\u2018The Other One\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"L-R:](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/bob-weir-the-other-one.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Malcolm Lubliner\/Michael Ochs Archives\/Getty Images\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\t
This song initially appeared as part three of a four-part suite on the Dead\u2019s second album, 1968\u2019s Anthem of the Sun<\/em>. But while the rest of that sprawling psychedelic vision faded from view soon enough, Weir\u2019s chapter \u2014 a rare cowrite with drummer Bill Kreutzmann \u2014 stayed a beloved element in their set for many years to come. The line \u201cthe heat came round and busted me for smiling on a cloudy day\u201d was based on a true story: \u201cI was arrested for throwing a water balloon at a cop,\u201d Weir recalled in Blair Jackson and David Gans\u2019 2015 oral history of the Dead, This Is All a Dream We Dreamed<\/em>. \u201cHe was conducting an illegal search on a car belonging to a friend of mine, directly below 710 Ashbury\u2026. I thought this was an illegal search, and it incensed me. Besides, we were having a water balloon fight inside the house at the time.\u201d \u2014Simon Vozick-Levinson<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\n\u2018Truckin\u201d<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"SAN](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/themes\/vip\/pmc-rollingstone-2022\/assets\/public\/lazyload-fallback.gif\")
![\"SAN](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/bob-weir-truckin.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Robert Altman\/Michael Ochs Archives\/Getty Images\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tThe Grateful Dead wrote the loping \u201cTruckin\u2019\u201d as a group, but Bob Weir claimed the lead vocals, which meant he got to sing one of the defining lyrics of the 20th century: \u201cWhat a long, strange trip it\u2019s been.\u201d\u00a0 His rhythm guitar anchors the song\u2019s gloriously shaggy, could-only-be-the-Dead groove, which ambles along like a Robert Crumb character come to musical life. (Which is appropriate, since the chorus borrows from a Crumb cartoon that was, in turn, inspired by a Blind Boy Fuller lyric.) \u2014Brian Hiatt<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\n\u2018Sugar Magnolia\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"(Original](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/bob-weir-sugar-magnolia.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Lynn Goldsmith\/Corbis\/VCG\/Getty Images\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tThe Dead performed \u201cSugar Magnolia\u201d more than 600 times, and with good reason. Co-written with longtime Dead lyricist Robert Hunter, it\u2019s a sunny tribute that Weir penned for his girlfriend Frankie, whom he lived with in the early Seventies. (\u201cTakes the wheel when I\u2019m seeing double\/Pays my ticket when I speed\u201d \u2014 man, this woman was a saint.) The American Beauty<\/em> highlight became a joyous anthem for Deadheads, usually the most euphoric moment of any show, and sometimes with a trippy \u201cSunshine Daydream\u201d coda tacked on (the longer, the jammier, the better). The song also has a memorable moment in Runaway Bride<\/em>, when Julia Roberts nearly marries the Deadhead, but doesn\u2019t \u2014 a mistake on her part. \u2014Angie Martoccio<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\n\u2018Playing in the Band\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"FRESNO,](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/bob-weir-playing-in-the-band.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Ed Perlstein\/Redferns\/Getty Images\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tRobert Hunter\u2019s lyrics imagine a kind of ur-hippie mystic who leaves the straight world behind: \u201cStanding on a tower, world at my command\/You just keep on turning while I\u2019m playing in the band.\u201d Weir\u2019s honest vocals saved those words from sounding egotistical \u2014 the way he sings it, he\u2019s on an genuine, open-eyed journey. And the music he composed for \u201cPlaying in the Band\u201d proved remarkably flexible, as the instrumental break in the middle of the song became the home of some of the Dead\u2019s farthest-traveling jams onstage in the decades after its initial release in 1971. \u2014S.V.L.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\n\u2018Me and My Uncle\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"SAN](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/bob-weir-me-and-my-uncle.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Ed Perlstein\/Redferns\/Getty Images\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tLegend has it that John Phillips wrote this rollicking cowboy yarn in a drunken haze circa 1963, so wasted he didn\u2019t even remember composing it. It\u2019s been covered by many, including both Judy Collins and Joni Mitchell, but the definitive rendition belongs to Weir, who made it the single most-performed song of the Dead\u2019s 30-year career. He really made you believe he\u2019d been there in that saloon, sweating bullets at that fateful card game. And he sold the savage twist in the song\u2019s closing lines like no one else could. \u2014S.V.L.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\n\u2018Black-Throated Wind\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"American](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/bob-weir-black-throated-wind.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Larry Busacca\/WireImage\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tThe U.S. blues of a long-haired American kid on the road, trying to hitch a ride, feeling like a stranger in his own country. Weir sings about standing out on the highway with his thumb out, on a cold night, after leaving a broken romance in St. Louis. His only company is the headlights of all the cars and trucks and buses that pass by without picking him up. \u201cBlack-Throated Wind\u201d was a highlight of his 1972 solo debut, Ace<\/em>, with a typically thorny Weir melody and a tale inspired by John Perry Barlow<\/a>\u2019s experience on a road trip through the South. The Dead played this constantly in 1972, gave it up after 1974, but revived it in 1990 with heavily reworked words. It never sounded windier or lonelier than the definitive 8\/2\/7\/72 version in Veneta, Oregon, in the 100-degree sunshine. \u2014Rob Sheffield<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\n\u2018Looks Like Rain\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"LOS](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/bob-weir-looks-like-rain.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Ed Perlstein\/Redferns\/Getty Images\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tThe mournful \u201cLooks Like Rain,\u201d cowritten with Barlow, found Weir saying goodbye to a lover who just left him early one morning. \u201cRun me around and make me hurt again and again,\u201d he sings, \u201cBut I\u2019ll still sing you love songs, written in the letters of your name.\u201d With a country-tinged chord progression that jerks around like a gentle panic attack, all while Jerry Garcia\u2019s steel guitar keens and whines around Weir\u2019s voice and Keith Godchaux\u2019s piano plods heavenward, the song was an emotional peak for Weir on Ace<\/em>. \u2014K.G.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\n\u2018Jack Straw\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"Jerry](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/bob-weir-jack-straw.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Gie Knaeps\/Getty Images\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tThe lilting loveliness of this Dead mainstay belies the lyrics, which push it into murder-ballad territory: \u201cJack Straw from Wichita cut his buddy down,\u201d Weir sings. (The song, never released on a studio album, featured just Weir on lead vocals early on, but he soon started sharing with Jerry Garcia.) Weir wrote the song with Hunter after catching an adaptation of Of Mice and Men<\/em> on TV. \u201cHunter had this lyric,\u201d Weir told Uncut<\/em>. \u201cI grabbed it, and we came with a little sketch of heartland Americana, a ballad about two ne\u2019er-do-wells.\u201d \u2014B.H.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\n\u2018Cassidy\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"Jerry](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/bob-weir-cassidy.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Gie Knaeps\/Getty Images\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tAmong the Dead\u2019s best-known guitar melodies is the opening to \u201cCassidy,\u201d a song Weir wrote with John Barlow that made its debut in the early Seventies. Both a reference to the death of Neil Cassady, a noted figure in the Beat generation, and to birth, it features reflective, spiritual lyrics \u2014 \u201cFlight of the seabirds\/Scattered like lost words\u201d \u2014 through a bright, lifting groove. \u201cCassidy\u201d was a staple of Weir\u2019s sets in side projects like RatDog and Dead & Company, and its hymn-like characteristics have made the song a multi-generational fan favorite. Its final missive feels all the more relevant today: \u201cFare thee well now\/Let your life proceed by its own design\/Nothing to tell now\/Let the words be yours, I\u2019m done with mine.\u201d \u2014Shirley Halperin<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\n\u2018Estimated Prophet\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"CHICAGO,](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/bob-weir-estimated-prophet.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Paul Natkin\/Getty Images\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\t\u201cMy time coming any day,\u201d Weir growls on this apocalyptic reggae stomp, which he wrote with Barlow. Garcia\u2019s bubbling, envelope-filter guitar effect made this <\/em>Terrapin Station<\/em><\/a> gem groove even harder, a perfect ingredient any time it hit the stage \u2014 which happened often. The Dead\u2019s 1977 shows are legendary<\/a> for a reason, and \u201cEstimated Prophet\u201d is an essential part of them, from Cornell University\u2019s Barton Hall<\/a> to San Francisco\u2019s Winterland<\/a>. And when Weir sings \u201cCaliforniaaaaa!\u201d on the chorus, all that\u2019s left is pure euphoria.\u00a0\u2014A.M.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\n\u2018Hell in a Bucket\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"MOUNTAIN](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/bob-weir-hell-in-a-bucket.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Tim Mosenfelder\/Getty Images\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\t\u201cI may be goin\u2019 to hell in a bucket, babe,\u201d Weir sings on this riotous single from 1987\u2019s In the Dark<\/em>, \u201cbut at least I\u2019m enjoyin\u2019 the ride.\u201d The song has an easygoing, circular chord progression, custom-made for bluesy jammy solos, and John Barlow\u2019s lyrics, which were far from progressive, made for a whimsical video that found Weir rolling around zebra-patterned sheets while arguing with a woman he\u2019s trying to set up with a biker and another scene in which he\u2019s riding in the back seat of a convertible with a flute of champagne and a goose in a choker. Weir enjoyed the ride, and the song became a set-list staple. \u2014K.G.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n<\/ul><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div>\n
\t<\/p>\n
\n\t \t<\/p>\n \n\tThe Grateful Dead wrote the loping \u201cTruckin\u2019\u201d as a group, but Bob Weir claimed the lead vocals, which meant he got to sing one of the defining lyrics of the 20th century: \u201cWhat a long, strange trip it\u2019s been.\u201d\u00a0 His rhythm guitar anchors the song\u2019s gloriously shaggy, could-only-be-the-Dead groove, which ambles along like a Robert Crumb character come to musical life. (Which is appropriate, since the chorus borrows from a Crumb cartoon that was, in turn, inspired by a Blind Boy Fuller lyric.) \u2014Brian Hiatt<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tThe Dead performed \u201cSugar Magnolia\u201d more than 600 times, and with good reason. Co-written with longtime Dead lyricist Robert Hunter, it\u2019s a sunny tribute that Weir penned for his girlfriend Frankie, whom he lived with in the early Seventies. (\u201cTakes the wheel when I\u2019m seeing double\/Pays my ticket when I speed\u201d \u2014 man, this woman was a saint.) The American Beauty<\/em> highlight became a joyous anthem for Deadheads, usually the most euphoric moment of any show, and sometimes with a trippy \u201cSunshine Daydream\u201d coda tacked on (the longer, the jammier, the better). The song also has a memorable moment in Runaway Bride<\/em>, when Julia Roberts nearly marries the Deadhead, but doesn\u2019t \u2014 a mistake on her part. \u2014Angie Martoccio<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tRobert Hunter\u2019s lyrics imagine a kind of ur-hippie mystic who leaves the straight world behind: \u201cStanding on a tower, world at my command\/You just keep on turning while I\u2019m playing in the band.\u201d Weir\u2019s honest vocals saved those words from sounding egotistical \u2014 the way he sings it, he\u2019s on an genuine, open-eyed journey. And the music he composed for \u201cPlaying in the Band\u201d proved remarkably flexible, as the instrumental break in the middle of the song became the home of some of the Dead\u2019s farthest-traveling jams onstage in the decades after its initial release in 1971. \u2014S.V.L.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tLegend has it that John Phillips wrote this rollicking cowboy yarn in a drunken haze circa 1963, so wasted he didn\u2019t even remember composing it. It\u2019s been covered by many, including both Judy Collins and Joni Mitchell, but the definitive rendition belongs to Weir, who made it the single most-performed song of the Dead\u2019s 30-year career. He really made you believe he\u2019d been there in that saloon, sweating bullets at that fateful card game. And he sold the savage twist in the song\u2019s closing lines like no one else could. \u2014S.V.L.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tThe U.S. blues of a long-haired American kid on the road, trying to hitch a ride, feeling like a stranger in his own country. Weir sings about standing out on the highway with his thumb out, on a cold night, after leaving a broken romance in St. Louis. His only company is the headlights of all the cars and trucks and buses that pass by without picking him up. \u201cBlack-Throated Wind\u201d was a highlight of his 1972 solo debut, Ace<\/em>, with a typically thorny Weir melody and a tale inspired by John Perry Barlow<\/a>\u2019s experience on a road trip through the South. The Dead played this constantly in 1972, gave it up after 1974, but revived it in 1990 with heavily reworked words. It never sounded windier or lonelier than the definitive 8\/2\/7\/72 version in Veneta, Oregon, in the 100-degree sunshine. \u2014Rob Sheffield<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tThe mournful \u201cLooks Like Rain,\u201d cowritten with Barlow, found Weir saying goodbye to a lover who just left him early one morning. \u201cRun me around and make me hurt again and again,\u201d he sings, \u201cBut I\u2019ll still sing you love songs, written in the letters of your name.\u201d With a country-tinged chord progression that jerks around like a gentle panic attack, all while Jerry Garcia\u2019s steel guitar keens and whines around Weir\u2019s voice and Keith Godchaux\u2019s piano plods heavenward, the song was an emotional peak for Weir on Ace<\/em>. \u2014K.G.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tThe lilting loveliness of this Dead mainstay belies the lyrics, which push it into murder-ballad territory: \u201cJack Straw from Wichita cut his buddy down,\u201d Weir sings. (The song, never released on a studio album, featured just Weir on lead vocals early on, but he soon started sharing with Jerry Garcia.) Weir wrote the song with Hunter after catching an adaptation of Of Mice and Men<\/em> on TV. \u201cHunter had this lyric,\u201d Weir told Uncut<\/em>. \u201cI grabbed it, and we came with a little sketch of heartland Americana, a ballad about two ne\u2019er-do-wells.\u201d \u2014B.H.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tAmong the Dead\u2019s best-known guitar melodies is the opening to \u201cCassidy,\u201d a song Weir wrote with John Barlow that made its debut in the early Seventies. Both a reference to the death of Neil Cassady, a noted figure in the Beat generation, and to birth, it features reflective, spiritual lyrics \u2014 \u201cFlight of the seabirds\/Scattered like lost words\u201d \u2014 through a bright, lifting groove. \u201cCassidy\u201d was a staple of Weir\u2019s sets in side projects like RatDog and Dead & Company, and its hymn-like characteristics have made the song a multi-generational fan favorite. Its final missive feels all the more relevant today: \u201cFare thee well now\/Let your life proceed by its own design\/Nothing to tell now\/Let the words be yours, I\u2019m done with mine.\u201d \u2014Shirley Halperin<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cMy time coming any day,\u201d Weir growls on this apocalyptic reggae stomp, which he wrote with Barlow. Garcia\u2019s bubbling, envelope-filter guitar effect made this <\/em>Terrapin Station<\/em><\/a> gem groove even harder, a perfect ingredient any time it hit the stage \u2014 which happened often. The Dead\u2019s 1977 shows are legendary<\/a> for a reason, and \u201cEstimated Prophet\u201d is an essential part of them, from Cornell University\u2019s Barton Hall<\/a> to San Francisco\u2019s Winterland<\/a>. And when Weir sings \u201cCaliforniaaaaa!\u201d on the chorus, all that\u2019s left is pure euphoria.\u00a0\u2014A.M.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cI may be goin\u2019 to hell in a bucket, babe,\u201d Weir sings on this riotous single from 1987\u2019s In the Dark<\/em>, \u201cbut at least I\u2019m enjoyin\u2019 the ride.\u201d The song has an easygoing, circular chord progression, custom-made for bluesy jammy solos, and John Barlow\u2019s lyrics, which were far from progressive, made for a whimsical video that found Weir rolling around zebra-patterned sheets while arguing with a woman he\u2019s trying to set up with a biker and another scene in which he\u2019s riding in the back seat of a convertible with a flute of champagne and a goose in a choker. Weir enjoyed the ride, and the song became a set-list staple. \u2014K.G.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n<\/ul><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div>\n
This song initially appeared as part three of a four-part suite on the Dead\u2019s second album, 1968\u2019s Anthem of the Sun<\/em>. But while the rest of that sprawling psychedelic vision faded from view soon enough, Weir\u2019s chapter \u2014 a rare cowrite with drummer Bill Kreutzmann \u2014 stayed a beloved element in their set for many years to come. The line \u201cthe heat came round and busted me for smiling on a cloudy day\u201d was based on a true story: \u201cI was arrested for throwing a water balloon at a cop,\u201d Weir recalled in Blair Jackson and David Gans\u2019 2015 oral history of the Dead, This Is All a Dream We Dreamed<\/em>. \u201cHe was conducting an illegal search on a car belonging to a friend of mine, directly below 710 Ashbury\u2026. I thought this was an illegal search, and it incensed me. Besides, we were having a water balloon fight inside the house at the time.\u201d \u2014Simon Vozick-Levinson<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n\u2018Truckin\u201d<\/h2>\n
\u2018Sugar Magnolia\u2019<\/h2>\n
\u2018Playing in the Band\u2019<\/h2>\n
\u2018Me and My Uncle\u2019<\/h2>\n
\u2018Black-Throated Wind\u2019<\/h2>\n
\u2018Looks Like Rain\u2019<\/h2>\n
\u2018Jack Straw\u2019<\/h2>\n
\u2018Cassidy\u2019<\/h2>\n
\u2018Estimated Prophet\u2019<\/h2>\n
\u2018Hell in a Bucket\u2019<\/h2>\n