I am a Deadhead by marriage.
I met the future Mrs. Pincus — the Deadhead referenced in the first sentence — in February 1982. By April, I found myself attending my first (of many) Grateful Dead concerts. Although we made it a point not to discuss our musical leanings while we were dating… we knew. We both knew. She was a devoted and loyal Deadhead and I was not. Nevertheless, I accompanied my girlfriend, then fiancé, then wife (all Mrs. P) to many Grateful Dead shows. Most were in the Philadelphia area. One was at the Meadowlands (then called the Brendan Byrne Arena). We went to a couple of Jerry Garcia solo shows. And then we went to a rather unusual performance by Bob Weir.
In the early 90’s, my wife’s politically-affiliated cousin offered us tickets to a fundraiser for a US Representative from her jurisdiction. Cousin didn’t have a lot of details on the event, but it was our understanding that this was a serious, political, adult benefit. I was expected to dress accordingly and that — I presumed — meant a tie and jacket. The real reason Cousin offered admission to Mrs. P was the featured performer at the benefit was the Grateful Dead’s Bob Weir. The event was hosted by The Barn, a now-defunct venue known for cheap beer, rowdy patrons and a regular roster of cover bands.
The night of the show, Mrs. Pincus and I dressed in our conservative best. Upon our arrival at The Barn, we realized our miscalculation in attire, as we were greeted by a knot of spinning, patchouli-stinking, tie-dye draped Bohemians, some of whom I’m sure I recognized from previous Dead shows. Some of them, I think, I remembered passed out in the parking lot of the notorious Philadelphia Spectrum.
A local Grateful Dead “tribute band” — Swirled Whale — pacified the crowd prior to the arrival of the evening’s headliner (the main draw) Bob Weir. Bob, however, was running late. Very late. Very, very late.
Swirled Whale played for a tedious hour and a half. The band’s lead singer, a sinewy fellow with a long, unkempt mane of dirty blond hair, was draped in the prerequisite tie-dye. The way he prowled the small stage and contorted himself around the microphone stand, made it very clear that he was convinced that the crowd was there to see him.
Finally, a harried Bob Weir cut through the crowd from the back of the room. He sprinted to the stage, acoustic guitar in hand. He greeted the crowd with a smile and a wave. He had a few brief words of introduction and stumbled over the benefitted candidate’s name. He quickly adjusted a few pegs on the neck of his guitar and began his first song. He raced through two more songs, thanked the audience and split. He may have even been checking a train schedule as he departed the stage. His entire presence took up less than twenty minutes… and that is being generous.
Bob Weir passed away this week. He had been ill on and off over the past few years, including a successful battle with cancer. In the end, an underlying lung ailment took the beloved singer-songwriter at the age of 78.
Although rarely discussed, Mrs. P and I were well aware of each other’s favorite bands. She knew I liked Queen and it was quite obvious that she liked the Grateful Dead. Those two bands could not be further from each other as far as musical visions. The Dead prided themselves on a freeform, unstructured presence, rarely playing the same songs on consecutive nights of their exhaustive touring schedule. Queen were a precisely intricate group of perfectionists. They were slaves to the studio and often had difficulty reproducing their signature sound live in concert. But, like the Dead, they boasted a rabidly devout fanbase that would love anything they did. Both bands, curiously, progressed into their twilight years with eerie similarities. Both bands lost their iconic leader at a relatively young age. Both bands carried on with some remaining original members, some replacement members and some members who wisely decided not to carry on with the band.
When Queen’s charismatic front man Freddie Mercury died, many of my friends who knew I was a Queen fan, offered me their heartfelt condolences. When The Grateful Dead’s Jerry Garcia died, Mrs. Pincus experienced similar sentiment from her friends.
Last night, after the news of Bob Weir’s passing broke, a wave of condolences flooded Mrs. P’s Facebook page, in addition to a slew of text messages.
It was sad. Even for an in-law.
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