Thank You for the Music, the Magic and the Map, Bob Weir
I was 12 years old when I bought my first Grateful Dead album and 16 when I saw Bob Weir perform live for the first time. I had no idea then that this music would become my compass. It didn’t just soundtrack my life, it taught me how to move through it. It showed me the meaning of friendship, a way of being, how to truly listen, how to face whatever came my way and how to follow my dreams. It shaped the values I carry into my life, career and family. Now, as I approach 45, that same music still guides me, steady and true, showing me the way every single day.
I’ve been crying for days. The kind of crying that comes from gratitude and grief colliding. I am endlessly grateful for the opportunity I got to experience anything Grateful Dead-related (Furthur, Dead and Company, Wolf Brothers, Bob Weir with the Atlanta Symphony, whatever). I thought Bob Weir would live and play until he was at least 100 years old. No matter what the lineup was, anytime I saw his name on the bill, I would always yell, “But, it's BOB FUCKING WEIR!” If he was going to be there, I wanted to be in his orbit.
I’m sad I’ll never see the music live or hear it again in the way that only Bob’s voice could do. He made it feel authentic and gave me a glimpse of what seeing Jerry Garcia might have been like. Now, that chapter is closed, and it hurts in my chest. I never saw Jerry. I was too young. Bob was my Jerry. He was my throughline, my living bridge to something magical and electric. Losing that feels deeply personal because the music has always been spiritual for me. It’s a connection, a communion and a way of understanding myself and the world.
Looking back at my multiple experiences at the Sphere over the last couple of years, every show felt like a gift, like borrowed time and like magic only a wizard could conjure. Bob Weir gave us that magic for so many years, and I will never be able to fully put into words what that meant to me.
The Grateful Dead taught me that music is powerful. That improvisation is a virtue. That community matters more than anything. That, if you show up night after night (or day after day) and give people something honest, you’ll get back something good. That philosophy shaped my life more than I realized for a long time.
Hey Now!
My love for music led me into the music industry and into storytelling and advocacy via a career in public relations. I learned early on that the best stories are the real ones. That’s straight out of the Dead’s playbook, whether they ever intended it that way or not. They didn't care about the hype, and they remained true to the music and themselves for 60 years. I think we can all take that lesson from them.
Today, as the co-founder of Vigilante PR, I see those same philosophies in everything I do. We don’t manufacture narratives. We amplify what’s already there. We don’t chase trends. We build relationships. We believe in earned trust, long roads, word of mouth, showing up consistently and letting our work speak for itself. We believe in the power of community and the responsibility that comes with having a voice.
The Dead never spoon-fed their audience. They trusted them. They invited them into the experience and said, “Take what you need.” Tape our shows. Be kind. That’s how I run my agency. That’s how I move through the world.
You Know Our Love Will Not Fade Away
I know we will get by. I know the music will live on forever. It already does in the people it’s shaped, the lives it’s soundtracked and the way it has taught us to listen deeper and love harder. It lives in my work, in my values and in the way I build things and care for people.
I’m heartbroken and grateful all at once. That feels very “on-brand” for a Deadhead.
Thank you, Bob. Thank you for being my Jerry. Thank you for the last 30 years, the words, the songs, the magic and the lessons. Thank you for being a part of the compass I’ve been following since I was 12.
❤️🥀⚡️
🎵 Blog Soundtrack: “Bird Song” by The Grateful Dead
