The Grateful Dead - Aoxomoxoa (LP) - 50th Anniversary Picture Disc Vinyl

Aoxomoxoa sits at that strange, beautiful crossroads where the Grateful Dead pushed studio psychedelia as far as they could before turning the van toward the rootsy clarity of Workingman’s Dead. Released in June 1969 on Warner Bros., it was their third studio album and the first to credit Robert Hunter as the band’s full-time lyricist. You can hear that shift right away. The words feel lived-in and fable-like, full of odd corners and playful menace, and they finally have a home inside songs that aren’t just vehicles for live jams but self-contained little worlds.

The band cut the record at Pacific Recording in San Mateo and at Pacific High Recording in San Francisco, embracing brand-new 16-track technology that let them layer and splice to a level that felt futuristic at the time. Jerry Garcia later joked that they got lost in all those tracks, and you can hear why. This is a headphone record. Tom Constanten, officially in the lineup on keys, colors the edges with harpsichord and avant touches that reflect his experimental leanings. Bill Kreutzmann and Mickey Hart drum like a single organism learning to dream, Phil Lesh’s bass keeps blooming in unexpected places, and Jerry and Bob weave guitars that dart from folk delicacy to fuzzed-out glare.

“St. Stephen” is the anchor for a lot of fans, and it’s fascinating to compare the studio version here with the roaring Live/Dead take from later that year. On Aoxomoxoa it’s taut, almost baroque, with vocal harmonies that feel like a coded message to the faithful. “China Cat Sunflower,” meanwhile, is all sunlight and nerve endings, the seed of a live staple that would later bond with “I Know You Rider” in endless combinations. If your path into Grateful Dead vinyl starts with the song you first fell for at a backyard party, I’d bet it was one of those two.

The deeper cuts tell the real story, though. “Dupree’s Diamond Blues” nods to jug band days but runs it through Hunter’s gleeful outlaw lens. “Doin’ That Rag” keeps tripping over its own feet in the best way, a puzzle box of rhythms and melodies that somehow lands gracefully. “Mountains of the Moon” is a little miracle, with Garcia’s classical guitar and Constanten’s harpsichord giving it a courtly shimmer, like Fairport Convention wandered into the Haight. “Rosemary,” recorded with Jerry’s vocals sped up on the tape machine, is a wisp that lingers far longer than its running time. And then there’s “What’s Become of the Baby,” a cavern of reverb and disembodied voice that the band never attempted live. It’s the most polarizing thing here, a document of the Dead testing the limits of tape as an instrument.

Part of the album’s legend is tied to its restless life after release. In 1971 Garcia and Lesh went back and remixed Aoxomoxoa, peeling away some of the density and adjusting balances, which is the version that circulated for decades. The 50th Anniversary edition in 2019 brought the original 1969 mix back to the forefront and added a haul of live Avalon Ballroom performances from early 1969 that place the studio experiments in their natural habitat. If you collect Grateful Dead albums on vinyl, those differences matter. The Aoxomoxoa vinyl in its original mix is a different experience than the later remix, moodier and more ornate, and choosing between them is part of the fun.

The cover is half the trip. Rick Griffin’s psychedelic artwork is one of the era’s defining images, a riot of color and letterforms that mirror into a palindrome, just like the title. Fans have spent decades squinting at the design, teasing out its hidden jokes and messages. It feels like a relic from the Family Dog poster walls, yet it still pops out of the bins today. I’ve seen newcomers pick it up in a Melbourne record store with no idea what they’re holding, just drawn by the image, and walk out with a conversation piece that turns into an obsession.

Aoxomoxoa wasn’t a blockbuster, and that’s part of its charm. It’s a studio diary of a band learning how far a song can stretch before it snaps, then figuring out how to make it sing again. You hear futures being written. Within a year they would pivot to the sturdy storytelling of Workingman’s Dead and American Beauty, but the confidence to strip down comes from albums like this, where they tried everything and kept what mattered.

If you’re hunting for Grateful Dead vinyl, this one rewards the deep dive. Compare a clean 1971 remix pressing with the 2019 reissue of the original mix, and you’ll hear the band’s internal debate about sound and space unfold in real time. And if you prefer to buy Grateful Dead records online rather than digging in person, make sure the listing notes which mix you’re getting. Either way, Aoxomoxoa remains a weird and welcoming doorway into the universe, and that’s exactly what you want from a late-60s San Francisco trip committed to tape. For anyone building a collection, it’s essential, not just as a classic album, but as a lesson in how the studio can be an instrument. Even better, it still sounds like possibility.