Tribute/ Bob Weir of the Grateful Dead

BY NARENDRA KUSNUR

I've spent the past 40-odd years debating whether I'm a Deadhead or not. I've never attended a show by the band or its spinoffs. Nobody called me a hippie, despite my often-shabby look, and I was never part of the counterculture movement. I had other vices, but never did drugs - apologies to those who believe there's connection between their music and substance abuse.

But I love the Grateful Dead, and there have been numerous phases when I binge-listened to them. As such, the death of any Dead member, no pun intended, seems like a personal loss, a recollection of late college days in Delhi when one experimented with new sounds, on albums recorded on blank tape and track names clumsily handwritten on sleeves. And so it happened when the news of songwriter, vocalist and rhythm guitarist Bob Weir's death flooded the internet a couple of days ago. Like many other fans - true-heads or wannabe-heads - I felt it marked the end of an era.

With his demise, the 'Big Four' of the Dead are now no more. Guitarist-singer Jerry García passed away on August 9, 1995 - the memory of my former colleague Sanjoy Narayan announcing the news is still etched, and I remember wanting to hear 'Ripple' immediately in pre-streaming times. Robert Hunter, who wrote or co-wrote many Dead songs, passed away on September 23, 2019. I remember being at a Sion restaurant when I got the news and softly played 'Dark Star' on YouTube while munching masala dosa. When bassist Phil Lesh left on October 25, 2024, I thought of his vocals on 'Box Of Rain'. The Mumbai rains had stopped by then, but who needed them?

On the morning of Sunday, January 11, 2026, I was spinning down in nostalgic sadness yet again, the hangover of the previous night's Carnatic violin concert blending with imaginary Dead guitar riffs and harmonies. After all, Weir had sung one of my early Dead favourites 'Truckin'. It was from the 1970 album American Beauty, which was the second Dead record I heard in 1984, in days when Bob Dylan made more sense than my academic lessons about economist John Maynard Keynes. Just a few months before that, I heard their live recording Bear's Choice, which made me wonder what the fuss was all about. I was charmed by 'Dark Hollow' though, as I identified with the lines, "I'd rather be in some dark hollow, where the sun don't ever shine, than to be home alone, knowing that you're gone, would cause me to lose my mind". I later discovered it was their interpretation of a 1958 song by Bill Browning.

I was to appreciate Bear's Choice much later - their rendition of the traditional 'I've Been All Around This World' has among the most gorgeous acoustic guitar lines in my go-to songbook. But the album that really got me into Dead was American Beauty. The uptempo 'Truckin' was more my type of sound those days, and 'Operator' and 'Till The Morning Comes' were singalong favourites. But it's 'Ripple' that's stood the test of time. "You who choose to lead must follow, but if you fall, you fall alone; If you should stand, then who's to guide you, If I knew the way, I'd take you home". What lines!

'Ripple' was written by García and Hunter, and Weir carried it forward by playing it till the end with Dead And Company. Joined by drummer Mickey Hart, he played it at tabla maestro Ustad Zakir Hussain's funeral in San Francisco in December 2024. Zakir was friends with the group members, and 'Ripple' was his favourite. One can only imagine García and Weir playing the song in heaven with Zakir giving company. "Let there be songs to fill the air".

As one can see, there's little coherence in my narration of the Dead experience. It's what happens when there's too much to say and one doesn't know how to structure one's thoughts. Let's shortlist things to specific people I remember as part of the journey.

For instance, while working at The Times Of India Jaipur in 1987, I had a recording of the new album In The Dark which I hadn't heard. A colleague, Jyothi Sethu (later Jyothi Prathap) randomly asked for some tapes to borrow. A few days later, she announced that this Dead album was the best music she'd heard in days. I heard it only when she returned it. I totally agreed. I lost touch with Jyothi but reconnected years later through Facebook and recalled the album. Sadly, she passed away prematurely a few years ago - when I got the news, I played In The Dark as a tribute. "I will walk alone by the black muddy river, and sing me a song of my own".

Then there was my cousin Sanjay Hoskeri, a hardcore Deep Purple fan, who had come for a job in Mumbai after studying in Dharwad. He would come over on weekends and we often played carrom. One day, he just couldn't concentrate on the game as his mind was totally focused on the music. He didn't know what it was and I told him it's Blues For Allah - we played the album a zillion times over the next day. "Paradise waits, on the crest of a wave, her angels in flame".

And there's this friend who many of Mumbai's rock fans know as Salsa 49. Back in 2004, he attended one of our rock club's listening sessions, and was astonished to discover that someone else in Mumbai, that too a group of people, actually listened to the Dead. Again it was Blues For Allah, and I've ever since propagated this theory that the best way to get into the group is to play the first half of the 1975 album, with Garcia playing some of his best solos. "She has no shame, like a child she's is pure, she is not to blame".

Over the years, one has accumulated a lot of Dead wealth, through live recordings, bootlegs, concert footage, interviews, the book A Long Strange Trip by Dennis McNally. Weir's passing brings back tonnes of memories. There are songs he was associated with as singer or writer - 'Truckin', 'The Music Never Stopped', 'Sugar Magnolia', 'One More Saturday Night', 'Cassidy', 'Jack Straw', 'Hell In a Bucket', 'Black Throated Wind', 'Estimated Prophet', his 1972 solo album Ace. And there are scores of other Dead songs which he didn't write or sing, but lent his magical rhythm guitar too.

Just yesterday, I heard a guitar version of 'The Music Never Stopped' by young Chennai-bred Amithav Gautam. It was magical. It would make Weir smile. The 'Big Four' live on. Listening to them, "The fields are full of dancing, dancing and romancing, the music never stopped."

PS: I'd be grateful if you let me know if you think I'm a Deadhead or not..