Music fans of every taste and disposition are aware of the connection with music and mind altering substances. From Willie Nelson's "Whiskey River" to the Beatles' "Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds," musicians have influenced their fans and each other with songs that describe the escape from reality that accompanies alcohol and drugs. For the average fan at a random concert, this usually involves blowing off a little steam and enjoying music with friends. In other cases, the event itself is a transforming experience. Events like the Acid Tests and Human Be-In in San Francisco more than 30 years ago wound music and music fans together in a way that has yet to be undone.

There is certainly no shame in cautious indulgence, as a bit of revelry can be soothing to the soul. Each and every person has their limits, though, and recognizing one's limits can be a tricky process. Anyone who has spent extensive time touring with bands or just following the music scene on an occasional basis has been confronted with decisions about chemicals and their bodies. Today, a substantial number of dedicated music fans have chosen sobriety and united in their cause. Several different communities of music fans have bonded together and made the public aware that anyone can still have a good time at a concert, regardless of his or her chemical intake. The Wharf Rats, the original substance-free support group of Grateful Dead fans, set a positive example that has been replicated by several other groups in the music community today.

Don Bryant was one of the original founders of the Wharf Rats group back in 1984. A recovering alcoholic who had been sober for seven years, Bryant was tempted by a package of free mushrooms that literally lay across in his path in the parking lot of a Dead show in Hampton, Virginia. His willpower and self-denial led to a spiritual epiphany that would culminate in the formation of the group shortly thereafter. A few other Dead fans had similar intentions, so the seeds had been planted.

After a few classified ads in fan magazines such as The Golden Road and Relix, Bryant was amazed at the number of fans who felt his group had something to offer. He recalls "Suddenly a deluge of letters appeared in our mailboxes from people who wanted to be included in our group, on our mailing list, and with us on tour." Interestingly enough, not every member came specifically from a background of substance abuse. "Overeaters, sex addicts, gamblers, and just plain old non-drug using Dead Fans who dug our vibe began to form our group and call themselves Wharf Rats." Soon the group grew from a few hundred that summer tour to thousands today who still have their own table set up at Further Fest and Phil and Friends shows. The Wharf Rats have various informal chapters on both east and west coasts that meet together on a weekly basis. The mission statement of the Wharf Rats states in no uncertain terms that they are present at concerts to "make ourselves available to anyone who feels we may have something they want. We offer support, strength, fellowship, and hope."

Two groups who share parallel experiences as the Wharf Rats, The Phellowship and The Gateway, echo similar sentiments. These two groups are made up of Phish and Widespread Panic fans respectively, and both make it clear that although they are open to anyone, they are not affiliated with any specific 12-step program or rehabilitation organization. Both groups held their first official meetings at past Halloween concerts, and both carry yellow or purple balloons to designate themselves at shows and in the lot. Common rituals of both groups involve meetings during setbreak for discussions and sometimes, even meditation. The Phellowship has even gotten a boost from the Phish's management, who allows them to set up a booth inside venues so they can be a more visible part of the community. Although a brief conversation with John Bell inspired Gateway co-founder Clay Dunbar to organize his group, they have yet to establish an official relationship with the band or their management.

Political sentiments notwithstanding, both groups make their mark on the music community not by what they what they do, but rather by what they don't do. A member of the Gateway we'll call "Brother E" states, "Our group is based on attraction rather than promotion. It's a common misconception about us that we somehow seek to evangelize and convert the masses. Nothing could be further from the truth. The problem was never the dope or booze for me, it was my inability to handle the stuff responsibly." Paige Clem, founder of the Phellowship, adds "I don't think we're role models because we don't do drugs or alcohol. It would be really easy to turn people off with what we do, but I feel like the passive approach we take makes us unique and more available to achieve our purpose." That purpose, of course, is to provide support for those that seek it out. Paige finds her group achieving its goals because "Fans in general are always stopping by for candy or setlists. We seem to have gotten it across that clean and sober people aren't boring and glum freaks. We are typical fans having a grand old time." Though many members of these groups are also involved with other projects in the community, from live taping to environmental activism, they all seem to agree that aggressively recruiting members or support would not deliver any long-term results.

Since so many people seem to find that music and drugs or alcohol are an inseparable part of the concert environment, it's refreshing to find that sober music fans have not lost any enjoyment within their own personal experiences. To hear many tell it, they truly appreciate the music more now that they are not wrapped up so deeply in the drug culture. One music fan and member of multiple support groups (we'll call her Sister A) shares this story: "This past summer I was at a festival seeing one of my favorite bands. I was so excited, especially because this was the first time I was seeing them since I had gotten clean and sober. A woman came up to me after the show and asked me if I was on Ecstasy during the concert. I told her, 'No, I don't do drugs.' She responded, 'very impressive.' I'm higher now than I was when I was [actually] getting high." Several other fans have echoed similar sentiments and some even feel that they would not have been able to remain a part of the live music scene if they didn't have support of others in the community.

At the end of the day, each individual is responsible for his or her own actions. This kind of freedom or independence is what makes the jamband music scene in America so unique. With great freedom comes great responsibility, and there are many paths through the parking lot that might lead anyone astray. Things like remembering the setlist from the previous night, not having to worry about run-ins with law enforcement, and finding your car in the lot after the show (not to mention being able to drive it home,) all take on new meaning for sober fans. After getting the opportunity to discuss these things with many of them, it has become obvious that the most important thing is still the power of the music itself. To borrow one last quote, a self-described "soberhead" said the only advice he would give to younger fans is to simply "Listen to the music play." Whether it is Jerry Garcia weaving a pretty solo during "Sugaree," Dave Schools dropping massive bass lines in "Stop-Go," or the four members of Phish collectively singing a moving version of "Silent in the Morning," nothing is capable of altering the senses like a live concert. For those that have strengthened their spirits and moved beyond the excesses of the maddening crowd, this realization is a reward in and of itself.

For more information on these organizations, visit their web sites:

The Wharf Rats: http://www.wharfrat.org
The Phellowship: http://www.phellowship.org
The Gateway: http://www.members.tripod.com/thegateway_2