Related Through Shared Experience: A Celebration of Bob Weir at Garcia’s Chicago

“We’re not related through blood, but we are related through shared experiences that have depth far beyond what most families have, because we live a life that has a depth of experience that goes a lot deeper than most people ever get to.”
— Bob Weir

As the Homecoming preparations unfold, so do my memories. Is it trite to say I’m grateful for it all? Words fail me when I try to explain what being alive at the same time as Bob Weir has meant to me. I’m only 46 years old, but 29 years ago, I got on the bus.

I was greeted by Bobby Weir & RatDog at Alpine Valley.

Like many others, my early notions of this music kept me from indulging in it. I liked raucous, screaming, loud punk rowk. The Grateful Dead felt slow, indulgent, maybe even corny – until it didn’t. Like so many stories that start this way, there was that one friend. The enthusiastic prophet. The evangelist with patience and certainty. Tapes and tapes and tapes of the truth. I’d pick a song, and he’d pick a show. 

Ben Zebrowski got me to that show. RatDog opened with “Take Me to the River” – a Talking Heads song… or was it Al Green? That question alone captures the point. Discovering the discography is part of the scene. The lineage matters. The borrowing matters. The joy of recognition matters.

I was baptized at that show.

Last Sunday, processing loss, I searched out the footage on YouTube. It was completely different than the memory in my mind. That’s part of the fun. That’s what makes it a scene. Memory bends. Truth expands. The tears swell as I write this. I can’t imagine who I would have been without this community, this music, this shared language of experience.

The delicious pulsing of it all has colored my environment ever since. Through this music, we discover the wonders of nature and the nature of it all. Let your life proceed by its own design. I am you. You are me. How a sunshine daydream can imbue knowledge, protection, and belonging is something I’ll continue to study forevermore.

I remain a student.
Forever Grateful.

Here in Chicago, it was 20 degrees on Wednesday night, January 14, 2026. We’d be dancing in the streets, but Garcia’s Chicago opened its doors free of charge. Yoo-hoo milkshakes and French fries were available too, ya can’t beat that. Terrapin Flyer played Tuesday and Wednesday, continuing a tradition they’ve upheld for over 25 years as one of the nation’s premier Grateful Dead tribute bands.

It’s incredible to know – to feel – that the music never stops. First in line was 81-year-old Maryann Krieglstein with her son and daughter-in-law. The line wrapped around the block. Ben was with us in spirit too. All-ways is.

Terrapin Flyer didn’t just play Dead originals; they honored the broader river. Songs the Grateful Dead once borrowed, bent, and made their own came back around again. That’s the timelessness of it. The bus doesn’t just move forward – it circles, gathers, returns.

The shows are available on nugs.net, as they should be. Playing live is where the truth lives.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, I realized: it’s my turn to become the enthusiastic prophet.

I should have invited my nephew. He’s 21 now, showing signs that he’d benefit from this music, this scene, this community. We all remember the delicate dance of youth. Some come willingly. Others need a gentle nudge. When the bus comes by, it’ll be back. That’s the hope, anyway.

Gone is Bobby’s growl. Gone too are the flamingo pose, the Bobby shorts, that unmistakable brand of healthy masculinity. But what he left us is a treasure box full of notes. A style of rhythm guitar that taught generations how to listen sideways, how to support without dominating, how to be in conversation.

Bob Weir was a bridge.

Wake up to find out that you are the Eyes of the World.

I still enjoy punk rowk. I just hear it differently now. What once felt like rage bait for pubescent angst now carries more meaning, more context. I feel connected to all genres. Bob Weir was the bridge. Now he’s the rainbow.

“I’m hoping people of varying persuasions will find something they can all agree on in the music that I’ve offered — and find each other through it.”
— Bob Weir

That hope is not abstract. It’s alive in rooms like Garcia’s. It’s alive in bands like Terrapin Flyer. It’s alive in the crowd singing every word to “Brokedown Palace.”

Here’s a poem that’s been spinning in my mind since last Saturday:

Paint-by-numbers morning sky
Looks so phony
Life shuffled me an Ace when
I thought all was lost
Tossed into a whole new page

Ben’s basement helped me find a little grace
Back and forth, he had much to teach
I wasn’t sure I wanted to learn

Our relationship never changed
It became what it always was

Still not sure about most tunes I hear
When I am, I know Ben approves

Finding Grateful Web was a connect
Villa Park calling
From a thousand miles away

Built to reflect what I survived
Bound to protect what I found

Distance has always been a part of the words
A shooting star occurred
My inbox shocked and persuaded my soul to ignite
It’s not what I write but what you heard

Wednesday night, Terrapin Flyer played and played and played – and they will play again.

The Music Never Stopped
Greatest Story Ever Told
Me & Bobby McGee
Easy to Slip
Memphis Blues
Cassidy
Let It Grow

Samson & Delilah
Lost Sailor > Saint of Circumstance
Man Smart, Women Smarter
Corrina > Drums > Space > The Other One > Last Time > The Days Between
Throwing Stones > Not Fade Away

Touch of Grey > Brokedown Palace

Distance. Recognition. Belonging. We’re not related through blood – but through shared experience. And that has always been enough. In service to the songs, we will survive. Hugs and high fives to you all~ See you at a show!