When Maggie Rose took the stage with My Morning Jacket’s Jim James at the MusiCares Persons of the Year gala earlier this year, she understood the assignment: Deliver the timeless Americana of the night’s honorees, the Grateful Dead, and infuse the soul of the band’s sole female singer, Donna Jean Godchaux, who died Monday at the age of 78.
Godchaux, a seasoned background singer in the 1960s with credits on hits by Percy Sledge and Elvis Presley, joined the Dead alongside her husband, Keith, who played keyboards. The two contributed to a decade widely regarded as the Dead’s most adventurous, playing in the band from 1971 to 1979, and appearing on the quintessential live album Europe ‘72.
Rose was born in 1988, eight years after Keith Godchaux’s death in a car accident, but the singer and songwriter is carrying the Dead torch proudly, performing with Grahame Lesh (son of late Dead bassist Phil Lesh) this summer as part of the Dead 60 celebration. (Watch her stellar rendition of “Sugaree” below.) Rose and Donna Jean also share some commonalities: Both started as session singers, spending time at Muscle Shoals, and exhibit an impressive vocal range (listen to Donna on Presley’s “Suspicious Minds,” and Rose’s terrific just-released EP, Cocoon); the two toured with their respective spouses (Rose’s husband, Austin Marshall, is her manager); and each loved the songs and sounds created by that singular lineup of Jerry Garcia, Bob Weir, Lesh, Mickey Hart, and Bill Kreutzmann.
“I didn’t get to meet her, and I regret that,” says Rose. “I know she passed in Nashville, and we share so many musical waypoints, which makes me feel even closer to her legacy.” In remembering Godchaux for Rolling Stone, Rose reflects on “the female vocalist whose recordings I reference most,” adding, “I offer my condolences to her family and to everyone who loved her — there are so many.”
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I’ve done many Grateful Dead tributes over the years, and every time I go back to the recordings, Donna Jean is there — prominently and powerfully. In my mind, the most potent Dead performances are the ones that feature Donna.
My husband got me into the band — we’ve been married almost nine years and together for 11 — and while the Dead are culturally enmeshed in any American musician’s life, it was through his fandom that I started downloading the deeper knowledge about the band, their material, and the culture surrounding them. I remember thinking: Where have I been? This movement will never be replicated, and every time you think you’ve grasped something, you realize there’s an infinite amount still to learn. There’s always another dive, always a deeper layer, and while plenty of fans know more than I do, this band has become a genuine part of my life. I’m drawn to collaborative shows and tributes to their music because of the community and atmosphere they created.
At first the music intimidated me because of the level of improvisation it requires, but Donna Jean showed me the beauty of loosening up. Like me, she came from session work — both of us recorded at Muscle Shoals, where professionalism rules, and then suddenly she was onstage for three hours with no set list and no monitors, a baptism by fire that revealed another part of her skill set in real time. Singing this material with players who improvise — solos changing, every version being a little different — taught me about that urgent live-ensemble space where everyone’s living and dying by the next player onstage.
Her voice changed the band’s center of gravity. During the Dead 60 celebration in San Francisco this summer, I was one of the few women on the bill. Nicki Bluhm, Holly Bowling, and I were tight because we felt we were representing what Donna Jean represented. Even if a male voice sings the same parts in the same register, the female timbre makes it feel more like community. She insisted on calling it ensemble singing, not background singing, and that’s the mentality I carry: We all need to be present to represent what the Dead are about — communion, love, light, the wonder of life.
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Her studio history matters so much. At Fame Studios, credits weren’t always meticulously kept, but she’s on Percy Sledge’s first Number One, “When a Man Loves a Woman,” which is rock & roll history; that dual training — yielding completely in the studio versus riding the wildness onstage — made her malleable and fearless. I don’t care for the criticism of her live pitch or moments on tape; everyone in that world had pitchy moments, and we cherish Jerry’s lapses affectionately as part of the magic of live music, so we should use the same lens for Donna. Especially considering she wasn’t calling the shots, she often didn’t know what was coming next, and the stage tech of those years made it a miracle anyone could hear anything at all. Just listen to how pristine Cornell ’77 is and marvel that it came together.
My Donna favorites: “Row Jimmy,” which is squirrely and sounds like it’s straightforward, but it’s got all these crazy counts in it; she sounds so awesome on the bridge. “Dancing in the Street” is fun; “Stella Blue,” a ballad where she’s more prominently featured. Her stage presence is the sheer power of Donna: understated — like, she’s not doing anything crazy or being distracting — but there’s this compulsion to watch her. I’ve done Allman Family Revivals and Dead tributes where I’ve asked myself whether to change my outfit or how I present myself onstage. I keep coming back to Donna’s example: Be more unaffected — go with what’s happening; get out of my body; feel the moment.
“Playing in the Band” feels like her banner performance. At MusiCares, Jim chose “One More Saturday Night,” a Bobby song, because we were on early and wanted high energy. Turning it into a duet with harmonies was a fun spin; Jim’s such a consistent singer and he brought me to My Morning Jacket’s rehearsal the day before, which helped us run it a couple of times so the first time in front of that audience — with members of the Dead sitting up front — wasn’t catastrophic. I’d love a whole night with My Morning Jacket; our moment together flew by.
Touring with my husband connects me to Donna in another way. An eight-year run with any band is long, and I imagine being able to be on the road with her partner helped her sustain it. Traveling as a family —our six-month son is a well-adjusted little rock & roll touring baby — lets me stay tenacious, work-oriented, and balanced in a world that can be physically and mentally brutal. Donna ultimately had to prioritize Keith’s health, which I respect deeply. Having my husband looking out for me and me for him keeps me focused when the schedule gets heavy. When our son is old enough to want school and routine, I’ll meet that moment, but for now, sharing dreams with my husband keeps me from getting lost in the “it’s all about me” trap — community brings me back to what matters.
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When I got the call to sing “One More Saturday Night” with Jim James at the MusiCares event, my husband’s brain practically broke. It felt like divine intervention. That room was incredible, the need was dire to help music professionals affected by the wildfires, and to have the Grateful Dead as Persons of the Year — on top of a week of personal milestones — made us feel exactly where we were meant to be.
When people tell me I reminded them of Donna after MusiCares and other tribute shows, I take that as a point of pride; she’s the female embodiment of a band with so much feminine energy braided into its lyrics, message, and culture, the personification of that thread, and I’m happy to be an extension of it. I’m honored by the association — honored to carry a fraction of her light — and I’ll keep trying to be present, to listen harder, to sing for the ensemble, and to let the music lead.
