Even more so than usual, this album exhibits the contradiction of Grateful Dead: dudes from Northern California make dusty, country-fried Americana, sounding straight out of the heartland, dead simple and pure.
There's a rustic, swooning charm to the album's harmonies and easygoing soloing, and its the kind of thing that likely breeds appreciation with familiarity. Again, again, the harmonies are sweet; when each voice is kept in balance its downright gorgeous, but then, again and again, up rises Garcia's reedy whine, straining to the top, leaving a path of destruction in its wake. This is a problem I have with a lot of this 70's stuff, maybe my ears are broke, but that kind of nasal sting right kills my buzz 3/5
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