Greetings Jammers! DNA here with stories from Northern California and my inbred world of music, mayhem and madness. First off, for those of you just tuning in, I love groove jam bands and have done my best to promote that type of music for 13 years. I am becoming one of those rare people who actually saw Garcia. I'm also one of those people who feel that, while my friends are on tour with Lesh, that my time is more well spent promoting local music. And within that, there is much to praise and love within the NorCal scene. Invariably anyone from round these parts will trot out the glory of the Mother Hips and tout of their superiority to most, East or West. But this is a non-competitive column, so we'll leave the gloves off, and the dukes down, till the summer heat of this valley perhaps drives me to combat.

I guess what I'm driving at is that here in the ever widening spiral of the 0-0's, labels on music is getting such that it is becoming near useless to try and pigeonhole the massive fusion that is occurring within genres. Locals, ZZYZX, who recently opened a mini-tour with Spearhead and Ozomatli, were firmly convinced they were "Hip-Hop." Then, an opening spot for Method Man and Redman, brought on the realization that a growing number of "brothers," didn't really appreciate the "white-boy funk." So is it back to the drawing board with labels, or do we push on seeking more creative, and probably longer, titles? I cannot say, cept to bring around the point once again, that music seeks it's own level, and if you have an open mind you will be drawn to bands that have the gift of opening you up, inside.

I'm on the Board of Directors of a non-profit theater that has, what we call, Rock Shows, several times a month. Now if you want to get really anal about labels, you should stick your nose into the world of Indy Rock (for a primer, check out the new John Cusack film "High Fidelity."). Never have I witnessed a genre more concerned about the parameters of what their world is about, always struggling to retain qualities of innocence, independence and idiosyncratic nerdiness. But I have always believed the proof is in the pudding, and if the music supports the means, than rave on, no matter how queer it all sounds. Case in point is this week's performance by Washington, DC Indy heartthrob's, The Make-Up. I would imagine that no Bandjammer in their right mind would attend a show where their presence might bring about the dreaded phrase, "dirty hippie," yet, being a doorman, and understanding the layers of irony of music fans, I kinda like the preconceptions that wallow around the scene. Anyhew, The Make-Up rocked! Somewhere between Howlin' Wolf, early Stones and Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, the music escalated with pulsating grooves and unearthly bumps and grinds. It was awesome. Point being, you can't judge a band by its crowd.

This all said, I segue into what was the craziest three months of my life, recently culminating in, a four-day event called Nowhere X Nowhere. Basically, I brought 150 bands from around the country to play here in Chico, Ca. Thrown into the mix was DJ's from the UK, poets from Texas, Chicago and Florida, Filmmakers from Minneapolis and Australia, and music representatives from as diverse places as the R.I.A.A. and Napster. Mix well with 20,000 college kids, three rivers and two microbreweries (including the infamous Pale Ale) and you've got a recipe for going deep in debt. Actually, besides the financial terror, the event was very, very cool and a definite must for all you music freaks out there. Now to begin to understand what it's like dealing with, literally, a thousand different musicians, imagine being a camp counselor on Mars and you'll get the picture. The day is set with times and schedules and everyone must make their brief appearances for their 15 minutes of glory, but besides that, NorCal becomes an unstructured playground. At one point, on Saturday night, April 1st, our crew was running a dozen stages all over town. And to add to the festivities, it seemed like there was a party on every block with a band cranking it up, and rocking it out.

One thing you have to understand about this slice of heaven up here in the heart of the Sacramento Valley is that in 1987, we were rated the #1 party school in America. Our women were in Playboy, and the annual event called Pioneer Days, had reached a proportion that was reminiscent of what the oldsters revere about the 60's. I mean, it was pure Animal House! Thousands, upon thousands, of young people wandering the streets, partying and having a good time. It was New Orleans, it was primal, it was like the birth of something new. And not to get into the conspiracy theories that abound up here, but the event, within several years, exploded into confrontations with the police and was, surprise, stamped out. Personally, I thought the time had been right for several years, to bring the party back to Chico and to inject a core of Music, Film and Art into the heart where, blind drinking was once the priority. Hence, NXN was thrown into existence.

I believe we are in the midst of a Second Renaissance, a rebirth of the Arts and a resurrection of Talent, unforeseen for ages. And like an alchemical scientist I love the adventure of bringing together different sectors of the musical world and throwing them into the same cauldron for several days. There's something about the genre specific festivals that keep popping up that seem to me to be the antithesis to this new awakening. I mean a three-day reggae festival is great, but Irie, Irie, I-really don't think that society has ever got anywhere preaching to the converted. I know my aspirations are high here, and I don't expect other promoters to take my lead with diverse bills, so at least as individuals if ya'all could get out, beyond your safe niche, and experience other types of music, we might all grow just a smidgen.

So here's to a type of growth that doesn't need any ointment. And like Jimi Hendrix's belly-button, I'm outtie!