His spirit is omnipresent in this elaborate package. He has written extensive program notes to the handsome booklet. He is there suddenly at the beginning of sets with customary introductions and benedictions. There is even included a seven-inch record of him speaking his mind. But let's concentrate on the music. Isn't that the way he would want it?

Six sides of black shellac provide much opportunity for mediocrity, folks.

Side one. The group Lamb, with "Hello Friends." Fox trot with vocal. Catchy la-la chorus. Undistinguished, inoffensive.

The group Elvin Bishop, with "So Fine" and "Party till the Cows Come Home." Undistinguished but aggressive. Elvin asserts how good he feels and promises to be back later for a special jam.

The group Malo, playing a Spanish-language vehicle apparently dealing with marijuana. This is a loud band, with a trumpet sound reminiscent of Chico O'Farrell and Perez Prado. The beat is unrelenting, with none of the saving suppleness of an aggregation like, say, Santana.

Side two. The Sons of Champlin. "Poppa Can Play," a story-song undistinguished but fairly brief. One of the boys breaks a string.

The group It's A Beautiful Day, doing "White Bird," one of those Airplane-structured tunes. Forget the words and enjoy the guitar and organ as their solos weave patterns respectively delicate and driving before joining the violin in a fervent but restrained finale. Things are looking up. Could it be that this concert LP is structured like a typical night at the Fillmore, with the big thrills saved for late in the evening?

Graham introduces the Quicksilver Messenger Service (Bill's third vinyl manifestation so far) with a little roughhouse fun. "Some of the baddest people in the world," assures Bill, and QMS threatens to prove it with Dino Valenti's churning "Fresh Air." They sound like ... Santana! Their energy dissipates in the next Valenti opus, "Mojo," a typical Quicksilver "your-money's-worth" letdown. However, the crowd likes it. It likes everything, indiscriminately. That was one of Graham's complaints, as I understand it: all those undeserved standing ovations. But here he doesn't seem to mind. These groups have his best will, so apparently it's a matter of taste.

Side three, as a matter of fact, begins with Mr. Graham promising the house "the greatest [muffathugga] evening of our lives," part of which is provided by Tower of Power's "Back on the Streets Again," wherein the brass and sax figures are just varied enough to retain interest under the naggingly repetitive vocal.

Boz Scaggs provides the most subdued moments so far with "Baby's Callin' Me Home," in which his trombonist wanders adventurously across some Mingusesque terrain. Surprisingly, it pleases by going longer than expected.

Next up is Cold Blood and the Nanker Phelge classic, "(I Just Wanna) Make Love (to You)," done in "novel" screaming-brass fashion with shrieking imitative good-time gimme-some vocal. Offensive!

And, after only one hour and five minutes, side four. The leadoff group: Stoneground. The original composition: "Passion Flower." Stars of the Medicine Ball Caravan. What a great Vegas Lounge act this bunch would make.

"Henry," by the New Riders, is dedicated to "any smugglers in the audience." It's a Byrds-like sound, but it can't hold a Bunsen burner to Roger McGuinn's forthcoming skyjacker ballad. However, back in July '71 they had no way of knowing.

The Grateful Dead next materialize, with "Casey Jones," and amazingly there is no applause at the mention of cocaine. Perhaps the Dead are too intimidating for that sort of frivolity. Besides, the vocal is slurred; they may be singing "procaine" or "propane" here. This version has no studio subtleties, but it certainly builds to an incredible dynamic pitch, where repetition is not a bore but a mesmerizing force, and it's followed by a breakneck "Johnny B. Goode" with a powerhouse guitar that threatens to jump the grooves; a really fine performance. Even the jaded will be impressed, although it's bad music, not good, that jades one. I'd even see the movie for this. Unless something remarkable happens, these two tracks promise to be the high point of it all. Quite sensibly, the Dead promptly get the hell offstage.

Side five, and the long winding-down begins with Hot Tuna, who advise, "Keep Your Lamps Trimmed and Burnin'." If you're a fan, you're a fan. They are better here than on the Public Broadcasting System's guitar instruction program. As we know, it's still all a matter of taste.

Santana's two showcases let Carlos stretch out, and such opportunities arguably provide the most enjoyable moments created by this group. The lead guitarist lit no truly dazzling fireworks that night, but Santana is a graceful, thoughtful unit, and everyone acquits himself well.

Side six is a jam, if not a gas: Taj Mahal, Elvin Bishop (keeping his word), Boz Scaggs and friends. Taj cheerfully keeps things afloat; single-handedly he injects interest and for a while keeps things from wandering aimlessly. Eventually he gets into improvised verses, protracted stuttered scatting and rhythmical panting which may have been quite engaging if you were present, but if heard on the radio would be switched off promptly with a sigh of relief.

Add a fade of the last-ever crowd filing out to the tune of "Greensleeves" and you have just over two hours of sounds. Too bad there wasn't room to include the Flamin' Groovies, who also participated in the closing week of concerts from which these selections were culled.

Jules Siegel has written, "Bill Graham: a man who took a name like Millard Fillmore and made it mean something quite different. We ought to get closer to him, if possible, and see if something healthier can be created out of the ashes of Auschwitz." (RS 121)

TOM NOLAN