Why I waited so long, more than 40 years, to see my first live Grateful Dead show of any sort is not nearly as lengthy of a story.

For much of my youth, I had no interest, having convinced myself that I didn’t like The Grateful Dead. I later figured out that I mostly didn’t like the singular focus and fervor of many Deadheads who refused to even acknowledge that any other bands existed. I had similar “don’t hate the players, hate the groupie game” gradual shifts in attitude with Led Zeppelin and The Cure — excellent bands with extremely annoying blind-worship fan bases back in my day. Perhaps you have your own personal boycotted band that you pushed back on when their supporters pushed a bit too hard.

But when I eventually came round to the idea that the energy and excitement for the Dead, and especially a Dead show, might be merited, they were mostly playing large stadium shows, more of a commitment than this mildly curious concertgoer was willing to make. In my time in Asheville, I’ve seen numerous incarnations of Grateful Dead tribute and cover bands, mostly tagging along with friends who are more tried-and-true fans. And while the music at these shows didn’t always tickle my thunder, the collective energy of the “gathering of the tribes” once-removed was almost always an undeniable good time. But still I hadn’t seen a genuine certified Dead show, featuring an original member or more. I had been to the lodge of like-minded hikers, but not to the mountain itself.

I got my “miracle” when I was given the chance to see Bobby Weir & Wolf Bros featuring The Wolf Pack on Feb. 22 at Thomas Wolfe Auditorium, a show I knew a few of my die-hard friends would also attend. I thought I might write my review through their more familiar eyes. It would have been easier to see what they saw had we sat together but we had a setbreak to connect and compare notes.

One friend from the theater world shared that he was seeing this show 31 years to the day after seeing his first Dead show. I don’t know what it was like for him to see the Bob Weir that he saw way back then walk out onto stage as his 75-year-old self, slender and serious with shocking white hair, mustache, and beard. Weir struck me less as a legendary rocker and more as the imaginative inventor of a magic car that runs on Mentos and Sierra Mist, or a secondary Civil War general (you decide which side). I wasn’t sure what we would get from Bruce Dern’s decade-younger brother, but as soon as the show started, I could see that he has been doing this for a long time — in a good way. He’s not an antiquated act, trying to summon some earlier version of himself. He’s a slow and steady showman. And from what I inferred from my friends, that’s not new for him — just a bit more pronounced these days.

Weir & Co. opens with “Mississippi Half-Step Uptown Toodeloo” from the Grateful Dead songbook, and I don’t even have to wait one song to finally say I am at a Dead show. It is playful and plucky with a nice bed of piano underneath, as many Dead songs are, but definitely downshifted to a slightly slower speed. My friend Josh, who’s been my jam band concert concierge for quite some time, likes to half-believe that Weir is messing with him, constantly testing to see just how slow he can play these signature songs before the original becomes unrecognizable. I don’t know the songs well enough to know the difference, but I do know that no one around me seemed disappointed.

The seasoned showman that he is, Weir surrounds himself with a wonderful band while on stage — not just a handful of Wolf Brothers but a whole Pack of them, and he shows them all off on his second song, “Odessa,” one of his own creations from his days with Ratdog. He’s brought his Ratdog drummer, Jay Lane, along for the ride, along with Jeff Chimenti on keyboards, Barry Sless on pedal steel guitar, and Don Was on double bass, who even a rookie rocker would know is a wise choice, considering Was has produced and/or played with everyone from The Rolling Stones to Bonnie Raitt.

And while Weir’s songs may not be lightning fast, they are layered and full, as we hear here with the support of the Wolf Pack string and brass quartet: Alex Kell, Brian Switzer, Adam Theis, Mads Tolling, and Sheldon Brown. There’s a reason no one is seated at the reserved-seat rock ‘n’ blues revival. (Side note: I don’t love seeing shows at the Thomas Wolfe for a few reasons, but main among them is the tension between those who choose to sit and those who wish to stand. That was luckily not an issue at this show.)

Weir then pares down and slows things down with his version of the Jerry Garcia tune, “Mission In the Rain.” Yes, you will hop and bop at a Bob Weir show, but you will also stand and sway — or at least I did. That gear continues with the Grateful Dead number, “Brown-Eyed Women,” and then Bob Dylan’s “When I Paint My Masterpiece.” And at this slower pace, we can watch Weir paint his masterpieces, literally leaning into his iconic guitar licks. He continues his casual stroll toward the end of the first set with the Dead’s “West L.A. Fadeaway,” and his own “Cassidy,” off the Dead’s classic 1981 release, Reckoning. My friend (the fan for 31 years) informed me that with Bob Weir shows, the first sets have a stronger focus on the songs, while the second sets are more about deconstructing the songs and then putting them back together. Cool: I’m down for some deconstructing.

After a lengthy set break that allows the many attendees to meet up and say “what’s up” to the many others they have seen at many other shows, Weir eases back into the second set with a cover of Little Feat’s “Easy to Slip.” He then proves that he can do the dramatic downshift to almost any song with his cover of the Eddie Coolie classic, “Fever,” that sounds like Peggy Lee has been put on the record player at 33 instead of 45.

I admit I am ready for things to rev up a bit and I do have my first few people-sitting sightings of the evening. And things do liven up when Weir is joined on stage by Grahame Lesh of Midnight North and son of Phil Lesh, Bobby’s bandmate in the Dead. Grahame joins in on several songs, starting with “Scarlet Begonias,” and then “Viola Lee Blues,” a song father Phil often plays when playing with his Friends.

That revival energy starts to ramp up again with everyone all in on “The Wheel.” Weir does another Dylan tune with “All Along the Watchtower,” but, let’s be honest, as the author himself admits, that song belongs to Jimi Hendrix at this point and any cover is going to pale in comparison — but I do enjoy the swirling circles of lights that frame the stage for that song.

We do more standing and swaying on “Standing On the Moon.” And then, thanks to some swelling horns and percussive piano, we go back to some hopping and bopping on Chuck Berry’s “Around and Around.” Bob and Grahame and the rest of the band give us a great sing-along to send us on our way by closing with their rendition of the popular “Ripple.” People applaud and applaud at the end, not wanting it to. Even surrounded by strangers, I feel part of something communal at this concert that just keeps coming, even if more at a canter than a full gallop, still or maybe even more mesmerizing.

Seeing my friends during set break did make me wish that I was sitting — and by that I mean standing. With them. The balcony was banging. I wish a few things were different. I wish the show was somewhere else, — somewhere outside with no assigned seats, somewhere warm where the sun is somehow setting for the entire set, with everyone backlit in silhouette swaying in unison to the songs as a Dead show was once described to me.

And I wish there were other vocals involved, as would have been true at a typical Dead show. Weir is not the bassist that you let sing a song or two (sorry Phil) — he belongs behind the mic. But I would describe his vocals as somewhat sleepy, which only accentuates the already decelerated songs. That is not a knock. I like Mark Knopfler a lot, but you can't tell me that when he sings he doesn’t sound like he just woke up from a nap.

That’s what I wished for my first Dead show. But this was not a Dead show; this was a Bob Weir show. I may have come in search of the former, but my friends were more than fine to be at the latter. They were not just looking to relive past memories, but to enjoy the brand of show that one of the remaining band members consistently delivers. As the lyric from the opening song says, "If all you got to live for is what you left behind / Take yourself a powder charge and seal that silver mine.”

(Photos by Bryce Lafoon)