It’s well to remember that the late poet Robert Hunter found his way into the Grateful Dead universe as a performer with his future songwriting partner Jerry Garcia. His esteemed position as lyricist for the iconic band left him little time to record or perform, but he did do so on more than one occasion and perhaps never more stylishly than on his first outing Tales of the Great Rum Runners.
With its original issue a half-century ago, Hunter’s first project represented the initial release on Round Records, a subsidiary of the Grateful Dead imprimatur designated for solo releases by members of the mother band and related projects (see Old and In The Way, Kingfish and Ned Lagin). And while it’s not nearly so scintillating at the pinnacles of the era circa Wake of the Flood, it’s certainly a vivid depiction of the learned yet whimsical persona Hunter brought to the zeitgeist.
Part of the rationale for the psychedelic warriors’ establishment of their own label was to ensure optimum audio quality. GRAMMY Award-winning engineer David Glasser’s remastering of the thirteen original tracks adheres to that standard, so much so that listening on headphones to the mix of acoustic guitars and keyboards during “That Train” is ample evidence of attention to detail. It’s an aural reflection of the dense color scheme in the album cover art.
The sonics also capture, ever so accurately, contributions from participants including Jerry Garcia, Keith, and Donna Jean Godchaux, plus Mickey Hart (at whose studio it was recorded). In addition, a long roster of varied personages appears in the form of guitarist Barry Melton (Country Joe & The Fish), bassist David Freiberg (Quicksilver Messenger Service/Jefferson Starship), and pedal steel guitarist Buddy Cage (New Riders Of The Purple Sage). None of these pedigreed figures upstage the principal.
In fact, Robert Hunter distinguishes himself by singing and playing various instruments, including guitar, tin whistle, and bagpipes on “Children’s Lament.” His vocals betray a bit too much Dylan influence at various junctures, including “I Hear You Singing.” Still, such imitative traces of phrasing disappear altogether for the stentorian tone of voice he uses on “Rum Runners.”
The sea-shanty nature of the latter is only the most overt sign here of Hunter’s abiding recognition of history as a source for his own songwriting efforts. Along those lines, too, “It Must’ve Been The Roses” may be the only familiar composition present (unless listeners saw the man live on one of his infrequent live shows, such as his 2003 tour with Phil & Friends plus Hart).
Originally a cut on Garcia’s 1976 Reflections LP, its banjo and pedal steel arrangement here renders it a distinctly perkier affair than that which represented a staple in the repertoires of the JGB and the Dead. In terms of contrast(s), too, the half-dozen alternate takes among the sixteen previously unreleased cuts on this Deluxe Edition are provocative on their own terms and in comparison to the ‘official’ versions.
That is, except for the heavy-handed likes of “Road Hog” and the Chuck Berry derivative “Reelin and a Pitchin’.” The second rendition of “Boys in the Barroom,” however, is something else again: with its group singing and horn accouterments, this arrangement sounds like nothing so much as an update of a traditional drinking song. As such, it transcends essayist Jesse Jarnow’s verbose description of the enclosed music as ‘organic earthiness’ (maybe that’s the indulgence in style titled “Southern Fried Shuffle”?).
This two-CD compendium of Tales of the Great Rum Runners ultimately stands as a testament to Robert Hunter’s prolific nature as a wordsmith and storyteller extraordinaire. At the same time, the package augurs well for future archive endeavors under his name, as Rhino Records curated it with such expertise.
