Dancing into the New Year with Bob Weir's Wolf Pack

Article Contributed by Chris Marden | Published on Friday, January 3, 2025

Now here’s the thing, man: you step into the Broward Center on New Year’s Eve, sun-bleached Florida swirling outside like some neon crocodile dream, and you realize Bob Weir's firing up the Wolf Bros rocket ship, ready to blast your soul beyond the sugar-palm stratosphere. The crowd's got that old Grateful glimmer in their eyes—like they’ve hopped right back on Kesey’s bus, every tie-dye swirling with memory and possibility.

Neon Crocodile Dreams: Ringing in the New Year with Bob Weir & Wolf Bros

Then the lights dip and Set One slides in smooth with "Playing in the Band," and oh, how the groove just rolls like a bright-blue ocean wave. Jay Lane tapping a heartbeat on the drums, Don Was’s bass throbbing like the engine of that big cosmic bus we’re all riding. One by one, the tunes roll on: "Friend of the Devil," a breezy stroll through that dusty desert of tricksters and renegades. "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain," an old lonesome waltz that stirs up the ghosts in your chest. We weave through “Queen Jane Approximately”—the swirling poetry calls out, you can almost taste the mercury in the air.

"Dark Hollow" pops up like a backwoods signpost, reminding us that these roads we’re traveling have been hammered into shape by old-time hands. Then "Me and My Uncle," that timeless Dead frontier, rides by on a horse made of dancing notes. And man, "Bird Song" soars with that luminous grace, each note a feather drifting up toward the Florida night sky, leaving a trail of stardust behind.

Jay Lane & Bobby Weir

Intermission? Bah. Time slips sideways. We come back for Round Two, and "The Winners" peels off like a fresh-laced greeting, Bob crooning, Wolf Bros swirling. Then they fling open that trapdoor to outer space, dropping into "Dark Star." Suddenly the entire hall becomes a swirling cosmic womb; lights shimmer over heads, a luminous swirl of twinkling starfields behind the eyelids. The jam drifts seamlessly into "Eyes of the World," each chord a blooming flower in that electric garden.

The mind’s whirling now—"Two Djinn" glides in with a deep-lake vibe, and then "Standing on the Moon" shimmers in raw, emotive glory. Here we are, perched on some new-year vantage point, gazing at the world down below. By the time "Scarlet Begonias" blossoms, folks are dancing with utter abandon—time’s lost all shape except for the heartbeat pounding in the center of the crowd. And then they loop us back with a triumphant "Playing in the Band" reprise, tying a cosmic bow on the second set with a wink and a grin.

Barry Sless

Amidst the swirling symphony of sound and light, Barry Sless emerges like a spectral troubadour, his pedal steel guitar bending reality with every graceful glide. The instrument sings under his touch, each note a shimmering thread weaving through the cosmic jam, adding layers of ethereal beauty to the Wolf Bros’ sonic landscape. Barry’s melodies drift and dance, reminiscent of moonlight filtering through the dense canopy of a midnight forest, casting shadows and sparks in equal measure. His mastery transforms familiar tunes into otherworldly journeys, where each slide and bend echoes the heartbeat of the universe itself. In that moment, Barry Sless on pedal steel becomes the bridge between the earthly and the divine, elevating the New Year’s Eve celebration into a transcendent celebration of music, magic, and the uncharted realms of the soul.

But the Wolf Bros aren’t done. No siree, Bob. Set Three catapults right in with "Hell in a Bucket," a grin-and-wink rocker that feels like the perfect end-of-year confession: we may be going to hell in a bucket, but we sure are enjoying the ride! "Silvio" storms in like a joyous rebellion, and then—holy smokes—they toss in a "Tequila" cover, spinning the room into a raucous confetti of salsa steps and cosmic giggles, before ripping back into a sizzling "Silvio" reprise. Somewhere in there, you catch your breath just long enough to realize the calendar’s flipping, the clock’s ticking, but it doesn’t matter—time’s an illusion in this swirling tapestry of sound.

Bob Weir and Wolf Bros | Broward Center for the Performing Arts

Finally, "Not Fade Away" roars in, pulsing with that timeless heartbeat. Everyone in the place is chanting, thumping, hearts aligned to some primal wave. The house lights flutter, and you feel that synergy—the band, the crowd, the swirling invisible legacy of every Dead show that came before. It’s that living, breathing energy that just refuses to quit, spanning decades, bridging generations.

Come midnight, confetti in your hair, your feet sore from dancing, your mind still pinned to the cosmos—this is the Wolf Bros ride, baby. Bob Weir the cosmic conductor, Jay Lane and Don Was the steady hands on the wheel, and all of us grinning, free-floating passengers strapped into this big Merry Prankster rocket. A new year dawns, but that music lingers in your bloodstream, shimmering. By the time you stagger out into that humid Florida night, you can’t help but feel you just caught a glimpse of the old weird America, still glowing under the black-light tapestry of midnight. And man, that’s a trip Kesey’d be proud of.