Just as I was chewing on this concept a few weeks ago, a new ADD approved VH1-program entitled My Favorite Year debuted their "Dirty Hippie" episode: a sixty-minute barrage of iconic psychedelic images and parking lot commentary. Recruiting an eclectic cast of characters, including Jackass's Steve-O, Keller Williams, Carrot Top, John Popper, O.A.R, and the Supersize Me guy's vegan girlfriend, this TV show spent an hour trying to explain how it felt to be a hippie in high school and, if in fact, each entertainer was still a "dirty, tree-hugging hippie." Despite the wide range of artists pledging hippie-roots, I felt an immediate connect with each face popping up on my screen--- as if I shared a hometown with someone famous. Yet, with the exception of Keller and Popper, none of the celebrities profiled were obvious choices to symbolize jam-nation.
But in that wink-and-nod kind of way, each of VH1's source subjects still possessed a clear understanding of Tent City's boundaries and rituals. Fittingly, throughout this program, VJs spun hits by marginal jamband crossovers like Dave Matthews, Spin Doctors, Blues Traveler, and Los Lonely Boy---four groups who found Billboard success by bleaching their hippie-rock roots without completely rejecting them. Likewise, each of the entertainers profiled managed to succeed in an unrelated field by staying true to jam-rock's mentality, if not its traditional look. And, in the end, My Favorite Year's left viewers with a rather odd message: hippie-rock survives through assimilation.
In certain ways, I feel jam-nation's widening definition came to a head a few weeks ago on New Year's Eve as The Flaming Lips and Wilco shared a co-bill at Madison Square Garden. Somewhere on the L line of the New York City's subway system, hippies and hipsters began to mix, expanding the collective musical palette of Bonnaroo, Relix, and parking lot culture. And, being the biggest New York party outside of Times Square, it's only fitting that a handful of jamband faithful chose to attend this indie-rock double-bill over performances by The Disco Biscuits, String Cheese, Particle, Gov't Mule, The Zen Tricksters, and a parade of non-musical activities. In fact, for the first time, jam-nation's biggest New Year's concert didn't feature any jambands. And, while Wilco and the Flaming Lip's carefully orchestrated art-rock is a far cry from improvisational rock, both bands now fall under the jamband banner because of the crowd's they attract. Yet, for some reason, I find it hard to picture a Wilco bumper sticker carrying the loaded meaning associated with jam-rock's previous arena acts.
In certain ways, the jamband movement's splintering is reminiscent of what happened to punk in the late 1970s. After the Sex Pistols' implosion, pure Ramones-style punk worked its way into a variety of sub-genres including hardcore, post-punk, new wave, and, eventually, alternative rock. Empty tags? Perhaps, but like the term ‘hippie,' each of these styles has its own look, feel, and stereotypical fan. Over Thanksgiving weekend, I was fortunate enough to catch four different concerts which drew radically different factions of the jamband community. Perhaps the ultimate proof that the term ‘jamband' now refers to a genre, not a specific heir to Phish's empire, each of the abovementioned acts has established its own clearly defined subculture. Complete with their own band-approved charities, clean-and-sober sects, and, of course, mid-concert rituals, a cultural anthropologist could chart any number of road-trip plans (String Cheese stomachs better in the evenings, Biscuits taste better late at night). With clothing styles ranging from String Cheese Incident's sparkling pajama pants to The Disco Biscuit's cock-eyed caps, moe.'s hefty hoodies to the New Deal's hippie-sheik button-downs, one thing is clear: tent city now encompasses an LA-style urban sprawl.
And, while perhaps a pessimistic statement from a longtime fan, jambands will survive through assimilation. Despite not looking like a hippie, it's comforting to know that Bill Walton or Steve-O still are passionate about all things jam. In fact, at the tail end of My Favorite Year, Steve-O stumbles across the one aspect of hippiedom that hasn't changed in the past forty years. When asked when he stopped being a hippie, the merry prankster replies: "I hurt myself, I don't hurt other people. I'm still a fucking hippie." If only he was in my backseat when I got pulled over.