REMEMBERING BOB WEIR within the family. It wasn’ t easy for Bobby, either. It was an adjustment for everybody, really. We were an established family, and Bobby— a guy you’ d never think of as having to prove anything— had to somehow prove himself, and establish himself as part of this family. And though we were very grateful— in many ways we took an unmitigated delight in his sudden appearance— it took years to effect that familial settling in. And despite our efforts, there was no short-circuiting the process. Interestingly enough, though, Jim— through the vehicle of his guitar— would be the final conciliator.
About an hour’ s drive from my home, Red Rocks Amphitheatre is a true natural wonder. Nestled in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, it’ s a geologically formed open-air venue surrounded by majestic 300-foot sandstone monoliths that form acoustically fabulous walls. Tonight, it would play host to the Grateful Dead on the Denver leg of their 2003 tour.
I knew that Bobby was using Jim’ s guitar on this tour. I’ d even seen photographs on the internet. And though I was deeply moved to see those pictures, I thought I was prepared to see him playing it live. But when he brought that guitar out onstage for the first time that night, it hit me. There it was, projected on the big screen. For a brief moment I could see Jim. In that moment, I was overcome with a wave of emotions that ran the gamut from laughter to tears. I wondered, what would my brother think if he could see this, if he knew what was happening? He didn’ t know about Bobby— he had died only a few years before he came to light as our brother. I looked around at the faces in the crowd. And people were enjoying the beauty of the sound. Bobby had a rack of guitars— beautiful, exquisite custom guitars in gorgeous colors— and yet, here he was, playing this beat-up old Tele with the paint stripped off. People noticed and wondered.
Something happened when he played that guitar. Everyone could see it— and hear it. Throughout the history of the Dead, Bob’ s guitar always seemed to be buried in the mix. He was very much a part of the sound, but his guitar never really cut through in an obvious way. But when he played that Tele, I suddenly realized just how good a player he is. Jerry had always told him to“ stay underneath.” And to this day, I hear Bob say that Jerry’ s just over his shoulder. He comes off stage and says,“ I overplayed. Jerry was right there telling me. And he was right. I overplayed.” Yet when he plays the Tele, somehow the shackles fall off.
Backstage, he pulled me aside to a quiet corner of the room. And with his intense, focused eyes he looked at me and told me with the zeal of an evangelist about how that guitar had changed his life. I thanked him, and said,“ Bobby, you don’ t know what that did for me to see you play that guitar.”
Just when you think you know how things work …
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