Blair's Golden Road Blog-Bob Weir at 65: An Appreciation
“Nooooooooooo!” I can hear my cry in a very hazy memory. April 2, 1973. The house lights dim, a roar builds steadily in the crowd and grows to a deafening din as the band members amble onto the stage at the Boston Garden. As the spotlights brighten, I squint from my perch near the top of the upper level of the enormous arena. Something doesn't look right onstage. “What the-?” Oh, my God, Bob Weir's ponytail is gone! Jeez, you don't see the band for eight months and all hell breaks loose.
Did it matter? Of course not! I'm mostly kidding, but in some way, the disappearance of that ponytail, which cascaded so elegantly down the middle of his back, felt like another sign that the band was leaving its hippie past behind and that young Bob, just 25 at the time, was—gasp!—growing up. I was about to turn 20 and wanted to be Bob Weir—not that I had an ounce of musical talent. But I dug the look and I loved what he brought to the Grateful Dead's unique chemistry. To me, he was the essence of hippie cool. My first Bob was the Cosmic Cowboy one; I'd missed the beautiful young androgyne by a couple of years.
Bob was the Wild One. He was the rock 'n' roller, but also the confident, smooth-voiced narrator on all those dramatic country-rock numbers about desperados and fugitives; a perfect fit for those tunes. He was the guy who would screech and scream himself hoarse at the end of the show, whipping us into a dancing frenzy. He was the droll, wise-cracking emcee informing us that the band would resume playing after technical gremlins had been extinguished and everything was “just exactly perfect.” In the early days, he even told a few bad jokes. What a prankster. Seems as though he was never far from a smile or a smirk.
Except sometimes when he was playing—then he'd often have that look of intense, focused concentration, as he conjured endless creative guitar lines that provided an ever-moving rhythmic center in the heart of the group's sound. Labeling him a “rhythm guitarist” always felt horribly inadequate, because he wasn't some guy just chopping out simple chords in a conventional pop music way. Rather, he used an immense musical vocabulary and deft touch to construct sophisticated parts that were both rhythmically assured and amazingly nuanced.
I have this picture in my head of him standing in a semicircle with Phil and Jerry in the early '70s blasting through the nether regions of “Dark Star,” or maybe “Playing in the Band,” and he's hunched over his big Gibson, his whole body in fluid motion, and you can practically see how the parts all fall together organically. One moment he's grinning at some miraculous turn the jam has taken, the next he shakes his head, flips the hair out of his eyes and looks up into the lights as if he's wondering where it can go next. I get excited just thinking about that dynamic interplay—that's what turned me into a Dead Head in 1970, at the age of 16, and what has nourished my soul ever since.
Of course there were also the songs, and Bob co-wrote many of my favorites from my first years seeing band—“The Other One,” “Jack Straw,” “Truckin',” “Sugar Magnolia,” “Playing in the Band,” “Greatest Story Ever Told,” “Mexicali Blues,” “Weather Report Suite”—all completely different one to the next, each a glimpse into a different world. Later, I was knocked out by “The Music Never Stopped” and “Estimated Prophet,” “Feel Like a Stranger” and the still-amazing combo of “Lost Sailor” and “Saint of Circumstance.” I got my early education in country music listening to Bob sing “El Paso,” “Mama Tried,” “Dark Hollow,” “Silver Threads and Golden Needles,” “The Race Is On” and “Big River,” and as time went on he provided new windows through which to view Dylan classics, old blues and so much more.
Basically, I'll follow him anywhere. I haven't loved every band he's been in or every song he's written. But he's earned my eternal respect and admiration for continually pushing boundaries and moving forward in a way that is so idiosyncratic—so … Bob!—that I want to be a part of and support whatever it is.
I first interviewed Bob for The Golden Road in the late '80s and instantly learned that what everyone in the Dead scene had told me through the years was true: he's a sweetheart! (It's a word you hear applied to him by both men and women.) He's warm, friendly, thoughtful, possesses a dry wit and has a surprisingly good and detailed memory (a boon to those of us who pester him with historical questions). I've never seen him be anything but polite to those around him, and in the dozen or so interviews I've done with him in the past 20 years—some on the phone, most in person—he has never really spoken ill of anyone. Which is not to say he lacks opinions or is uncritical. But he tends to give people the benefit of the doubt and he seems to have an inherent faith that things can and perhaps will work out for the best. His track record for giving his time unselfishly for benefits speaks for itself—and to his optimism.
On his most recent birthday, October 16, Bob hit 65, retirement age for many. His bushy grey-white prospector's beard almost makes him look his age for the first time (when The Warlocks started, he was 17 and looked about 14; in his early 40s, he looked 10 years younger), but fortunately for all of us he has not slowed down one bit. Maybe he's just trying to keep up with his GD elders—that indefatigable wonder of nature Phil (72), Mickey (69) and Bill (66). Nah, he just loves his job. Playing music is what musicians do. Age is just number (says the writer, pushing 60).
Look at just some of the great work Bob has done the past couple of years: Multiple tours with Furthur; his extraordinary collaboration with the Marin Symphony; a handful of shows with RatDog (here's hoping for a RatDog tour in 2013!) and Scaring the Children (with Rob Wasserman and Jay Lane); fine music from his acoustic trio with Chris Robinson and Jackie Greene; a bunch o' solo shows, plus appearances with Bruce Hornsby and Branford Marsalis; and sit-ins with such disparate acts as 7 Walkers, Jackie Greene, Slightly Stoopid, The National and God Street Wine. Those last few were at Bob's magnificent high-def audio-video facility in San Rafael, Calif., TRI Studios. Bob has been extremely generous in sharing TRI with a broad spectrum of different artists, and is helping to pioneer a new era of high-quality music distribution over the Internet.
So here's a virtual toast to Bob on this auspicious occasion. You've done more for us than you'll ever know, and we're all counting on being able to celebrate 70, 75 and beyond with you! I know this song, it ain't never gonna end!
Care to share some nice thoughts/memories about Bob Weir?
I met Bob at a show on Long Island's Jones Beach in 2001 and he could not have been nicer. He talked to me for about 5 minutes until some younger heads came over yelling at him to play "Salt Lake City " and sign some shit for them. He looked at me and the people I was with apologetically and said he had to go. Thank Bob for everything and Happy Bday!
that was Go Ahead at Lupo's!!! and old buddy since passed said go ahead i ain't going its gonna be a zzzzzzzzzzz fest!!!
Bob was/is for me in my teens, 20's and beyond what Bugs Bunny was for me when I was toddler . . . I leave the connection to the reader.
Happy belated birthday, Bob!
I was part of that gang in the room at the Hotel. As a matter of fact, we had just unpacked our luggage, boombox, opened up the cooler and cracked a beer. I was playing my bootleg copy (radio broadcast) from the Harding Theatre 11/7/71. There was alot of dead air during the broadcast due to technical difficulties and so on. We were blown away when a few hours later we heard the band break that out during the first set...Yo butch, don't hang off the balcony!
A few years later, we caught up with Billy and Brent at Lupo's (Kokomo?) in Providence. They were in a limo and I went up to the window, Brent opened it and I proceeded to start off the joke. He then jumped in and I finished it. Classic! Those were cherished moments.
July 7, 1986: Hazy,Hot, and Humid day at RFK.
Recall the Satisfaction Encore. This is classic Weir.
Flubs his rhyme rap and says "Fuck it" then "We'd also like to fuck,uh thank Mr. Phillip Lesh on the bass..."
Garcia:"One of my favorite people in the whole wide World , Mr. Bob Weir!"
("Check the transcripts"--Obama)...
shwack in nh
In Saratoga 85 we stayed in a hotel and Weir was on the same floor. The afternoon of the show we were listening to a '71 show with the door open. At some point during the tape Weir says the "hey Phil my dog has no nose..........." joke. Well don't you know that halfway during the first set that night Weir walks up to the mic, looks over at Phil with a big grin on his face and says "Hey Phil my dog has no nose.........". Coincidence.... I think not..
There is a wonderful write up on Bob in Alec Wilkerson's book, Mr. Apology and Other Essays called One Green Dog.
I'd read most of what was in print about the Dead but hadn't come across this until recently. The essay is from the 90s, after Jerry died, I think 98. Most of Wilkerson's essays seem to be about real life characters who are a bit removed from the mainstream, outsiders or misfits; and, I think he describes Weir as a misfit in group of misfits (paraphrasing).
It's definitely worth seeking out for any Deadhead. I'd recomend finding a used copy of the book--there's a lot of other good essays in there.
a false jerry, eh what?
why hasnt this show been realesed? the only HDCD we have from 10/72 to 9/73 is 2/26&2/28/73!!! :(
No Weir, no Dead. Obviously. Sure, Mickey and the Heartbeats were interesting and good, but not even close to 1968 Grateful Dead. There's no Grateful Dead without Weir, period.
I only saw Bobby once outside of a Dead concert. It was about 15 years ago at the San Francisco Symphony. It was just before one of the first "Further" tours I believe. Bob, Phil, and Mickey were sitting a few rows in front of me in the Loge section. I can't remember what the program was except it was all 20th century composers and was conducted by Michael Tilson Thomas. They were all well-dressed and behaved, but Bob was sitting cross-legged "yoga" style on his seat. Dude!- you're at the symphony! hehe
Happy B-day Bob and thanks for everything.