Pop Weekend : Jerry Garcia-Bob Weir Show Lackluster

Some of the most exciting moments in Friday’s Jerry Garcia Band-Bob Weir show at Irvine Meadows Amphitheatre came early in the evening, indeed, well before either performer took to the stage.

The pre-show tail-gate party/new-age swap meet common to Grateful Dead-related events was particularly enlivened this night by a bearded, be-turbaned fellow rolling around on high-tech skates, a portable amplifier strapped to his back. With a look of fried glee on his face, he sailed about, playing manic riffs on a battered Les Paul, singing something on the order of: “Computerized cocktail time, Computerized cocktail time, Midnight box opens, Arrgh! . . . ah, ha haaa!”

Maybe it wouldn’t have taken him far on “Star Search” but it was a sight more energetic than most of what Weir or Garcia had to offer in their Dead-Lite sets. Largely, these two front men only served to show, by the absence of the band they front, what a fragile magic it is that makes the Grateful Dead work.

With the Dead and his own bands over the years, opener Weir has gained a reputation as one of the finest rhythm guitarists in rock, raising that oft-neglected role to a fine art. But, as such, he is at his finest as a support player, sparking and coloring other’s solo flights. Supplemented only by acoustic bassist Rob Wasserman, Weir and his acoustic guitar--on which he isn’t nearly as nimble--found little to underscore.

While he did gather some momentum on Lowell George’s “Easy to Slip” and the Dead’s “Throwing Stones,” oldies selections such as “Fever,” “Twilight Time” and “Blackbird” stranded Weir’s negligible voice without the Dead’s unpredictable backings to spur him. Weir took only a few instrumental solos, leaving most of that to Wasserman. While the latter offered some flashy technique--including beating his strings with his bow on some mock-flamenco passages--he lacked the common jazzman’s ability to really dig into the depths of his instrument.

Garcia’s set, meanwhile, cried out for some of the support Weir’s guitar could have provided. Though his band--which he never identified or even acknowledged--was competent enough, they lacked the empathy and drive often needed to push Garcia’s skills and corral his excesses. His guitar work displayed plenty of both in a set loaded with comfortable oldies. Garcia’s croaked singing, by the way, has pretty much waned from endearing to abominable.

Of course, nothing happening on stage damped the party which had begun long before the show, with happy folks dancing and spilling all over the place. Whether Garcia’s playing was crystalline and probing, as on Dylan’s “I Shall Be Released,” or meandering out to pasture on the Roy Hamilton classic “Don’t Let Go,” it was received with relaxed approbation by a crowd bent on such criminal acts as seat-hopping.

Seeing Garcia--gray enough to be Santa, and cumbersome enough to be Idaho’s answer to the California Raisins--distribute his six-stringed sedatives to the crowd, one had to wonder: “This is what Irvine city officials view as a threat ?” The amphitheater’s yellow-jacketed security staff certainly seemed to be taking it all seriously, struggling to impose order on the milling Dead crowd, which has only been coping with itself for, what, two decades now?