Drunken encounters of the psychedelic kind
It’s no newsfl ash that musicians put up with their share of drunken patrons. But it gets a little trippy when hallucinogens are involved.
Springdale Quartet, a band out of Boulder, overlays its upbeat funk with progressive rock. It’s no surprise the outfi t attracts people seeking God via acid as it plays the likes of Breckenridge’s three20south, Steamboat’s Old Town Pub and Avon’s Agave. Organ grinder Chase Terzian coined the term “Junkblock” to describe the band’s jazz, funk, blues and rock infusion, inspired by musicians ranging from Medeski, Martin & Wood and Jimi Hendrix to The New Mastersounds and Phish.
A few months ago, the band played at Mishawaka Amphitheatre, north of Fort Collins, and a gentleman who initially looked as though he may or may not have been of the psychedelic persuasion decided to crash the stage.
“He started meditating while we played, which in itself is cool, but it got a little scary,” vocalist Jordan Roos said.
What began as an eyes-closed, facetoward- the-sky, held-hands-in-prayer vertical stance turned into a horizontal nightmare for the spiritual stage-seeker.
“As security managed to make their way through and get him, all hell broke loose,” Roos recalls. “The next thing I remember was this kid on the ground with security on top of him, with Good Gravy’s mandolin (a very delicate instrument) below them. There was a signifi – cant struggle, and the kid was eventually handcuffed (just with zip ties) and passed from on stage down to the crowd below. I am pretty sure the people below who were being handed the kid did not have a good hold, and the kid went face fi rst into the ground with his hands tied behind his back. We later found out the kid had eaten a ton of acid.”
Will work for hookah
It’s happening everywhere: Writers are giving their prose away for dimes on Amazon, actors are busing more tables and musicians are turning into hookah whores.
Brittany Shane realizes we’re in a recession, which might explain why she performed at the Juggling Gypsy in North Carolina during her summer tour in exchange for something that just went up in smoke. That’s right: She actually agreed to sing for one hookah and three fl avors. (After all, how could she resist such tantalizing fl avors as Circus Madness, Body Massage and Sex with a Hippie?)
Shane, who introduces herself as a singer-songwriter like she’s in an old Western — squinting her eyes from the bright sun and looking as though she’s about to jump back onto her dusty horse after a long day of fi ghting cowboy crime — began playing her catchy rock, pop and alt-country tunes throughout the nation last year. Her storytelling and strong vocals smack of Stevie Nicks and Sheryl Crow. Though she’s played the big cities, from Chicago to Austin and Memphis, she’s seen her fair share of that treasured form of barter our mountain towns are so famous for (you know, help a buddy move, get a bag of weed; trade a quartz crystal (or a couple Percocet) for a sandwich). But in her mountainous journeys for gigs in Coeur d’Alene and Sandpoint, Idaho, to Whitefi sh, Mont.; Breckenridge and Carbondale, Colo.; and Santa Fe, N.M., she never encountered such a smokin’ deal.
The hookah bar owner, who happens to look like Ron Jeremy, was completely stoned, so the band members only saw him once before they took the stage.
“He went into his office, which was filled with smoke, and never came back out. It looked like he stepped into another dimension, or into the doorway that Kelly LeBrock stepped out of in the ’80s movie ‘Weird Science,’” Shane said.
After the set, the band gathered ’round for its free hookah to celebrate with a few flavored puffs.
“We couldn’t decide if this was cool and different or just plain dumb,” Shane said. “I just wanted the owner to open his door and walk out as Kelly LeBrock.”
Life on the Mountain Music Road continues in future issues with unbeckoned nudity, middle-aged hip-hop moms doling out unbidden sex advice, stupid mountain ascents and more.