The Eye of the Storm

When I was born, Bob Weir was already 56 years old. He was scruffy-faced, silvered, and otherwise road-worn in the most dignified way. Rather than age out of his role as the backbone of every band he played in, he only grew more focused. While most performers plateau and fade, Bobby did not, and in all aspects transcended what it meant to be an entertainer. After thousands of shows, countless tours, and miles upon miles on the road, he wasn’t just playing music; he was carrying the torch.

Arguably, having performed more shows than anyone in modern history, Bobby had transcended the rhythm guitarist title. With the Grateful Dead and beyond, he remained an ever-present gravitational force, maintaining his orbit the only way he knew how.

In my lifetime, I had the privilege of being graced by his presence twice, once at SPAC in 2023 and again in Vegas in 2025. On paper, these may have been just mere concerts, but the reality of it all was so much bigger than that. Without even realizing it, I was part of a 60-year legacy, a pocket in time defined by kindness, love, and the sweet sound of timeless music. Hearing these iconic songs in the flesh, whether it was the first chord of Bertha, or the thunder crack of energy heard in St. Stephen into the Eleven, was incredible to say the least, and those emotions will be carried with me for the rest of my life.

Bobby Weir is special not just because of his longevity, but because he was a beacon of light we all desperately needed. A guiding force through life, the music never stopped. A product of the hippie generation, Bob Weir never calcified into caricature; he was a shapeshifter who inspired people everywhere, both young and old. I knew that the moment I heard Brown Eyed Woman, the song that got me on the bus, and even more so, being front and center in the eye of the storm.

Most importantly, Bobby showed us that time doesn’t diminish energy; it only ages. That scruffy grey figure that I inherited wasn’t a fossil of a bygone era; it was physical proof that the road doesn’t end, it simply keeps on truckin’.

-Kyle Catavero