Remembering Bob Weir

My first listen to the Grateful Dead was a cassette of Reckoning that I got from the Columbia House Record Club. I thought the cover that had the skull on it looked heavy. It is, of course, a live acoustic record that is very much steeped in traditional Americana music. I think I put it away in a drawer and didn’t break it out for many years. I wasn’t ready yet. My first Grateful Dead show was in 1984. A friend’s dad took us to the Greek Theater in Berkeley, California. It was eye opening on several fronts. The crowd was wild looking, the stage adorned with a massive tie dyed tapestry, the band wore just street clothes (not the flashy stage wear of the ‘80s that so many bands were wearing), and I’m pretty sure it was the first time I saw a grown adult smoke a joint. In fact, many grown adults were smoking joints. The music was groovy, bluesy, funky, country-tinged, loose, and at times full-blown psychedelic. The encore was a legendary performance of their classic, “Dark Star.” I didn’t know it at the time but they had not played it in a few years, and the place just went up a notch in excitement when the opening riff filled the air. It may have been the first time I felt like I was witnessing something special; one with the audience, one with the universe. The band was from my hometown, had gone to the same music stores and cafes I frequented, and even played their first shows at the pizza place on El Camino Real that I’d drive by all the time. It felt like they were our band. Growing up in the Bay Area, it was easy to see the Dead regularly, and over the years I saw about 90 shows. All, except for the last reunion shows, had the core of the original band intact with the exception of Pigpen and the cursed semi-rotating keyboard role. As far as I was concerned, Brent Mydland was the band’s keyboardist. Jerry Garcia is still one of my musical heroes. He was the reluctant (and default) leader and face of the Grateful Dead. He was not always “on”; he sang out of tune sometimes, and he had health and addiction issues. Other times, he was brilliant; a musical prophet and mystic. Jerry had other projects, and once I dug into listening to his other bands (which I do enjoy), I began to realize that it was all of the individuals of the Grateful Dead that made it what it was. Jerry’s ballast was Bob Weir. 

Bob was only 17 when he and Jerry started playing in the first iteration of the Grateful Dead, The Warlocks. I didn’t really latch on to Bob’s singing at first. The soundboard tapes of live shows were usually bone dry, and his vocals sometimes seemed overwrought, and to be honest, a little hard to listen to for my pop music ears and brain. But the songs… I was always firmly in the Jerry camp, or was I? Among my favorite Dead songs are “Cassidy,” “Estimated Prophet,” “Playing in the Band,” “Jack Straw,” "The Other One," and “Feel Like a Stranger,” the covers “El Paso” (Marty Robbins) and “Dark Hollow” (Bill Browning), and all are sung by Weir. It later dawned on me how unique Weir’s voice was. Instantly recognizable and 100 percent his own. I did, however, love his voice as part of the band’s harmonies, especially on earlier studio albums like Workingman’s Dead and American Beauty. He co-wrote and sang two of the Dead’s biggest “hits”; “Sugar Magnolia” and “Truckin’.” 

His rhythm guitar playing was one of a kind, and a huge part of the band’s unique sound. Bobbing and weaving in the spaces in between. Artfully flirting with Phil Lesh’s adventurous and melodic bass lines and Jerry’s bubbling guitar work. Just like there would be no Grateful Dead without Jerry Garcia, there also would be no Dead without Bob Weir. The Grateful Dead were a big part of my interest in music: improvisation in a rock ’n' roll setting, introduction to the American roots songbook, the counter-culture movement, how a band worked, live sound innovations, and community. 

Over the years, I have been fortunate enough to meet, make music, and even become friends with some of my musical heroes. I never met or had any interactions with members of the Grateful Dead, and I am glad for that. The mystique was kept intact. My friend and once bandmate, Jay Lane, went on to play drums in several of Bob Weir’s projects, and even Dead & Company. It brought me such joy to see Jay wearing a tie dye and doing his thing behind Bob, but I liked witnessing it from the audience and not the side of the stage. 

When Jerry died and Bob fronted the various iterations of the Dead’s legacy I lost some degree of interest, but did go to a few shows here and there to tap into the community and see a new generation of Deadheads that came through the doors of bands like Phish. It wasn’t quite the same, but there was still something magical about experiencing the Grateful Dead’s music live, with the sights, smells, and the sharing of stoke with friends when a favorite song made its way into the set. Weir was fearlessly human, and he was not afraid to show his flaws. No Auto-Tune, no fancy effects, good nights and bad nights. He just kept doing it and welcomed us along for the ride. 

Every year, when the weather starts to change from spring to summer and the warm days outnumber the cool ones, I revisit my favorite Dead albums and shows and prepare for the brighter days ahead. Godspeed Bob Weir.