I’m proud of my Berkeley hometown and its radical and confusing heritage. I take pride in walking around San Francisco and pointing out countercultural landmarks like the Jefferson Airplane house and City Lights Books. I really don’t mind the Grateful Dead (American Beauty, anyway). But I’m also happy to keep these things in the past, free of grey hair and acid burnout.
Entroporium guest correspondent Holiday Darin reports in on what happened when some hippie also-rans recently played The Fillmore:
Daryl and Tom got me to go to see Hot Tuna Friday night. (I’m embarrassed just TYPING that band name. Ranks among the dumbest all time.) You know…I figured Jorma and Jack … two legends ……….. whatever. The first set was acoustic. I did all I could to remain upright holding out hope the second half would justify my attendance. It didn’t.
I drove everyone there so I couldn’t leave. I figured I could do a good, thorough tour of the Hall and its posters to kill time. Fatigue overcame me though, so I sat down. A woman woke me up suggesting I go with her outside for some fresh air as they don’t really like patrons sleeping at the Fillmore. After I got over my indignity (and momentary embarrassment), I realized she had a good idea. Fifteen minutes later, I gave (electric) Hot Tuna (f*cking “old-timey”, hippy blues…) another try. Boredom. This time I toured the downstairs. 15 or 20 minutes later, a man woke me as I leaned in a chair against a wall saying something about not being so wasted (I wasn’t…. I was bored!) and maybe I should follow him outside for some fresh air.
There you have it….asked to leave the Fillmore twice in one night. A first.
[Soundtrack - acid rock before it got all out of control]
Jefferson Airplane – Plastic Fantastic Lover.mp3
No related posts.
Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.