"LOCAL BAND DOES O.K.": A CASE STUDY OF CLASS AND SCENE POLITICS IN THE JAM SCENE OF NORTHWEST OHIO
Katelen Brown
A Thesis
Submitted to the Graduate College of Bowling Green State University in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of
MASTER OF ARTS
August 2018
Committee:
Jeremy Wallach, Advisor
Esther Clinton
© 2018
Katelen Brown
All Rights Reserved vi
ABSTRACT
Jeremy Wallach, Advisor
The subculture of jam bands is often publicly held to multiple stereotypical expectations.
Participants in the subculture are expected to fall into one of two camps, coastal elites or “dirty hippies.” Members of the Northwest Ohio jam scene often do not have the kind of economic privilege that is assumed of them based on the larger jam subculture. Not only do these perceptions create difficulties for audience members of the Northwest Ohio scene, but there are added complications for the musicians in the scene. This research explores the challenges of class and belonging faced by participants in the Northwest Ohio jam scene. More specifically, this thesis focuses on the careful social negotiations scene members and musicians are required to navigate in order to maintain insider status while dealing with the working-class realities of life in the area. In this thesis, I argue that subcultural capital is one of the most significant factors for belonging to the larger subculture, and that its necessity, which requires sufficient economic support, demands more nuanced practices by local scenesters in order to maintain. I dissect the complexities of the concept of “family” in the jam scene, including its meaning for audiences and musicians, as well as how it intersects with class and public perceptions of class in the scene.
Finally, I argue that musical forms and practices hold significance in establishing genre authenticity, but I maintain that class is a determining factor in the decisions bands make about whether or not they hold completely true to genre boundaries. This thesis attempts to address the complexities of class and how it functions in small, local rock scenes, specifically in the
Northwest Ohio jam scene. vii
In memory of my Grandfather, Robert E. Brown,
Who taught me to always be kind and stand up for those less privileged than I am
In memory of my Uncle, Robert C. Brown,
Who taught me to always dance to the music and be grateful for every moment, even the sad
ones
Happy trails, Bobby
Love, Kate
In memory of Roger B. Schupp,
Who taught me to follow my passions and stand up for what I believe in
In honor of Nicole Beaudin,
Who continues to teach me about true strength of character every single day
Fight hard, warrior woman.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As I sat down to write these acknowledgments, I already had tears welling up in my eyes, the good kind. The gratitude I feel for those who have supported me is overwhelming and I wish
I was able to fully express how thankful I am. I would like to start by thanking my advisor, committee members, and mentors, Dr. Jeremy Wallach and Dr. Esther Clinton, without whose support and guidance I would never have been able to complete this project. Their willingness to stay up late nights to read my work and advise me, their continued understanding of the challenges I have faced, and their patience throughout this writing process has been invaluable to me and I wish I could express the extent of my gratitude. Through their own scholarly works, wisdom, and never-ending support, they have inspired and guided me throughout the two years of my study in the Popular Culture Master’s program at Bowling Green State University. I cannot find the words to thank them enough.
I would like to thank my parents, Matt Brown and Jill Gingo, for raising me and teaching me to always take on a challenge, even when it hurts more than I think I can bear. I would like to also thank my step-parents, Mandy Brown and Jim Gingo, for always offering their love and support. I would also like to thank my siblings and step-siblings, Emily Brown, Trevor Brown,
Drew Pfieffer, Eric Pfieffer, Ashley Gingo, and Ian Gingo for their love and patience. My
Grandmother, Tody Brown, has never offered anything but kindness, love, and support for me and my passions and for that, I will be forever grateful. I would like to thank my Grandfather,
Robert E. Brown, and my Uncle, Robert C. Brown, who will be forever in my heart. My
Grandmother and Grandfather, Darlene and Paul Seibert, have always pushed me to do my best and they have endured with love and patience through my distance and forgetfulness, and I can not thank them enough for that. My extended family rarely gets to hear from me because of how ix busy I am, but they never fail to send me their love, and for that, I would like to express my love and appreciation.
The academic community at Bowling Green State University is beyond supportive and I must take a moment to thank as many of the folks who have helped me along the way as I am able. I would like to thank Dr. Sidra Lawrence, without whose support, passion, and wisdom, I would not be doing this work and pushing myself to always work harder. None of this project would have been possible without the remarkable Popular Culture faculty and staff at BGSU with whom I have been so very fortunate to work with, including Dr. Jeremy Wallach, Dr. Esther
Clinton, Dr. Montana Miller, Dr. Angela Nelson, Dr. Kristen Rudisill, Dr. Jeffery Brown, Dr.
Becca Cragin, DeeDee Wentland, and Rebekah Patterson. I would like to thank the past and present music faculty to whom I owe so much including the late, Dr. Roger B. Schupp, Dr.
Isabelle Huang, Dr. Olman Piedra, Dr. Dan Piccolo, Mr. Kevin Schempf, Dr. Gene Trantham,
Dr. Marcus Zagorski, Dr. Arne Spohr, Dr. David Harnish, Dr. Katherine Meizel, Dr. Megan
Rancier, and Dr. Jeffrey Halsey. Though it may have been long ago that I worked with some of these faculty members, their contributions to my scholarship and my life will never be forgotten.
I must thank my dearest friends who have pushed me to work hard, but also reminded me that life is short and that it’s okay to take a break once in a while. To those at Howard’s Club H
(you know who you are), you know that these past three years have changed me forever. Your love and support have meant the world to me. My partner and poet-in-residence, Jacob Hall, has been supportive, loving, challenging, and insightful. With his patience, kindness, and cleverness always at the ready, he has helped me through every day and every struggle with grace. I know I will never find the right words to thank you enough, Jacob, though you could probably write some better ones for me. x
Finally, I would like to offer my sincerest thanks to my friends and informants who have offered to share their time, experiences, and opinions with me, no matter how much or how often
I had to inconvenience them. Everyone I have worked with in the Northwest Ohio jam scene has embraced me as a member of the scene and supported my project. I would like to specifically thank Adam Rice, Currey Long, Benji Katz, Alex Hastedt, Travis Ward, Drew Merritt, Vinny
Bartolotta, Ben Kowalka, Hank Walker, Dustin Galish, Calvin Cordy, J.P. Stebal, Billy Gruber,
Riley Maxwell, John Jerabek, Steve Mizer, Sageon Jagielski, and Aaron Armstrong, for their work in the jam scene, their kindness and openness towards me, and their help with this project. I will never truly be able to put into words how thankful I am for all of the individuals who have worked with me on this thesis.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Page
INTRODUCTION……………………………………………………………………… ..... 1
CHAPTER I. THE BAND WANTS YOU TO BE HAPPY, BUT I WANT YOU TO SHUT UP:
CREATION AND MAINTENANCE OF JAM SCENES THROUGH THE COLLECTION OF
SUBCULTURAL CAPITAL AND THE SUBCULTURAL CAPITAL EXCLUSION LOOP
……………………………………...... 10
Subcultural Capital…………………………………………...... 11
Tie-Dye, Stealies, and Pot Leaves: How Aesthetic Norms Function
in Jam Scenes ...... 15
Talkers and “Serious” Fans ...... 17
Wooks, Custies, Chads, and Chompers: Collecting Subcultural Terminology ...... 20
Going to and Knowing Shows in National and Local Scenes ...... 25
“I Saw You With A Ticket Stub In Your Hand”: How Much Is It Again? ...... 33
21st Century Jammer: Jam Bands and Fans in the Digital Age…… ...... 35
Conclusion………………………………………………………………… ...... 40
CHAPTER II. “WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE IN MY FAMILY PICTURE?”: CONCEPTS OF
“FAMILY”, MUSICAL PROFESSIONALISM, AND CLASS ...... 42
Communal Experience and the Legacy of the “Dead Family” ...... 45
The Original “Dead Family” and Popular Perceptions of the Jam Band Scene ...... 49
Elitist Hippies vs. The Problems of Class and Geography ...... 57
The Legacy of Heideggarian Philosophy and the Hippies of the 1960s ...... 60
“Family” and Fans in Northwest Ohio ...... 65 xii
Musician “Fam” and the Narrative of Inclusivity in the Jam Scene ...... 68
Conclusion………………………………………………………………………… . 70
CHAPTER III. “LUCY AND THE FUZZ”: AUTHENTICITY TO THE JAM GENRE AND
INTERSECTIONS WITH CLASS ...... 73
How Phish and The Dead Created the Expectation of Form for Jam Bands ...... 73
Tree No Leaves, Baccano – Aesthetics and Musical Form ...... 76
Contradictions of Screwing Up as Markers of Authenticity ...... 88
Conclusions and Consequences………………………………………………….. ... 93
CONCLUSION…………………………………………………………………………….. 97
WORKS CITED…………………………………………………………………………… 105
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LIST OF FIGURES
Figure Page
1 Cards handed out at Phish shows to “talkers” – Front of card, Back of Card (Source:
Author Photograph) ...... 17
2 Fans use stats tracking features on band/fan websites to track their show numbers and
subcultural capital collection. (Source: AllThings.Umphreys.com) ...... 24
3 The Kool-Aid Jammers crammed themselves onto the stage at the Sodbuster Bar in
Sylvania, Ohio. (Source: Author, 2018) ...... 45
4 The band Baccano uses “fam” as a term to describe fanhood and insider status. (Source:
Baccanofam Facebook page, 2017) ...... 46
5 Phish riding a giant, suspended hot dog at their concert on New Year’s Eve, 2010
(Source: Live for Live Music, 2016) ...... 55
6 Here, “fam” is used to denote another band’s insider status, as well as how their location
fits into their scene identity. (Source: Waxtastic Facebook page, 2017) ...... 66
7 The repeated melodic phrase of “Lucy and the Fuzz” by Tree No Leaves (Source:
Author’s transcription) ...... 79
8 Tree No Leaves’ album covers often feature psychedelic imagery. (Source:
Treenoleaves.com) ...... 84
9 Fans use popular internet meme formats to express their enjoyment of the results of
mistakes (Source: Phish.net) ...... 90 1
INTRODUCTION
In my time living in Bowling Green, about nine years, I have held countless service
industry jobs in a variety of front-of-house positions. None of these jobs so successfully exposed
me to the stories and lived experiences of the citizens of the area as tending bar at a small dive
bar and music venue called Howard’s Club H. You could say that the environment of Howard’s
during any daytime shift is reminiscent of Cheers, though somewhat less dramatic. The daytime crowd, as we call it, usually consists of people over 50, though there are always exceptions. The bartenders are so familiar with these regulars that they typically know their full names, backstories, and often members of their families. Frequently, the regulars feel comfortable enough with the young bartenders to explain how wrong they are in their youthful naivety and what in their lives requires change. The daytime regulars almost exclusively drink cheap, domestic beers except for one everyday customer who prefers craft beers. Several of them are retired from factory jobs or still currently work factory jobs. Others do odd jobs around town to make ends meet, and a few are retired from or still doing construction work.
The bar opens at 2 p.m. on weekdays and not long after, the daytime regulars show up, some later because their shifts don’t end until 3 p.m. or so. Because they all know one another so well, the conversations at the bar range from small talk to intense political discourse. Most recently the loudest members of the group have been ranting about Donald Trump’s presidency, though there are many daytime regulars who are on the opposite side of the political fence. A frequently heard argument between both sides has to do with class and, “voting against one’s own interests.” Another common conversation is about where to find the best deals on groceries and other commodities. One of these conversations might be about how someone found a great 2
steak that they are about to go home and prepare, but the purchaser is always sure to tell
everyone how inexpensive it was or how they got it at a significant discount. For those who don’t
know, it is extremely common in parts of the Midwest to have this kind of conversation.
Someone presents a compliment on another person’s outfit or someone explains that they got
something perceived to be of high value and subsequently, there is always some kind of
discussion of how they were able to afford it, whether that be a discount, garage sale, clearance
rack, or otherwise. For “locals” at Howard’s (also called “townies”), money is a frequently
discussed matter, but not about how much one has. Instead, conversations about money almost
always lead to other dialogues about class disparity, horrible jobs, who is spending their money
wisely, who secretly has money, and why the rich are “evil.”
Later in the day, graduate students and professors often turn up at the bar and even later,
industry workers come in after their shifts are finally over. On weekday nights, the crowd is full
of people who all know one another but come from a variety of backgrounds. One common
theme amongst them, however, is that they are all “broke.” Everyone is always talking about
how little money they have to spare, even people who are known to have a good job and
financial security. Over my years of working there, I realized that there is much distrust and even
hostility at times felt by members of the community towards those born with significant
economic privilege. The avenues through which people deal with this distrust are vastly
different, but there is a solidarity of working-classness that brings many of the regulars together.
On the other hand, there are events like Tuesday Night Karaoke with the Dirt Road DJ.
This particular event came out of another dive bar down the road from Howard’s. When the old bar, Checker’s (or Blondie’s depending on whom you ask), shut down, the karaoke DJ and their regulars took their weekly event to Howard’s. The drink of choice on these nights is Bud Light. 3
The songs being sung are often of the pop country variety, though you may also hear some 80s hair metal, 90s pop ballads, and classic rock songs. There is a strong aesthetic connection to ruralness on these nights. Even the name, Dirt Road DJ, conjures up strong images of pickup trucks, country music, good old boys, and other stereotypes associated with ruralness. Many of the regulars are less than enthused about the presence of what they call, “the Checker’s crowd,” and some go out of their way to avoid it. Despite the narrative of working-class solidarity, there is still a complicated relationship and hierarchy of class experienced in these situations. This is quite representative of Northwest Ohio in general.
In Distinction, A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste, Bourdieu discusses the hierarchies of taste that coincide with class distinction. He explains:
It must never be forgotten that the working-class ‘aesthetic’ is a dominated ‘aesthetic’
which is constantly obliged to define itself in terms of the dominant aesthetics. The
members of the working class, who can neither ignore the high-art aesthetic, which
denounces their own ‘aesthetic’, nor abandon their socially conditioned inclinations, but
still less proclaim them and legitimate them often experience their relationship to the
aesthetic norms in a twofold and contradictory way (Bourdieu 1984, 41).
Bourdieu’s analysis can be aptly applied to the Howard’s Club H regulars and the disdain of some regulars for the rural aesthetic values of the Tuesday Night Karaoke singers. Though many members of both groups occupy similar socioeconomic statuses, there is a complicated relationship each has with the distinction between perceived high and low culture. The regulars may still drink domestic beer, in part because it is inexpensive, but they also tend to regard certain ways of acting, topics of conversation, musical tastes, and fashion choices to be symbolic of lower class status. In this thesis I am unable to fully dissect the contradictions that appear in 4
this environment. However, my goal in presenting this discussion is to demonstrate how the class
disparities in this Northwest Ohio area are perceived and often function.
Sarah Thornton’s work with club scenes in her essay, “The Social Logic of Subcultural
Capital” from 1995, elaborates on Bourdieu’s work and establishes an application of capital to
subcultures. She describes the outsiders to the scene as “Sharon and Tracy,” who “dance around
their handbags,” and offers this explanation of their presence:
This crowd was considered unhip and unsophisticated. They were denigrated for having
indiscriminate music tastes, lacking individuality, and being amateurs in the art of
clubbing…Who else would turn up with that uncool feminine appendage, that
burdensome adult baggage – the handbag (Thornton 1997, 188).
The complexities of scene politics and class in the jam scene of Northwest Ohio are quite related
to the issues that Thornton was concerned with. I will explain how they relate to the local jam
scene through the story of the first time I met anyone from the jam scene in Northwest Ohio,
which was at Howard’s. I met Adam Rice, who I came to know by his local nickname, Chachi,
through working in the bar. Adam showed up most days of the week after work at the tattoo shop
where he used to work, usually in the late afternoon with the daytime regulars, though he didn’t
stay long, and he talked and talked about wanting to play music. At this point, I had no idea if he
played in a band or what kind of music he was interested in. Eventually, I found out that he
played drums in a band called Tree No Leaves. To my knowledge at the time, they were a jam or
psychedelic rock band - I didn’t really know yet. I knew Adam kind of looked to me like a
hippie, with dreads against his white skin, but also a metalhead, being covered by tattoos and piercings, and clad in band t-shirts from bands whose names were illegible about half the time. I couldn’t discern what subculture he was interested in at the time, but I also didn’t know yet just 5
how much the aesthetic values of the jam scene had changed, or if he had been part of multiple
scenes. His band had changed lineups several times already, but coincidentally enough, they had
picked up two musicians I had attended college with, Billy Gruber and J.P. Stebal, and their
friend, Benji Katz, who ended up being a good friend to my partner who had just arrived in Ohio
from Georgia. They all hung out at Howard’s, and even the other two members, Dustin Galish
and Calvin Cordy, would show up sometimes. Tree No Leaves was the first band I really knew
in the scene, even though I later found out just how complex their relationship with the genre is.
The reason for the story above is that it explains the connection between the complicated narratives of class at Howard’s to the members of the Northwest Ohio jam scene. In my
experience, local jam bands usually garner responses of either approval or intense distaste from
the Howard’s regulars. The latter typically comes from younger regulars, but sometimes from
people like, Jimmy, a local metal enthusiast who happens to be an older afternoon regular. The
daytime regulars have almost always left by the time any music begins, so they only comment on
the events occasionally. The younger regulars, who come to the bar much later at night, are mostly punk and metal fans and don’t take as kindly to some of the jam bands, but it depends on the bands. Some of the bands are more tolerable to the younger regulars than others, which is
usually contingent upon a band’s willingness to stray away from the traditional jam band song
structure and timbres. Due to the ethos of working-class solidarity in the bar and the popular perceptions of jam bands, many regulars at Howard’s associate the genre and subculture with elitism, laziness, and entitlement. The social environments of jam band shows at venues like
Howard’s are often dependent upon the intricacies of everyday socioeconomic conditions and experiences. In the following chapters, I illustrate the complex nature of belonging in the scene and how class intersects scene politics in the local jam scene. 6
In the first chapter, I discuss the reasons that collecting subcultural capital is vital to the
creation and maintenance of the jam scene, both at a national level and in Northwest Ohio. Much
like “Sharon and Tracy” in Sarah Thornton’s study of club scenes, there are practices known by
insiders to mark their inclusion in the jam scene, but outsiders are also revealed by their
misunderstandings of it. Because subcultural capital collection in the jam scene often requires
economic capital, through what I have termed a “subcultural capital exclusion loop,” those who
find themselves on the outside looking into the subculture may have a difficult time gaining
access to it. Due to the economic struggles faced by many members of the Northwest Ohio scene, many people are left unable to collect as much subcultural capital as those boasting it in the larger subculture. When local scene participants are left without the financial means to collect it, they must turn to friends and other insiders to find less expensive or free sources of subcultural capital like recordings, videos, and subcultural knowledge. In this chapter I will discuss the complicated relationship between the subcultural expectations of the scene and the ways in which working-class members of the Northwest Ohio scene circumvent the economic challenges of meeting those expectations. Additionally, the band members in the local scene face further difficulties due to the fact that any income they may have leftover after basic subsistence often goes into their bands’ projects.
Chapter two focuses on popular portrayals of the scene, concepts of “family” as they function within national and local scenes, and how class affects the ways that members of smaller scenes navigate between subcultural expectations and class constraints. Due to the nature of popular representations of the jam scene, mostly reminiscent of the attitudes of Coastal elites or falling into the stereotype of the dirty hippie, there is often a public understanding of the scene as mainly consisting of middle and upper middle-class whites. When combined with the 7 necessity of subcultural capital collection for scene formation and maintenance, members of smaller, less affluent scenes find themselves using different methods of demonstrating insider status. For this thesis, I worked with several members of the bands Cactus Jack, Waxtastic, and
Baccano, in addition to Tree No Leaves, who I have already mentioned. Many members of jam bands in the area are faced with the challenge of negotiating between popular perceptions of their scene, the narrative of inclusivity that accompanies the term “family,” and the realities of maintaining their statuses as insiders. Further, bands must present themselves as musicians in ways that allow them to extend the reach of their bands, while dealing with all of the same issues. The musicians frequently carry themselves and present themselves very professionally, such that they might be able to challenge the expectations of their socioeconomic positions.
Subsequently, the third chapter discusses the additional trials that accompany the production of music in a scene with so many conflicting societal and subcultural expectations.
Chapter three examines with added depth the complications of being both musicians and members in the local and national jam scenes through the exploration of genre expectations and social boundaries within the scene. The members of the Northwest Ohio jam scene are regularly adjusting their social practices according to necessities of belonging to the local jam scene, the larger subculture, the working class, and the Northwest Ohio area. Coming from an economically challenged area in general, band members often find themselves struggling to survive or leave the area for a more culturally fruitful home. Because of these issues, some of the bands choose to challenge the widely accepted genre expectations of jam bands set up by groups like the Grateful
Dead and Phish, who use extensive sections of improvisation and minimal orchestration in the majority of their work (though not all of their work). Instead, they focus their energies on composition and add shorter sections of improvisation throughout, allowing them to have a 8 cleaner overall product. Furthermore, this chapter examines some of the contradictions that come with fitting into the jam genre, but also within the limitations of the local scene.
Another reason for the anecdote at the very beginning of this thesis is to establish who I am, why I am writing this thesis, and how I fit into this project. While this work is certainly not centered around me, I am a part of this work, and I think it is important to explain my own positionality in regard to the scene I have been working with and writing about. As I said above,
I have been in the Northwest Ohio area for many years. I am also coming from a middle-class background and grew up in an affluent suburb of Toledo called Perrysburg. My exposure to the general music scene of the area has been mostly centered around the university town of Bowling
Green, Ohio, and more specifically around the bands that play at Howard’s Club H (I used to work on the weekends when shows most commonly occur). As of two and a half years ago, the connection I had to the jam scene was through a group of college friends, most of whom were actually more interested in the electronic side of the jam scene than anything else. My partner,
Jacob Hall, had moved to Ohio, from Georgia, to attend Bowling Green State University in the
Fall of 2015 and we began seeing one another in February of 2016. I quickly found out just how much he loved jam bands, and the first time I stepped foot in his house, I immediately noticed that there were Grateful Dead posters hanging across his walls. I presented some of my work at a conference last year, in 2017, and my partner was with me. The moderator gave me some stern advice about having informants who are too close, but I am happy to have taken his comments with a critical ear. I came into the scene as half insider, from my previous friend group and the band members I met at Howard’s, and half outsider, especially to the inner workings of the larger jam subculture, but I have had a close insider as a guide. 9
I am also a classically trained musician with both a bachelor’s and master’s degree in music performance with an emphasis on percussion. Because of the nature of the jam genre, my ability to talk about the details of musical practice has drastically increased the number of conversations I have been able to have with musicians in the scene. In the first chapter, I explain the details of the first time I came to this realization and how it altered the course of my social interactions throughout my time in the scene. Through observations, going to shows, hanging out, talking about music, jamming, interviews, and my own previous experiences, I hope I can shed light on the more nuanced elements of a scene that is so often overlooked due to its associated stereotypes. I believe this thesis highlights an issue that is often dismissed in terms of local rock scenes, and that is how class, geography, and scene politics shape the lives and identities of those who participate in them. 10
CHAPTER I. THE BAND WANTS YOU TO BE HAPPY, BUT I WANT YOU TO SHUT UP:
CREATION AND MAINTENANCE OF JAM SCENES THROUGH THE COLLECTION OF
SUBCULTURAL CAPITAL AND THE SUBCULTURAL CAPITAL EXCLUSION LOOP
The first ever Sacred Harvest Festival, held in Grand Rapids, Ohio, was put on by a small promotions company from Toledo, Ohio, called FROGtown GlassROOTS and the local band,
Waxtastic. Tickets were relatively inexpensive, at least when compared to larger festivals, at twenty dollars per person for one day of music plus camping overnight. I had already begun to meet members of the scene, but I was still new and I was there alone. I set up my campsite near some of the few people I knew at the time. Looking around, I realized that I still felt like an outsider. There were booths set up around the festival with merchandise ranging from enamel pins to band t-shirts to crystals. Nearly everyone in the audience was dressed to fit the hippie aesthetic. My friend, Adam Rice, of Baccano, was walking around the grounds, drinking a beer and smoking cigarettes, and came over to where I was sitting on the grass. Currey Long, of
Cactus Jack, whom I did not yet know, interrupted to ask Adam a few questions. They were standing over me, talking logistics of the festival, so I returned to what I was doing until they were done. Adam introduced me to Currey and explained that I was also a musician, but not one playing that day. That was it. That was my entry point into this new friendship. We talked for over an hour about music from jam bands to jazz. Being able to talk about the music of Phish,
Umphrey’s McGee, and other jam bands in the larger subculture was what ultimately started our conversation, but also led to discussions of music from Bach to Coltrane and then again back to jam bands. During our lengthy get-to-know-you session, Currey introduced me to countless other 11
musicians in the local scene who would walk by and make small talk with us. The knowledge of
how music functions, as well as of who’s who in the larger subculture, opened up for me, and
continues to open up for others, opportunities for belonging in the jam scene. Currey would later
inform me that this was also his own entry point into the scene. The requirement of subcultural
capital, like musical knowledge, is not isolated to this particular genre of music or this
subculture, but understanding why it holds so much weight within the jam scene may help to
demonstrate how it intersects with socioeconomic class issues in smaller, localized scenes. In
this chapter, I will provide an explanation of the general functions of subcultural capital and
some of the methods used by members of both the national and Northwest Ohio scenes to
demonstrate their own collections. Further, I will address the discrepancy between the
maintenance of subcultural capital within the larger jam band subculture and the necessity of
subcultural capital in the Northwest Ohio scene, which is affected by class struggles.
Subcultural Capital
Belonging to and maintaining one’s status within a subculture is often an effect of the collection of subcultural capital (Kahn-Harris, 2012, 201). Subcultural capital is used in many musical subcultures to improve access to insider positioning within music scenes (Thornton
1997, 184-192). Within the jam scene, fans must participate through attending concerts, watching video streams, listening to recordings, hanging out while talking about the music, and using accurate slang. Many jam bands, like Phish, Umphrey's McGee, and the Disco Biscuits, even offer or encourage others to create websites which allow fans to track their show attendance, providing them with a way to monitor what songs, tours, styles, and setlists they have experienced. 12
Insiders in the jam scene, especially the nationally recognized subculture, are more likely
to trust those who have the ability to discuss sets in depth, use band appropriate slang, and
compare show experiences, but gaining such subcultural capital often requires economic
privilege, or at least a connection to other insiders. Individuals in the scene are even able to track
their show statistics using stats tracking websites as collectors’ vaults of subcultural capital.
Practices of collecting subcultural capital in the scene generally require economic investments in
concert tickets, hotels, recordings, videos, pins, band t-shirts, stickers, and so on. Because it is so
difficult to access the scene without substantial subcultural capital, there is often an exclusionary
loop which outsiders must attempt to circumvent in order to gain access to the scene. A
participant’s subcultural capital collection also needs to be maintained and kept up-to-date in
order to continue having the expected social interactions within the scene. As with my
difficulties making friends when I entered the scene, inclusion is made easier with the ability to
present significant and relevant amounts of subcultural capital. While the expectations of
subcultural capital collection for jam band fans are not used as explicit gate-keeping
mechanisms, it stands to reason that they implicitly prevent people in lower socioeconomic
positions from actively engaging with the scene.
Using Sarah Thornton's and Keith Kahn-Harris's ideas about capital and subcultural
capital, this section will discuss how fans are able to validate their collections of subcultural
capital by demonstrating their exposure to certain musical artists, their knowledge of said artists,
and their dedication to the general aesthetic of the scene. In her 1995 book, Club Cultures, Sarah
Thornton coined the term “subcultural capital.” She draws on Pierre Bourdieu's connections between tastes and social structure. Using his ideas about cultural capital, she coined the new term, explained as one's inside knowledge of a particular subculture which allows further access 13
into the subculture, as well as more opportunities for power. Thornton explains that subcultural
capital is not as tied to economic capital as cultural capital, being that the latter is regarded most
often as associated with the upper class. However, there are connections between economic
capital and one's ability to obtain subcultural capital. Thornton regarded subcultural capital as a
potential means of engaging with class standards, and using her argument, I maintain that
subcultural capital in the jam scene activates unspoken class gatekeeping mechanisms (Thornton
1997, 184-192). In his 1979 essay, “The Function of Subculture”, Dick Hebdige argues that subcultures evolved out of issues of class and power relations. He discusses the ways in which previous accounts of subcultures had merely been made up of descriptive analysis of participants, but provided no substantial discussion of their involvements in everyday political, economic, cultural, and ideological issues (Hebdige 1979, 73-79).
Thornton and Hebdige both acknowledge the significance within subcultures of mainstream or outsider entrance into the scene, as well as the attempt to abandon the mainstream. The presence of outsiders crumbles the desired atmosphere within subcultures and creates an 'us' vs 'them' type of engagement (Thornton 1997, 184-192). Using this idea, I will also argue that, within the jam band scene, outsider entrance into the scene is dependent upon subcultural capital, which is mostly possible with enough economic means. Keith Kahn-Harris describes the connection between capital and subcultural capital further and explains the tendencies of humans to collect capital in its many forms:
Humans are fundamentally capital-maximizing creatures who struggle over the
accumulation of capital. Such struggles occur within “fields” whose forms of capital and
logics of capital accumulation are different from each other...Fields have varying degrees 14
of autonomy from each other, but, importantly, an overarching “field of power” has some
kind of primacy in reproducing hierarchies of power throughout multiple fields (Kahn-
Harris, 202).
In other words, there are different types of capital within different fields, or in this case, scenes,
but the overarching type of capital is political/economic. Though subcultural capital may not be
directly converted to economic capital outside of the scene, it is deeply rooted in economic
capital within the scene. Using this framework, Kahn-Harris examines the extreme metal scene
and its growth and changes based on economic and subcultural capital. Though extreme metal
and jam bands are very different genres, one can compare the necessity of subcultural capital,
and consequently economic capital, in both scenes. Some apparent differences are that,
according to Kahn-Harris, the extreme metal scene is now global, which the jam band scene is
not by comparison, and the extreme metal scene, while requiring subcultural capital, is not as
marginalizing as a result of subcultural capital as the jam band scene appears to be. While it
remains true in his discussion of extreme metal that capital is still an advantage, as it is in the jam
band scene, he asserts that it is still possible for those well outside the intended scene to find
access points (Kahn-Harris 2011, 211-223). Moving forward in the discussion of scene formation
and maintenance, I would like to discuss how subcultural capital inside and outside of concerts
can influence scene formation.
In their essay, “Talking Metal: The Social Phenomenology of Hanging Out,” Esther
Clinton and Jeremy Wallach explain the significance of hanging out and talking about metal in
terms of scene formation. As they discuss, many scholars focus on concerts as the central most
important activity in the development of strong music scenes. However, hanging out and talking
metal, or in this case, jam bands, is under-emphasized. Concert attendance is vital to the jam 15
band scene, but almost as important is one's ability to talk about the music, as demonstrated by
the way my discussion with Currey opened a window through which I could make new
acquaintances in the local scene. While discussion about the music requires concert attendance,
an inability to discuss the music, or rather, a lack of subcultural capital may also have a negative
effect on one's show attendance and general scene experience. Another similarity of the scenes is
revealed in Wallach's study of “hanging out” as a standard in Indonesian metal scenes, which
contain significant hierarchical politics, despite an effort to create a unified scene. The jam scene
too displays critical hierarchies, but still parades rhetoric throughout social engagements which
encourages an unrestricted and inclusive scene (Clinton and Wallach, 37-56). In the following
sections, I will describe some of the more specific instances and practices which demonstrate the
necessity of subcultural capital in the larger, national jam band subculture, and discuss the
significance of these to smaller, localized scenes. An undeniably important form of display of
subcultural capital in the jam scene is the use of visual aesthetics, which I will explain in the following section.
Tie-Dye, Stealies, and Pot Leaves: How Aesthetic Norms Function in Jam Scenes
If you know anything about musical subcultures in the United States, you are more than likely aware of the significance of tie-dye to neohippies in the jam scene. The pattern is one of the most prominent visual cues of the subculture and generally indicates belonging to it, unless it appears suspiciously out of place on a person. Men tend to wear tie-dye shirts with jam band logos on them, especially of the Grateful Dead. At shows of almost any jam band, participants of any age can be seen wearing Grateful Dead iconography, including the Stealie1, Dancing Bears,
1 A “Stealie”, also called the “Steal Your Face,” logo comes from the song, “He’s Gone,” by the Grateful Dead, and the band’s crew looking for a way to mark their gear. It consists of a skull, within which is a white lightning bolt surrounded by the colors blue and red. It is frequently seen on Grateful Dead t-shirts, stickers, smoking paraphernalia, etc. 16 and Grateful Dead Lightning Bolt, on t-shirts, pins, bags, etc. Almost equally as prominent are
Phish t-shirts and iconography on all types of clothing and accessories. It is also common to find marijuana leaves printed on clothing, blankets, smoking paraphernalia, and other popular fashion items of the hippie subculture. Enamel pins are popular to collect and wear on hats and bags.
Enamel pin collectors generally acquire them through elaborate trading processes on Facebook pin groups. Most collectors have favorite pin artists who do work on pins for particular bands.
Hairstyles are important in the jam scene as signifiers of belonging. Long hair on men and women is typical, but even more representative of insider status and “crunchiness” are dreadlocks, especially on white folks. Women frequently wear their long hair in braids, with some dreaded locks, with yarn wraps, or feathers. It is also popular for women at shows to adorn themselves in fake gems on their faces, arms, backs, and bellies. Clothing for women typically includes anything that looks psychedelic, flowing, lacey, natural, or reminiscent of the 1960s hippie aesthetic.
There are a few issues that come with the visual cues of the scene when at popular jam band shows. First, if you look completely out of place, you might find that others are avoiding you for fear you are not really a part of the scene or even that you are a police officer. Two, looking like you are trying too hard (e.g. your style of dress appears forced, all of your clothes look brand new, etc.) can have a similar effect as just looking out of place. There are also a significant number of participants in the scene who would claim that they do not subscribe to the judgement of people’s appearances at shows. I have, however, heard many stories among members of the local scene about going to concerts and seeing people “wearing the costume”.
This is the point where participants attempt to establish who is a “real” fan or there for appearances’ sake and fans often become frustrated if they find someone is not taking a show 17
seriously. There are those who claim that they don’t care how people dress, act, or talk at shows,
but there is a lot of evidence demonstrating that it is of great concern to many members of the
scene.
Talkers and “Serious” Fans
I recall being shocked seeing a Phish card for the first time. Luckily for me, I have never
been handed one. My partner had been given one in a pin trade, which I will mention in more
detail later, that read on one side, “The Band Wants You to Be Happy, But…,” and on the other
side, “I Want You to Shut the Phuck Up.”2 (See Figures 1 and 2) My first experience seeing
something like this was eye-opening, especially as someone with their foot halfway in halfway
out of the door of the scene at the time. I had previously always perceived jam band fans as
peace-loving hippies, not as elitist or pretentious. Some Phish cards are nicer than others, like the
ones that read, “Less Talk. More Dance.”
Figure 1. Cards handed out at Phish shows to “talkers” – Front of card, Back of Card (Source:
Author Photograph)
Phish shows are not the only places you will find items like these that encourage casual
fans to keep their mouths shut at shows. I have also been shown wooden coins that read, “Jerry 18
Says Be Kind,” on one side, and on the other, “Bob Says Shut the Fuck Up.” These coins appear
at Dead and Company shows and play on the fact that Jerry has been dead since 1995, but Bob
Weir is still out there playing Grateful Dead songs. Items like these are not necessarily collected
to demonstrate subcultural capital, but they certainly work to do so when people hand them out
at concerts. You can find all kinds of comments regarding talking during shows on jam band
websites like Phish.net, one of the most popular. An example from Phish.net user, MtnGirl, on
July 21, 2017, reads,
I agree - and it's really nothing more than common curtesy [sic] people yo! You know it's
not ok, yet you get louder every time someone pleads with you because they can't hear
the music, Have some respect for your fellow phans and STFU. Packs of wooks pissing
off entire sections and not giving AF! Mind boggling how many times I've seen it happen
over the past year (indoors and out). Squeeze in up front/lower rows at show time with all
your buddies (wasted) then proceed to yell to each other NONSTOP. "Hey it's GA3, why
don't you chill out" I hear them say all the time. It has nothing to do with GA, nobody's
asking you to move....WE JUST WANT YOU TO STFU! K, thanks (“Too Much
Talking”).
Another Phish.net user, PardonmeDoug, on March 6, 2017, explained their thoughts on the
matter,
I am on the fence about this. Some of us are way to-[o] particular about Chadding. On the
other hand, don't have a conversation about where you may have left your lip balm and
shit. I talk here and there, but there's no need to actually have a good talk during a show.
2 Using this spelling for the obscenity on the card is in reference to the band’s name, Phish, being the incorrect spelling of the word “fish”. The simplicity of the change does not imply anything about the history of the band’s name. 19
Why'd you even buy a ticket in the first place? You can talk and party all you want on lot
and still hear the show. Things people do... (“Show Talkers....So Annoying!”).
Comments like these can be found across message boards, websites, forums, social media
accounts, and any other place online where people may voice their opinions. Members of group
discussion like the ones on Phish.net use scene-specific slang to articulate their grievances. In the
next section, I will elaborate more about how terms seen in comment sections like, “chad,”
“chomper,” and “wook” are used as pejorative terms for undesirables at shows.
In the Northwest Ohio Scene, you most likely will not find discussion like these about
any local bands, but you can surely have many conversations about personal show preferences,
as the people on the Phish.net message boards have done. One common topic among local
scenesters is what shows people are going to or have gone to. Because access to major jam band shows in the Midwest is limited and most members of the scene are unable to afford to go frequently, participants in the scene regularly discuss who gets to go to what shows. As an example, a friend in the scene went to see Dead and Company while on a trip out of state to visit family. Distant travel, especially when shows are involved, is a rare occurrence for many members of the local scene and so, following his story of the show, I heard many retellings of it to other fans of the band. You may also hear someone explaining, “you should go ask [insert name] about that show. They actually got to go!” Of course, when folks come back from seeing a show, everyone gets to hear about the obnoxious talkers and how they felt like they wasted their money on a show they didn’t get to hear, but that is also part of the demonstration of collecting subcultural capital.
3 “GA” refers to general admission ticketing and seating, which usually means audience members are able to sit or stand wherever they find available space, except in VIP or restricted areas. 20
Almost all of the members of the bands I have worked with, except for some of the
members of Tree No Leaves, do not include their day jobs on their Facebook accounts, only their
involvement with their band(s). This could be read in a variety of ways, and some of the
possibilities very closely intersect with the theories I have laid out. The members of these bands
many be demonstrating the significance they feel from belonging to their bands, exposing what
they feel to be most central to their personal identities, or attempting to subvert the system they
regularly feel stifled by in the Midwest. In any or all of these cases, members of the bands in the
Northwest Ohio scene utilize their abilities to shape their identities. In addition to the use of
social media to define or at least explain social positioning, members of the scene use scene-
specific jargon to demonstrate their subcultural capital. The use of this terminology, however,
varies between the nationally recognized bands and the localized scene.
Wooks, Custies, Chads, and Chompers: Collecting Subcultural Terminology
Practically every music scene requires specific terminology in some form. In order to actively participate in the most intimate aspects of the scene, as well as gain access to more forms of subcultural capital, one must either have a direct “in” via a person already accepted in the scene, or one must have somehow become savvy enough about the subculture to enter.
Without the proper amount of subcultural capital, suspicions can arise. Pretended or exaggerated fandom may leave quite negative impressions on other members of the scene. One may be accused of being a police officer (“narc”), who tend to be avoided due to drug use and illegal vending at scene events. At shows, attendees may hear discussions of “chompers,” - better known in other musical subcultures as a poseur, or just an indiscriminate fan. The commonly used phrase, “chompers gonna chomp,” essentially translates to, “fake fans are going to be fake.”
YouTubers who create video blogs about Phish can be especially harsh on “chompers.” 21
YouTuber, FZappa20, may be one of the best-known and critical video bloggers focused on the band Phish, so much so that another YouTuber assembled a twelve-minute long compilation
video of his rantings about “chompers” (Iccarus the Prophet 2015). Another demeaning term
often heard in the scene is “chad,” which is usually a reference to largely affluent white males
who are also perceived as “chompers,” or possibly another negative stereotype. Often times
“chads” can be equated to terms like “frat bros,” “dude bros,” etc., generally referring to
audience members who are not attending shows for the music, but for the party scene, and who
do not take the scene seriously. Another association with the term “chads,” is wealth. One
assumed fashion of “chads” is the polo shirt, which is often a signifier in popular culture of
higher socioeconomic status, especially among college-aged adults. In a string of Phish.net posts,
one user, Trey_Talks, attempted to inquire about the terminology heard at shows:
Some recent threads of suspected Wookie origin have questioned the ethics of purchasing
glen close camping passes4 and attending Magnaball5 as an arrogant and scornful
member of a privileged elite, those for whom copious financial resources and the ability
to borrow their parent's chevy escolade [sic] or oversize RV make attending various phish
shows merely a matter of whether they give enough shits about the event in question.
Meanwhile, several chads with whom I am acquainted have voiced disdain for who they
term "trustafarians"-- these being atypically wealthy wooks who often will retrieve hetty6
doses of phamily phluff7 from their parents Jeep Cherokee, on which they have often
4 Glen Close camping passes are passes for Phish’s festivals, which allow you to park your car near your campsite and are often quite expensive ($900-$1000). Glen Close RV passes allow you to bring an RV into the festival and are much more expensive (usually over $1000). The name is a play on words, combining part of the name of the location of the festivals, Watkins Glen, NY, and the word “close,” to mimic the name of the famous actress, Glenn Close. 5 Magnaball is the name of Phish’s tenth festival. This one was held in Watkins Glen, NY. 6 “Hetty,” is interchangeable with the word “heady,” and is generally used to describe something that is obviously related to the hippie subculture. 7 “Phamily phluff,” is a term for LSD. It is often implied that this term indicates a high strength of dosage. 22
installed YEM8 vanity plates and various other Grateful Dead Memorabilia without
mommy and daddy's knowledge or consent. Being confused on just how to distinguish
these different groups, Custies, Chads, Wooks, and trustafarians, I was wondering what
the .net had to say on the matter. Full disclosure: I am certainly not a Wook, I have never
attended any "bisco"9 shows, I generally do not "groundscore"10 other people's
possessions at shows, and I tend to avoid directly cohabiting with canines. I do however
harbor my own reservations towards those who possess extensive material wealth and yet
fail to pick up hitchhikers at the parking lot after shows, or stopping only to ask "bumps11
for a ride man?" and then promptly driving off when I inform them that no, I do not abuse
hard drugs on a regular basis, nor do I have any to offer them at the moment.
The responses went in a variety of directions, from calling the user a “chomper” just for asking, explaining that all of the terms exist in relation to one another, and telling them, “custies are eye roll worthy; chads are downright slappable” (“The Difference between a Chad and a Custy?”).
“Custy”, short for customer, usually refers to someone who is only at a show to find drugs. The term “wook” is short for Wookie, as in Star Wars, and generally refers to the “dirty hippie” stereotype. “Wooks” tend to be known in the scene to steal, permanently borrow items, badger people for free drugs, alcohol, and food, fall asleep in other people’s tents, and are just generally known to care more about getting free things for themselves than anything else. However,
“wook” can also be used, especially in smaller scenes, as a way to identify someone who appears
“crunchy” or dedicated to the “dirty hippie” aesthetic, including being white and having
8 “YEM,” stands for “You Enjoy Myself,” which is the name of a song by the band Phish. 9 “Bisco,” is the shorthand term for the band the Disco Biscuits. Here, the author is implying that the typical crowd at one of their shows would consist primarily of “wooks”. This is a topic that is frequently debated amongst fans within the subculture. 10 “Groundscore,” means to find free items like drugs, pins, hats, etc., on the ground after shows that others have lost. The term usually does not imply theft other than finding an abandoned item and keeping it. 11 “Bumps,” refers to small amounts of powdered drugs and in most instances, cocaine. 23
dreadlocks, wearing wire-wrapped crystals, and wearing sandals at nearly every possible
opportunity. “Trustafarian” is not a term limited to the jam scene, but, as described in the above
comment, it is used frequently to describe “wooks” with large quantities of economic support.
The term “trustafarian” is at odds with the scene because it implies suspicion and doubt
surrounding the authenticity of individuals from wealthy families, without whom the scene might
not be able to exist. “Wooks” may be from any economic background, but “trustafarian” always
refers to wealthy individuals. However, “trustafarians” are also implied to be “wookish,”
meaning that they are known to have money but still steal, beg for, and permanently borrow the
belongings of those around them.
The terminology can be particularly stressful to newcomers in the scene. On one
occasion, I invited my stepbrother, Drew, to a local jam show near his home in Toledo. He told
me that he felt simultaneously welcome and unwelcome because everyone he met was very nice
to him, but people were throwing around slang with which he was unfamiliar and he felt that he
might be misunderstanding his recent acquaintances. A friend at the same show talked to me
about his perspective on the scene’s inclusiveness:
I don’t feel judged. I don’t know if it’s because everyone’s gone to the edge on
psychedelics. Like, I think there’s something to that. You kind of finally have that ego
breakdown. It’s like they’re just people too. We don’t have any reason not to be, you
know …It’s not like, people hanging out at Uptown (bar in Bowling Green, Ohio),
buncha dudebros getting pissed at dumb stuff.
There is some irony in this statement about inclusiveness that states that some people are
welcome while others (“dudebros”) are not, but you will find this to be the case in many music
scenes. In addition to being a bit intimidating or a way of excluding particular people, 24
terminology is used as a mechanism for marking insider status in the local scene. When I first
entered the local scene, I was aware of some, but not all, of the usual terms and I would often
have to either ask about a term or nod as if I understood and ask someone else later, depending
on how well I knew the person who originally used it in conversation with me. Nationally
significant terminology in the jam scene trickles down into smaller, localized scenes and
becomes significant in its own way there. Once someone is identified and labeled, it can be
difficult to shake off the stigma and engage with others, but the scene in Northwest Ohio can be
more forgiving than the larger subculture because of the closeness of its members. Of course, the
problem with any type of language that points towards stereotypes is that it is meant to exclude
others.
Figure 2. Fans use stats tracking features on band/fan websites to track their show numbers and
subcultural capital collection. (Source: AllThings.Umphreys.com)
25
Going to and Knowing Shows in National and Local Scenes
Upon entrance to a concert or event, the first and most noticeable type of subcultural capital is the abundant and often intimidating use of band or scene specific slang. As you walk into a show, you often hear fan grievances or praises aimed at the state of the lot. Prior to a concert, especially in the Midwest and Southern United States, attendees hang out in the parking lot (or just lot). The lot is a place where one can buy extra tickets, band merchandise, drugs
(most often marijuana or psychedelics, but also cocaine, molly, and ecstasy), and just hang out before the show. It is also referred to as Shakedown or Shakedown Street12 when it is set up this
way. At more prominent shows, you will almost certainly hear disdainful talk of “wooks,”
“chompers,” “chads,” etc., and then complaints about people complaining about said people as
well. Participants in the scene also frequently lament the presence of police in the lot. There are
many ways scene-goers attempt to identify undercover police activity, a significant method being
an evaluation of the person in question's quality of shoes. Shoes that appear too high class, too
clean, or too new compared to the rest of one's outfit can warrant a call of “6-Up!”13 to warn
other concert attendees. Others may notice that someone appears to be “trying too hard” in terms
of dress, especially if the person is over 40, and attempt to signal to others that there is an
undercover law enforcement officer nearby. Considering the long history of identifying
undercover officers through this method, one might consider that it serves a dual-purpose as a
way to shame or intimidate newcomers.
Next, upon entering the concert venue, you might start to hear more band-specific slang
as people voice their desires for particular song placements or setlists. At an Umphrey's McGee
12 “Shakedown Street,” is a term referencing the Grateful Dead’s album and song of the same name. It is used to describe the area that show attendees inhabit before or after shows and it is implied that this area will often contain vendors of food, merchandise, and/or drugs. 26 show, one might expect to hear talk of a “Jimmy Stewart”, a term created by the band, or a
“Bustout”, a term most likely developed by fans. To many outside of the scene, the use of these terms translates to nonsense, but for those within the scene who pride themselves on their quantity of subcultural capital, the terms hold significant meaning. When the band performs long sections of freestyle jamming with the intent of making the music sound as if it may become an composed song, this is a “Jimmy Stewart”. Most fans, however, talk about the process by which
“Jimmy Stewarts” become recorded songs and subsequently which version they might hear at a show. A new concertgoer could anticipate that a “bustout” is a song that has not been performed for many shows, but they would probably not be able to talk about which songs have “bustout” potential at a given show. This vocabulary is a necessity to dedicated fans and is required for hanging out and talking about the bands. These terms are band specific, however, and one might run into a need for a different collection of terms at a Phish show. A Phish jam that is particularly staccato or contains staccato sections has earned the onomatopoetic term “plinko”. Again, while one might uncover its meaning without explanation, knowledge of music in general or specifically the music of Phish is most likely required to understand how the term should be used. If you're discussing the music of Phish, you will probably want to know the difference between Type I, Type II, and Type III jams, as well as Phish 1.0, Phish 2.0, and Phish 3.0.
Though it would appear that these terms are related, they are only minimally. Jam Types refer to stylistic differences and, though they usually refer to Phish, they are occasionally used to refer to other jam bands. The jam types are usually related to the amount of improvisation and stylistic differences, but the numbered versions of Phish are in reference to the eras of the band's existence (i.e. after hiatuses). As evidenced here, band and scene specific slang dramatically
13 “6-Up” is a term that signals to other concertgoers that there are police nearby. It references the six lights that may be found on police cars. 27 increases one’s comfort level when discussing the music of jam bands with other fans, but additionally, fans are expected to know the deep history of the band they are seeing.
Possibly the most important form of subcultural capital in the scene is knowledge of past shows, including setlists, style changes, and special events which change the concert's general musical structure. Those who have the means to attend or live stream many concerts build up a wealth of subcultural capital which allows them to create reference points and understand patterns the bands follow in their programming. For example, a close friend in the scene flashed his phone in my face exclaiming what a great set Umphrey's McGee had put on the previous night, a show he had not attended, but had received information about. After viewing the setlist, I exclaimed my excitement about certain song covers and his response was along the lines of,
“Well, duh. This was a holiday show. They always play more covers at holiday shows. Ya, noob.14” Luckily for me at the time, I was not at a show or I may have been embarrassed.
Knowledgeable jam band fans should know about events like Phish's Halloween Musical
Costume, where the band chooses an album, not one of their own, to perform in its entirety as one set of their three set Halloween show. Knowledge of band sets and trends not only allows fans to demonstrate their subcultural capital to others, but also creates more enthusiasm for certain types of events or venues in which shows take place. This excitement is almost always shared with others at shows, regardless of status as friend or stranger, through conversations about hopes for the shows. Other conversations one might hear at shows include comparative studies of song variations, including judgments about which versions are superior or inferior, again returning to the arguments over “Jimmy Stewarts” and different jam types.
14 “Noob”, like in videogame subcultures, refers to someone who lacks knowledge about the group in questions and is therefore considered to be a “newbie”. 28
Outside of an Umphrey's McGee show, I once made the mistake of calling fans of Phish,
“Phish-heads,” in response to which I was immediately silenced by friends. I had previously heard this term and thought it to be correct and related to the Grateful Dead. However, because there is sometimes a divergence between fans of each band, the terms used for fans are not interchangeable. I was immediately informed that the proper term was “Phan” and I was warned
that others in the scene would not be so welcoming of my mistake. Despite being at a concert for
an entirely different band, my blunder was still seen as quite the faux pas. This was one of my
first, but certainly not one of my last, experiences with the scene and its exclusionary politics
based on subcultural capital.
Outside of another of my first Umphrey's McGee shows, an elder in the scene, quite
obviously known by others as he was familiarly greeted by someone new every couple of
minutes, was bragging about how many shows he had attended. This particular show was in the
upper hundreds for him and his pride in his status was made very apparent. I was with my
partner at the time, as well as another friend, and they quietly gave him their show counts, each
in the thirties. As I attempted to deflect the conversation, knowing at that point that I was about
to be questioned, I was caught, and my show attendance status was demanded. At the time it was
my second show, though I had tried desperately to hide it, and accordingly the elder scene
member scoffed upon hearing my response. His initial reaction was followed by a hasty
explanation of the value of having so many show experiences, and then left me alone so that he
could go and discuss show details with someone more knowledgeable than myself.
Similar to my shameful lack of subcultural capital at the time, my partner exposed his
experience level at his third Umphrey's McGee show. Having listened to the band outside of
shows, he felt he knew the song structures well enough to identify them in the middle of an 29
improvisational section. When asked the name of the song, he responded with the name of the,
apparently, incorrect song and was immediately approached by another fan with a correction.
Though seemingly harmless, he was exposed as a “noob” and felt incapable of discussing the music for the rest of the show.
Years later, my partner would discover his own distaste for “noobs”, citing their inability to hold back “woos.” Often times the band, Umphrey's McGee, will get to a caesura or a rest15,
and in the silence newer fans will often shout “woo”. Evidence of this can be seen when the band
performs the song “Bridgeless,” among many others, but most severe is the “wooing” that began
after 2013. Another friend and informant of mine has discussed the need to understand cues at
Phish shows. Much like the “Rocky Horror Picture Show,” one needs to know what words to
shout, sing, and other ways to participate, otherwise there is a risk of being considered a
“chomper,” or “noob.” Certain light, lyrical, and musical cues include shouting, “Wilson,” after
hearing the introduction to the song “Wilson,” and singing, “and we love to take a bath,” during
the song “Bathtub Gin,” in an addition to the lyrics performed by the band. Some new attendees
do not pay much attention to the insider information, but others may be left uncomfortable and
exposed.
There are also positive results in local scenes from having attended shows. Those who
have the privilege to attend shows in the national scene are often able to create new friendships
in smaller scenes with much more success, but again, this is something that comes with the
privilege of being able to attend those shows. My partner, who is from Georgia, moved to Ohio
for graduate school and was frustrated by the lack of access to the local jam scene. One night,
while hanging out at a local dive bar, he overheard someone going on and on about Umphrey’s
McGee, one of his favorite bands. He was able to quickly bond with our now mutual friend, 30
Adam Rice, go to local shows and meet many new people in the scene. Much like the way I was initiated into the scene, so too was he by having already built up enough subcultural capital to hang out and talk about the music.
Many members of the larger scene also compare the number of shows they have attended in order to demonstrate their level of subcultural capital and their status within the hierarchy of fans. Stats tracking websites assist these concertgoers by keeping track of an individual's concert attendance and displaying all songs and versions of songs one has experienced. (See Figure 2.)
These conversations are often how fans make friends with other fans. Hanging out and talking about the bands is a staple of the scene and an abundance of subcultural capital is required for in- depth discussion. Fans of the scene also engage further once they are accepted and make friends, for example using social media to publish setlists, sharing video and live streams of concerts, finding rides to shows, and even playing games based on setlist knowledge.
Many established members of the scene have created social media links to other members, including on Facebook, Instagram, and individual band's websites and forums. Via
Facebook, many members participate in conversations like the ones held at shows, and often these conversations lead to sharing of subcultural capital. Fans may publish setlists on private
Facebook pages dedicated to different bands and also share their codes for viewing live streamed or recorded concerts for free. “Couch Tour,” is a term frequently used by many jam bands to describe what one does if they want to see concerts, but are unable to attend the concerts in person. “Couch Tours,” are often expensive and require purchasing multiple nights of concerts.
Alternatively, friends within the scene will often share their “Couch Tour,” in order to reduce costs. Facebook pages like “Get in the Van,” a ride-sharing page for Umphrey's McGee fans, allows scene members to acquire rides with others who are already heading to a particular
15 A caesura is an unmeasured pause in a piece of music. A rest is a measured pause in a piece of music. 31
show. Many fans also play the game BINGO through social media, but the topic of the games
can be tour openers or closers, which are the first and last songs of each night on a tour, covers,
“bustouts,” “Jimmy Stewarts,” and other details concerning the songs played by different bands
respectively.
Small, local scenes, like the one in Northwest Ohio, generally do not require quite the
same amount of subcultural capital to participate. Just as in the case of my meeting with Currey,
it is extremely helpful for meeting people, especially musicians in the scene, but you more than
likely will not be shamed or feel the need to hide your lack of knowledge as in some larger
shows. Though the stakes are lower in small, local scenes, they can still be problematic for many.
One of the main connections, and probably the most significant, between people in the local
scene comes from their related musical interests. In this case, even if the stakes are significantly
lower, outsiders or newcomers will still find that gaining access to the Northwest Ohio scene is
considerably easier with knowledge of the above nationally recognized subcultural capital.
The number of jam band shows required to gather the necessary subcultural capital, in
this case this is the knowledge of sets, is arguably higher than with certain other genres of music,
as each set is expected to be completely different than the previous set.16 If one is unable to attend concerts in person, one must be active in one’s participation in online streaming or
downloading, or one risks losing one’s up-to-date knowledge of band trends. Without the ability
to predict sets, discuss uncommon or common themes of shows, and compare show experiences,
fans do not really have the insight to engage actively with other members of the scene.
Jam bands and jam band fans often poke fun at themselves and the exclusivity of the
scene, similar to the way this happens in nerd culture online. For as many times as I have heard
16 While it could be said that the improvisatory nature of the music of jam bands creates the variations between sets, the same could be said of other genres like jazz. 32
exclusionary hierarchical politics at shows, I have also heard jokes about it. Many members of
the scene still engage with those politics, but are also willing to poke fun at themselves and
realize that often their devotion is excessive in the eyes of people on the outside. One YouTuber
even created videos poking fun at the exclusivity of the terminology used among Phish fans. The
video, titled “Shit Phish Phans Say,” features several fans discussing details of songs, venues,
albums, and styles, all specific to the band, Phish, and is obviously meant as a playful joke directed at other fans (phishincuse). Even though the term “wook,” as I have described above, implies the stereotype of the “dirty hippie” and is frequently used negatively, the term is also jokingly used to refer to friends, especially within smaller scenes. The bands are also quite willing to make fun of themselves in general, such as in Umphrey's McGee tour commercials or
Phish interviews. One Umphrey's McGee commercial features the band asking Siri, the iPhone app, if the bass player is any good, to which she responds, “you are decent for a white guy”
(Umphrey's McGee Siri Ad, 2012). Trey Anastasio even makes fun of his fans for their judgmental ways in a Web Extra from CBS. When asked how he feels about his fans, he first explains his love for them, but soon follows with a joke about how he should probably not tell the same joke at two shows, lest they become angry with him (Web Extra). It is even common to hear jam band fans say that Phish fans are actually the ones who hate Phish. In the following paragraphs I will return to the serious issues of the scene regarding class and provide evidence of the necessity of subcultural capital through my own experiences and the experiences of my informants and friends.
33
“I Saw You with a Ticket Stub in Your Hand”: How Much Is It Again?
An issue that I have personally experienced alongside other concertgoers is concern over
the cost of attending shows. The tickets themselves generally do not change much from venue to
venue, save for venues as famous as Madison Square Garden, but they certainly do from band to
band. Umphrey’s McGee, for example, usually offers tickets starting as low as $25, whereas
Phish may have their lowest ticket price set as high as $70 in the same city. The higher cost of
Phish shows may be a result of a history of affluent fans being able to follow them on tour, as
well as the fact that they tour drastically less often than they once did. Most of the jam scene
members in the Midwest with whom I have discussed this have explained that they barely make
enough money to go to one Phish show per year, and many decide to attend less expensive shows
with more frequency if that is even an option. Though concert attendance is of utmost
importance to the development of subcultural capital in the jam scene, there are also methods of
acquiring it through online sources like Facebook, YouTube, Nugs.net, AllThingsUmphrey’s,
and others.
Contrary to the costly requirements of the nationally recognized jam scene, the local
scene in Northwest Ohio provides many opportunities to attend shows with little to no cover. Of
course, that is the bare minimum of what one needs to attend shows and does not account for gas
money, food, alcohol, or having to request time off from work. The geographic situation of the
local scene also mildly reduces the necessity of subcultural capital because of the size of the
scene and lack of access to other small, local scenes. Because there is less access to outside of
the area, members of the scene tend to be less demanding of others in terms of subcultural
knowledge. Currey Long, of Cactus Jack, gave me some of his thoughts on the accessibility of
the Northwest Ohio jam scene, 34
It’s just been cool to play with everyone and meet people who are around here and like
the same stuff I do. Because if you don’t know people in the scene and you’re looking for
it, it’s going to be hard to find because this shit isn’t as prominent as it was. Like, if you
go out West, or Asheville, or New York, you’re going to see way more than around here.
It’s kind of a dying thing, sadly, around here. We’re trying, though. I feel like Toledo is
on the rise, and Bowling Green, this area in general. It’s just that we have to keep pushing
to make that happen, because if we stop, it’s just going to go back to the way it was. And
I think it is, like, there’s more music downtown, now. Not just jam bands, there’s just
more live music in general, which is a good thing. But then you look at the people around
here. It’s a funny thing because like, people don’t care about music as much in this area.
It’s a lot of tradespeople and rusted old stuff, and everyone likes the standard classic rock
they’ve always listened to. So, it’s like, you know what I mean, there’s not a lot of people
doing anything experimental.
After attending many jam shows in Northwest Ohio, I have found that the area generally hosts a
very welcoming scene, but it still favors those who “look” like they have a certain amount of
subcultural capital within the scene. Showing up with dreadlocks, wire-wraps, tie-dye clothing,
band t-shirts, enamel pins from popular jam bands, and other hippie-related clothing and
accessories will generally signify that a person is acceptable in the scene and not attempting to
mock or violate it. The problem with the collection of these items, once again, is that they require
monetary means of acquiring them, which still maintains class gatekeeping. What is even more
interesting in the local scene is that the musicians tend not to fall into the supposed dress code
that developed out of the larger subculture, which I will discuss further in the second chapter of
this thesis. 35
21st Century Jammer: Jam Bands and Fans in the Digital Age
I have already touched on some of the forums available for jam fans, but here I will add to the discussion of jam band websites and forums, which are often used to display, discuss, disperse and acquire subcultural capital. As I referenced above, Phish.net is one of the better- known internet forums for jam band fans, specifically Phish “phans”. Of course much of what one will find on these forums is silly, unrelated to the music, and often vulgar. However, many threads are started with topics like, “Post your 25th show,” “Post your favorite Chalk Dust
Torture17,” or, “What's the best Trey solo ever?” ("Phish Forum", 2016). Without attendance at shows or at the very least a high level of knowledge about show history, one would struggle to participate in these online discussions. In both local and national scenes, bands and fans make social media pages in order to promote the collection of subcultural capital. There are often discussions and posts online about the lighting designs and designers, as most jam bands have a preferred style of light show. For example, Jefferson Waful, who is the lighting designer for
Umphrey's McGee, is often addressed by fans as an additional member of the band, despite not playing an instrument. Websites like Jambands.com, which includes Relix Magazine, have social media sites which correlate with their usual websites and include in-depth discussions of bands, shows, setlists, and tour rumors, which can seldom be decoded without prior inside knowledge.
Social media, websites, and magazines usually contain legal sources of subcultural capital, like discussions of sets and styles, but at times they are used to illegally distribute concert videos or setlists.
Most fans are unable to acquire access to free concert video streaming without first making friends at shows or already having an access point through friends. The only alternative to streaming video is to purchase hard copies, which is extremely expensive, especially for more 36
than one show. Most bands in the scene, like the Disco Biscuits, include some free videos on
their own websites, but in no way include enough video to provide the subcultural capital needed
to actively participate in the scene. Paid video streams, like those on the band websites of the
Disco Biscuits, Phish, or Umphrey's McGee, can cost between ten and one hundred U.S. dollars,
with special events or holiday concerts rising even higher. If a fan is unable to attend shows or
participate in “Couch Tour”, they have few options for ways to gain access into the scene via
their subcultural capital. Without access into the scene, they lose the opportunities to gain the
subcultural capital which would allow them access, thus creating what I have termed a
subcultural capital exclusion loop. One of the ways members of the scene track their shows is
through jam band stats tracking websites. In the following section, I would like to address the
exclusionary nature of these websites.
A significant number of jam bands have official or unofficial ways in which website members can track how many shows they have attended and what kinds of songs, covers, and
styles they have seen performed live. While these can be used in an innocent attempt to
remember one's show experiences for personal reasons, they can also be used to track one's
subcultural capital. Bands like Umphrey's McGee and Phish have their own stats tracking
websites, AllThingsUmphrey's and Phish.net, whereas, others like The Disco Biscuits,
Widespread Panic, and String Cheese Incident have pages dedicated to them on websites like
Phantasy Tour.vi All of these websites allow fans to make personal accounts, profiles, and enter
their attended shows. After all of the information is collected, the websites generate their
experienced songs, styles, venues, and other statistics. Again, these websites may not be used the
same way by all people, but their intent is similar. These websites serve little purpose to the fans
but to demonstrate the sheer quantity of one's subcultural capital in the scene based on concert
17 “Chalk Dust Torture” is the name of a Phish song originally from the studio album, A Picture of Nectar. 37
attendance. Most of these kinds of websites were created by fans or by the bands after requests
for them were made.
In addition, many of these websites contain slang that would only have meaning to avid
fans. Umphrey's McGee, for example, has sections of stats one can visit called “Jimmy
Stewarts”, “Bustout Potential”, and “Teases”, all of which can be used to filter a fan's personal
stats. I have previously explained “Jimmy Stewarts” and “Bustouts”, but “Teases” are pieces and
parts of songs played during other songs, but never played in their entirety during that set. The
most standard ways these kinds of websites filter stats are using their venue, state, country, most
commonly or uncommonly seen, most common covers, debuts, particular sets, and tours.
Without the value of subcultural capital in the scene, these websites appear only to be useful to
the bands or in the industry for tracking and marketing purposes. Although the websites
themselves may not be the most active mechanisms in regards to the collection of subcultural
capital in the jam band scene, they are certainly used as tools to promote its necessity.
Sometimes, however, stats tracking websites can function as a kind of vault for collectors of subcultural capital. Simply the appearance of and ability to demonstrate their subcultural capital can be enough to encourage some fans to see as many shows as possible. Though the most important aspect is said to be the music, there are also elements of competition amongst fans. These competitions, though not addressed as such, can be as simple as finding out who has seen the most shows and as complex as in-depth discussions of band trivia in order to judge the other's knowledge. When the hierarchy is in question, these methods of determining a scene member's subcultural capital are crucial and stats are just another measurement. Keeping
knowledge of how the hierarchy is managed in mind, we should now dissect further how jam
band stats tracking promotes the use of capital, including, but not limited to, concert tickets, 38 hotel rooms and campsites (where camping gear is required), food (often more expensive in the cities where bands play shows), drugs (though not a necessity, expected within the scene), alcohol (almost always more expensive at shows), and band merchandise. Though not outwardly intending to exclude people, jam band stats tracking and its inherent push to necessitate extensive amounts of subcultural capital can build up high walls between classes within the scene and between those inside and outside the scene.
I have to suspect that some members of the scene, despite the tendency of the scene to promote inclusivity, are unintentionally relying on an individualist way of thinking about their own positions in the scene. In his essay about the progressive rock band Rush titled, “Swimming against the Stream: Individualism and Middle-Class Subjectivity in Rush”, Chris McDonald explains the connections between Rush's lyrics and white, middle-class individualism. The emphasis on “making your own way” in Rush's lyrics is celebrated by many fans of the band, who just so happen to be mostly white, middle-class males. McDonald describes the way in which Rush uses their individual technical skills to make way for each instrument, often functioning contrapuntally, all while working together. Though jam band lyrics do not typically function this way, many bands utilize these same instrumental techniques.
While stylistically very different, there is a possibility of overlap between the types of fans of each, though more than likely you’d find Phish fans who are also fans of Rush, and maybe less when reversed. McDonald discusses how white middle-class citizens of North
America often find themselves feeling without a culture or as just another part of the masses, which leads to the development of artistic subcultures and other means of 'standing out'. Upon many observations of larger shows in the national scene, I have found that they are mostly populated by white males, more than likely middleclass and higher, due to the necessity of 39 capital in order to afford concerts, hotels, drinks, etc. One could argue this of many scenes in the
U.S, but using McDonald's model of Rush fans, I believe it is a fair suspicion that they share similar demographics (McDonald 2009, 63-100). If this individualist model is true, even of only a small percentage of jam band fans, it may still explain the tendencies to insult higher and lower classes, as well as brush off those who do not have access to the scene. If the white, middle-class male, according to this model, is most interested in making his own way, he would obviously have a distaste for those either born with significant financial backing who buy their way in
(“chads” in the jam scene), or those who are seemingly not able to acquire enough capital for entry into the scene, or in other words, those who “don't work hard enough” (“wooks” in the jam scene). It appears that the terminology of the scene generally supports this model, however, smaller, localized scenes like the one in Northwest Ohio, may expose a different socioeconomic situation.
Connected to both economic and subcultural capital, sound recordings have great value among scene members. Videos and DVDs of bands are expensive and sometimes difficult to find, though there are select examples of free videos available on platforms like YouTube, band websites, and secret sharing groups. Audio recordings may be more accessible to those with less subcultural capital, but they are still difficult to acquire without inside access to the scene. Fans of the genre can get subscriptions to nugs.net or individual band websites, which can often be expensive. Those in the know may find ways around the costs like Wookster, a Facebook page dedicated to the free sharing of jam band recordings. There are more illegal ways to acquire the sound recordings than the video, but even the process of having to search for them illegally creates boundaries between those in the scene and those outside of it. 40
It is difficult enough to obtain the subcultural capital of the jam band scene without economic means, but many websites, including stats tracking websites, act like salt in a wound to those who are unable to afford concert attendance. Even if a fan of a lower socioeconomic position finds a way to watch free live concert streams, unless they lie, they are still left with the issue of not being able to claim attendance and thus, are labeled as a lower quality of fan.
Though friends who already have a place in the scene can often assist with access, there is no perceived substitute for the actual experiences. Without economic means, fans have little potential to be completely accepted into the scene, and thus the subcultural capital exclusion loop continues. Without an entry point there is no acceptance, without acceptance there is no additional subcultural capital, and without additional subcultural capital, there is no continued acceptance. All of these means of acceptance into the scene are available to those with enough time and money, those of a higher socioeconomic status.
Conclusion
Collecting subcultural capital is extremely important to a sense of belonging in the national jam subculture and the Northwest Ohio jam scene, though the latter can be somewhat more relaxed. This is due, at least in part, to the economic struggles faced by many members of the scene, which prevent them from being able to participate as actively as is expected in the larger subculture. Participants in the local scene who are unable to afford traditional means of collecting subcultural capital do what they can to find free sources of information, videos, and audio recordings online and from friends with better access. Visual signals of belonging are more salient at the national level but their significance varies between members of the Northwest Ohio scene. This is especially true among band members in the scene, many of whom have resolved to spend most of their spare money on band related expenses, on which I will elaborate in a later 41
chapter. Members of the Northwest Ohio scene face the unique challenge of meeting subcultural
expectations while surviving the challenges of class in their everyday lives, both of which are
often at odds with one another. Related to this issue is the concept of “family,” a term heard
frequently among those in the national subculture and the local scene.
Belonging to the “family” in the scene has implications beyond the popularly portrayed
“spiritual” connection. In the following chapter, I will explain the complicated nature of the term
“family” that is used in the jam subculture and how it applies to both audience members and musicians in the Northwest Ohio jam scene.
42
CHAPTER II. “WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE IN MY FAMILY PICTURE?”: CONCEPTS OF
“FAMILY,” MUSICAL PROFESSIONALISM, AND CLASS
The Kool-Aid Jammers show was fun, but it was fun because I was already established as
a musically knowledgeable member of the scene. When I arrived at the Sodbuster Bar in
Sylvania, Ohio, and walked toward the porch where people generally smoke cigarettes, I met
eyes with my new friend, Vinny Bartolatta, of Baccano. After a double-take and realizing it was
me who had arrived, he quickly proceeded to hug me. As each of the men on the porch began to
realize I was standing there, they also hugged me and gave fond greetings, including Currey
Long of Cactus Jack, and Adam Rice and Drew Merritt of Baccano. Most everyone outside was
complaining about how long the band’s break had been, and yet, they continued lighting new
cigarettes.
As I entered the bar, I looked around to find an assortment of jam band fans, hippies,
artists, and irritated locals. At one point, I noticed an older gentleman who was staring at the
dancing fans (the fans were dressed in garb that was undeniably inspired by the hippie aesthetic).
He continued his one-sided staring contest and his wife tried to nudge him for attention. Each time I looked back he was there staring, his attention engulfed by the presence of many hippies, and he continued looking disturbed by the situation. Benji Katz, of Tree No Leaves, was one of the performers that night. He waved at me from the stage, dressed in pajama pants and sandals with socks, looking anxious to get back to playing.
By the time I was able to find a seat, the band was already getting settled in to start the next set. Alex Hastedt, of Waxtastic, looked more serious than his bandmates, though he still managed to smile at them when they made jokes. He announced, while laughing, “this one’s 43
called ‘Jam in A Minor’.” (See Figure 3.) The crowd and the band laughed quietly, and they
began what appeared to be completely free improvisation except for the knowledge that it should
end up in a minor key. I understood why everyone was laughing. To everyone from the scene,
there was a joke – tonight, some songs would contain no song structure, all the band members had been pulled randomly from other bands, and all of them understood what “A minor” meant.
The tune began with airy, lightly textured improvisation, creating a very specific atmosphere.
Though the bar was half full of townies, the band was not about to start up any classic rock and roll tunes, and the locals noticed.
Afterwards, the band started up the familiar bassline of “Chameleon” by Herbie Hancock, as Alex announced the tune. It was probably the longest jam on “Chameleon” that I have ever
heard, running at least fifteen minutes and taking on many shapes. At one point, the drummer,
who has a background in punk and metal, turned the tune upside down and into an almost pop-
punk tune, but then returned it to its originally funk-driven state. Vinny and Riley, both
musicians, but not part of this particular band of the night, were attentively listening, behind or
next to me throughout different points of the night. A dancing couple located and re-located
themselves around the bar, covered in flowy, flowery, hippie garb, still being watched by the old
man from before. It was clear that there were many uncomfortable people in the audience that
night, and understandably so. The show took place in a small-town bar, half full of jam band fans
and half middle-aged and older residents of nearby Toledo and Sylvania. For any outsiders, the
show probably felt as if it were an exclusive club event, but for the members, they felt that they
were just putting on a good show for everyone. Benji Katz, bass player for Tree No Leaves and
this night for the Kool-Aid Jammers, explained to me that “family” is not a term he hears in
every scene. His band, Tree No Leaves, is part of the jam scene in Northwest Ohio, but is also 44
booked with bands of many differing genres of music. He told me, “At the Kool-Aid Jammers
gig, I definitely heard the term ‘family’ being thrown down a lot. Yeah, like, I hear it less when
we’re not at events like that or Sacred Harvest18.” For both insiders and outsiders, the rhetoric of
inclusivity that spreads throughout the scene with the use of the term “family” is juxtaposed with
its unstable conditions of belonging. As an outsider coming in, but also someone with musical
training, some prior social connections to the scene, and a growing collection of scene-specific subcultural capital, I was able to experience aspects of both insider and outsider status.
The jam scene is so often associated with either musical elitism or dirty hippie-dom
(wooks) that the nuanced social conditions and practices of it are overshadowed. My status as a musician has certainly affected the way I have been accepted by members of the scene, especially band members, which may reduce the scope of my observations. However, I have been able to have detailed discussions about the scene with band members, and this has informed my understanding of how the Midwest, specifically the Northwest Ohio, jam scene functions compared to its reputation based on popular representations. In this chapter, I will outline the history and meanings of the term “family” as they are used in the jam scene, in popular representations of the larger scene, how class affects perceptions and practices of the local scene, and how the term “family” intersects with class discussions at the local level. I will begin with an explanation of how the romanticized perception of “family” in the scene is not the only quality that needs to be addressed, especially when using Victor Turner’s concept of communitas, and relate my other claims to this frequently used reductive concept.
18 The first Sacred Harvest Festival was first held in Fall of 2017 in rural Grand Rapids, Ohio, and featured a variety of jam bands from Ohio and Michigan. 45
Communal Experience and the Legacy of the “Dead Family”
In Music and Social Life, Thomas Turino explains, “For me, good music making or dancing is a realization of ideal – possible – human relationships where the identification with others is so direct and so intense that we feel…as if ourselves had merged. It is the sounds we are making…that continually let us know that we have done so or that we are failing to achieve this ideal.” (2008, 19) My intention here is not to use Turino’s passage in a theoretical sense, but instead to demonstrate the ideal conditions for “family” engagement within many scenes, but especially the jam scene. This is not to say that members of other subcultures do not seek the same quality of personal or spiritual connection, but that the desire to do so, when combined with the long-held traditions and practices stemming from the 1960s counterculture, creates the popular perceptions of the jam scene both internally and externally, and reinforces stereotypes surrounding the subculture.
Figure 3. The Kool-Aid Jammers crammed themselves onto the stage at the Sodbuster Bar in
Sylvania, Ohio. (Source: Author, 2018) 46
Figure 4. The band Baccano uses “fam” as a term to describe fanhood and insider status.
(Source: Baccanofam Facebook page, 2017)
The significance of the narrative of inclusivity that appears throughout the subculture at both the national level and the local level here in Northwest Ohio cannot be overstated. On the local level, you may have members of the scene using “family” or “fam” as a marker of a location-bound, but general belonging to the subculture, or a fandom of a particular band. (See
Figure 4.) Aesthetic commonalities, which can include trends towards the usage of Eastern spiritual and cultural practices, often serve as markers of community in the scene. However, the connections felt through these communal practices are not magical or mysterious. As previously mentioned, many of the aesthetic and communal elements of the jam scene come from its relationship with the Grateful Dead and their followers. Eric K. Silverman, Professor of
American Studies and Human Development at Wheelock College, suggests in his essay
“‘Mysteries Dark and Vast’: Grateful Dead Concerts and Initiation Into the Sublime” that scholars of the Grateful Dead often “blur distinctions between local experiences and the analysis of that experience in a manner that risks evolving into an uncritical, sometimes Pollyannaish, 47 apologetics (Silverman, 2010, 217).” As an anthropologist with fieldwork experience in Papua
New Guinea, his essay seeks to break down the extent to which Grateful Dead scholars romanticize the experiences of fans by associating those experiences with essentializing notions of tribalism, primitivism, and Eastern religions (Silverman 2010, 214, emphasis in original). He explains,
The Grateful Dead guided fans into a qualitative, not quantitative, experience by
momentarily thwarting the Cartesian rationality that robs our everyday lives of magic. By
drawing on Campbell, Turner, and also Mircea Eliade (e.g. 1965, 1987), scholars
construe the Grateful Dead as a grand cipher for a kinder, gentler, humanity of
romanticized shamans, mystics, and first peoples more generally. These hyper-real tribals
stand as balms for the angst and alienation of modernity. They are not real tribal people,
but rather, personifications of a long-standing Western desire to return to the Garden and
restore Paradise Lost (Silverman 2010, 217).”
Silverman extends this discussion by saying that these statements are not meant as excuses for essentialist presentations of non-western cultures, but rather partial explanations for the routine engagement in such practices by members of the jam scene. He also examines how analyses by other scholars have applied the concept of communitas in order to justify the essentialist practices within the scene, and disregard other significant factors which contribute to communal feelings of interconnectivity. Silverman is not arguing that there is not a collective style of engagement amongst fans, but asserts that dressing participation up as a solely magical ritual or tribal experience is irresponsible and does not provide a full picture of how solidarity is created within the group. Further, this practice disengages with conversations surrounding the American 48
ideologies and practices that those within the scene often attempt to escape and arguably end up
producing (Silverman 2010, 217).
It is not uncommon to find journalists and fans alike asserting that Victor Turner’s vision
of communitas, when applied to the context of the jam band concert, is reduced only to an
interest in rituals and tribalism (Turner 1970, 96-97). This is complicated by American individualism, capitalism, subcultural capital, class, geography, and a plethora of other factors. In addition, the idea of a chosen family, versus the family one is born into, also challenges the simplified ideas of what “family” means in the jam scene. Elizabeth Carroll explains this based
on her own ethnographic research,
What defines a "real family" [in the Grateful Dead community] is the creation of a space
and a community in which "something encourages us to be ourselves," a "family" with a
definition of success based on the ability to share and take care of each other in a hostile
world where the profit motive reigns and wars erupt as a result (Carroll, 2007, 1).
Though my research is not directly concerned with Deadheads, I have had similar discussions
about this topic with my informants, who have specifically noted the difference between blood-
relatives and “family” members, mostly being that the latter provides better support. More
importantly, there are more factors that contribute to the function of “family” within the scene
than the romanticized, Eastern-religion inspired vision of communitas, which is sometimes used
by scholars, like Shan Sutton who tends to focus his work on the Grateful Dead and popular
American religion. Sutton makes important points about the religious connections to the
Deadhead community and I believe those should still be considered but built upon (Sutton 2000,
109-126). In addition, many bloggers, journalists, and biographers have attempted to use similar
concepts to further create a romanticized memory of the scene. In the following sections, I will 49 provide background of the origins of the “Dead Family,” and explain how popular perceptions of the scene create an image of elitism.
The Original “Dead Family” and Popular Perceptions of the Jam Band Scene
When people began to follow the Grateful Dead around the country, the reach of LSD and marijuana was extensive. One story of the band’s strong connection to LSD comes from the taping of their performance on “Playboy After Dark.” At the taping, they happened to have
Owsley Stanley19 in their company and, as the story goes, he spiked the communal coffee pot with LSD. Later, members of the band noticed that the crew were acting unusual and realized that they had all had some of the contaminated coffee (Reed). Stories like this one are not uncommon to find in documentaries and biographies of the band. The Dead were so entwined with the new countercultural obsession with acid that the Federal Bureau of Investigation was made very aware of their significance to the psychedelic movement. In an FBI document from between 1969 and 1971, now in their vaults and available online, there is a mostly redacted page that reads, “LSD originates from San Francisco, California through a renowned rock group known as Grateful Dead. The Grateful Dead is well known to DEA, San Francisco (“The
Grateful Dead Part 1 of 1.”).” The explosion of popularity that LSD gained certainly travelled with the Grateful Dead as well, especially because of Stanley’s sound work with the band.
Elizabeth Carroll contemplates the significance of drug use by the those in the scene in her essay,
“Plato’s Pharmakon: Grateful Dead Concerts and the Politics of Getting High.” She uses Dennis
McNally’s account of the extensive drug use of the counterculture to explain:
19 Owsley Stanley was well known as a creator and distributer of LSD during the 1960s and 70s. His reputation as “the unofficial mayor of San Francisco,” in Haight Ashbury, sound work with and link to the Grateful Dead, and image as a spiritually significant, shaman-like promoter of LSD, made him into an incredibly popular figure within the hippie counterculture of the 1960s (Lee 248). 50
According to Grateful Dead historian Dennis McNally, “The parking lot and interior of
every Dead concert” were spaces of “a no-holds-barred orgy of pot, LSD, nitrous oxide
and other substances” (McNally 2002). Without a doubt, drugs were a central feature of
the Dead concert experience; however, their [drugs] presence held multiple, often
contradictory meanings (Carroll 2010).
The Dead maintained a very large crew on the road, most of whom participated in the consumption of acid with the group (Bar-Lev 2017). The crew was frequently referred to as
“family”, but the meaning of the term would change after the 1970s. The stories of the Grateful
Dead Family of the 1980s are extraordinarily difficult to find in any complete form, and in fact, many people I have talked to have explained that their knowledge of the Family comes from stories passed on throughout the scene. Through my collection of explanations of the phenomenon, I have gathered a few pieces of information that always seem to come up: (1) The
Grateful Dead Family was intent on spreading the use of LSD and there may be members still perpetuating their original practices, (2) The Family’s timeline is not completely clear, as some fans will tell you it was part of the scene in the very beginning and others will say that it was founded officially in the 1980s, (3) The use of the term “family” means something very different now. However, even Phil Lesh, bass player for the Grateful Dead, has said, “it [the Grateful
Dead show] is more like a ritual than a concert. Everybody’s ecstatic together. I always said, every place we play is church,” which supports the historical connections between “family”,
LSD, and spirituality (Bar-Lev 2017).
In her essay, “The Answer to the Atom Bomb: Rhetoric, Identification, and the Grateful
Dead,” Elizabeth Carroll explains the cultural beginnings of the term, “family”, 51
Deadheads make many references to "family," from a Deadhead at a show calling another
"sister," to the use of the term "family" by the band to describe those close to their
organization, or to the use of the phrase "tour family" to describe the ones with whom a
Deadhead travels on a tour (Carroll 2007, 165).
Carroll’s assessment of the term “family” and its use among Deadheads is not far from what I
have found to be the popular use of the term among fans of other nationally recognized jam
bands like Phish, Widespread Panic, Papadosio, and many others. Examples of this can be found
scattered across fan message boards and social media pages. On Phish.net, there are any number of message board threads with titles like, “who is apart [sic] of the REAL PHAMILY??” Notice
that the word “family” is spelled as “phamily” in the specific case of those who consider
themselves “family” within the Phish fandom. Even more substantial is that this necessity of
insiderdom which gets advertised so contemptuously around fan groups is also part of what
creates and maintains the perceived elitism of the scene from the outside. It would be hard to
deny that many of the popular representations of the scene draw their conceptualizations of it
from these types of online posts declaring such strictness concerning who is a “real” fan.
Widespread Panic has a substantially sized fan Facebook page called Widespread Family.
Papadosio regularly tweets to their Papadosio Family. Umphrey’s McGee fans still use “family”
within the fandom, but they also use the name “Umphreaks” to designate belonging to the group.
The practice of using the term “family” in larger fandoms to describe one’s chosen group
has also had a significant effect on smaller, localized jam scenes, which I will expand upon in a
later section. Another side effect has been the public perception of the scene as a whole. Many
popular culture representations contain parodies of the scene and the way a jam band “family” is
supposed to function, often using characters who are constantly under the influence of 52 psychedelic drugs, obsessed with peace and love, but ignorant of real world problems, and who are extremely trusting of one another, but equally as critical of dominant American ideologies.
The consequences of the popular perception may not be as clear as when appearing out of the nationally recognized scene. Sociologist, Rebecca G. Adams writes in her essay, “Inciting
Sociological Thought by Studying the Deadhead Community: Engaging Publics in Dialogue”:
Neither the general public nor all sociologists perceive Deadheads to be a “deserving
population.” The general public perceives Deadheads to be undeserving not only because
of their musical taste, but also because of their acceptance of psychedelic drug use and
the way they dress. On the other hand, some sociologists view Deadheads as unworthy
because they are not obviously victims of the social structure, oppressors, or change
agents. On the surface, at least, Deadheads appear to be frivolous, spending time partying
rather than working for social justice (Adams 1998, 2).
Adams’ piece was written in the late 1990s and based on many years of previous research.
Despite the age of the essay, certain elements of the public presentation of the Dead still hold true within the jam scene. Later, I will explain how these affect smaller, localized scenes in the
Midwest. In the following paragraphs, I will provide several detailed examples of how the jam scene has been depicted in popular culture in recent years. All of the following examples come from cartoons meant for adults, as these kinds of shows thrive on parody and satire.20 The goal of this is to set up a more elaborate account of the disconnect between the public perception of the scene and the experiences of those in the Northwest Ohio scene.
20 Many of the writers of animated television shows received their educations from elite colleges. For example, the main writer of The Simpsons episode, “Weekend at Burnsie’s”, was written by Jon Vitti, who attended Harvard, as did many of his fellow writers on the show. Trey Parker and Matt Stone, creators of South Park, both attended the University of Colorado at Boulder. While not from Ivy League schools like the alma maters of many writers for The Simpsons, the University of Colorado at Boulder holds a reputation for being primarily upper-middle class. Bob’s Burgers writers generally vary in their levels of education, including creator Loren Bouchard who dropped 53
The Simpsons episode from 2002, “Weekend at Burnsie’s”, features the band Phish as proponents of medicinal marijuana – marijuana, of course, being an incredibly significant part of the jam band subculture. In the episode, the “stoner” characters hold a concert and rally in hopes of keeping medicinal marijuana legal, but they schedule the event on the day following the election. The band playing at the rally is Phish and they make a concerted effort to assure that all of the marijuana being ingested at the event is medicinal and legal (even though it later turns out to have been made illegal already). Phish’s leader, Trey Anastasio, played by himself, smells marijuana smoke and suddenly halts their performance until they can see a prescription for the medicinal marijuana.
When they return, they finish the song, “Run Like an Antelope” and tease the theme song of the show (Groening, 2002). There are a few pieces of commentary being made throughout the sequence. First, before their first hiatus (i.e., Phish 1.0), Phish used to place a very short segment of The Simpsons’ theme song into their sets, prompting the audience to yell Homer Simpson’s popularly known catch phrase, “d’oh.” It may not have been the intentions of the show creators, but the reference to live Phish shows would have been obvious to fans (Puterbaugh, 92-93).
Second, the way in which Anastasio stops the show and Jon Fishman interrogates an audience member over his marijuana usage presents the band as elitist and dedicated to following rules.
Fishman reads the prescription slip and says aloud to the audience, “Woah. This guy is seriously ill,” which is followed by a response from the audience member, “My doctor never told me that.
I had to hear it from Phish” (Groening, 2002). This scene on the show presents the members of
Phish as the authorities on marijuana use in Springfield - ironic, of course, based on the history of the jam scene – but also demonstrating the popular view of the scene as being simultaneously
out of high school. However, many elements of the show appear to derive inspiration from animated sitcoms like the other two I have mentioned in this thesis. 54 full of “stoners” and controlled in a capitalist sense by one of the most well-known bands in the scene. The presentation of the lawfulness and capitalist values of the band represent a view from outside of the scene which includes class gatekeeping and conflicting ideological practices. As I explained in the previous chapter, jam bands, especially Phish, are known by their fans to engage in silly antics throughout their concerts, and thus demonstrate that they do not take themselves
“too seriously”. This is the band who, on multiple occasions, has ridden in a giant, suspended hot dog at their shows while throwing actual hot dogs to their fans (Newcomb 2018). (See Figure 5.)
Their sense of humor in regard to their public presentation may likely be the reason they were willing to participate in such an ultimately unflattering portrayal of the band.
In an episode of the show, Bob’s Burgers, titled, “Sea Me Now”, the family is approached, while trespassing on an island, by a group of Highland longhorn cattle. Gene, one of the children, exclaims, “Why are they so hairy? Get a haircut and a job, you hippies! How’d you get out of Burlington, Vermont?” (Fybel 2016) This is a clear reference to the town where Phish got its start, the University of Vermont in Burlington, Vermont. Part of the joke is that the cattle have long hair, a stereotypical identity marker of hippiedom. More importantly, the stereotypes of hippies and jam band fans are so prominent in popular culture that even a child is aware of some of the most common ones. 55
Figure 5. Phish riding a giant, suspended hot dog at their concert on New Year’s Eve, 2010
(Source: Live for Live Music, 2016)
My final case of representation in popular culture comes from the television show, South
Park, in the episode “Die, Hippies, Die”. The entire episode is centered around one of the main characters, Eric Cartman, and his quest to prevent the takeover of his home town, South Park, by hippies. In the first scene, Eric is seen wearing something reminiscent of a Ghostbusters uniform, but he is using it to go door to door and “exterminate” any hippies that his neighbors’ homes have become “infested” with. After trying to help an elderly woman with her “hippie problem,”
Cartman explains,
Cartman: “Ma’am, I need to clear out your giggling stoners and your drum-circle hippies
right now, or soon they’re gonna attract something much worse!”
Elderly Woman: “Ooooooh. What’s that?”
Cartman: “The college know-it-all hippies.”
This conversation is the first of many instances in which the people of South Park comment on the elitist nature of the hippies who have entered their town. It is then that a group of young, 56 college-aged hippies show up in a sedan with stickers that say, “University of Colorado at
Boulder,” “My Karma ran over your Dogma,” and a Jesus Fish sticker with two legs that reads,
“Darwin.” The young hippies all appear to be young and white, sporting Phish t-shirts, dreads, beards, and guitars – all stereotypical hippie accessories. They explain that they have just attended their first semesters at college, and attempt to teach the children, Stan, Kyle, and Kenny
(the other main characters) about the problems of capitalism and how the hippie lifestyle can change the world.
At this point, the episode has already established a joke about the elitist attitudes of the hippies. The first band in the episode to be seen performing is meant to look like the band Phish, playing what sounds to be generic-sounding jam band music, exclaiming that they are all there to change the world. The children become confused and ask to get started on taking down “the corporations,” so the hippies ask the band to jam harder and they all engage in smoking large amounts of marijuana. There are many other references to the jam scene, but I believe this is enough information to make clear just how the jam scene is being perceived. First, the episode situates hippies and the jam scene as nearly interchangeable elements, made obvious by the band logos, music, and the presence of “Phish” in the episode. Second, many jokes in the episode demonstrate that the hippies are egocentric and elitists who view themselves on a moral high ground (Parker 2016).
It is clear that the intention of the episode is to provide a critique of the culture that surrounds jam bands, especially those who identify as hippies. Though his essay is concerned with the Grateful Dead, Professor of Black Studies at Amherst College, John Drabinski’s “The
Everyday Miracle of the Occasional Community” effectively explains many of the stereotypes of the jam scene that persist, 57
When someone wants to make fun of the Grateful Dead, the barbs inevitably take aim at
Deadheads. You know the parade of stereotypes, many (if not most) of which are often
true: stoner, dropout, smells bad (or good if you like patchouli and sandalwood), druggie,
free-love anarchist, aimless, and so on. One can surely debate whether all or any of these
are actually vices (Drabinski, 2007, 65-66).
Though his writing appears tongue-in-cheek, his point is clear – when someone is making fun of hippies, they go to one of many stereotypes. However, I think he is glossing over the stereotype of elitism that is frequently encountered in popular media. One of my informants explained, “I think people do [perceive the scene as elitist] unfortunately and it sucks because no one’s like that at all. Everyone’s super cool and friendly. I think some people do the whole, like, they look at you like you’re just like a dirty hippie or you’re a snobby hippie.” He explained that the way the scene is shown in popular media can detract from the valuable elements of the subculture and local community. Using these examples as a model of popular portrayals of the scene, the following section will discuss how these representations affect members of the scene in
Northwest Ohio despite differences in experiences of socio-economic conditions.
Elitist Hippies vs. The Problems of Class and Geography
Through my research in Northwest Ohio, I have found that stereotypes of the scene are harmful for insiders and outsiders, and do not take into consideration the geographically- dependent economic struggles faced by many musicians in the scene. Most of the participants in the local scene come from working-class backgrounds, often working factory or industry jobs themselves, and trying to move their band’s work to a higher level of production and circulation.
In this section, I will discuss how the appearance of elitism in the Northwest Ohio scene is also, in part, created by the seriousness of the musicians and may actually come from the desire to 58
move out of the working class via their band. I will also describe, more specifically, the
significance of the band members’ wishes for more time to practice and rehearse, more places to
play, and the ability to tour further away than Michigan, Indiana, and Southern Ohio, and how
they are affected by class and geography. First, I will briefly discuss some of the socioeconomic complications of the Northwest Ohio scene, and explain some of the problems and contradictions of the entire subculture as it relates to the experiences of those in smaller, local scenes.
Northwest Ohio is mostly rural, but includes Toledo, which is the largest major city in the area. Northwest Ohio, especially the area surrounding Toledo, is known to be economically unsound and geographically marginal. Because Toledo has been struggling to rebuild its economy, lawmakers have attempted to increase the city’s draw for businesses and patrons by reducing enforcement of liquor and marijuana laws. Over the course of the last two years, I have noticed a significant increase in the open and outdoor smoking of marijuana at shows in Toledo.
As of the 2012-2016 U.S. Census, the median household income in Toledo was just
$34,548 (“U.S. Census Bureau QuickFacts: Toledo City, Ohio,” 2016). The national average from the U.S. Census Bureau in the same years was $55,322, 38% higher than Toledo’s median household income (“U.S. Census Bureau QuickFacts: UNITED STATES.”, 2016). In addition to that, the population of Toledo and the surrounding area has dropped significantly since the 1970s when the city was last growing (“A Size Matter: What Defines Population of 'Toledo Region'?”,
2006). These statistics fall very much in line with the conversations I have had with members of
the Northwest Ohio jam scene, as well as the general populace I have interacted with for the last
several years. It is no secret that the region has not done well in recent years and it is reflected in
the way that the citizens are able to participate in the production and perception of culture. In line
with this are the experiences and practices of musicians in the local jam scene. 59
On our drive up to Ann Arbor21 to see jazz-fusion guitarist John McLaughlin and Jimmy
Herring perform , I spoke to the singer and guitarist of the local band, Waxtastic, and he
explained that the band was considering moving together up to Ann Arbor because of its
successful jam scene, but also that there was no way they could afford to move and live there
unless they crammed all three men into an uncomfortably small apartment. Even then, he said
that there was still a miniscule chance that they could make it work financially. On a separate
occasion, Alex also offered his view of how the geography of where he lives and performs
affects the scene:
It has its pros and cons. It’s a very conservative area [Toledo and surrounding area]. It’s
[mindset of the local scene] generally a liberally based mindset. I think it’s just that I’ve
been stuck here, so I’ve been making the most out of the cards I have in my hand right
now. But this area tends to be, it’s somewhat fertile grounds, but it’s give and take
between how much the people are willing to come out to the shows and sustain it. It’s just
like the people. I’ve met some pretty down to Earth people, and some “spunions”22 I
guess.
Alex’s contradictions in his analysis of the area reflect the difficult positions of those who feel
they have no way out, but long to leave. The desire to leave the area is not an uncommon
sentiment amongst musicians in the Northwest Ohio scene, so not only does economic status
matter to the success of bands, but so too does its intersection with geographic location, and they
are well-aware of how that limits them. In the Northwest Ohio scene, members find themselves
21 Ann Arbor is an affluent college town in Michigan, approximately a one-hour drive north of Toledo, Ohio. It is home to the University of Michigan. 22 The term “spunions” is a play on the words spun and onions. It is generally used as a pejorative term in the scene to indicate people who come to shows always with the intention to become extremely intoxicated. The term can be used in an endearing fashion, but is often a signifier of annoyance. It is not generally considered to be as harsh a term as “wook”. 60 in a complicated back-and-forth between the exclusionary practices which mark jam scene authenticity and the inclusionary rhetoric of the scene. Spirituality, self-realization, and authenticity to the self, continue to hold significance in the jam subculture as they did in the counterculture of the 1960s hippies. While these aspects of the larger subculture certainly trickle down to localized jam scenes, the realities of the size of the Northwest Ohio scene and the socioeconomic discrepancies within it affect the willingness of participants to determine scene authenticity based on them. The following section delves into Adorno’s critique of Heideggarian jargons of authenticity and examines the ways in which members of the Northwest Ohio scene make use of and filter through the jargon of authenticity which has been part of the scene since its roots.
The Legacy of Heideggarian Philosophy and the Hippies of the 1960s
Heideggerian philosophical tendencies played a significant role in the counterculture of the 1960s, especially in terms of the appropriation of Eastern religion and mysticism (Woessner
2011). Adorno’s feared “Jargon of Authenticity” appeared and has persisted throughout the remnants of the 60s counterculture in the jam band subculture. What developed out of the long history of the Grateful Dead as one of the central musical figures of the counterculture was a
“new” worldview being embraced by young Americans which focused very much on the discovery of the self and the spiritual (Woessner 2011). Of course the journey in search of one’s spiritual self in the 1960s was probably much easier if you were white and middle-class to begin with. The counterculture’s newfound set of beliefs was also responsible for its own jargon of authenticity, an explanation of what it really meant to be authentic to ones’ self. In an interview with Rolling Stone in 1989, Jerry Garcia explained, 61
And as they [Deadheads] elucidate the relationship between what the Dead does and what
they do, we start to see ourselves as part of this complex something else. Which I think is
the real substance of the Sixties. For me, the lame part of the Sixties was the political
part, the social part. The real part was the spiritual part (Goodman 1989).
Garcia’s interpretation of the counterculture is telling and offers us a look in at the perspective of the musicians who were so deeply rooted in it. The average American’s perception of hippies, after all, is that they are both inclusive and also part of their own group, with its own lingo and cultural practices. Adorno’s critique of Heidegger points to the confusion over the simultaneous inclusivity and exclusivity of the countercultural space,
The genuineness of need and belief, which is questionable anyway, has to turn itself into
the criterion for what is desired and believed; and in this way it becomes no longer
genuine. This is the reason why no one can say the word "genuineness" without
becoming ideological. Nietzsche still used the term in an anti-ideological way. In the
jargon, however, it stands out in the unending mumble of the liturgy of inwardness
(Adorno 1973, 70).
Here Adorno points us toward the contradictions of being both focused on authenticity to the self and being a member of a group that participates in its own jargon of authenticity. For Adorno, the two are not compatible, and even appear to create a feedback loop. To believe one is being true to oneself is inherently doomed to clash with the embrace of exclusionary practices and drawing hard divisions between groups based on one’s own authenticity. The result is that the jargon of authenticity becomes alienating and part of a system it sometimes pretends to disagree with. (Adorno is not, by any means, innocent of the elitism that comes out of his jargon of authenticity. As an academic and cultural elitist, he too proves to have quite contrary beliefs and 62 practices in regard to his criticism.) The Heideggerian philosophical tendencies of the participants in the 1960s counterculture almost certainly affected the readily claimed jargon of authenticity that appeared within.
As in Adorno’s criticism, I believe this created a contradictory space, where hippies were supposed to pull away from the constraints of modern law and social practices, but at the same time engaged in the tools that created the very system they sought to escape (Adorno 1973). The remains of the counterculture subsequently became the jam band scene, as partially evidenced by the number of Grateful Dead and tie-dyed shirts you see at jam band concerts and all of the other avowals of devotion to the hippie aesthetic that persist (Fairlamb 2007). Adorno, himself, critiqued the youth counterculture (which he referred to as the “youth movement”) of his time for its determination to discover authenticity of the self and the contradictory jargon of authenticity that accompanied it. Adding to his past critique, we can consider the same criticism for an account of the most recent iterations of the jam scene to help us understand the confusion over insider and outsider that accompanies it and provides it with a shield of elitism. Next, I would like to address some of the more complex practices of “family,” within the Northwest Ohio jam scene and eventually build to a discussion of how class affects the ways in which musicians in the scene are perceived as elitist.
In her essay, “What’s Love Got To Do With It? Creating Art, Creating Community,
Creating a Better World”, Tracey Nicholls writes, “One way to think about aesthetics in relations to the social world is through consideration of the extent to which one’s membership in community – that is, one’s social identity – shapes one’s approach to art making and art appreciation.” Her statement is apt considering the class positions of many of my informants. As
I explained in the previous chapter, many of my informants come from working-class 63 backgrounds, with a significant number of them working factory and industry jobs to sustain themselves and pay for their musical experiences. One of my informants and friends, Currey
Long, talked to me about his colleagues in the scene,
I think it’s [Northwest Ohio scene family] better and I think it goes back to the family
thing. I think it’s more like family…like, a lot of people we know who are doing this shit,
like everyone has their own job. No one’s living off of mom and dad’s money. A couple
of people might live with their parents, but there’s no trust fund kids [i.e., Trustafarians].
It seems like everyone’s just scraping by. That’s why people try to help each other out as
much as they do. That’s why I think there is that sense of, in Toledo specifically, once
you get into the scene, everyone kinda knows everyone. I know a lot of people from out
of nowhere, in the last few years, just because I’ve gotten into it.
Currey’s assessment of the scene highlights the juxtaposition of Heideggerian notions of authenticity and chosen “family” in the jam scene with the working-class solidarity that comes out of the realities of participants’ experiences. His perception of the scene is not unusual either.
Adam Rice, of Baccano, has explained to me on numerous occasions how difficult it is to get everyone in a band on the same schedule because of the necessity of working, sometimes multiple jobs, and often strange hours. In addition, the challenges of trying to make enough money to live and support a band are more than overwhelming at times. However, Adam maintains that if someone is passionate enough, that they will find a way to make playing music work for them,
You know, you will have some people who just get dealt a shit hand and really can’t get
out of their situations. They don’t know how to get out of it and then save any money. I’ll
admit it, I’m not good at it. I live paycheck to paycheck. I mean, it’s also a thing where I 64
live in an area where, I could move 2 ½ hours away and go make twice as much money
than what I’m making now [but can’t]. If you have a will, and you have a want, you’re
gonna find a way to do it. Even if you come from nothing. You’re still gonna find a way
to make it work.
On this subject, Alex Hastedt, of Waxtastic, told me,
As far as bands go, I’ve heard things about bands (in other areas) with deep pockets who
are able to bail themselves out when things don’t meet the bar. And that’s everything. If
you have some green energy behind it, you can pretty much force many things to happen.
When I asked him about how that affects bands like his own, he explained,
Yeah, I mean, you don’t get paid for the majority of it. You don’t get paid for the
preparation work, which is the majority of it. Whether you are making your own
opportunities or building on the ones you already made, which I think goes a long way.
But a lot of that has to do with how much you’re willing to spend and put behind it too.
Or how much of a skill set do you have in your pocket. You have to try to be self-
sustaining.
Alex and I have spoken about this on a few occasions. He works a full-time job at a factory that his late father had run. Adam does screen printing for a small, local shop, and works, in addition to his girlfriend who is currently battling cancer, to cover their bills. Currey works in a factory in an affluent suburb of Toledo called Perrysburg. Even though there are some band members in the scene who have families who can support them, the vast majority of them do not and almost none have salaried positions or make good hourly wages with benefits. As I explained earlier, most of the musicians in the local scene are dedicated to producing what they feel to be excellent music. This involves investing in large quantities of rehearsal time together, diligently observing 65
their colleagues, hanging out and talking music, and acting as professionally as possible,
especially around touring bands and other musicians. As with any case study, there are always
exceptions, but throughout my time observing and hanging out in the Northwest Ohio scene, I
have found these practices to be standard. This holds significant implications for how discourses
of belonging are laid out in the scene. In the following section, I will discuss how the term
“family” is used by fans in the local scene, how band members perceive the term, and how the
two intersect with one another.
“Family” and Fans in Northwest Ohio
The term “family” is not used by everyone in the jam scene in Northwest Ohio, as some
find it to be tacky or cliché, but it is a commonly heard word that signifies community. The term
is often used by bands to communicate with fans (See Figure 6.), but it is also used with as much, if not more frequency, in greetings. For example, a Facebook post advertising for a show featuring Waxtastic explained:
Hey peeps, I'll be playing with Waxtastic at the Ottawa Tavern in Toledo tonight around
8:30PM, come and hang out and start your night off right! Our set will feature Aaron
Armstrong on drums and percussion. We'll be sharing the evening with Toledo fam The
Funk Factory, as well as Subterranean from Dayton!
66
Figure 6. Here, “fam” is used to denote another band’s insider status, as well as how their location fits into their scene identity. (Source: Waxtastic Facebook page, 2017)
This also demonstrates that “Fam” and “family” may sometimes indicate geographically situated scenes and designate membership via said terms. Currey Long added to why he believes bands use the term “family” in this way:
I think it’s [band uses and individual uses] all one thing for me. Yeah, they [Baccano]
have theirs, but the people in the bands all like each other. I think all the bands are going
to do that, like say that on their Facebook or social media or whatever, just to show it’s
like, “here’s all the people that want to come see us!” I think you just know if you’re a
part of the group, it’s just like, come on out and join the fun. I mean anyone can be a part
of that if they treat people right, you know, are nice and respectful. I feel like that’s big in
the scene, you know, like the I scratch your back, you scratch mine. You just gotta be
nice to people.
Once a new participant becomes part of the “family,” they are recognized as both fan and friend, regardless of how close they are to individuals. For instance, there is a woman whom I know only from brief interactions at shows, who, at each occurrence, has addressed me as, “my fairy.”
While she doesn’t use the term “family” towards me, her approach demonstrates how two people in the scene are able to share a sense of solidarity, and therefore camaraderie, without actually 67
having a close, intimate relationship. Throughout my experiences with participants in the scene, I
have found that just my repeated presence at shows and friendship with band members allowed
me to be accepted as one of the “family.” Currey Long, of Cactus Jack, once told me about his
perception of what family means in the Northwest Ohio jam scene:
I think it (family) just means…I know what it actually means [from Grateful Dead
Family lore], but in the local culture, I think it’s like…it all stemmed from the Grateful
Dead family. Around here I think it just means you take care of your friends. You scratch
someone’s back and they’ll scratch your back, cuz people do use it (the term family), you
know.
Currey’s assessment is very much in line with my own experiences and the stories I have been
told by other scene participants. Another band member, Adam Rice, of Baccano, gave a related
answer, saying:
To me it means, everybody’s looking out for everybody else. Nobody’s trying to do
anybody wrong. It’s like, there’s shitheads in every scene, but for the most part,
everybody’s looking out for everybody else. We want to have a good time. We have the
same interests. Yeah, I mean, everybody’s got everybody’s back.
One of the differences that I encountered centered around the variance between the “family” members who are part of the audience and the members who are part of the bands. Being a musician appears to have a strong correlation with the speed of one’s acceptance. In the following section, I will explain how participation in the scene and as “family” is somewhat different when accompanied by musicianship and belonging to one of the central bands in the scene.
68
Musician “Fam” and the Narrative of Inclusivity in the Jam Scene
Despite the continual emphasis on the narrative of inclusivity within the scene, the musicians involved in the scene have a distinctly serious tone when it comes to discussing music.
Having fun on stage is certainly important to the performers, but when they are not on stage, you will likely find them stoically observing fellow jam bands or, discussing detailed elements of their music or the music of other bands in the scene. Non-musician members of the “family” tend to dance, talk, or sway during the shows, but most of the other musicians are quiet, much more reserved, and focused on the other musicians (of course, some more than others). There is an exclusive kind of discussion one gets to have if they are simultaneously “family” and a musician, which is about the actual music. Sometimes the behavior of the musicians involved is dependent upon the setting of the show, but over the course of my time within the scene, I have found a few regularities. Using some of my own experiences, I will establish how significantly musicianship and professionalism affect public perceptions and actual practices of musician “family”.
In their chapter from the book, Heavy Metal Music and the Communal Experience,
“Talking Metal: The Social Phenomenology of Hanging Out”, Jeremy Wallach and Esther
Clinton express the significance of being able to hang out within a scene and talk about the music. In this chapter, they explain that metal concerts are not exactly the ideal place to hold social engagements with metal fans, but unlike metal, shows in the jam scene, specifically local shows, are where detailed conversations about the music appear most often (Clinton and
Wallach, 42-43). Metal music and jam music may seem like opposite ends of the musical world, but at the very beginning of their chapter, Clinton and Wallach explain:
Hanging out and talking about music is a kind of co-performance. As such, it depends on
what phenomenologist Alfred Schutz calls “a mutual tuning-in relationship” (2004, 210) 69
and, like music itself, can foster a deep (if sometimes ephemeral) sense of community
among its participants (Clinton and Wallach, 37).
This method of participation is just one of the factors that contributes to the inclusivity or exclusivity of the scene at the levels of outsider perception and insider belonging. Many participants in the scene with whom I engaged explained many musical details that others might not understand or have knowledge of. They have often asked me how shows sound, expecting me to provide insightful criticism, and often when I have provided any commentary about the music being played, it has been well received. In my experiences in the scene, many non- musicians are not afforded the same opportunities for conversation. Obviously, if you don’t know how to talk about music, you won’t be able to talk about music, but that is not the point I am attempting to make. Rather, having the ability to do so gives you a leg up in social standing within the larger group.
One of my informants talked with me about inclusivity in the scene, but made sure to explain that their experience has been different because of their position as a musician:
That’s the hard thing, because I’m playing music, so I probably just have a one-up on
anyone that just likes jam bands. I almost think if you have a look, though, like if you
have the dreads, if you have long hair and you’re wearing the right clothes, people will
accept you more than just your average-looking dude or chick that walks up. I don’t think
they’re being snobby. I think they’re just like, “is that person, like, cool man? Like are
they cool with what we’re into?” That’s kind of a rough question because I’m playing the
music.
On another occasion hanging out with members of the scene, I was invited to a birthday party for Adam Rice, the drummer of Baccano, which occurred at the band’s practice space. 70
There were about twenty-five people23 there throughout the evening and the group was made up
of musicians, significant others, and a few non-musician friends. Everyone who could play an
instrument was encouraged to get up and play, but only if you could at least somewhat play.
Some of the musicians sat in on instruments other than their own, but everyone who did so could
play with basic proficiency. This environment did not reflect the popular narrative of inclusivity
that is often perpetuated by popular culture representations of the scene, but not because it was
intentionally not inclusive.
The musician members of the scene like to have fun, as any musician does, but they are also serious about practicing their craft. Often, popular representations of the jam scene feature drum circles and other freely improvised music making. The problem that arises from these representations is not that they are entirely wrong, but that they paint a broad picture of indifference towards musical expertise across the entire subculture. To conclude this chapter, I will discuss how class struggles in the Midwest affect the attitudes in the local Northwest Ohio scene versus the expected elitism based on popular representations of the subculture, how members of the scene attempt to mitigate their socioeconomic situations through the practice of professionalism, and how this relates to concepts of “family” in the scene.
Conclusion
One of the theories I have developed out of my research has to do with how class affects
the perception of the bands in the scene, their participation, and the overall progress made by the
bands. Because some of the most common perceptions of jam bands developed from a sense of
East Coast elitism, usually assuming middle to upper-class backgrounds of fans and musicians,
the scene appears extremely exclusive. However, most of the people I have met in the scene,
23 Baccano’s practice space is in an old hotel building in downtown Toledo that has been repurposed as a collection of creative spaces. 71 here in Northwest Ohio, are from working-class backgrounds, usually working factory or industry jobs themselves, and trying to move their band’s work to the next level. This discrepancy points to an issue of polysemy and stereotypes. Despite the fact, and possibly because of the fact, that these participants in the scene are mostly white men, the face value perception of their experiences is popularly treated as irrelevant and inconsequential. The participants often appear aloof or uninterested in other aspects of the scene while music is being played. Conversations among band members are almost always alienating to the musically disinclined. Their passions intersect with their socioeconomic statuses when the latter causes difficulties for the bands in touring, practicing, and recording. Knowing the odds are stacked against them in more ways than just what every small-time band faces, they perform and present themselves as professionally as possible in order to ease the difficulty of their circumstances. In other words, when you know there is only so much you can control, you do what you can. I believe that the seriousness of the musicians within this scene creates an air of elitism that reinforces popular interpretations of the subculture as a whole, which displaces the participants in the area in such a way that they must constantly negotiate between their actual experiences and the way outsiders assume their socioeconomic positions. Both the staring man at the
Sodbuster Bar from the beginning of the chapter and the Howard’s karaoke crowd from the introduction demonstrate how class hierarchies may function within scenes like this. Though the members are always balancing between scene expectations and the realities of class, they still maintain a sense of what it means to be classed lower than them and implicitly practice gatekeeping in a way that distinguishes them from other members of the working class who are not scene insiders. 72
One of the consequences that results from the difficulties of navigating class in the scene is that women are seldom seen playing any music in it. Currently, the only women in jam bands in the area are singers. Singers who are women appear to straddle the line between the non- musician family and the musician family, as far as seriousness and types of conversations go.
Women are welcome to play, should there be any who desire to, but because of the exclusivity of the space, I believe it may seem unwelcoming. This may also be true for people of color, who may find the whiteness of the scene, especially when combined with the already established connection to the very white hippie subculture and elitist presentations and perceptions of the scene, unwelcoming. I will elaborate more on these issues in my conclusion, which will include a more thorough analysis of the Northwest Ohio scene based on these three chapters. In the following chapter, I will address how musical forms and practices dictate genre authenticity and the ways in which class differences may challenge conventions of the jam genre. 73
CHAPTER III. “LUCY AND THE FUZZ”: AUTHENTICITY TO THE JAM GENRE AND
INTERSECTIONS WITH CLASS
The bands in the Northwest Ohio jam band scene claim an extensive range of genres including (but not limited to) “psychedelic rock, psychedelic soul, progressive jam, progressive
rock, funk, jam funk, and jam infused rock.” Said genres and many others are plastered across
the “about” sections of the bands’ Facebook and Soundcloud pages. Many fans would say that
this is the nature of jam as a genre - a fusion of various other genres and styles, melded with a
powerful penchant for improvisation. The tendency towards genre fluidity is a marker of jam
band status and therefore allows for a variety of musical forms to be considered acceptable or
“authentically” jam, but there are still rules as to how the genre bending functions. What is
considered authentic in this section is based on the conversations and experiences I have had
within the scene and reflects, not my own views of authenticity, but those I have discovered
through my conversations and observations within the Northwest Ohio jam scene. In this
chapter, I will argue that the social conditions of the bands, especially class, but also geography,
may dictate how certain musical forms and recording techniques are allowed to exist within the
scene without violating its core tenets and genre expectations.
How Phish and The Dead Created the Expectation of Form for Jam Bands24
In this section, I will outline the most heavily utilized musical forms within the jam genre
by providing a brief analysis of some of the best-known bands in the national scene. Typically,
24 Bands like Phish and the Grateful Dead have used a significant number of different genres and inspirations to create their sound. Scholars like ethnomusicologist, Cristian Amigo, have written on the subject of improvisation, race, class, and jam bands, especially the Grateful Dead (Amigo, 2010, 15-24). Historically, improvisation has been an extremely racialized and classed practice of music making and its use in jam bands further complicates the matter due to its association with middle-class whiteness. Unfortunately I am unable to fully address this issue in this thesis, but it should be recognized and explored in the future. 74 jam bands use guitar timbres familiar through blues and jazz, incorporate rhythm guitar figures from funk and reggae, apply a variety of percussion timbres and rhythmic styles, and feature keyboard solos that range from stride to funk. Jam bands typically employ loose concepts of musical form. In some ways similar to jazz, many jam bands begin their songs with a single melody or head, improvise throughout the tune, often using modality as the guidepost for tonality, and then return to the head. Some songs begin with a melody and subsequently run the course of the song through extended and open group improvisation. The Grateful Dead, arguably the first “jam band,” freely improvised, not only their live material, but also their set structures
(Goodenough 213). An example of one of their frequently used song structures comes from their performance of the song, “Morning Dew – Live at Barton Hall, Cornell University, Ithaca, NY” from May 8th, 1977, in which they open with the main melodic phrase, originally written by
Bonnie Dobson, and approximately five minutes in, delve into an improvisational sequence built on the original key. They never return to the lyrical content from the very beginning or any kind of recreation of the melody figure as a whole, though it is referenced throughout the improvisational sections. Considering that this song was performed differently each time, it is reasonable to conclude that the song’s form allowed for the freedom of loosely structured improvisation throughout. Songs like “Morning Dew,” which have traditional song structures, are often audience favorites, especially when the performances began in an expected way and ended in a less predictable fashion. Another recorded example, “Dark Star – Live at Chateau d’Herouville, Herouville, France” on June 21st, 1971, utilizes a similar structure, but they do return to the verse and famous line, “Shall we go, you and I…,” figure, albeit with a mildly chaotic ending. There are many Grateful Dead songs which are built on old English, Irish, and
American folk songs. The forms of these are typically more straightforward and traditional, even 75 with the long improvisational sections. However, some of the most coveted recordings utilize primarily improvisational composition techniques.
Phish is one of the most significant players in the development of the jam genre.
Following in the footsteps of the Grateful Dead, they exceed their reputation as, “the living, breathing, noodling embodiment of the term ‘jam band,’” according to Joel Hoard of Rolling
Stone Magazine (Hoard). Using their song “Lawn Boy,” which sits at just two minutes and thirty-two seconds on the original album recording, I will provide a brief explanation of how
Phish often uses a similarly open improvisation technique as the Grateful Dead commonly did.
On the fourth night of their record-breaking thirteen night, sold out run at Madison Square
Garden in the summer of 2017, the band started their song “Lawn Boy” as they most often do.
Paige McConnell, the band’s keyboardist, took the mic and crooned to the audience in his best lounge singer voice, giving the audience the taste of the melody line that would resurface throughout the next twenty-eight minutes. Though the A section never actually returns in its entirety, the melody, bass line, and chords do reappear during the entirely improvised second section. The jam was so loved by fans that an attendee of the Baker’s Dozen had a shirt made that said, “Is this still Lawn Boy?” and threw it to the stage for Trey Anastasio to wear, which he did later (Jarnow 2017). The question references the extraordinarily long musical expedition undertaken by the band during what was originally a short song, as well as the implication that the stoned and otherwise intoxicated audience is unable to keep track of what song is being played after they have been jamming on the same song at such length.
Many bands in the jam band scene of Northwest Ohio subscribe to this musical structure as a default, or at least as the majority of what is performed at shows. Currey Long and I talked at length about the different styles of playing within the local scene. He explained, 76
Jam bands do it live more. I think that there’s improv in it, so it’s [making mistakes]
going to happen. I heard this guy, one of Charlie Parker’s predecessors, McQueen, and
Gene [Currey’s former music teacher] pointed out how out of tune he was and it was so
bad. But that’s the cool thing about this scene, and I’ve been noticing this lately, that it’s
the difference in this scene from every other music scene is that everybody records this
shit. With other kinds of music, you mostly get the best stuff. But all of these bands put
out the good shit and the bad shit. You get it all.
We talked further about the different styles of composition from the bands. Such differences of musical form could normally change the perspective on whether or not a band plays jam music authentically, but this scene is particularly open to compositional differences. There is a growing interest from bands in the local scene in through-composed and/or fully orchestrated songs or series of songs that contain pre-determined spaces for improvisational material. This style is in stark contrast with the freely improvisational methods of the previous generation (nationally and locally) of jam bands. In the following section, I will provide accounts of two bands, Tree No
Leaves and Baccano, both from Toledo, Ohio, whose uses of different musical forms challenge the established genre guidelines.
Tree No Leaves, Baccano – Aesthetics and Musical Form
Georgina Born writes in her chapter from Improvisation and Social Aesthetics,
There is perhaps something singular about improvisation in that improvised performances
are marked by and enable degrees of openness, mutuality, and collaboration that are
heightened and intensified when compared with the interpretation of scored works, and
that necessitate participants’ real-time co-creation and negotiation of social-and-musical
relationships. From one perspective then, such performances may become sites for 77
empractising ways of “being differently in the world” based on a “recognition that
alternatives to orthodox practices are available (Fischlin and Heble 2004, 11).” (Born
2017, 41).
I believe this highlights one of the common goals among jam band participants, in both the larger sphere and within the Northwest Ohio scene. Born explains the goal of improvisation as a method for demonstrating one’s situatedness outside of ideological norms. In the jam genre, improvisation is one of the requirements of participation, but the genre’s tendency to stick to an exact model is not so inflexible, at least at the local level. What I have discovered within the
Northwest Ohio scene is that form is certainly not the only qualifier for a band to be a part of the jam genre and the local scene.
Tree No Leaves has pushed through substantial fluctuations in membership, but for this chapter, I will be considering two of the founding members (still in the group), as well as one member who transitioned from playing with Tree No Leaves to another band I am examining here, Baccano. Dustin Galish is the founder of the band, lead singer, and keyboard player. Calvin
Cordy is another early member of the band and is the only guitarist in the band, taking on the alternating tasks of comping and taking solos. On its website and social media accounts, the band claims itself to be a “heavy psychedelic soul,” band (Gruber). I will make a note here that Dustin and his wife, Sarah, both work in the service industry to support their family, and Calvin works as a freelance musician. Oftentimes members are working in lower-middle-class circumstances, as opposed to the social conditions usually assumed of jam band members. Because of the environment of their hometown, the university town of Bowling Green, Ohio, the group’s somewhat rotating lineup often has members from a multitude of class backgrounds. 78
The music of Tree No Leaves is notably heavier sounding than many of their local jam
counterparts, due in part to its post-rock and progressive rock tendencies like using many pedals
for timbral changes on guitar and keyboard, the use of stacked chords, octave pedals, and
drumming that incorporates a variety of influences from Batá drumming to King Crimson. Song
forms vary from those of many other local jam bands. Tree No Leaves plays a song called, “The
Emperor’s Cyclical Disco,” written by Dustin Galish, and performed through various band
lineups. The song is fully orchestrated and includes long sections of fluctuating styles. The
opening verse begins with an emphasis on an Ebm7 chord and then transitions into the first set of
choruses in C Major and D Major. The musicians make use of 9ths and 11ths to create more
complexities in their sound. The form of the whole piece could be analyzed as A:B:A:C (or A
prime). When performing the song live, the guitarist, bassist, and percussionists are able to
improvise in strategically placed breaks. After consulting with the bassist of the band, Benji
Katz, he confirmed that my analysis was correct by explaining that their songs are fully
orchestrated, save for the sections where they purposely create space for improvisation. The
improvisational moments still function within the original key signatures of the sections they
have been quoted from. In fact, their song “Lucy and the Fuzz”, which features improvisational
sections, is still built on the same F minor blues lick throughout the entirety of the song (See
Figure 7).
79
Figure 7. The repeated melodic phrase of “Lucy and the Fuzz” by Tree No Leaves (Source:
Author’s transcription)
The band plays shows with some regularity, although less than most of the other bands in the local jam scene. Audiences come prepared with hula hoops, LED poi25, glitter, and anything and everything psychedelic in appearance to these concerts, especially in Bowling Green and
Toledo. Benji Katz, the band’s bassist, explained his experiences of being new to playing in the scene:
People are very friendly. There’s not too much rowdiness. It was funny, the first show I
played with Tree No Leaves was at Howard’s and there were, like, four hula hoopers in
the audience and I was like, I never saw this shit at an Indian Opinion26 show. I mean, it
was definitely a different crowd right off the bat, but it’s nice. Everybody has been super
friendly.
Tree No Leaves has the unique quality of frequently being booked with bands of a variety of genres, including post-punk, psychedelic rock, jam, indie pop, and indie rock. Most recently, alongside The Funk Factory (Toledo), Tree No Leaves opened for The Werks, a jam band from
Dayton, Ohio, well-known in the national jam band community for holding their annual festival,
The Werkout. While this concert was taking place, the second festival hosted by FROGtown
25 LED poi is the electronic version of the performance art style call poi which comes from the Māori people of New Zealand. In the jam scene, poi performers swing round materials (often fire at outdoor events) attached to ropes in an attempt to create a mesmerizing pattern for their audience. 80
GlassROOTs, a Toledo music promotion company, called Halfway 2 Harvest, was being held at a small farm in Grand Rapids, Ohio. According to one of the festival’s host bands, Tree No
Leaves was originally slotted to play the festival, but ended up opening for The Werks that evening instead. I was in attendance at the festival, but not at The Werks show. After inquiring a number of different musicians about this double-booking of sorts, I found a variety of reactions from frustration to confusion to apathy. Some attendees of the festival expressed that they felt torn between the two events, especially because of the distance, the desire to consume alcohol and recreational drugs (and thus, not drive), and their loyalty to friends’ bands. There are several reasons any of that matters. One, the local scene is small enough that having both events on the same day caused a rift among audience members and bands. Two, despite Tree No Leaves’ tendency to lean somewhat away from traditional jam form, they were still booked on a show with a major, nationally recognized jam band.
Additionally, despite all of the stylistic differences between their music and the music of other local members of the scene, Tree No Leaves still subscribes to many of the aesthetic guidelines that are treated as representative of the scene. Richard Peterson explains in Creating
Country Music: Fabricating Authenticity, that the cowboy song was never actually part of country music, but the cowboy did bring, “the fabric of usable symbols which surrounded him,”
(Peterson 1997, 143) to the genre. In a similar fashion, the surrounding, “fabric of usable symbols,” passed down from the counterculture of the 60s can add to the case for a local band to belong to the jam band genre. When Peterson explains country music’s collective memory and the potential for the fabrication of what is authentically country, he hits on a concept that could be applied to the transition from the early days of jam bands into the current scene.
26 Indian Opinion is the name of a former band that three of the current Tree No Leaves members were once in. Indian Opinion’s music could be referred to as indie rock with an influence from psychedelic rock. 81
The ironic phrase “fabricating authenticity” is used here to highlight the fact that
authenticity is not inherent in the object or event that is designated authentic, but is a
socially agreed-upon construct in which the past is to a degree misremembered. This
tailoring of collective memory to serve the needs of the present has been studied by a
number of researchers, and as they show the process can take several forms depending on
who has the power to enforce distinctive interpretation of the past (Peterson 1997, 20).
He explains that what is actually perceived as authentic derives from the power of what social practices and conditions are “remembered.” Even though I am more interested in demonstrating the re-creation of the supposed qualities of what is authentically part of the jam genre, the displacement of different aesthetic values across the genre opens up the opportunity for lesser- known bands to fit into spaces they might not have without it. This is not necessarily true across all social environments, as later I will explain how the collective understanding of class within the scene can affect how authenticity to form and genre are perceived.
As for Tree No Leaves, they “belong” to the scene, or rather, they have set up a long tradition of playing with other jam bands and some of them are themselves fans of nationally recognized jam bands like Phish and Umphrey’s McGee. Dustin Galish and his wife, Sarah, are both fans of some nationally recognized jam bands, especially Phish in Sarah’s case. However, on one occasion, Dustin challenged his own band’s genre status. He offered his feelings about jam bands, generally positive, but continued to clarify that Tree No Leaves uses faster pacing, bigger builds, and more traditional song structures in order to appeal to a wider audience. Within the same conversation, I heard the booker at one of their shows explaining that she usually hates jam bands but loves Tree No Leaves. Another element of the band’s performance comes from the psychedelic nature of their visual aesthetics and practices. Their styles of dress, colorful 82
performance environments, and their stylistic emphasis on all things psychedelic have helped
them create ties to the community via a community-wide view of what is authentically jam or
hippie. Band members may be seen sporting countercultural fashions like tie-dyed clothing, wire wrapped necklaces, crystals, flowers, and sandals during even the coldest of winters. One member, in particular, Benji Katz, almost always refuses to wear anything on his feet besides sandals (occasionally you might see him out in house shoes), which falls very much in line with the hippie aesthetic. While attending shows by the band, I would often realize that he was moving his gear around while wearing sandals in 20 degree weather and sometimes snow. Billy
Gruber, the band’s percussionist, runs his own business doing oil spill projections27 and making
tie-dye t-shirts with the company’s logo, Synesthetic Oil Spill. Since Billy is unable to play and do projection art at the same time, the band almost always has psychedelically inspired videos playing behind them if they happen to be at a venue that has a projector screen. For an excellent example of this, all one has to do is a YouTube search for “DMT28 simulation” or
“kaleidoscope,” which will bring up thousands of videos like the ones the band uses. The
perceptible bond of community that develops out of a combined musical and social solidarity is
one of the most significant reasons that the band can still be a part of the local jam scene. The
collection of subcultural capital for Tree No Leaves is slightly different, but as Currey Long, of
Cactus Jack, explained to me, sometimes people can just have a “look” and it informs other
people in the scene that they are interested in and dedicated to it. Despite this, many of the
members of bands in the local scene don’t actually subscribe to said “look”, but rather they are
able to belong because of their statuses as scene musicians.
27 Oil spill projections are made using a projector, projection screen, glass, oils, and dyes. The oil spill artist places a glass dish on an overhead projector aimed at the wall or screen and fills it with oils and dyes until a psychedelic- looking image is created. 83
On their website, Baccano claims this description, “drawing inspiration from greats like
Led Zeppelin, Herbie Hancock, Parliament, and King Crimson, their well-versed style flourishes and grants them the ability to perform in most any setting” (Merritt). Interestingly, they do not list many bands who come out of the genres of acid rock or 60s psychedelic rock on their social media page, but their sound might convince one to believe they find influence in them. When I approached the current drummer and former member of Tree No Leaves, Adam Rice, and asked why they never include jam as a genre they play, he said it gives them more options. The perception of the scene as elitist makes it an unappealing label to use for social media purposes, but he also admitted that, “yeah, we’re a jam band.” He also explained that they all carry different influences with them. One story I heard from the band says that all of the members love
Medeski, Martin, and Wood, save for one person, and he absolutely hates their music. The members of the band, all men, don’t particularly dress according to the hippie aesthetic, except one who wears his hair in dreadlocks and embraces the idea that there is power in wearing crystals. They do, however, play with a similar type of psychedelic visuals in the background as
Tree No Leaves, even sometimes using the synthetic oil and dye projections done by Billy
Gruber. Their album covers and website are typically designed with a psychedelic image in mind, using bright colors and complex designs, again relating their entire “look” back to psychedelia and the jam scene’s core aesthetic values. (See Figure 8.)
28 DMT is a drug, also known as “The Spirit Molecule”, which is used frequently within the jam subculture. It is described by users as a drug that causes an overwhelmingly intense, short-lived trip. 84
Figure 8. Tree No Leaves’ album covers often feature psychedelic imagery. (Source:
Treenoleaves.com)
One of the band’s most recent studio albums, Amalgam, features a track called
“Rampage.” The track clocks in at ten minutes and fifty-one seconds and is completely orchestrated with sections left open for improvisation over an already agreed upon key or chord progression (Merritt). The interesting thing about this song and Baccano’s other music is that it is created to sound improvised. After a multitude of conversations with band members, I found that they are so concerned with the tightness of the ensemble, but still love the musical aesthetics of the scene, that they compose in a way that gives them the ability to practice both, albeit not in the most “authentic” way. In addition, their musical aspirations include breaking into the national jam band scene. Adam explained,
Composition is everything. If you can’t write a good song, nobody’s going to come see
you. And showing professionalism, when you can write something really tasteful, but
interesting enough to keep the audience…We don’t sing a lot, so we’re writing music that 85
has to be entertaining enough that we’re going to force people to watch it. It’s like a
guessing game. We have songs that sound like two or three songs because the sections
are so drastically different, but no, it’s that song. That’s why we go the direction we - for
a certain effect and not to abuse our power to make people feel a certain way, but in a
way composing that you can actually pull that effect off. If you can actually influence a
group of people from what you wrote and that was raw, never written before, yeah,
composition is everything. Music is cutthroat. Nowadays, it’s like, nut up or shut up.
Adam is far from the only person in the group who feels this way about the nature of the music
business. I have talked to multiple members of Tree No Leaves, Baccano, Waxtastic, and Cactus
Jack about how difficult it is to make it out of the area. To actually go on real, national tours is
almost impossible for musicians in the Toledo area.
They have all discussed with me at length that they hope that maintaining a well-
prepared, well-rehearsed ensemble will allow them to get more noticed than other bands coming out of the Midwest. They are constantly building up their materials. For example, at the recent
Halfway 2 Harvest Festival in Grand Rapids, Ohio, they added nearly ten minutes of material to
“Rampage.” I spoke to Adam about the changes, recognizing that this was not a normal performance of the song. He explained that they orchestrated more of the song, but also added more loose improvisation to the opening, which reminded me, musically, very much of Pink
Floyd’s introduction to “Shine On You Crazy Diamond,” unsurprisingly an influential song for several in the band. Baccano’s song expands upon an A:B:A1 form by building their materials on
the opening chords and melodic line, but the new additions create a slightly more atmospheric
introduction. 86
In addition to the influences they have listed, I know that most of them are big fans of the jam band, Umphrey’s McGee, who hails from South Bend, Indiana and claim Chicago as home.
It is significant that they are so interested in another band coming out of the Midwest, and that they intend to emulate their style in many ways. In fact, the band sometimes covers Umphrey’s
McGee, which many local bands are not up to doing because of the complexities and significant lengths of orchestration used in their music. Umphrey’s McGee still improvises much more freely than Baccano, but their influence on the band is no secret to the scene. The influence of
Umphrey’s in Baccano’s music is clear. The latter’s use of fuzzed out or distorted guitar timbres, intricate rhythmic patterns, lowered attention to vocals, and full orchestration are qualities borrowed from their musical role models. Some fans of Umphrey’s McGee call their genre
“rainbow metal”, which is a term loved by some of the members of Baccano to describe their sound, especially Adam, who came into the jam scene from playing in metal and punk bands. In the next section, I will explain how the perceptions of elitism and class in the jam subculture that
I discussed in the previous chapter apply to the musical practices within the Northwest Ohio scene.
How Class Affects Musical Structures and Practices in the Scene
In response to perceived elitism, small jam bands sometimes challenge the traditional rules of songwriting in order to demonstrate more advanced ensemble performance, appeal to as many people as possible, and allow for genre bending. Though this is not at all the only reason, I believe that the divergence of song structure from the usual jam comes out of an effort to escape the lower to lower-middle class limits restraining the bands’ abilities to tour, record, and offer merchandise. Members of both bands, especially Baccano, are considered in the United States to be from the lower-middle class. Most of them grew up around Toledo, Ohio, went to Toledo 87
Public Schools, grew up with blue collar parents, and have not received higher education, except for one who attends Owens Community College nearby. Their positions are reflected in their choices to stray from the normal musical structures of jam bands. Rather than create more freeform pieces, they create lengthy, fully orchestrated songs. This gives them the opportunity to demonstrate the best possible product according to their abilities every time they have a show.
Baccano practices three to four times a week, late at night, after everyone is done with work for the day. Considering the popular perception of hippies and jam bands as a strange combination of both the elite and the free-spirited, their work ethic, composition style, and motivations seem contradictory to the scene.
Both Tree No Leaves and Baccano, as well as many other bands in the scene, have expressed aspirations to move out and away from rural Ohio. For some of the bands, that seems plausible based on the members’ economic statuses, but also their attachments or lack there of to family and current employment. Bands in the area, like Cactus Jack and Rustik Waters, might have more trouble escaping the local scene due to their ties to work and some members having families. These bands typically stick to the traditional jam song structure, modelling on the
Grateful Dead and Phish, and even going so far as to cover several of their songs. I have found that the conversations about future band engagements among these groups can vary dramatically.
In addition, individual members of each band have expressed varying opinions of what their band’s next steps should be. There is very little difference in age, except for Rustik Waters, which has some members in their late 30s. Most other bands in the scene have members whose ages fall between 18 and 33. The bands who know that their location is unlikely to change in the near future typically play more open jams and more covers at shows than those who have expressed more urgent desires to further their musical careers. However, there are some bands 88
who have discussed with me that certain members of their bands may have less ambitious goals
than their other bandmates, and that it is difficult to put a band together in this area with
everyone being on the same page in that regard.
Contradictions of Screwing Up as Markers of Authenticity
As Jerry Garcia once explained, “And when we make a record that doesn't have any
mistakes on it, it sounds f***ing boring,” there is nothing that will disappoint a jam band fan
more than finding out or realizing that a record has been “over-produced” (Henke 1991). In fact,
listening to the studio album is considered a beginner (i.e. noob and chomper) move unless the
album is brand new. For insiders, “real” fandom means that the most valued components of a
jam band’s musical production are found within their liveness and extemporization. In her book,
Sound of Africa! Making Music Zulu in a South African Studio, Louise Meintjes explains the
challenges of creating sounds that are authentically African or authentically Zulu. She says, “To
sound authentically African is to sound live (Meintjes 2003,112).” Though Meintjes is writing
about a complex racial, economic, and political situation, she points out something that can feel
almost universal, which is the desire to be authentic. She points out,
My broad theoretical interest here is one common to ethnomusicology, namely, a
consideration of the way in which the phenomenon of sound is a prism into sociality.
Specifically, I wonder how and why we might get at seemingly indefinable, provisional,
and deeply felt notions like Africanness, Zuluness, and so forth, through something
equally elusive, provisional, and deeply felt: sound (Meintjes 2003, 112).
While these are entirely different social, geographical, and political situations, and I do not mean
to reduce the significance of the positions of those people she was writing about during such 89
difficult years, the struggle over authenticity through the recording studio seems to exist nearly
everywhere that the technology is available.
Presenting liveness29 as a product is vital to the perceived authenticity of jam bands.
Studio albums will frequently contain very miniscule mistakes, possibly as markers of liveness.
You can hear instances of this on the records of many, though not all, nationally recognized jam
bands. An example is in the song “Waste” by Phish from their album, Billy Breathes, in which
there is a section directly in the middle of the song in which Trey’s voice is incredibly,
undeniably out of tune, despite sounding like he was attempting to stay in tune. There are
hundreds of posts on Phish.net about how a mistake on a live recording lent itself to creating a
favorite jam, though some of the value of this may also come from being such a well-known
entity in the larger subculture (Phish.net). Fans have created popular memes solely to explain and
demonstrate their enthusiasm for this phenomenon. (See Figure 9) One such meme features
Paige McConnell, keyboardist of Phish, posing as The Most Interesting Man in the World from
Dos Equis commercials. It reads, “I don’t always make mistakes, but when I do, they become
Orpheum Bowie30.” On another recording, “Walls of the Cave” from Round Room, there is an obnoxious squeaking noise following several notes on the piano, which could have easily been edited out. About 30 seconds later, a drum feature using tom-toms enters and there are several timing discrepancies between the drums and the guitar melody.
29 Philip Auslander first discussed the concept of “liveness” in musical performance in his book, Liveness: Performance in a Mediatized Culture in 1999. 30 Orpheum Bowie refers to the song “David Bowie” being performed by Phish at the Orpheum Theatre in Minneapolis, Minnesota in 1994. 90
Figure 9. Fans use popular internet meme formats to express their enjoyment of the
results of mistakes (Source: Phish.net)
Another example of mistakes left on jam records comes from the version of “Divisions” from The Bottom Half by Umphrey’s McGee. Brendan Bayliss, the lead singer and guitarist, begins the opening guitar lick of the song only to find he has already screwed it up. He then apologizes on the recording and begins again. Though a pretty simple mistake, and not necessarily unique (you can find something similar at the beginning of “Time of Your Life” by
Green Day), it establishes right from the beginning that they just let the tape roll. Whether or not they actually did is not completely clear, but it appears fairly obvious that the goal of leaving such a mindless mistake on the recording is to demonstrate liveness. An authentic jam in the scene is one that is live, and even local bands who are determined to establish their own professionalism will let a mistake pass here and there, even if recording techniques or lack of economic support are the more immediate causes of them. However, the mistakes left on the 91 record are often demonstrations of authenticity because they prove that the album was recorded live and not overdubbed or pieced together later by a record executive and producer. When asking Adam of Baccano about the band’s most recent studio album, Best Eggs, he explained that there are mistakes on it and that those mistakes allow for the authentication of the album via the quality of liveness. He was also quick to explain that there was not a goal of having any mistakes on the album, but that mistakes happen when you play live. He explained,
If you already know what you’re playing and you’re prepared, then you go in and you lay
it down and you know that it’s not going to be 100% perfect because you are a human
being. If you keep going back over the same part, it’s not going to be perfect because
you’ve just alienated that part. So you singled out something that you didn’t just do right
off the rip, so it’s never going to be what you want it to be. We go in and we only do one
or two takes. We go in, play it, and then say okay, let’s do it again and we pick the better
of the two. You just know that’s the one. Like, sometimes there’s a couple of flubbed up
solos, but we can go in and mix it. So, I guess it’s not 110% live, but it’s pretty damn
close. I mean, there’s no click track, no piece by piece.
Later in our conversation, he revisited this concept, referring to the band’s newest album, Best
Eggs, “It’s like, the whole studio thing is cool, but more live studio. Just know the drummer threw that shit down in one take. And mostly everything else was done in one take. There may have been minor editing, like really minor.”
The contradictions in this should be obvious by now. How can you be determined to create a tight, well-crafted product, but not care about the little mistakes that end up on the record? Well, the answer, according to band members from the national scene to the local, is that the record is not as important as the live shows. This does not mean that recording is unimportant 92 or not taken seriously, but that there are more complex factors which contribute to the function of studio albums within the scene and the recording techniques which get used by the bands.
Adam’s response also begs the question of how recorded liveness reflects bands’ desires to challenge the capitalist structures that members feel trapped by everyday. Over-produced records require countless hours of repetition and isolation of instruments, alienating the individuals, to which one could draw a parallel with the capitalist alienation of labor experienced by the working class.
What bands’ studio practices may indicate is that they can afford to let a mistake pass to demonstrate dedication to their live recording skills in order to remain true to the jam genre.
Correspondingly, it demonstrates just how significant the way that emphasis on live performance in the national scene can become to smaller, local scenes. Currey Long explained to me that recording improvised music like that of the jam genre will have mistakes that aren’t really mistakes, “I hate recording. I seriously hate it. I think things should be pretty spot on. Obviously, they’re [mistakes] going to be there. It’s like once it slides through, is it really a mistake then?
Unless it’s really bad, like minor seconds or something, then it’s like it’s supposed to be there.”
Coming from a background in jazz, it is unsurprising that he feels this way, but members of many bands in the scene would more than likely tell you something similar. Another reason a record with small mistakes is not only acceptable, but sometimes preferred, is because most jam bands resist large record labels and instead create their own. On the national level, bands like
Phish, Umphrey’s McGee, moe., and countless others, have resisted joining major labels by creating their own or purposely producing on very small, obscure labels.
Due to the availability of the internet in the U.S., jam bands in the Midwest who can’t afford to produce tangible recordings, can post them online to be purchased through websites 93 like Soundcloud and Apple Music. Without a recording engineer or producer to stop them, they control their own participation in the scene, and as authentically as possible, and so the traditions lives on. In the next section, I will offer my final conclusions and also some of the potential consequences of the challenges of genre within the Northwest Ohio jam scene.
Conclusions and Consequences
As Simon Frith explains in his book, Performing Rites, “to grasp the meaning of a piece of music is to hear something not simply present to the ear. It is to understand a musical culture, to have a ‘scheme of interpretation’” (Frith 1996, 249). The culture surrounding music is significant, as are the social conditions which dictate the parameters of that culture. The local jam bands in Northwest Ohio which I have discussed here work within the confines of their economic situations and ability to gain upward mobility. They shape their sounds and aesthetics in a way that allows them to belong to the local jam scene and be considered a member of the genre, while simultaneously challenging the musical forms that have been established as the norms of the musical part of the genre. Frith explains in Performing Rites,
If the music industry has always used labeling procedures, then, they have never
necessarily been clear or consistent. Genre maps change according to who they are for.
And there is a further complication. The point of music labels is, in part, to make
coherent the way in which different music media divide the market – record companies,
radio stations, music magazines, and concert promoters can only benefit from an agreed
definition of, say, heavy metal (Frith 1996, 77).
The odd thing about the Northwest Ohio jammers is that they don’t have to deal with record executives and producers. The constraints of genre are self-imposed or at least imposed from 94 within the scene. As Frith’s work explains, genres get bent and twisted, but there must always be a certain amount of following the rules if a band wants to remain part of the group.
Some bands, like Baccano, are very openly aware that they, like Phish and Umphrey’s
McGee, do not have the most pleasant vocal timbres, and this has actually become a marker of authenticity in the scene nationally and locally. Tree No Leaves is one of the few bands that also challenges this, as Dustin arguably has a strong vocal presence, wide range, and good voice control. This is significant because the only women in the scene perform as singers for a few bands, which I will address more in the conclusion.
Furthermore, I believe that the confusion over genre expectations and social boundaries within the scene can be frustrating to navigate for outsiders. In a firsthand example, as discussed previously, I was invited to a birthday party for Baccano’s drummer, Adam, which occurred at the band’s practice space. Everyone who could play an instrument was encouraged to get up and play, but if I may be self-reflexive for a moment, I have been invited to jam with Baccano on multiple occasions, including at this party. I did for a short while, but felt extremely uncomfortable as the only woman who was playing at all. Even though I have a Master’s degree in music performance, and am usually very confident as a performer, there was something obviously off in this situation. Regardless of whether my fears in this situation were unfounded, I found myself feeling oddly intimidated by the musical intimacy and language the musicians already had with each other. If I, an experienced musician, was intimidated by the social situation of this encounter, how then could an amateur musician join as an outsider and feel comfortable? In further research, I hope to address more of this problem, but I believe it demonstrates that this is not about ability, but something much deeper. 95
Arguably, the scene is already intimidating to women and people of color due to its origins, and especially women of color. At the Halfway 2 Harvest Festival in Grand Rapids,
Ohio, I was accompanied by my friend Desmond Shine who is Black. He made jokes throughout the day, saying he was counting how many people of color he saw there (he ended up at 6 out of something like 75-100). We laughed and discussed the complexities of the issue, but there was nothing that he expressed discomfort with until a middle-aged man approached him and said this,
“Black guy at a white party! You got some balls, man!” The man drunkenly stumbled away after we directed him away from people, but Des was obviously hurt by the comment no matter how much he tried to hide it. The only reason I bring this up is that it is not only the presentation of elitism by musicians that creates problems of inequality, but also the perception and maintenance of that elitism by fans of those musicians. Later, I discovered that the man was not well-known by most of the festival attendees, but nevertheless, he had used his perception of the scene in the creation of his comment. With Des’ permission, I spoke to the members of one of the bands after the festival was over about the incident. It was met with condemnation of the random, drunk audience member, but it was also expressed that, “nothing could really be done.” The lack of awareness of the social situations surrounding the scene may be part of the reason for not feeling the ability to act on situations like this one. Separately, I spoke about the event with a member of another band who had performed that day. He seemed quite appalled by the situation and offered a sincere apology. This speaks well to the issues of inclusion and exclusion that are felt within and outside of the scene. Not all parts of Northwest Ohio contribute to discussion of race equally, as certain areas are much more diverse (especially those with Universities and more urban areas) than others (more rural, isolated spaces, like where the festival took place). 96
In conclusion, the members of the Northwest Ohio jam scene have to constantly negotiate their positions as insiders of the subculture, as members of the working class, as living in the rural Midwest, as musicians, as entrepreneurs, and as adults who are often being told that they’ll never escape their current situations.31 My theory concerning the structure of the songs of Tree
No Leaves and of Baccano is that they use the tools they believe they have to create a product that is undeniably tighter, better-rehearsed, and more pre-planned than others in the same scene, and that this change of song structure allows them to feel they are putting all of their effort towards perfecting, rather than freely improvising towards their goals. Their class positions do not provide them with enough support to feel comfortable “throwing something together” to perform. Instead, the use of full orchestration, lengthy songs that, on the surface sound improvisational, and frequent rehearsal, all give them what they view to be a leg up on the competition. I believe the efforts they exhibit through these practices explain the deeply felt desire to escape their class backgrounds, control their futures as musicians, and get themselves out of the supposed trap of rural Ohio.
31 Like myself, many of those in the scene have experienced being told to be more realistic in terms of career expectations by elders who have similar class positions. 97
CONCLUSION
Adam Rice informed me that he frequently gets asked why he wants to play music,
especially in the jam scene, if he isn’t making any money from it, especially since money is
already tight. He explained that his usual response goes like this:
I don’t want to do anything else. I have to work my full-time job because I have to be an
adult. And people [in other bands, scenes] say, well I don’t want to be an adult, I want to
be a kid forever…and doesn’t everybody? I’m trying to figure out a way to actually be a
kid and make money and be able to live my life. But it takes time. You gotta invest in it.
I feel that this statement successfully captures the mental conflict that these musicians must
contend with. How many musicians would love to live their dream of playing music full-time?
As in Adam’s explanation, most musicians in the local scene don’t have the option to take a
break from the realities of working-class life in the Midwest. They must constantly navigate
between subcultural expectations, popular portrayals of the subculture, and the socioeconomic
and geographical certainties they face. Not everyone in the Northwest Ohio scene faces such
difficulties and a small number have college degrees and come from upper-middle class backgrounds. Their experiences obviously differ from those in the scene who have not had these privileges. The focus of this thesis is the struggle of those who attempt to belong to a scene that presents them with persistent economic and social hurdles. I will revisit four elements of my argument about the Northwest Ohio jam scene which explain how and why class struggles continue to dictate many of its practices, social conditions, and cultural productions. In addition,
I will explain how class imbalances in the jam scene potentially intersect with other forms of oppression such as race and gender. I will include a description of what I feel to be significant to this scene, but that I have been unable to cover in this thesis. First, I revisit how the collection 98 and maintenance of subcultural capital within the larger jam subculture affects the expectations and practices of members of the Northwest Ohio jam scene.
In the national jam subculture, bands like the Grateful Dead, Phish, and Umphrey’s
McGee have some of the largest followings of fans in the country. Fans demonstrate their connections to these bands through collections of subcultural capital, such as knowledge of setlists, artists, recordings, musical specifics, slang, and festivals or special events, and possession of band-related items like pins, t-shirts, hats, and almost anything with band iconography on it. Visual aesthetics act as markers of belonging within both the larger subculture and the Northwest Ohio jam scene and tend to relate back to the aesthetics of the hippies of the
1960s (e.g., tie-dye, flowy or loose-fitting clothing, long hair on both men and women, etc.).
However, at both national and local levels, jam band members often bypass the fashion expectations of the scene. This may speak to the hierarchy of significance within the presentation of an individual’s subcultural capital. In other words, visual aesthetics and fashion elements of the scene may be bypassed by those with significant musical roles.
Subcultural terminology is central to insider communication in the jam scene, as it acts not only as a marker of belonging, but as a way in which members can discuss important issues like musical details and the behavior of outsiders. Less serious fans are criticized by those who consider themselves to be “real” fans. One of the most looked down upon activities in the scene is talking throughout a show. Complaints about this activity can be found all over message boards, in the smoking sections at venues in between sets, in the comment sections of websites like Facebook and YouTube, and in any number of conversations with fans about their recent trip to a show. Again, this demonstrates the significance of the music to developing collections of subcultural capital. Though collecting subcultural capital is significant at both the national and 99 local levels, smaller scenes may abide less strictly to subcultural demonstrations of insider status.
The economic disadvantages experienced by members of the local scene are more than likely responsible for the less stringent expectations of scene participation. Where free resources are available in the Northwest Ohio scene, they are often spread around, especially recordings.
Because of the expectations placed on them by the scene, members of bands in the local scene must consistently navigate between their situatedness within the scene and within a working- class area of the Midwest. In addition to the struggles of collecting and maintaining subcultural capital that are experienced by band members, they often engage in exclusionary practices which demonstrate the seriousness of their musicianship, as well as challenge the musical standards of the genre and what it means to be authentically jam.
In the second chapter of this thesis, I explained popular portrayals of the jam subculture, how “family” indicates ingroups within the subculture, and how the socioeconomic positions of
Northwest Ohio scene members intersect with both. Popular portrayals of the jam subculture often paint it in relation to the counterculture of the 1960s and ironically as a form of rebellion against American hegemonic cultural norms by members of the middle and upper-middle classes. Alternatively, among the local scene participants I have spoken to, the majority come from working-class backgrounds, often living paycheck to paycheck. Frequently, the experiences of the members of the local scene are dismissed by others from working-class backgrounds because of their connections to the perceived affluence of the national jam subculture. However, the economic and geographic difficulties that local scene members face are far from those in the popular representations of the subculture and require them to constantly negotiate between different social situations. In an attempt to make themselves more marketable, many bands use just about any genre besides jam to describe themselves on their websites and social media, 100 publicly present themselves as serious musicians, and use a variety of recording techniques and performance styles not always considered standard to the genre.
I have also addressed musical conventions of the jam genre and how they are challenged by bands in the Northwest Ohio jam scene. Playing shorter melodic sections followed by very long sections of improvisation is common for bands like Phish and the Grateful Dead. Multiple bands in the local scene are directly influenced by the musical styles of both bands, whereas some of the bands challenge what has previously been understood as a marker of genre authenticity for jam bands. Multiple bands in the local scene have channeled more progressive rock, acid rock, and psychedelic rock influences like Pink Floyd and King Crimson, as well as crossover bands like Umphrey’s McGee. Because the bands are situated in an area with a less than fertile economy that is not known for its cultural output, they are faced with complex choices to make about how to create and market their musical products. The Northwest Ohio scene is relatively small, which means that, in order to have any scene, the boundaries of what is considered authentically jam are stretched. In addition to the somewhat more relaxed genre boundaries, some jam bands in the area choose more stylistically approachable forms in order to ensure that their performances appear as tight as possible and that their musical endeavors are taken seriously.
All of these factors matter for several reasons, not all of which I have been able to devote enough attention to, but that hopefully either myself or another scholar may revisit and expand upon in the future. One reason I believe any of this matters is that the conversation about class is not approached with enough frequency in studies of localized music scenes in the U.S. Small music scenes can function as portals into other aspects of American culture. Ohio is often perceived as a flyover state and one with little to offer in terms of culture, but its citizens are not 101 without the desire and ability to produce culture. Just as they do anywhere else in the country, countless Midwesterners long to create music that reaches out into the world. Unlike the experiences of the affluent participants whose stories often dominate those of Midwestern jam musicians, the band members of the Northwest Ohio scene are forced to confront the economic and geographic challenges that come from working, living, and playing music in this area.
Another reason this project is important is that it hopefully sets up a much needed dialogue about how class functions in Midwest music scenes and how race and gender intersect with it. There is little evidence of any explicit attempt to exclude anyone from the scene and the narrative that members of the scene attempt to perpetuate is one of inclusivity. While reflecting on his experiences entering the scene, Benji Katz explained:
Yeah, I mean, I think, I’m not going to lie. I don’t go to those shows and look around and
see a bunch of people of different ethnicities. It’s a lot of white people and a lot of
dreadlocks, but I don’t think that’s a byproduct of an exclusionary mentality. Everyone I
have met in the scene has been totally nice and embraced me and I came to it as a relative
outsider. I think the scene is built upon principles of inclusivity.
Benji is the only member of the scene who I have met with graduate level education and one of few who come from an upper-middle class background. Though his experiences are drastically different from those in the scene who come from less privileged backgrounds, he is still quite aware of the social practices within the scene. Something I have been unable to address with enough detail in my ethnographic study is the subject of race. In the 1 ½ years that I have been hanging out and talking with band members in the scene, I have met no people of color or women of color playing music with them. The nature of the scene may not be explicitly exclusionary, but there are multiple elements that may serve to cause discomfort for people of 102
color who might desire to be a part of the scene. Women, especially women of color, are rarely,
if ever, seen playing music in the Northwest Ohio scene. The overall whiteness of the entire
subculture has not changed dramatically since the early days of Phish (1990s) and, as I discussed
in the first chapter, the requirement of subcultural capital in the larger jam subculture often acts
as a gatekeeping mechanism. I have found these additional issues difficult to address for a few
reasons. One, I found no women or people of color to ask about their experiences in the scene
and two, the complicated nature of class in the local scene sets up the first layer of what causes it
to still be implicitly exclusionary. My hope for this thesis is that it may help to encourage more
exploration of the intersectional issues which affect those in and outside of localized jam and
other music scenes. Additionally, I hope to contribute to and see more work related to the
complexities of the “subcultural capital exclusion loop,” and its effects on the relationships
between subcultural belonging and marginalized groups.
I will conclude this thesis with a short anecdote. Before I really delved into this project, I
was not acting as a good scholar, and certainly not a good ethnographer. I had come into this
project inspired by the work of scholars like Sherrie Tucker, Pamela Robertson Wojcik, and my recent professor Sidra Lawrence, on the intersections of gender, race, and music. I went looking for something specific rather than letting my participants tell me through jamming, hanging out, talking shop, and sitting down to discuss what was going on in their scene. I first met Drew
Merritt, the bass player of Baccano, long before I had begun doing any significant research in the local scene.32 He was sitting next to me at Howard’s Club H in Bowling Green, Ohio, where his
band was about to play a show. I asked him why he thought there weren’t any women playing
music in the scene. He didn’t know me very well yet and I was asking a pretty invasive question 103 of someone I had never had a real conversation with before. He chuckled and told me that women must be smarter than men in the scene. He said that women wouldn’t take the risks to try and make it in this scene because it was so unlikely that anyone would make it. We are now friends and I am so pleased to say so, because, honestly, that moment made me angry at the time.
I had no understanding of the situation he was trying to explain to this outsider who was sitting there pestering him.
I now realize how much more complex the conversation we were having really was. It wasn’t a conversation about gender. It was a conversation about gender, and class, and race, and escape, and impossible work weeks, and self-promotion, and appearances, and trying to keep up with the Joneses of the jam scene. What I had missed was the subtext about the difficulties faced by band members in the scene because of the conditions of the geographic area and the socio- economic positions they were in. I missed that he understood that being a white man was probably going to give him the biggest leg up that he could get. He wasn’t trying to tell me women couldn’t make it in the scene. He was trying to tell me why it would be so incredibly difficult, and it took me over a year to get to the point of understanding that. It may have finally hit me when Drew posted on the Baccanofam Facebook page about their recent regional tour:
On the road with my closest homies doing what we do best is something that always
seemed so far out of reach for some kid in Toledo, OH. It doesn't matter what you do, if
you invest that effort and time and really want it, it's gonna happen one way or another.
It's only a two day trip up into Michigan, but this is the beginning and I'm freaking stoked
y’all (Merritt, 2018).
32 At this point in my project, I had only just started doing very broad, observations of the larger, national jam scene. I was already attending local shows prior to this, but I had not been actively observing participation in the scene. 104
Drew’s experiences in a jam band in Northwest Ohio are very much related to those of his colleagues in the scene. These are all people who know the stakes and still want to fight the good fight. The scene is far from perfectly inclusive, but it appears that the members are more than willing to diverge from the trends of the national scene. There’s a lot to do for some “kids” from
Northwest Ohio, but it seems like they’re up for the challenges. 105
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SONGS CITED
Grateful Dead “Morning Dew.” Live at Barton Hall, Cornell University, Ithaca, NY., 5.8.1977 “Dark Star.” Live at Chateau d’Herouville, Herouville, France., 6.21.1971
Phish “Lawn Boy.” Live from Madison Square Garden, Baker’s Dozen Night 4, 7.25.2017 “Lawn Boy.” Lawn Boy, 1990 “Waste.” Billy Breathes, 1996 “Walls of the Cave.” Round Room, 2002
Umphrey’s McGee “Divisions.” The Bottom Half, 2007
Tree No Leaves “The Emporer’s Cyclical Disco.” Sacred Natives, 2017 “Lucy and the Fuzz.” Sacred Natives, 2017
Baccano “Rampage.” Amalgam, 2018 Best Eggs, 2018