I was an employee of Bill Graham’s F.M. Productions in the sound department and on the rotating house crew of Winterland from fall ’77 through its closing. I remember the bones of the building, from the basement parking garage and engine room, which still had the massive ammonia refrigeration system used to make the floor an ice rink, to the catacombs of catwalks and rigging above the stage, and ceiling where some of us with access would fire up, do dip beaks, or just trip. While the place almost always reeked of the odious blend of urine, patchouli oil and pot, the empty dark building also creaked and groaned with the vibes of Hendrix, Morrison, Joplin and the myriad other artists that haunted its hallowed halls. All of us who worked in its cold grip revered the old lady.
New Year’s Eve day was the culmination of not only the closing week of Winterland, it was the end of a long string of shows Bill booked knowing these days would be its swansong. The vibe of NYE was particularly amped-up with the presence of the Blues Brothers on the bill. I mean, the Dead, on NYE, well, that was routine in its own way, but John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd, aka: Jake and Elwood Blues, who were at their SNL peak, brought an anticipation throughout BGP. EVERYBODY wanted to be there for this one.
The scene in the afternoon for sound check was nutty and disjointed. This had never been a band before. Paul Shaffer was the band leader who bordered on the tyrannical as he tried to herd these cats into some semblance of a show. We had sent our senior monitor engineer, Alex Lough, to Hollywood for a week of rehearsals prior, but in spite of that it seemed that this train was running downhill with Belushi playing Casey Jones and he was NOT in control. He was so clearly spun-up, most of the band just enjoyed watching him fuck with everybody. And I mean fuck with EVERYBODY.
At one point during sound check, I was on the front line changing a mic or something and Belushi spun around, grabbed my shirt and shook me wildly yelling something like “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON AROUND HERE!” I mumbled something like “don’t ask me,” but he was clearly joking and I was honored he took the time to fuck with me. Elwood hovered over “Jake” all afternoon, like the big brother he was, but the day did not go well, or the night for that matter.
In the show mix you can hear Elwood do his intro, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Winterland Ballroom” in his opening spiel. The side stage was so crowded with VIPs of every kind we could hardly move. I had to ask 6’11” Bill Walton to move back just to make room for Elwood who proceeded to hand me his “Briefcase Full of Blues” to hold while he took the announce mic. The rest of the set is littered with major feedback, which was Elwood’s harp amp. He didn’t have a roadie and neither he nor Paul, or any of the band, could get a grip on the horrible situation. They just plowed through and put on a great show, squealing amp aside.
Belushi spun around, grabbed my shirt and shook me wildly yelling something like “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON AROUND HERE!”
As was the custom for Dead NYE shows, Bill liked to dress up as Father Time, or sometimes the Baby New Year, and ride over the crowd is some contraption throwing out magic sparkle dust and joints to those below. This year, Bill was in a giant joint that had been made and rigged by Jake LaFever and Willie John in the F.M. shop. Since Jake was roughly the same build as Bill, he made a few test-runs during the week and things seemed fine.
Come the countdown before midnight, the joint and Father Time glided effortlessly over the crowd toward the stage. With the Dead already in place, along with Lee Oskar and John Cipollina, the joint hit the stage at around the stroke of midnight and the band struck up Sugar Magnolia, the balloons dropped and the confetti cannons fired.
Somebody finally retrieved a ladder and got Bill out, which released his weight from the rig sending the joint another foot or two higher off the stage. It took some mighty brave stage work to get the damn thing unhooked and loaded down the ramp to backstage. Meanwhile, Sugar Mag vamped on and I doubt many noticed.
~ Jeff Cotton