The Hippie Concert

Hippie bashing is one of America’s favorite pastimes; but if my latest ALS columns might convey, deep down, there’s always been a small part of me that envied the hippies. Hippie girls get to wear the BEST DRESSES. They basically get a pass to dress like forest nymphs all of the time.

The second, all encompassing reason I’m envious is that hippies just seem so happy. There must be some kind of euphoric release when you make that decision to plunge dreds-first into Rastafarianism. Here in America. When you are a white person. And not care when your friends make fun of you.

Or just stop caring what people think. Wear a silly hat. Stop shaving your arm pits. It sounds like when George Costanza decided to cloak himself in velour.

So a small part of me thought that if I actually went to a hippie concert, maybe I would buy into the whole thing.

Yonder Mountain String Band is a bluegrass band from Nederland, and while it might be news to some that this was a hippie concert (hippies like bluegrass?), ask yourself, what possibly could come closer to making you feel like you’re at that hobbit party in the Shire in Lord of the Rings than mandolin echoing off of the mountains?

Nothing. Nothing.

YMSB has a large jam band following, as real life and also Wikipedia have told me, and boy did they come out in droves. If I had to choose, I would say that my Top People would be the lady who was literally spinning yarn, with a huge spinny contraption, at a live concert; the little dirty ginger waif girl, slinging lemonade and snuggling with a rooster; and the two street urchin-looking kids who looked barely fifteen, both wearing gorgeous, dirty, crumpled Victorian dresses and tripping BALLS. One of them was a boy.

The rest of the concert-goers weren’t easy to pigeonhole; they were wearing tutus and flashing lights and furry hats a la Mystery, so I lost all bearing on reality.

We spent the concert laying on a blanket in the sun. Really, I should have enjoyed this concert, I really should have. I liked the interesting people there. It sounds kind of nice when I replay it in my head, but there is just something that ruined it for me while I was there. And that was the music.

Their songs were super jammy wanky noodly, sure, but that wasn’t the most infuriating part. The lead singer was so, how do you say, excited? that he looked looked like he was going to jizz all over the audience. It was embarrassing to witness. I wanted to jump onto the stage and intervene, but I was afraid he would explode on me.

So I guess all I can say is, on [organic recycled hemp] paper, I really should have enjoyed myself, but I just couldn’t stomach it the tunes. Just couldn’t.

Maybe I can take my baby steps into hippiedom next time by attending an organic peach festival or something. Maybe Kelly Rippa will be at that festival, too. Until then, I’m going to enjoy my hippie leanings shamefully in my own home, where they probably belong.