Tony's Music Blog

When I was a youn 'un. there were basically two types of acid heads: the Festival Freak and the Raver. The Festivaller was the tye-dyed Hippie holdover: earthy, hairy, something had to jangle when they walked. The Raver was skinny, decked out in day-glo, something spinning somewhere near. Naturally, these are just the opposite sides of the same coin: that marvelous counter-culture spawned by  Uncle Albert's magical bicycle ride.

I tended toward the festival only because Kali blessed me with her sacrament at a Dead Show to begin with. The goddess never told me where the warehouses were that held those midnight raves. Thus I grooved under starry skies to jam bands, lost in trains of thought that have yet to reach their destination, while my counterparts were steeped in sweat musk, chomping on a pacifier, hypnotized by swirling glowsticks.

Never one to weep over the path taken, I wouldn't trade the flashbacks and Temporal-Mandibular Joint Syndrome for anyone else's life—not even those lil' heathens with their encyclopedic knowledge of DJ Tricky, The Crystal Method, or Massive Attack. Acid was a rite-of-passage to a world of revelations and illusions that I couldn't've done without. For all that, I do hate being called a Hippie, though. Without sounding too prejudiced, I have found Hippies to by-and-large be selfish control freaks.

I've been called a Hippie way too much! There is a difference between a Hippie and the festival Fan—a subtle difference, I must admit, but a difference nonetheless. You can tell the Hippies by how they get to the show. Once a concert starts, most Hippies are still outside with a finger in the air; Hippies use their thumbs to get to the next venue; Hippies'll braid your hair for some bread.

At one of the best festivals I ever attended: the  "Rainbow Gathering of the Tribes,"  the Hippie I went with said we could only stay the first couple of days because "soon the bums will show up and turn the forest into a city." Well, maybe I didn't stay long enough to learn the difference...

Still, I suppose I'll put up with being called a Hippie because it helps me fit in as I grow older. Even so, it's getting harder to fit in anywhere at my age. I started noticing it back in the Nineties: I was wandering around and saw this old codger, just a few greasy strands of gray swaying from his balding pate, a dingy pair of ikat shorts just barely clinging to his sagging ass. Would that be me in a few years? After that the festivals just kept getting younger and younger. Even at a Bob Dylan concert a couple of years ago, I swear I was the oldest bloke in sight. Heaven forfend I should go near a rave these days! Do you know what anyone over 40 does at a rave? Pass out water and Vitamin B12.

So what, I don't have the metabolism to dose anymore anyway, but there's still plenty psychedelia left for me to throw down. I can certainly show those whippersnappers who think they invented fun. So what's a dinosaur like me to do?

According to Rolling Stone, even bands like Metallica and Duran Duran, who weren't monster draws in their heyday, are pulling in millions touring today. Blues greats like B.B.King and Buddy Guy knew that retirement meant comeback tours, not comeback albums. But kids are attending those shows, borrowing our cars and vintage t-shirts without even a thanks. There are only a few places we geezers don't stick out like a Greaser at a disco. The best place is out to sea, where the tadpoles can serve our drinks. Big lines like Princess and Holland are cashing in with their music cruises—seven nights and seventy artists on the Caribbean, where the cure for hangovers and seasickness is more drinking. Hey, someone told me once that Dramamine is a powerful hallucinogen!

Rock Tours are also big destination for the well-heeled. For a cool grand and up, you can score VIP treatment to U2, Paul McCartney or Elton John in an exotic city, including everything except a personal greeting from the stars. I wish I could see the Roxy Music reunion, (featuring Brian Eno for the first time since 1974!) at the  Isle of Wight Festival  in June. Please come to America guys, PLEEZE!

Another avenue for those of us who haven't invested well enough to afford a rock tour is the community festival. Whether a sunny weekend at the park, or a campground in the boondocks, you are likely to meet up with others in your condition who can share war stories. This is also a great place to hear off-track bands like Ozric Tentacles-- just don't expect blotter. It was actually at the Takoma Park Folk Festival in 2000, where I first heard  Robert Lighthouse —the greatest bluesman since Jimi.

We seniors are always joining groups of one sort or another—either for discounts or safety's sake. The AARP's  National Event  always has top-notch entertainment. Your local blues or jazz society may actually be a front for an elderly cabal, a haven for the tragically hip. Despite being a rather forgettable show, I had a great time last week at a DC Blues fundraiser featuring  Zac Harmon and the New South Blues Review.  Zac's band is a tight conglomeration of old and young, black and white. Couldn't say the same about the audience though: perhaps one face was younger than 40, but blues lovers of both races could see each our history in each other's eyes. But I had a great time precisely because of that: I could dance without being laughed at.

So while Viagra may have replaced acid as the Baby Boomer's drug of choice, music choices are not that limited. You know, the best choice may be to actually go where you don't belong. Go out and enjoy the vibrant live music that's out there today—everyone will be too busy enjoying the music to notice and judge you. Suppose you're a geriatric who loves Go-Go, then get your ass to a  Rare Essence  show. These guys totally rock! All the crap about violence in the Go-Go (or Hip-Hop, natch) community is just a racist lie propagated by an industry that thrives on perpetuating a sense of alliance. Without brand loyalty, A&R executives would have to work a whole lot harder for their exorbitant salaries. The fact is that minority music communities are delighted to see outsiders enjoying and validating their culture. Like Lennon said, "Love is all you need [to fit in]," and like Neo said, "There is no [type.]" Apologies to all the Hippies and Ravers, and to you Uncle Albert.