This must be the place: Ode to Bob Weir, ode to music that shaped our lives

A&E Columns

This must be the place: Ode to Bob Weir, ode to music that shaped our lives

Bob Weir in Asheville, March 2022. Garret K. Woodward photo

I only met Bob Weir once. It was backstage at the long gone Gathering of the Vibes music festival located on the shoreline of the Long Island Sound in Bridgeport, Connecticut. It was the summer of 2009 and I was 24 years old, myself an aspiring journalist for a now-defunct music magazine.

So, there I was, covering all these musical moments as they unfolded in real time onstage. And, like a Jedi Knight in the film “Star Wars,” I somehow was able to finagle my way backstage during Weir’s set with his band, Ratdog. And Weir offered an incredible, melodic kaleidoscope of sights and sounds, each melody a whirlwind, cosmic tribute to his former band, the Grateful Dead.

And I remember standing alone side stage when the show ended, Weir coming off. I introduced myself, shook his hand, and told the man himself, to his face, just how much his music, his ethos and his attitude changed my life. He smiled and thanked me for the kind words. I meant what I said, and I always will.

In truth and in method, the music of the Grateful Dead shifted the trajectory of my existence, and did so from a very, very young age. I remember Aug. 9, 1995, the day that Grateful Dead guitarist Jerry Garcia passed away, like it was yesterday. I was 10 years old, but already a huge Dead-Head. The single biggest influence on my life was, and will always be, the Grateful Dead.

It was 1994 and I was nine years old. Already a music freak. Whatever was on the local Top 40 and oldies radio stations were blasting out of the meager stereo in the corner of my childhood bedroom in a tiny town on the Canadian Border of Upstate New York. Nine years old and I noticed a hat my aunt’s boyfriend was sporting. It had this dancing bear on it. I inquired about the bear and the skull and lightning bolt on the back of it.

“It’s the Grateful Dead,” my aunt’s boyfriend replied through a bushy beard and Cheshire Cat grin.

Related Items

“Have you ever listened to the Dead, man?” I said no.

We walked over to his early 1990s Volkswagen Jetta. He hopped in, rolled the windows down and cranked the stereo. It was the Dead’s “Skeletons from the Closet” album. The first song, “The Golden Road (To Unlimited Devotion),” hit me like a freight train. And nothing really was ever the same after that moment.

Everything shifted in my adolescent life. I started wearing Dead t-shirts to my Catholic elementary school and tacked up Jerry Garcia posters on my bedroom wall. Incense burning on the windowsill. There was even a small shrine to Jerry on my bookshelf for several years after he died.

I was all in, even back then. The music and message of the Dead resonated within my often-bullied and ignored self. In essence, I’d found my tribe, this wild-n-wondrous ensemble of oddballs, weirdos and all-around jovial folk.

The Dead has always been about personal freedom — to not only be yourself, but to also seek out the unknown beauty of people, places and things in this big ole world. Have adventures. Pursue wisdom. Radiate love. Be kind. Dammit, be kind. Each one of these things were placed in my emotional and spiritual toolbox while I began to wander the planet on my own following high school, college and impending adulthood.

As it stands, I want to say that the Grateful Dead are the single most important influence in my life, musically and spiritually. Nothing was ever, ever (ever) the same when I first heard the Dead during that summer of 1994. Staggering. Magnetic. Life-changing. Gorgeous. Enveloping. And so forth. There is nothing like the Dead, and nor will there ever be (before or since).

There’s a reason I have the Dead’s “stealie” (skull) symbol tattooed on my body, on the back of my right leg. It is a symbol that represents so many pillars of my existence: freedom, individuality, adventure, truth, love, compassion, honesty, community, exploration, camaraderie, realization of self, etc.

To that, I’m incredibly sad at hearing of Bob’s recent passing, and that of Dead bassist Phil Lesh and backup singer Donna Jean Godchaux (both last year). But, I’m so damn grateful to have been exposed to the splendor and grace of their music, and to continue to carry his melodies along with me on this cosmic, whirlwind journey that is life itself.

And all of those shows with those Weir bands: Ratdog, The Dead, Furthur, Dead & Company, Wolf Brothers, etc. And I was there. Champlain Valley Fairgrounds (Vermont, 2001). Saratoga Performing Arts Center (New York, 2003). Lupo’s Heartbreak Hotel (Rhode Island, 2005). Bonnaroo (Tennessee, 2005). Great Woods Amphitheatre (Massachusetts, 2006). Idaho Botanical Gardens (2008). Rothbury Music Festival (Michigan, 2009). Gathering of the Vibes (Connecticut, 2009). Cornell University (New York, 2010). Nateva Music & Camping Festival (Maine, 2010). Christmas Jam (Asheville, 2016). Hollywood Bowl (California, 2019). Park City Song Summit (Utah, 2023). The list goes on and on. And I’ll never get enough of it, never, ever.

The last time I saw Weir was in 2022, when he played the Thomas Wolfe Auditorium in Asheville with Wolf Brothers. Before the show, I grabbed a drink at a bar around the corner from the venue. Sitting at the counter and looking out of the big plate glass windows onto Haywood Street, the sidewalks were filled with DeadHeads freely roaming about, as per usual. And it put the biggest smile on face. This tribe of misfits and pranksters, of lovers and those who embrace the true essence of the universe — my people, always.

In a 1996 VH1 documentary about the Grateful Dead, it was stated by narrator Kris Kristofferson, “In the Dead, they (the fans) heard freedom and risk and teamwork, as well as good time music with deep roots.” True that, my friends. True that, from that nine-year-old (me) growing up full of wonder and passion on the Canadian Border, to this 40-year-old (me) still in the same vein.

Bob Weir represented what we as a country are seeking in the here and now that is the chaos and confusion of the modern era: love, empathy, compassion, adventure, creativity, curiosity towards others and, most importantly, freedom to be you and me.

Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.

Tags: