Where better than Vegas to roll the dice with this seemingly odd combination of acts? The risk was clear for Sting, who at this stage in his career hardly needs to take an opening-act slot, especially in front of a crowd that can be so tough. The Deadheads are a love bunch, to be sure, but they're also very parochial and selective about who gets admitted into the extended family.

But the payoff proved big for all involved. The psychedelic WELCOME STING banner draped over the railings in the stands of this 40,000-seat football stadium stated upfront that there was a friend-of-the-Dead-is-a-friend-of-ours attitude prevailing among Jerry's Kids toward the blond English pop star this weekend. Sting responded in kind with a loose and sometimes frisky set, light-years away from the Important Artist at Work tone of his past.

Perhaps he was a little too conscious of crowd pleasing, playing an hour mostly made up of old Police hits, with only three songs from his recent album, Ten Summoner's Tales. But Sting seemed to make a quick study of how the Deadheads like their music to ebb and flow. Halfway through the set he had it down, turning "King of Pain" into a monster raveup and setting keyboardist David Sancious loose for an extended, jazzy piano solo on "When the World Is Running Down" -- drawing the biggest response from the crowd -- before closing with "Every Breath You Take," its moodiness in sharp contrast to Sting's very visible ebullience.

The Dead, in turn, may have been influenced by Sting's presence as well. At least there must be some explanation for Jerry Garcia's performing in shorts -- the first time most remembered ever seeing his legs -- though one must question the wisdom of going gam to gam against Sting, generally considered a pop sex symbol.

In any case, the vibrant Americana of the Dead and their colorful fans is, strangely, a perfect match for Vegas -- all that tie-dye somehow fit in just fine amid the gaudy lights and jangling rhythms of the casinos. But the Silver Bowl is a few miles outside of town and a million miles away culturally, set in a low desert valley, and the Dead made the most of the setting. The driving desert rain and dust storm that greeted the group seemed a fitting elemental attraction rather than a nuisance, one more sensory stimulant in which the Deadheads could revel, ultimately setting up a perfectly timed version of the rarely performed "Here Comes Sunshine" to open the group's second set of the day.

Reviewing a single Dead show can be a losing proposition, since one can be radically different from another and these multi-day stands can often take the tone of one long set rather than three separate gigs. But this day was a particularly strong one, a good sampler of what the Dead do best -- original myth songs like "Tennessee Jed," statements of purpose like "Playing in the Band," Deadified roots workouts on Willie Dixon's "Same Thing" and Bob Dylan's "All Along the Watchtower," all crowned with a new Garcia-Robert Hunter composition, "Days Between," a stately, elegant tune that may be the group's best new song in ages.

In the end, the Dead did, perhaps mischievously, rake on Sting in a battle of Beatles covers. While a rather perfunctory version of "A Day in the Life" was part of Sting's set, the Dead encored with a stunning, shimmering version of "Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds," a sly nod to lysergic roots that hit the jackpot.

[From Issue 660 — July 8, 1993]