers who receive the bulk of the credit for pioneering cosmic American music, the New Riders’ contributions cannot be overlooked. Featuring Garcia on pedal steel and Mickey Hart on drums, 1971’s New Riders of the Purple Sage is every bit as seminal as The Gilded Palace of Sin, Sweetheart of the Rodeo and The Fantastic Expedition of Dillard & Clark. In fact, early tunes like “Dirty Business” and “Gypsy Cowboy” find the New Riders diving into the psychedelic void far deeper than their Southern California counterparts.
For a good chunk of the 1970s, New Riders (who started the decade as the Dead’s warm-up act) packed theaters and hockey rinks with fans hungry for party-hard anthems like “Panama Red” and “Lonesome L.A. Cowboy.” The band’s biggest hits usually featured lead vox by Nelson and/or bassist Dave Torbert. But for me it was Dawson’s voice that ultimately defined the sound of the N.R.P.S. His was a thin, smooth cry incessantly teetering on the brink of heartbreak and disillusion, both personal and political. Lyricist Robert Hunter once said sad songs really seemed to suit Jerry Garcia’s temperament. The same can be said of Dawson. Taken as a whole, the dude’s dreamy balladry painted the picture of a long-haired cowboy set adrift in mainstream society after he and his friends’ Utopian dream dissolved in a haze of drugs and failed love. If it sounds like we’re checking into the Hotel California, that’s because tunes such as the aforementioned “Dirty Business,” “Garden of Eden” and “All I Ever Wanted” helped lay the foundation for Frey and Henley’s billion-dollar epic. But where the Eagles always sounded a tad too melodramatic, Dawson and the New Riders sounded genuinely torn apart by the the death of the “hippie dream,” for lack of a better phrase. After all, they were a part of its original and purest incarnation.
Personally speaking, my fondest memories of listening to the New Riders are linked to the city that bore the group: my wife and I picnicking in Golden Gate Park while a dusty vinyl copy of 1972’s Powerglide spins on my portable turntable, or loading up the Sansa Clip with a half-dozen or so live albums in preparation for a breezy Saturday afternoon of urban drift, or driving up the coast while cranking The Adventures of Panama Red.
The other night, however, I was all about one song — “Last Lonely Eagle.” I couldn’t help but think that Dawson left us with these lyrics floating about his mind. They are quintessential New Riders:
If you go down round the bend in the river
You’re gonna find a few changes
Been going down there
Cause the people who live
Round the bend in the river
Have forgotten their dreams
And they’ve cut off their hair
And take a last, flying look
At the last lonely eagle
He’s soaring the length of the land
Shed a tear for the fate
Of the last lonely eagle
For you know that he never will land
If you go down where the lights
Push the nighttime
Back far enough so you can’t feel the fear
Remember the boy who you left on the mountain
Who’s sitting alone with the stars and his tears
And take a last, flying look
At the last lonely eagle
He’s soaring the length of the land
Shed a tear for the fate
Of the last lonely eagle
For you know that he never will land
If you go down to the gas-powered flatland
Where most of the people just think
That they’re free
Remember the peace that you had
On the mountain
Come back to the love that you had here with me
Galactic Zoo Dossier #8 is now out. In it you can find my interview with light-show and light-painting pioneer 
This will sound kind of strange to a lot of you, especially those who know their jangle pop and roots rock history, but this new Deer Tick album, Born on Flag Day, has my noggin drawing comparisons to the La’s, that Brit pop band who put out one truly astounding record in 1990. To begin with, there’s John McCauley’s voice: The dude croaks, burps, belches and hiccups like Lee Mavers — had, of course, a witch turned the La’s mercurial frontman into the celebrated jumping frog of Calaveras County. Secondly, and this is the far more important point, Deer Tick is a lot like the mighty La’s in the way the group takes sounds and styles that are more or less pre-British Invasion and feeds them into a scrappy, shaggy brand of alternative rock equal parts quiet/acoustic and loud/electric.
The Skygreen Leopards’ last album, 2006’s Disciples of California, was a sunny ode to the Golden State. The San Francisco outfit, founded by singer-guitarists Glenn Donaldson and Donovan Quinn, filtered the psychedelic country-rock of the Grateful Dead’s American Beauty and New Riders of the Purple Sage through dreamy indie pop. Gorgeous Johnny, due out July 21 on the Jagjaguwar label, sounds much like its predecessor: Both are fat sacks of stoned melodies and jangly guitars that feel utterly Californian. But where Disciples emphasized the simple and pastoral, a perfect soundtrack for Sunday trips to Mount Diablo, Gorgeous Johnny comes decked out in ornamentation. Two of the album’s best tunes, “Dixie Cups in the Dead Grass” and “Goodnight Anna,” boast layered, echo-soaked harmonies that recall the Beach Boys’ Smile (as opposed to anything from the Dead’s sprawling discography). Though Quinn and Donaldson are the chief architects of the Leopards’ sound, those decorative qualities reflect the influence of Jason Quever, who joined the band just after Disciples. A skilled composer and multi-instrumentalist, Quever is also a big fan of vintage baroque pop who oversees his own project, Papercuts. Their new album, You Can Have What You Want, is in a lot of ways Gorgeous Johnny’s spiritual companion. And yes, that means you now have two records to illegally download.
