Scarlet Bouganvillias

I hear familiar sounds. Loving, lovely sounds. Complete with flashing colored lights, tie dye, and a fresh-faced stoner couple flailing enthusiastic, but clumsily flailing nonetheless, enjoying the freedom, the joy, of movement among wafting clouds of patchouli and sound…

Huh? Where was I?

Man, I haven’t heard tasty grooves like this since Woodstock! Wait, I wasn’t at Woodstock. Bonnaroo, maybe? Hell, I don’t remember. I’ve been doing this “following the band” thing for so long it is a “miracle” that I can remember anything.

Up on the stage this night at El Alamo is a groovy little group called That Hippie Band. In true jam band fashion, the band is comprised of members of several other bands around town. Russ Cavelli plays and records with the Paul Cotton Band and also with his wife in Black and Skabuddah. Pete Jarvis has played for years at Sloppy Joes in a great duet named Pete and Wayne. Gary Hempsey and Will Hoppey are both terrific solo artists and Terry Whitmore and Tom Conger are the bassist and drummer, respectively, for the amazing Cory Heydon Band.

I am hearing “Up on Cripple Creek” and “Scarlett Begonias”. The Allman Brothers and Pink Floyd are both done well. Add a little “Friend of the Devil” and some Byrds and I am in long haired hippie heaven!

They do not practice together. They do not need to.

These are no spring chickens and they have no aspirations to fame with this incarnation. They all just have a love for the black light-strobe light stoned midnight music that we, in my generation, grew up on, rebelled with, and reminisce over. The music itself is a feel good flash to the past when nitrous oxide was harmless fun in a balloon, peace and love weren’t just t-shirt slogans, and we were just figuring out that we would never be able to trust those we put in charge again. A music that deserves our recognition.

I spent a year one weekend following the Dead around the country jammed and magical in the passenger seat of a VW bus, singing horribly off key to The Band and Joe Cocker songs pouring from tinny speakers and an 8 track player rescued from a dirty pawn shop in downtown San Francisco. It was an incredible time in my life. I was young, I was handsome, and I was on my way to a miracle. These guys take me back to that place, effortlessly.

That Hippie Band is playing this night amidst smiles bouncing around the room like beach balls at a Phish concert. Tattooed blondes and headbands, clove cigarettes and facing spaces lend a backdrop to a genuine outpouring of love for a band mate’s sick daughter and even more love when the doctor says that she will be fine. There is a feeling here among these guys I never expected. Guys old enough to have lost children, minds, and marriages. Guys with a passion for the music that brought them to this stage in their life and defined them. Defined a generation.
There is nothing at all wrong with a little rebellion now and then, between mortgage payments and unruly children, between 40 hour weeks and bad knees. Because here tonight at the El Alamo, between tequila breaks and good news, something kind is happening. Something family. Something fun and beautiful. Something worth checking out.

It should be easy. That Hippie Band plays at Cowboy Bill’s on Duval St. every Monday through March, 9pm til Midnight. Bring your tie dye, your incense and flailing and don’t forget to tell them that Stan sent you.

Keep on truckin’…