Page 35 - the NOISE March 2015

musiC listeneR pRoFile — the “BRah” aKa the “hippiejoCK”
BY tonY Ballz
would allow these people to camp on the premises or in ad- jacent fields, legally or not. The college kids discovered this peaceful freak scene, declared it party central, and ruined it forever.
Drunken frat boy mayhem ensued: fistfights, property de- struction, and general obnoxious, ungroovy behavior. A kid got killed in Florida after a show and Rolling Stone ran a big expose. The police, who never once had to patrol these gath- erings in twenty years, swooped down and broke them up. Deadhead-friendly places such as Alpine Valley in wisconsin banned on-site camping. Farmers and land owners began worrying about liability and refused camping requests. The scene died.
The Grateful Dead kept plugging away until Jerry Garcia’s death in 1995, but most long time Deadheads sadly admit- ted all the fun was gone. However, seeds had been planted. some of these collegiates were enlightened by their experi- ence and became hip to the Dead’s trip. For better or worse, kids were getting on the bus as they always had. Bands start- ed forming and strange little pockets of hippiedom were pop- ping up in college towns all over America.
These weren’t Haight-Ashbury street freaks, but the sons and daughters of the upper middle class, on the fast track to a career in marketing or computer programming until drugs and the lure of this unknown lifestyle permanently derailed it. These kids had never been homeless, never slept without a tent in the freezing cold, never hopped a train, never sub- sisted on just rice for days, never went without bathing for a week or more, never had head lice or the clap, never been arrested for vagrancy, never been laughed at or beaten up or had a shotgun pointed at them by rednecks, never had a good friend who “just disappeared,” never went on tour with ten bucks in their pocket, never had to take their girlfriend to the free clinic for an abortion, never dropped acid every day for a month, never had to hitchhike or panhandle or go to bed hungry. They were used to having money around.
They absorbed the hippie ethos and transformed it into something new, something their own. The Dead were already old old old, and soon they weren’t around anymore. The kids turned to the younger bands (Phish, Blues Traveler, wide- spread Panic, etc.) and adopted them as the new prophets.
The rest is history. Brah.
| tony Ballz knows his music listeners as well as he knows his music. music@thenoise.us
as I walked into the place, I felt like Frodo Baggins far from the shire.
It was a large hall full of people and every man there (as
well as many of the women) towered over me. My height is on the short side of average (5’7” when I’m not slouching,) but this was ridiculous. I estimated 5% of the crowd to be past 6’2” as well. what the heck?
I then realized where I was and relaxed. Of course. These were kind giants, stoned and peaceful. I was at a Karl Den- son concert in the Orpheum Theater, a natural gathering place for the 21st century hippiejock. I was among friends and safe.
The hippiejock (or “brah,” to use the colloquial) is the mod- ern Übermensch, carrier of only the top shelf genes and DnA. The splicing together of two seemingly opposed lifestyles and personalities, the jock and the hippie, and the attempt to focus and amplify the positive traits of each while damp- ening the negative, has been quite successful and I’m proud to number several as close pals.
In contrast to the traditional hippie, the hippiejock is well- scrubbed with neatly trimmed facial hair. They are children of suburbia and have a pretty good grasp on pop culture. If not still in college (the brah’s Petri dish) they usually have de- grees and well-paying jobs, allowing them to purchase nice, new clothes of the outdoor variety and expensive camping/ sports gear. The north Face and Teva owe their continued existence to them.
They are physically fit despite the gallons of Fat Tire con- sumed. They rarely drink PBR and other schwag beer, unless it’s the only thing available. They are able to afford some pretty killer weed and are always willing to smoke you out. They possess very little of the hippiehippie’s natural laziness, with a constant need for physical activities such as hiking, snowboarding, softball, rock climbing, rappelling, jogging, soccer, touch football, Frisbee golf, hacky-sack, mountain biking, kickball, skiing, one-on-one, etcetera.
In comparison to the traditional jock, the hippiejock is way mellower and more in touch with his feelings. This results in less misplaced what-are-YOU-looking-at pent up anger, random bar brawls, and spousal abuse. They are politically to the left of the jockjock, with a broader tolerance and un- derstanding of women, gays, non-Caucasians, and the poor.
They have thankfully little of the jocks’ need to constantly touch other men, outside of the standard brah hug, gimme- five-man handshake, or the occasional shoulder clap. Ap- parently they have been cured of the repulsive jock habit of parading around the house in their skivvies when loaded, though more research may be needed.
Their musical tastes lean far to the hippie side, with barely any of the jocks’ love for heavy metal and Van Hagary “jock rock,” though isolated incidents have been observed. They will have some soul/R&B, but not enough, and a little too much country. They usually date women with 90% identical music collections.
They will participate in spring break and other collegiate functions, but will end up getting laid while you’re passed out in the surf covered in vomit. They are reliable designated drivers and always make sure the ladies get home safely. They are sometimes involved in weird mind game/athletic prowess competitions with older brothers. By the time you crawl out of bed on your day off, they will have already made coffee, eaten breakfast, showered, visited the library and the post of- fice, gone on a run, and had a beer at Pay-n-Take.
They are comfortable in nearly any social situation and won’t embarrass you in front of new people. They will listen to your drunken blubbering and offer comfort when your girl unexpectedly dumps you. They’ll eventually sleep with her, but not until you’re hooked up with someone else. They will feed you hallucinogenic mushrooms and get you high as a coon-dog on hydroponic bud and then want to go on a ten mile uphill bike ride. They all know how to play “wish You were Here,” on the acoustic guitar.
Moms love them. Dads too. Your younger siblings will have more fun with them than they ever had with you. watch your girlfriend, for they are catnip to most women (muscles and money and sensitivity? Forget it, Jim.) Deep down, they are sincerely kind bros, if a little obsessed with buying stuff. Do not mistake them for hippies, for the jock lieth within. Get them drunk and they will soon have each other in wrestling headlocks on the floor while discussing the six widespread Panic shows they saw last summer.
There’s a little brah inside all of us.
The first attempt at melding these two disparate cultures was nearly disastrous. In 1987, after a seven year hibernation between studio albums, the Grateful Dead hit the top ten with the In The Dark LP and the “Touch Of Grey,” single and video. Their popularity on college campuses soared, as well as attendance at their live shows.
These were my college years as well. Around this time my friend Paul, an old school Deadhead, took me into his new housemate’s room and said, “Look at this sh*t.” On one wall was a Grateful Dead poster, and on the other a non-ironic George Bush for President poster. It didn’t make sense; we couldn’t process the absurdity.
By the late 1980s, the Dead had been touring for close to two decades with a traveling parking lot sideshow of vendors, diehard fans, and assorted weirdos. Most outdoor venues
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