Bob Weir’s recent passing, at the age of 78, marks the end of an era for the Grateful Dead and their devoted fans. While his death was unexpected, it also brought a sense of closure. With Weir gone, the original members of the band will no longer be performing their iconic music, forever changing the landscape of the band’s legacy.
Weir leaves behind a wealth of memories that have connected generations. He was a man of great dreams.
For many, attending a Grateful Dead concert was a rite of passage, a communal experience that transcended mere entertainment. The band’s music, often accompanied by elaborate light shows and a shared sense of camaraderie, created an atmosphere of freedom and expression.
One such experience involved a concert many years ago, where the band played through an early version of their legendary “wall of sound” system. The crowd was ecstatic, and the music filled the air. During the show, the band played an old cowboy song, “El Paso,” which was highlighted by Jerry Garcia’s guitar.
Recordings of that show reveal the band’s superb playing, including Weir’s “Weather Report Suite.” Also present at that show was Bruce Hornsby, who would later play around 100 shows with the band. For Hornsby the concert was transformative—”that was totally it for me,” he recalled in a 2023 podcast. “I love the music, and I love the attitude, the mindset, the aesthetic.” To top off the bliss, the band ended the show by announcing it would return the next night.
While tastes may have changed over time, the Grateful Dead’s music continued to resonate with new audiences. One instance saw a younger generation discover the band’s music, sparking a shared appreciation across family lines. This appreciation was considered a far better fate than being taken captive by Marilyn Manson. There was a show in late June of 1995, where things got off to an electrifying start when a few fans were struck by lightning (they survived). While Bob Dylan played a solid opening set, the Dead seemed to have nine toes in the grave and a stiff wind at their back. Garcia died a few weeks later, on Aug. 9, reportedly with a smile on his face.
Weir continued to perform, carrying the torch for the Grateful Dead’s music. He performed at Bill Clinton’s 1997 inauguration bash, where he and his band RatDog (joined by Rickie Lee Jones) warmed up a frigid Mall crowd with “Wang Dang Doodle” and other selections from the contemporary canon. He embraced his role as a keeper of the flame, reinterpreting his life’s work with a seasoned perspective.
Weir was a regular guy. Born a few years after World War II ended, at 16 he co-created the band he would stick with (in its various forms) until he was close to 80. A careerist, in his own way, he worked hard, made payroll for his crew, and raised a family. His fortunes also rose: Tickets to Dead & Company shows at Las Vegas Sphere went for $395 for mid-range seats; VIP packages, it’s reported, sometimes reached $3,000.
He was remembered at San Francisco’s recent “Homecoming” celebration as a lifelong Democrat who practiced tolerance toward the “Repubs”—a spirit currently in steep decline. He also dreamed that Grateful Dead music would be around in 300 years—a significant hope, though perhaps no more ambitious than the attempt by another ’60s-era band, the Fugs, to levitate the Pentagon during a 1967 antiwar march.
Those truly were the days. And to borrow an old Dead lyric—they most likely won’t be coming back.
