A reflection on staying in the song — and why China Cat Chat exists.

An Open Editor's Letter

In January 2026, after the passing of Bob Weir, we wrote a letter to our community about grief, continuity, and what it means to stay inside the music as it changes.

We’re sharing it openly here, for anyone who finds their way to China Cat Chat.

Oh Shenandoah, I long to see you. Hey-hey-hey, your rolling river.

Editor's Note

Staying in the Song

Published in the January 16, 2026 China Cat Chat issue

We arrived back home from a week in Paris early on New Year’s Day. It took us several days to re-acclimate to the time shift. It felt good to be home. To be unpacked. And to have the week ahead as a fresh beginning to the year.

Then, on Saturday, the news came. A text from our dear friend Alice. Bob Weir had passed away. 

The news was surreal. First, disbelief. Then, panic. The kind you feel when you realize something meaningful has shifted for many people at the same time. We felt it immediately: the quick reaching out, the instinct to connect, the knowing that everywhere out there other Deadheads were pausing too — thinking, is this real? Then being flooded with remembering shows, voices, moments when the music carried us through. Wondering: Is it really gone?

We want to say this plainly: if you’re holding sadness, gratitude, disorientation, and deep affection all at once—you’re not alone. This community has always known how to gather. Not just in joy and motion, but in reflection. In listening. In holding space for one another while the song keeps going.

Bob’s life was never about holding the music still. It was about staying inside it as it changed — tempos slowing, meanings deepening, rooms shifting, generations arriving. He trusted the long arc. He trusted listening over forcing. He trusted that if you stayed present long enough, the music would carry you somewhere deeply meaningful.

That posture — patient, open, unafraid of evolution — is the quiet through-line of this issue and where we share examples of this through Bob Weir’s legacy, as well as how we experienced Paris.

This isn’t a traditional tribute issue. There are many of those, and they’re beautiful. This is something else. This issue reflects what we’ve learned by listening to Bob—and to this music—over many years: how to stay in tune by paying attention, how to remain present without trying to control the outcome, how to let meaning expand rather than be pinned down.

It’s about continuity. About how music—like wisdom—doesn’t end. It moves. It stretches. It finds new hands, new ears, and in our case in Paris—new streets to walk down.

Bob Weir didn’t show us how to hold on to the music.​He showed us how to stay in it — while it keeps changing.

And that lesson, like the song itself, is very much alive.

Bob at the Golden Gate Park, 60th Anniversary Shows