The Rex Foundation, Activism, Philanthropy & Next Steps

On Sept. 13, 1988, the media assembled at the United Nations for a press conference. Representatives for the nonprofits Greenpeace, Cultural Survival and Rainforest Action Network sat before them, alongside the U.N. Environment Programme’s director and three, less expected emissaries: the Grateful Dead’s Jerry Garcia, Bobby Weir and Mickey Hart.

The band was about to begin a multinight fall run at Madison Square Garden and had decided to make the ninth and final concert of the stint a rainforest benefit. Garcia, Weir and Hart weren’t at the U.N. as rock stars; they were there as activists.

“Somebody has to do something,” Garcia told the assembled crowd, before adding wryly, “In fact, it seems pathetic that it has to be us.” As the audience applauded and Hart and Weir voiced their agreement, Garcia cut through the din: “This is not our regular work!” Eleven days later, in a more familiar setting, the band invited Bruce Hornsby, Hall & Oates and Suzanne Vega, among other artists, onstage at the sold-out benefit show, which grossed $871,875, according to an October 1988 issue of Billboard.

At the press conference, Garcia had said, “We hope that we can empower our own audience with a sense of being able to do something directly and actually having an effect that’s visible in some way.” But he’d also expressed the Dead’s trepidation concerning activism.

“We don’t want to be the leaders, and we don’t want to serve unconscious fascism,” he said. “Power is a scary thing. When you feel that you’re close to it, you feel like you want to make sure that it isn’t used for misleading. So all this time, we’ve avoided making any statements about politics, about alignments of any sort.” While Garcia’s comment wasn’t entirely accurate — the ’88 benefit was far from the first time the Dead had aligned itself with a cause — its sentiment was honest: He understood the influence his beloved band wielded.

“As a young fan, I really learned about the issue in the rainforest from the Grateful Dead when they did that press conference,” recalls Mark Pinkus, who started seeing the band in 1984 and was a college student in 1988. “If a band like the Grateful Dead took the time to care about a cause, it definitely got our attention as young fans.”

For a then-17-year-old David Lemieux, who had started seeing the Dead the year before and whose father worked at the U.N. from 1953 to 1973, “it added this huge level of legitimacy to this band I was following around” for his parents. “It certainly had me go out and learn more about [the issue],” he reflects. “To this day, the way I view the world is very much what I learned from my days on tour — and seeing the Dead take a stance that was so big … meant a lot to me.”

At the time, Pinkus and Lemieux were impressionable young Deadheads. Today, they’re central to the Dead’s present and future business. Pinkus is president of Rhino Entertainment, the Warner Music Group branch that publishes the Dead’s archival releases, and Lemieux, the band’s legacy manager and archivist, is intimately involved in the curation of those releases.

It’s telling not just that the Dead’s business is shepherded by members of the very community it fostered, but that the band’s philanthropic work in particular resonated with Pinkus and Lemieux from the jump. The Dead’s members haven’t merely been philanthropically active since the band’s 1965 formation in the Bay Area — they have been forward-thinking, reimagining the potential of the good works musicians can do and inspiring other artists to follow in their footsteps. All the while, their activism has fed on — and been fed by — their passionate fans.

“We’re part of a community, and so the better the community is doing, the better we’re doing,” Weir says today. “Jerry always used to say, ‘You get some, you give some back.’ It just makes sense.” And since the beginning, “that’s been our mode of operation,” the Grateful Dead’s Bill Kreutzmann says. “We help people and give them stuff. It’s just a good way to live life. I wish that more people in the world lived life that way, instead of wars and bombings.”

Since Garcia’s death in 1995, the Dead’s surviving members have continued to tour — and continued to advocate for the causes that matter to them. That’s why MusiCares, the charitable organization that the Recording Academy founded in 1989 to support the music community’s health and welfare, is recognizing the Grateful Dead as its 2025 MusiCares Persons of the Year.

“It all follows in that tradition of teaching the industry what it should know about,” Hart says. “That’s that Grateful Dead kind of style, where we just did it because we knew it was the right thing to do. If we wanted to do this the rest of our lives was the idea, we have to do these things, because people support us — and we reciprocate.”

“Everybody had everybody’s back in the Haight-Ashbury, and we were a big functioning organism,” Weir recalls. “And we had roles within the community.”

It’s a crisp, mid-November evening in Chicago, where Weir, 77, has just spent the afternoon doing what he does best: playing Grateful Dead music. He’s in town for two shows at the Auditorium Theatre with the Chicago Philharmonic Orchestra, which will accompany him and Wolf Bros, his current solo project, and after rehearsing “Weather Report Suite” and “Terrapin Station” — two of the Dead’s densest, most ambitious compositions — he’s back on his tour bus, reminiscing about the band’s early days.

Even then, philanthropy was core to the group. It began performing as The Warlocks in mid-1965, and while accounts differ about when, exactly, it changed its name later that year, many believe it debuted its famed moniker on Dec. 10 — at Mime Troupe Appeal II, the second in a series of benefits for a satirical San Francisco theater troupe that often clashed with local law enforcement over free speech.

The first decade or so of the Dead’s philanthropy “is an incredibly eclectic mix,” Lemieux says. In San Francisco, the band gigged for radical activists, arts spaces, spiritual centers (a Hare Krishna temple, a Zen monastery) and music education. As the band grew, it played for hippie communes and music venues, for striking radio workers and bail funds, for the Black Panthers and the Hells Angels. It performed with the Buffalo (N.Y.) Philharmonic Orchestra in 1970 to support the ensemble; in a concert that became one of its most revered live recordings, the Dead played in Veneta, Ore., on Aug. 27, 1972, to save the local Springfield Creamery.

“We saw something in need, and we would just write a check,” Hart, 81, remembers today. “The Grateful Dead, we never thought of business. We just wanted to play, play, play.”

“That was really delicious for us, to make everybody happy,” says Kreutzmann, 78. “Because that’s the goal: Make everyone happy, not just the band.”

But as the band’s following grew throughout the ’70s, that charitable approach — guided by the band’s generous attitude, which meant lots of “yeses” and not many “nos” — became untenable. It needed to streamline its operation. “We had always been given to community service, but we just wanted to get organized about it,” Weir says, alluding to the tax burden of the band’s initial model.

So the Dead did something that was then novel for a musical act: It started a foundation. In 1983, the band’s early co-manager Danny Rifkin (who held a number of roles in the group’s orbit over the years) helped it launch The Rex Foundation, named for Rex Jackson, a roadie and tour manager for the band who had died in 1976. The foundation eliminated the need for the Dead to do the types of one-off, cause-based benefits it had done previously, instead directing earnings from its charitable initiatives into the foundation, which then disbursed that money — after approval by its board, which included the band’s members and others in its inner circle — to various grant recipients. By refusing to accept unsolicited grant proposals (applications were, and still are, submitted by the Rex board and those in the Dead’s extended community) and focusing its grants on organizations with small, sometimes minuscule, budgets, the Dead retained the homespun feel of its earlier charitable efforts.

The Rex Foundation quickly became the primary beneficiary of the Dead’s philanthropy. The band played its first Rex benefits in San Rafael, Calif., in spring 1984 and made a point of staging multishow Rex benefit runs — generally in the Bay Area or nearby Sacramento — annually for the rest of its career. “They were just regular gigs, there was no other fanfare, but the money would go to The Rex Foundation,” Lemieux says. “We all thought that was pretty darn cool. It wasn’t like the Dead played any less hard because it was a benefit gig. The Rex Foundation mattered to them.”

Over the next decade, the Dead played upwards of 40 Rex benefits. Without the requirement that a given show benefit a specific charity — and with the larger grosses Dead shows now earned — “it allowed the money to be spread a lot more,” Lemieux explains. A beneficiary “wouldn’t be like a multi-multimillion-dollar organization that needed $5,000. It was a $10,000 organization that needed $5,000. That makes a huge difference.” (Weir, Hart and Garcia’s widow, Carolyn, and daughter, Trixie, are among the present-day board members of Rex, which still holds benefits and disburses grants; in July, Dark Star Orchestra, which re-creates classic Dead shows, played a benefit at the Greek Theatre in Berkeley, Calif., to celebrate the foundation’s 40th anniversary.)

During this period, the Dead also continued to play non-Rex benefits for specific causes, including AIDS research and eye-care organization Seva. The 1988 rainforest benefit was a hybrid — the rare Rex benefit with pre-announced beneficiaries in Greenpeace, Cultural Survival and Rainforest Action Network. “Those were all people that we had already funded to in their infancy,” says Cameron Sears, who managed the band in the late ’80s and ’90s and is today Rex’s executive director. (As it happens, Sears’ entrée into the Dead’s world as a recent college grad in the early ’80s was through philanthropy: He’d pitched the band on getting involved in California water politics.) As Garcia put it at the U.N., “We’ve chosen these groups because we like that direct thing … We don’t like a lot of stuff between us and the work.”

The model continues to reverberate through a music industry where it’s now common for major artists to have charitable foundations. “The fact that all these bands now have looked to that model and replicated it, [the Dead] don’t need to take credit for it, even though it may rightly belong to them,” Sears says. “They’re just happy that people are doing it. Their vision has had a multiplier effect now around the world. What Eddie Vedder and Pearl Jam are into might be different than what Phish is into and is maybe different than what Metallica is into. But together, the amount of philanthropy that’s being generated through all these different people makes an incredible difference.”

Pull up just about any bootleg of a Phil Lesh show from 1999 through his death in October, and you’ll see a track between the end of the second set and the start of the encore, usually called “Donor Rap.” Lesh received a life-saving liver transplant in 1998; henceforth, he used his platform to encourage Deadheads to turn to their loved ones and say that, if anything happened to them, they wanted to be an organ donor.

After Garcia’s death, the Dead’s surviving members remained active musically — and philanthropically. When The Other Ones — the first significant post-Garcia iteration of the Dead comprising Weir, Lesh, Hart and a cast of supporting musicians — debuted in 1998, it did so with a benefit, raising more than $200,000 for the Rainforest Action Network. They all championed causes important to them: Weir with the environment and combating poverty, Hart with music therapy and brain health, Kreutzmann with ocean conservation, Lesh with his Unbroken Chain Foundation, which benefited a litany of things including music education. The Rex Foundation has also remained active, supporting a range of organizations across the arts, education, social justice, Indigenous peoples’ groups and the environment.

And, over the years, the band members began to work more closely with MusiCares. Early in the pandemic, Dead & Company — the touring group formed in 2015 by Weir, Hart and Kreutzmann and rounded out by John Mayer, Oteil Burbridge and Jeff Chimenti — and the Grateful Dead launched weekly archival livestreams that raised $276,000 for the organization’s COVID-19 Relief Fund. Dead & Company expanded the affiliation to epic proportions on May 8, 2023, when the band kicked off its final tour at Cornell University’s Barton Hall in Ithaca, N.Y., where it played one of its most revered gigs 46 years earlier to the day; the 2023 show raised $3.1 million, with half going to MusiCares and half to the Cornell 2030 Project, a campus organization dedicated to sustainability.

“If you want to talk about making a statement in modern times,” Pinkus says, “here they return to the venue of arguably the most famous Grateful Dead show ever, play the tiniest show that they play on a farewell tour, which is all stadiums, and then they turn around and do it as a fundraiser. It really spoke to everything about the Grateful Dead and Dead & Company’s commitment to giving back.”

“The industry is a very dangerous place at times,” Hart says. “When you get engulfed with the harder side of the business and fall through the cracks or stumble and you need some help getting your mojo back, that’s really what MusiCares does.”

Over the last decade, Activist Artists Management has helped guide the band members’ philanthropic efforts. The company is both the manager of record for the Grateful Dead — a status conferred by Grateful Dead Productions, an entity comprising the band’s living members and representatives of Garcia’s and Lesh’s estates — and co-manages Dead & Company alongside Irving Azoff and Steve Moir of Full Stop Management. (Kreutzmann toured with Dead & Company from 2015 to 2022 but did not appear with the group on its final tour in 2023 or during its 2024 Las Vegas Sphere residency. On Dec. 4, Dead & Company announced it will play 18 shows at Sphere in spring 2025; a representative for the band confirmed the lineup will not include Kreutzmann.)

“There was this mosaic of incredible good works that this band was doing, and there was a feeling that we could help amplify those good works and those dollars by putting a little more structure and support around it and a little bit more intentionality around it, which is what Activist came in and did,” Activist founding partner Bernie Cahill says.

When discussing the Dead’s activism with the band and its affiliates, words like “apolitical” and “nonpartisan” come up often. As Kreutzmann puts it, “It’s much more fun to see all the people smiling, not half the people bickering at the other half.”

“These are objective things that I think everyone will agree with,” Lemieux says of causes ranging from rainforest preservation to AIDS research. “And that’s what the Dead were kind of getting on board with and raising awareness.”

But while it’s true that, both before and after Garcia’s death, the Dead’s members have avoided the strident political rhetoric some other artists favor, the band has still advanced progressive causes. In the ’60s, it rubbed shoulders with radical groups in San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury. In the ’80s, when AIDS was a stigmatized topic, it headlined a relief show for Northern California AIDS agencies.

That has continued in recent years. Dead & Company’s Participation Row — an area it allots at its shows for nonprofit and charitable partners — has featured entities like the voter registration organization HeadCount and the sustainable-touring group Reverb, among other social justice, environmental and public health organizations, helping the band to raise more than $15 million since its 2015 debut. But Dead & Company have not shied from using their touring to platform more contentious causes. The summer following the Parkland, Fla., high school shooting, Dead & Company included the gun control group March for Our Lives on Participation Row. And after the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade in June 2022, the band displayed pro-choice messages at its shows and even sold a “Save Our Rights” shirt benefiting women’s health organizations.

“We support artists being authentic,” Cahill says. “If an artist feels called to speak out … our job is to make sure they have all the information so that they can speak intelligently on the matter. I think we’ve done a really good job with that over the years. We have both protected our clients and amplified their positions.”

And the Dead’s members have, judiciously, supported political candidates. Weir, Lesh and Hart played a February 2008 benefit dubbed “Deadheads for Obama,” and that fall, Kreutzmann joined them for another pro-Barack Obama gig. This fall, both Weir and Hart publicly endorsed Kamala Harris. While “you don’t want to tell people what to do,” Hart explains, “there are some issues you must speak out [about] if you feel right about it and if you’re really behind it.”

As the Dead nears its 60th anniversary in 2025 and adds its MusiCares honor to a lengthy list of accomplishments — induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, a Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award, recipients of Kennedy Center Honors, a recording included in the Library of Congress, among numerous others — its surviving members are emphatic that this is far from a denouement.

“Obviously, they’re quite humbled and honored by it all,” Cahill says. But “they always see these things as something that you get at the end of your career, when you’re done. And of course, these guys don’t feel like that’s where they are in their career. They feel like they have a lot more ahead of them, and I believe they do.”

Rhino continues to mine the Dead’s vault for new releases — its ongoing quarterly archival Dave’s Picks series helped the band break a record earlier this year previously held by Frank Sinatra and Elvis Presley for most top 40 albums on the Billboard 200 — and orchestrate merchandising partnerships from Igloo coolers to Nike shoes that ensure the ongoing omnipresence of the band’s iconography. (“We’re always open for business — if it feels right,” Pinkus says.)

Most importantly to Deadheads, Weir, Hart and Kreutzmann are all resolute that they’ll remain on the road as long as they can; in 2024, Weir toured with Wolf Bros and, along with Hart, staged Dead & Company’s 30-show Sphere residency, while Kreutzmann kept his livewire Billy & The Kids act alive with Mahalo Dead, a three-day November event near his home in Kauai, Hawaii. Last year, Weir toured supporting Willie Nelson, whom he’s shared bills with for decades — and who at 91 is 14 years his senior. “His hands don’t work as well as they used to,” Weir says. “Nor do mine. But as the years go by, you learn to help the music happen through force of will. And Willie is as good as he’s ever been.”

Willpower is something the Dead’s surviving members have in spades. “These guys have always been the outsider,” Cahill says. “They’ve flourished by being the outsider and by being a maverick and doing things their own way. Because they’ve written their own rules, they’re not beholden to anybody. They’re not looking for anyone’s approval, and they continue to write their own rules and to do things that inspire them.”

That core ethos is what has driven, and continues to drive, the Dead’s approach to both its business and its philanthropy — two things that, as the band is still proving to the industry at large, need not be mutually exclusive.

“I would like to be able to have people who disagree with me still be fans of the music or the art that I make,” Weir says. “But at the same time, I’ve got to be true to myself, and I expect that they have to be true to themselves as well.”

This story appears in the Dec. 7, 2024, issue of Billboard.