Just found this, and agree 100%:
in 1978, Dave Marsh Wrote:
The Grateful Dead epitomize hippie rock & roll, and [unless you're a hippie yourself] this is one assertedly major oeuvre that's virtually worthless except for documentary purposes. The Dead's long modal jams may be the stuff of mesmerism in concert (although even there, it's questionable), but they're simply self-indulgent and boring on disc. The band's attempts at pop, rock and country are rendered effortlessly irritating and stodgy by the band's lack of a crisp rhythm section and/or a single competent vocalist.
The Dead are worshipped for their image as hip patriarchs, which means that as long as Jerry Garcia has that acid twinkle in his eye, he'll never have to worry about his pedestrian set of chops. Truthfully, there simply isn't very much about this group that's impressive, except the devotion of its fans to the mythology created in Haight-Ashbury and now sustained in junior high schools across America. At its peak, the Dead has essayed competence: Workingman's Dead is third-rate next to Sweetheart of the Rodeo, much less anything Gram Parsons ever recorded on his own, but it has a sweet ingenuousness that renders it bearable. Similary, Live Dead isn't much less interminable than any other Dead concert piece, but it has a freshness that feints toward vitality. But when the Dead attempt to rework rock and blues standards - as they did on their horrible debut album, and have sporadically since - they are a pox on the face of pop. And the group's patchouli-oil philosophy, which does nothing more than reinforce solipsism and self-indulgence in its listeners, except when it's nurturing its Hells Angels fan club, is exactly the sort of stuff that gave peace 'n' love a bad name.
Since joining Arista, the Dead have basically relinquished any claim to being taken seriously except as nostalgia mongerers. They essentially fulfill the same purpose as do the current Beach Boys: offering facile reminiscence to an audience with no memory of its own. This would be a tragic end, if there had been any genuine glory involved to begin with.
It's no big deal either way, I think it's actually a neat idea for you people with strong enough stomachs, and I totally enjoy popping in there every few days to catch a whiff of Hippy and see how my boys are making out (it's like watching some friends try and hold their hands on the car at the mall the longest for some radio contest), but don't play the "sorry for enjoying music" card. Not with a straight face.
