Some thoughts on The Grateful Dead, grateful Ducks, and one’s shifting musical tastes.
If you want to know what my dad was like, imaginethe Halt and Catch Fire cast member of your choosing towards the end of the series (okay, maybe not Boz). Clean cut. Rarely without a suit and (at one point) a pair of matching Audis in the driveway.
If you want to imagine what my uncle is like, picture the opposite. He was—and is—the prototypical Deadhead. Followed them on the road, had a VW bus, and even made a living designing/selling T-shirts.
If you want an idea of how obnoxious I could be in the mid-90s, just know that I had a “Thank You, Journey” sticker on my car. These, of course, were in response to the legions of “Thank You, Jerry” stickers that everyone had following Jerry Garcia’s death. That marked the end of an era for many people, but I honestly couldn’t be bothered. Sure, I understood the cultural ramifications, but this was a band I only knew of from afar… and from punchlines. It wasn’t for me… yet.
That we lost Bob Weir this week won’t be news to anyone here. I noted a few days ago that it was frankly refreshing to see my TL flooded with remembrances from all corners. I don’t know what it says about 2026 that mourning was a nice change, but here we are.
A lot of people also shared their experiences of the Dead, and of Weir. Almost without exception, those people have more ground to talk than I do. Nevertheless. Here’s a great example. Here’s another. And one more for good measure.
For most of my life, the Dead were a band I experienced secondhand. My uncle playing them in the hopes that this might finally be the time they land with me at home. Friends playing them as we all crammed into someone’s VW and made our way to the coast or Mt. Hood. Grainy Super 8 footage on TV shows. Once, when I was about 10, I tagged along on one of my dad’s business trips. On a rural highway somewhere on the Atlantic seaboard, we passed a car, and he nodded his head toward it, deadpanning, “Those’re Dead Heads.” Strange the way that sort of thing sticks with you. But yeah, not a lot of story to stick to the ribs here.
The next step was part of the glorious rite of passage for most Gen X kids—Columbia House. And one of those 12 free was ’87’s In the Dark. “Touch of Grey?” An all-timer. “Hell in a Bucket?” Not bad! “West L.A. Fadeaway,” same. You’d have never gotten me to admit it back then, but that slinky groove was fantastic. The rest I couldn’t describe if my life depended on it.
Within a year or two, my divorce from pop radio was finalized, and I cannonballed into the world of college radio. The Grateful Dead? Are you kidding me? Hard pass. Even if I was into ’em on principle, their brand of blues and Americana wasn’t in my wheelhouse…Yet. It was a nonstarter. The whole thing just seemed like a caricature. When I would see flashes of normalcy—Weir wearing Vaurnets or drummer Bill Kreutzmann wearing a sports jersey—these felt more like cracks in the fourth wall than anything else. If you want an idea of how my brain works, that last sentence is a good indicator.
It didn’t help that my high school was divided by sonic tribal identity, with very little crossover. Oil and water for sure. There were the occasional exceptions—turns out the possibility of getting high works great as an emulsifier—but by and large those red lines held. People super into the Dead were not the same people I was seeing at hardcore shows.
Flash forward a few years, and I find myself listening… and it’s not terrible? I never got to see the band play live, but they sure sound good at full blast as you’re barreling across the Mojave Desert, that much I can tell you. Maybe that’s all it took, but I was in. I can’t claim any sort of Deadhead status (or whatever). The best I can claim is a sort of fellow traveler status, and that’s probably good enough.
The records all grew on me. Distilled down, a lot of them work great as pop songs. I don’t mean that as a “hot take,” but it’s hard to ignore when viewed through a structural lens. Chris’s point above is well taken (and I love the typo- was it intentional? The internet never tells). They don’t ramble off into Neverland. There’s no 15-minute walkabouts—those were saved for the stadiums. Speaking of which, in my world, the live shows went from fodder for inside jokes between friends to half-serious conversations about the pros/cons of various shows.
When we’d get a loaner car with Sirius, I’d find myself turning the dial to channel 23 more often than not. Eighteen-year-old me wouldn’t have recognized that sentence. At all.
In 2026, we’re longing for community and IRL experiences. Dead Heads have been doing that for decades. No blue screens, and the only “content” being created was via a tape recorder.
Last October, I got to go home and see my beloved Oregon Ducks play. I was excited to see my family and be back in Autzen (it never rains there, you see). The promo tie-in was Dead-themed. Anytime I go home, it’s good for 10 points off my blood pressure, but being in the stands with my kids and family made it even more so. As they played various tracks, I thought, “This rules.” That’s absolutely something 18-year-old me would’ve recognized.
As “Althea” rang out, somebody mentioned it being their favorite, and I thought about what mine might be. “Althea’s” there, I ‘spose. “Friend of the Devil,” too. My lunchbox has a Shakedown Man sticker. “Touch of Grey” makes a good case. I know that’ll raise some hackles. “West L.A. Fadeaway” as well. No deep-cut picks this time—I still don’t know any.
Speaking of the team, I was wearing my “Grateful Ducks” sweatshirt when their season came to an inglorious end last Friday. My usual lucky shirt, too. But even that wasn’t enough to stop the mighty IU. I wonder what the Dead think of such things? Maybe at this point there’s nothing left to do but smile, smile, smile.
The next day on Bluesky, someone mentioned hearing the band during the Rams game, and that was how they learned of Weir’s passing. Reading their post was how I learned. The song? “West L.A. Fadeaway,” of course…
RIP Bob.
As always, thanks for being here.
KA—
Kevin Sent 
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