R.I.P. Bob Weir
A eulogy for the Grateful Dead frontman
Bob Weir from The Grateful Dead has died. He was 78. The Grateful Dead is now — finally and forever — over. His passing signals the very end. Yes, there are band members still alive but he was the last one that could front a crew and make it mean something. He was the voice and baton carrier across the last 30 years; he did so much heavy lifting for at least a decade ahead of that. And he was underrated as both rhythm guitarist and songwriter — and also as the actual frontman, the heartthrob, the only handsome ‘rock star’ type, even if he wore short jean shorts and didn’t give a fuck.
He was crucial. And he was magnificent. And there’ll never be another like him. And now one of the strangest, longest-serving, most brilliantly beguiling of musical acts is laid to rest. The Grateful Dead might have died with Jerry Garcia in 1995. But they were resurrected. And Bob Weir carried them on. And there was The Other Ones, and there was Dead & Company and there was many other offshoots, including Weir’s own solo shows which had to feature some Dead songs. He was the hardest working member in the end.
And now he gets his rest.
Weir was the little kid of the band, just 16 when they formed. They tried to kick him out, but in much the same way as the Dead just kept two drummers, they kept Weir too — he just continued to turn up.
It’s a good job he did. They might have thought he wasn’t good enough in the early days, but his rhythm guitar playing is what allowed Jerry to go off on his Coltrane trips soloing, and for Phil Lesh to go all counter-melody on the bass. Weir provided the pendulum. The drummers were all over the place, both of them, and Weir was crucial as the band’s rhythmic centrepiece, he was also the main man — doing the majority of the singing, and for a band that relied on an audience (primarily a live band) it has to be said that Weir was the only one with any conventional ‘looks’, which probably meant more than anyone really wants to let on.
He also turned into a mighty fine songwriter. There was some songs all the way through from him, including on their earliest albums, but in 1972 he released a mighty fine solo record — Ace:
Among the gems on that album, Cassidy, Looks Like Rain, and One More Saturday Night became Grateful Dead mainstays.
There were other good solo records. I was a fan of Kingfish —
— simply because it was the first Dead-related solo album I never heard, and owned. When I became a fan of the band, as a teen, and sold on some of their allegedly ‘weaker’ material before going all in, Kingfish turned up in a record store on cassette tape one day. And I had to have it. Music by instant discovery. The way it was. You bought the album and learned to love it.
I learned to love a lot of the Dead, and yet still consider myself something of an anomaly — The Casual Grateful Dead Listener; their only fairweather fan? Most people either can’t stand them, or are so all in on the bootlegs and fan forums that you want to make sure they have a cork on their fork when eating.
There were misfires from Weir, sure. There were misfires from the whole band. But he found stunning form toward the end — I love the album Blue Mountain for instance.
And, as mentioned, he really took on the role of ‘leader’ after taking the death of his ‘big brother’ Jerry harder than anyone. He had covered for him a great deal throughout the 1980s. He had kept the band touring, and kept delivering. And now he had to do it without those astral-planing guitar solos.
So he found John Mayer, and he found The National, and he found the younger fans of the Dead. And he found a new look eventually too — his baby face finally giving into a beard and the correct weathered look to behind the wheel.
I vividly remember the death of Garcia. It was huge. The end of the hippie dream. But that had, of course, died a long time before. But it symbolised ‘something’. And then Weir and friends kept the dream alive a bit longer.
Now it really feels over. Something so final about his death. The music of course is still there. But the celebration of the music was what the Grateful Dead was about. The live shows. The relentless recordings. The ultimate connection with their fans.
Something felt huge about the death of Bob Weir. And part of that something was he was supremely underrated.
R.I.P. Bob Weir
RiP Bobby; give my regards to Gerry and Pigpen.
I saw the Dead twice, in Seattle and Portland in the early 80's. My first-year college roommate really turned me on to the band (and weed). I had been aware of the band but not really familiar with previously. I traded him a Journey LP (ESCAPE) for a Grateful Dead t shirt - and thought it a good deal. The shows were unlike any I had seen before or since, really a travelling carnival where people hawked home made food and crafts, and bootleg recording was not only allowed but actually facilitated by a special area set aside near the stage for bootleggers to set up their recording equipment. I have very fond memories of these shows, because among other things it fueled my burgeoning education into what makes a band good, and firm belief that live music is best, and that a good rock show can change the world. And yeah, Weir was an outlier, being the only one in the band who ever got a haircut, but still he blended right in, had those pearly vocals and as stated, underrated guitar chops.