Headz the novel

MCA’s Legacy: Music Icon and Buddhist Pioneer

J.J. Colagrande — Tue, 15 May 2012 18:32:27 +0000

The passing of Adam “MCA” Yauch stings music lovers across multiple generations. But it’s also a moment to reflect on his influence on the broader spectrum of pop culture. Beyond the obvious pain of the loss, the arguable importance of his very existence, and the discussion of the inevitable disintegration of a pioneering band, there exists a man’s legacy.
The legacy of Adam Yauch is deeper and coarser than the raspy throat which inevitably failed him at the young age of 47. This musician’s life was particularly nuanced. You’d be hard-pressed to find an actor, musician, artist or writer who has evolved publicly more than MCA. At first a rebellious, misogynist, drug-yielding bad boy, he matured into a gentle, clear-minded, peaceful soul who quietly gave back to the world through the Tibetan Freedom Concerts he organized in the late ’90s. It is through this transformation that we must appreciate his legacy.

Rhymin and Stealin
It’s common for musicians to glamorize misogyny, drug use, and crime, yet few were more notorious than MCA, early on in his career. If you look at lyrics on the Beastie Boys’ first two albums, Licensed to Ill and Paul’s Boutique, you will find countless examples of MCA’s reckless attitude towards women, drugs, and the law:

“Hold it Now”
Now I just got home because I’m out on bail
What’s the time? — it’s time to buy ale

Well I’m cruising, I’m bruising – I’m never ever losing
I’m in my car — I’m going far and [angel] dust is what I’m using

“The New Style”
Father to many – married to none
And in case you’re unaware I carry a gun

I’ve got money and juice – twin sisters in my bed
Their father had envy so I shot him in the head

Girls with boyfriends are the kind I like
I’ll steal your honey like I stole your bike

The disrespect to women and society is blatant, chauvinistic and rather appalling in these excerpts. It’s downright rude with a borderline personality. And it is laced with drugs and violence.

“Three-minute Rule”
Roses are red, the sky is blue
I got my barrel at your neck so what the fuck you gonna do

I smoke cheeba, it helps me with my brain
I might be a little dusted but I’m not insane
People come up to me and they try to talk shit man
I’ve been making records since you were sucking on your mother’s dick

Yauch had no sense of religion or respect for society. No sense of maturity, responsibility, or peace of mind. And whether you think the lyrics are merely for entertainment purposes, they were still shocking, unhealthy and vagrant. These lyrics are just a few examples of MCA’s rebelliousness and misogyny. You could find 50 more on the band’s first two albums.

Something’s Got to Give
In life, we mature, age and learn from experiences.

On their next album, Check Your Head, you can feel the evolution. You hear the softening of a soul with tracks like “Something’s Got to Give,” “Pow,” “Live at P.J’s,” and “Namaste.”

The whole band sought enlightenment, but they hadn’t attained it. There was still too much rebelliousness and ego, just like you’d see in the psyche of any growing individual. A theme of “we’re gonna-get-our-shit-together and figure-this-fucker out” ran through the whole album.

MCA voiced this in the song “Stand Together”:

I don’t see things quite the same as I used to
As I live my life I’ve got just me to be true to
And when I find that I don’t know about just what to do
I turn and look within to see what I should do

As MCA found his awakening it figured to resonate; so much vulgarity and rebelliousness will only be balanced out by the same level of understanding and peace. It’s simple cause-and-effect.

Gratitude
Finally, like the sun breaking through a wet Florida day, or a white rose opening its petals for the first time, on their next album, Ill Communication, one feels the evolution, maturity and breakthrough of all three Beastie Boys, with no one more notable than MCA.

With regards to his misogyny in the first song on the album MCA clearly draws a new line:

“Sure Shot”
I want to say a little something that’s long overdue
The disrespect to women has got to be through
To all the mothers and sisters and the wives and friends
I want to offer my love and respect to the end

Furthermore, with regards to his drug use, in the track “The Scoop” we see the evolution from a bad boy to a man who admits part of his breakthrough came when he quit weed.

Cause I don’t play that, I know who I am
For a minute I didn’t, but now I’m back again
I’m feeling strong see, trust myself G
Well I stopped smoking cheeba
And that was part of the key

Bodhisattva Vow
MCA’s journey towards self-realization was achieved for the world to see. He should be remembered both as a musical icon who matured and found his peace in a public forum, as well as a spiritual pioneer of Buddhism. The ground-breaking Tibetan Freedom Concerts which he organized during the late ’90s brought awareness of Tibetan Activism to hundreds of thousands.

It was through Buddhism that MCA found his peace. MCA didn’t give a lot of interviews, but in his own words in a piece for PBS’ Frontline he elucidates on happiness and peace of mind.

“I think there are a lot of misconceptions in society about what actually brings happiness. We’re caught up in all these ideas that having a lot of money or having somebody beautiful to have sex with or having some cool objects, having a cool car, cool stereo or whatever is gonna make us happy. And those things actually don’t bring us happiness. I’ve learned a tremendous amount about how compassion or altruism actually brings a person happiness.”

You can argue there have been men that have learned the hard way how to grow up and rehabilitate. But not many have done so with the scope and quiet integrity of Adam Yauch.

Gunga Galunga

Even when first diagnosed with cancer in 2009, he never played the pity card. He didn’t seek attention nor did he grant many interviews. Like a practicing Buddhist, he laid low. After his surgery, MCA traveled to India for treatments from Tibetan doctors. They prescribed him an organic diet while nuns offered special prayers. Of the trip to India, he playfully responded in one of the only interviews he gave:

“One nun said to me: ‘We do prayers and then you are better’. So I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.”

In case you didn’t get the inside joke, MCA was making a reference to Caddyshack, which clearly illustrates his light heart and playfulness, even in the face of death.

Adam “MCA” Yauch will be missed.

But since he was a Buddhist, who knows–maybe we shouldn’t fret; maybe he’ll be back in no time, in some form or another.

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PRESSCLIPS

J.J. Colagrande — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 06:20:01 +0000

HeadCount is the prevalent political action network on the music festival circuit, if you didn’t know. This awesome interview lead to J.J. also writing a few columns for the site!! Make sure you vote!!

Hands down the best in-depth interview on Headz, granted to Vagabondage Press, a small post-modern kind of grimy literary magazine. They publish good shit. Read this to get a nice understanding of the book’s aesthetics.

Archive of a fun podcast interview, awesome playlist, and J.J. reading from Headz on a national show called Book Talk. The absolute coolest press-related thing we’ve done to date.

This extensive interview with Miami New Times promoted the first public reading of Headz, at Books & Books in Coral Gables. The event, despite occurring during a monsoon, attracted over 100 peeps.
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This interview was granted to Popdose, a national entertainment and cultural blog, covering music, books, and pop culture in general. We were approached by the writer, after we began advertising on Facebook. Although we think this could have been a little tighter in its editing and layout, the clip is still interesting and sprawling. The introduction is written well by Ben Wiser, and the clip also lists the favorite songs of the characters in Headz!!

This amazing and timely radio interview on Overnight in America with Jon Grayson was recently broadcast nationally. Ben Wiser is interviewed about the 40th anniversary of Woodstock, Les Paul’s death, and Headz the novel. The Headz interview begins about 10min and 30 seconds in. Check it out!!

This really cool interview with Rumbum was the first J.J. did for Headz. It came out dope. What came out even cooler, was that as a result of this interview, Rumbum hired him as a freelance Copywriter. Rumbum is a new online lifestyle / culture vehicle launched by Baccardi. They flew him to Denver, New York and Chicago to write about music!! How cool is that?? He wrote 37 articles for Rumbum in thirty days. Of course, he hustled Headz, selling over 100 books in the process . . .

Interesting blog-post about the composition of Headz. Puts the book into a nice perspective, while revealing a little known secret. The characters have their own MySpace pages.

This is Miami-Dade College, the Wolfson Campus in downtown Miami, where J.J. has the honor of working with a group of talented Faculty and an amazing, inspiring, determined multi-cultural student body. This clip is from their Marketing and Communications Department.

stay tuned for more . . .

1. TAKE ME HOME TO THE PLACE I BELONG

J.J. Colagrande — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 05:22:59 +0000

Almost heaven, West Virginia. Shucks. Been going to All Good for years. Remember when Dark Star Orchestra headlined? This year they had the boys, or at least who’s left of them, in Further. All Good. Ain’t a more mellow, old school, down home festival in the world. There’s a reason why they call it All Good, you know. Combine all the elements and the equation adds up to an amazing hassle free time. All Good. Blue-Ridge Mountains outside of Morgantown and those country roads have just the peace needed. Plus you’re still in the South. None of the East coast aggression, Midwest summer swag or West Coast ego. Just good-old embedded southern hospitality. Plus, the crowd at All Good is a little older. Heads that have been around for awhile understand how a music festival operates. Music, good vibes. All Good. Some of these heads come from the 70′s–they’ve seen big shows–like Watkins Glen in 73′, not Watkins Glen 11′. Indeed. Not to say everyone at All Good is older; plenty of kids jam on the mountain. Go with the flow, dude. After all, an American music festival will always appeal intrinsically to a young soul. The Picture of a Young Man as a Gypsie–oh, wanderlust–All Good–such a virtue to the young. The majority of kids definitely aged 18 to 24 young, you know , but the presence of older heads provides a sense of order and tradition that keeps All Good organized and vibing. Not like Camp Bisco or Ultra in Miami where everyone is out of control. Very fair. In the face of madness, we need some order. In addition, the music at All Good is just right. No hip-hop. Maybe a little deejay driven electronica or dub-step. Just a little, if any. You also won’t see commercial indie bands like Arcade Fire. All Good’s just the jammiest bluegrass-iest synthiest of all the fests. Which caters to the older aesthetic and the Southern location. Man. The ingredients are in the bowl, just ready for you to smoke it. I knew it’d prove mellow, coming from Oracledang and escorting Princess around. I wanted a relaxed atmosphere. In fairness, I knew dealing with Princess would be a mission, just kidding. I wanted to take my gal camping and show her a mellow music festival, not like Chicago. Turns out Kurtis and Geri also were making the journey so we agreed beforehand to link up, drive in and setup a little family campsite, no hassles, enjoy the West Virginian wonders of Marvin’s Mountaintop, a mid-summer’s dream of America in July. All Good. No drama. Ha. One always thinks that at first.

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2. COUNTRY ROADS

J.J. Colagrande — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 05:11:19 +0000

All Good means all-good. No missions, no secrets, no worries–that’s Marvin’s Mountaintop–or at least allegedly. Hee-hee. This was the first show we’ve been to since Oracledang. In the last few weeks Geri and me moved into our new house in Asheville. We closed on it and everything. Then I flew down to Miami and packed a U-Haul with all of our stuff from storage and drove it back up. Geri stayed behind to start getting the house in order. Been busy. She wanted to make the house headie–you know–just that at home feeling–no grow room, unfortunately, hee-hee. Remember we have a little one coming in the not so distant future, so, according to Geri, our family nesting process was in full swing. Big on nesting that Geri. You could see it in her eyes. She started to get into this motherhood thing. She quit smoking, of course–although she didn’t care if I smoked. I felt the parenthood vibe, but not so much as to quit smoking green, hee-hee. All Good was definitely a last minute decision. Guess we wanted an escape. Been a bittersweet summer–ever since Thelonious–guess some country roads are better than others. We needed a show. And to hear Further, we’re both huge Deadheads. Whom do you think Geri’s named after? Hee-hee. We weren’t looking for anything hectic so we thought for sure we chose the right festie. All Good equals mellow. But you never know, like Geri says, and she was right. Wait to you hear this whole tale. Mellow? Ha. I thought it’d be like going for ice cream–just a little family affair–no missions, no secrets, no worries. At first, Geri thought Shore Morris and Princess might make the trip a mission–Princess looked like drama–at least Geri thought. She pleaded her case for peace and tranquility, a soft sojourn she wanted–being pregnant Geri did not want a rager. But I reminded her (hormonal butt) that after Oracledang Princess was family. I urged Geri that maybe it’d be prudent to even serve as a female mentor, and not to judge anyone, or turn her back on a friend, new or old–all stuff she knew. Of course she agreed. We’re private, but family is family. I really thought All Good would be the easiest four days of my life. We even arrived early to avoid traffic and get a sweet spot, hee hee. And thanks to the ramblings of Shore Morris, we maneuvered our cars to the RV section and set up camp. We knew the Big Meadow on top of the hill–off of All Good Avenue–would have been way too crowded; and even further up the hill past the Ferris-wheel and Magnolia Circle with the awesome Overlook–that would have been too much walking in Geri’s condition, same thing with the East Meadow–so we found a great spot, near the Family Camping and also the Artist Camping, close to the entrance, yet super on the down low. Perfect. We definitely arrived early tho. We were one of the first people there. Like way early.

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3. THE RECIPE FOR ALL GOOD

J.J. Colagrande — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 04:40:16 +0000

I was in a Fairy mood, bro–feeling magical. Light. Free and fluttery. Mystical. And a little mischievous of course. Probably the baby inside of me brought it out–a guardian mamma, maybe? So that represented the theme of our camp. I brought wings, homemade, and even some extras for Princess, and whoever. Kurtis wears wings with no shame in his game. I didn’t know about Shore Morris. He’s a little too serious for fairy wings. But I also brought plenty of glitter fairy dust. And I had paint supplies to make signs. Plus I brought hula hoops, magic wands and plenty of crafts. I wanted to make our camp into a Fairy temple. I also had patchwork to trade or sell. Although I wasn’t in much of a vending mood, I figured it couldn’t hurt to have some of my gear. Maybe at some point I could trade or consign them with a vender. You never know. That’s my attitude. Better safe than sorry. In the beginning I just wanted to set up our Fairy garden. All four of us assembled the coolest little campsite. We even put up a picket fence. I lined the fence with faux daisies I picked up at a local nursery. We had a great camp with ample shelter in case it rained, even though the weather forecast predicted country heaven. Still, our canvas roof provided ample shade from the summer sun. With our Fairy camp all set up, we helped Shore Morris and Princess get their gear together. They built a fortress of sorts; right next door to our garden Shore Morris and his thirteen star Betsy Ross American flag looked like a bomb shelter of sorts, all ragged and worn, just draped in blue tarp. Their shelter looked like a slum, but on the inside Princess made sure they decked out their Camp Condo real nice. I couldn’t believe their amenities. Fully carpeted with well-lit gas lamps. Come on, bro. They had a generator to provide the electrics. And a refrigerator and blow-up mattress of the highest comfort level. Guess Princess didn’t play around. I’m sure old Shore Morris didn’t care about such facilities. Whatever. I loved our location near RV Parking, right next to Family Camping–that’s what did it for me. All through the weekend I watched the shorties with one eye, observing them playing Frisbee with dad, or picnicking with mom and neighbors, also hula hooping with us. It was great to see music festivals start to cater to families and kids. They even had extra security–if you wanted to walk into Family Camping, you needed an escort, ensuring no deadbeat wingnut kids could come in with drugs. It gave me the recipe for All Good. Three cups of friendship, a glass full of family, a stick of patience, and a heaping tablespoon of generosity. Sprinkle in loving kindness and the laughter of children. Pound steadily with music. Mix it in moderation. Then bake at four-hundred and twenty degrees for four days. Finally, garnish with a smile. That is the recipe for All Good.
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4. HONEY BADGER DON’T GIVE A SHIT ON STARR HILL

J.J. Colagrande — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 03:33:47 +0000

Oh. my. god. I’ve never really traveled to the deep South or anywhere really. I just went with the flow, like Shore Morris says. Like you would never have seen me in this place a few months ago, but I felt open. Everything seemed so fresh and exciting. And I did have the greatest guide. My boy-toy knew everything. He knew where to park, how to set up camp, when and where to shop. Plus Shore Morris knew everyone, campers, production crew, media, even artists. I felt comfortable and that’s all that mattered. Kurtis cracked me up. Geri seemed standoff-ish at first–I don’t know why–maybe she was just preggers and hormonal–but I didn’t have any problems with that bitch. Tell you one thing, Bub–honey badger don’t give a shit. I loved our campsite. It looked like crap on the outside, but that was an illusion to keep out riff-raff–totally my idea, thank you. Our campsite rocked. Our neighbors were with Star Hill, the beer suppliers for the whole festival–woo-hoo–from Virgina, they had cases of cold cans, an amber Ale. I was drinking almost from the start–Shore drank a little too. Don’t you worry. I didn’t run around the RV section wild because I was drunk; on the contrary, I saw people filming a documentary and I wanted to be on camera. A silver bullet RV filmed me. They didn’t think me drunk because, hello, I wasn’t drunk. Nor was I drunk when I tripped on the rocks and sprained my ankle. A lot of rocks on that stupid West Virginia hill. I figured out the hard way not to wear heals. A sprained ankle. Ouch. Shore Morris put me in a taxi and took me to the First Aid tent and everything. That shit hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. They had gauge and a bandage and wrapped my ankle but I was hobbled. Right off the bat. Princess down, living on 421 Sprained Lane. It sucked. In fact, since I was basically incapacitated, I actually wanted to get drunk, but Shore took care of me. Moderation, he said. We cabbed it everywhere. It was funny hailing a taxi at a concert. He also carried me, when necessary. My boy-toy acted patient with me. I was surprised, once again. I probably would have abandoned myself. He said All Good; we’ll just go with the flow. And that’s how my festival started. I’m tough. Instead of whining, I played through the pain. Besides, every time I felt super annoyed and tempted to throw a hissy fit, Shore diffused it. Plus, the mood was just extra mellow. So I hurt myself? Did that mean I had to ruin it for others? Even that night, during Beats Antique, Shore found these guys who let me launch a Chinese lantern. It felt like the Opening Ceremony at the Olympics–everyone cheered as the balloon rose up–my spirits had no choice but to do the same.

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5. FIRE ON THE MOUNTAIN

J.J. Colagrande — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 02:38:09 +0000

All Good, indeed. Yes, indeed. Even with Princess basically disabled by Friday–and believe me she let it be known. Her high-pitched whines still give me chills. “Ouch” “Shit” “Fucking mountain” “Goddamn it!” “How long are we staying here?” “Can’t we get a hotel?” “Where is this cab?” That’s just Princess–I expected worse, actually. Shucks. The action was just starting. Most of the cars didn’t even arrive opening night. We still had a grand Thursday, watching Beats Antique and John Butler and Sound Tribe. We arrived back to camp at a reasonable hour. Me and Princess stayed up, sipping whiskey, enjoying the full moon, watching cars trickle onto the mountain all through the night. Very fair. We fell asleep at four and slept till ten. The sun didn’t even get us. Plus the fans I installed kept us nice and comfy, indeed. We had an easy morning too. I cooked breakfast for everyone over at the Fairy camp. Just a little eggs and toast, some fruit, apples and bananas, a couple of granola bars and juice. Good stuff. As the day progressed, the girls wandered into their fairy world. They painted each other and attached their wings. Princess and Geri were getting on well–I think she felt bad for Princess’s disability–or maybe she respected Princess’s hobbled albeit valiant and also successful attempts at hooping. There were a lot of little kids coming over to the Family Camp to spend time with the girls. Princess really lit up around the children, and they seemed to feed off of her light. I spent most of the day near camp but also walking around. I used to work production, a little rigging actually–so I know a lot of the behind the scenes people on the music festival circuit. Only a couple production companies put these shows together–the strings are pulled by a few hands–just like all political systems, actually. That’s one of the reasons why I left. Union or not, I started to rig for Live Nation and I wanted nothing to do with Live Nation. All Good’s produced by Walther Productions–real grassroots crew, D.C. family, man–totally cool. I love anything they do. Even Superfly Productions makes you feel good. But when you get into Live Nation and AEG Live, the vibe just changes, man. Less is more, I guess. It’s just me, man. I’m a fan of the little guy. Besides I’m too free to be tied up in all that corporate stuff anyway. It’s always wonderful to see everyone at All Good. People look out for one another. It’s like a theme. The girls had their fairy’s, the boys the spirit of the dragon, both protectors. And that’s All Good. I know at our campsite we had fire in our bellies and the spirit of the feisty protective dragon in our hearts. Everywhere we looked we saw signs of fire and of the guardian dragon.

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6. THE SAP OF A FAMILY TREE

J.J. Colagrande — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 01:42:48 +0000

We were nestled on top of Marvin’s Mountain, inside the show, bro. Friday night, and the boys were playing—Kurtis and me love Further, so does Shore Morris, only Princess wasn’t familiar with the Grateful Dead, but she seemed open. I warmed up to her, despite her whining. She was a handful on the outside, but when I saw her around children, it felt impossible not to recognize her loving spirit. All Good. From the top of the hill, on the other side of the VIP camping fence, we looked down at the crazy neon circus. We were all together, as a family, and that’s all that really mattered. At the end of the day, that’s all that really matters. All the bells and whistles, the glow sticks and neon, well, they’re just signs we’re connected, bobbing electricity in a sea of togetherness, currents of day-glow worn like crowns of glory. All of us florescent Jah’s, the Force in full effect. Do I sound high? Well I wasn’t. Just a head full of love for me, no nugs, no swills, no pills, no powder. Powder and nugs? Nope. Just power and hugs, bro. What a night. The festival officially kicked off with that Friday night Further jam. The full moon hung at our backs on a crisp summer night. What a unique moment. And to me that was the whole point of Further’s set. To appreciate the moments. Things only get better with time. That’s a lesson. Remember, I had a life inside of me, one that already could hear the chords of melody. A young life that would soon bear witness to the fire dancers and all their twirling. So much to see, and if lost, my child will be guided by the lighthouse of laser from afar. On the horizon a Ferris wheel glowed, and one day my child will ride that wheel and it will continue to burst with a kaleidoscopic pattern of exploding color. Every few minutes, fire works exploded. Soon my child will see all of that glory in its summer peak. And beyond the shadows of the horizon of Marvin’s Mountaintop laid the unknown, the dark future–and when the darkness seems bleak, I will hold my baby’s hand until the sun once again rises. This went through my head as we danced to Further’s four-hour set, oblivious of the opium smokers and the kids on Molly making out. When you’re sober and pregnant things are definitely different. Sorry. We stayed in this spot on top of the hill, hanging in Wonderland, holding down the base, blessed with family. Patience repeated itself in my mind. Patience for the cycle of birth, patience for the night; for it was All Good, or at least it certainly appeared so.
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7. THE CALL OF THE WILD

J.J. Colagrande — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 00:47:09 +0000

Sugar Bear. That’s all I had to go on. Sugar Bear. A simple headie name. Teflon texted me, asking if we were at All Good, noting the urgency. I said yuperdoodles and immediately my phone blew up. He said Sugar Bear. I said, huh? Sugar Bear. You need to find someone named Sugar Bear. He’s at All Good. Say what? And then he filled me in. Geri and I had been keeping in touch with Teflon ever since Chicago. We knew he bailed Melody Rain out of jail. The last we heard they headed to Lolla. Apparently, the game had changed, hee-hee. This huge game changer resulted in the release of three-fold monumental info. One, there was in existence a remedy to the Deer Creek Needle. Boom. Huge. Crazy huge!! That meant there was a chance to Save Thelonious, whom of course we love, and of course lay in a coma in Chicago with the clock ticking. Two, Teflon and Melody Rain knew of the ingredients needed for the remedy. The components were very particular and also spread out across the country. Three, one of the elements needed for the remedy was at All Good in the possession of some dude named Sugar Bear. Apparently, this Sugar Bear had some sort of powdery concoction, some mixture of ground up tonics and elixirs or something. From what Teflon heard, the antidote resembled a multi-colored sand. It was needed as a base-mixture, along with the other ingredients, to put together the remedy. I asked how could they create the solution? What alchemy did they need done? You know I dabble a little, especially for a chance to save Thelonious. Teflon told me they needed to find someone named The Chemist!! Fuck. I knew The Chemist. I told him I knew The Chemist. The Chemist lived in Florida. I apprenticed with the Chemist myself, hee-hee. Teflon loved that news. He sounded ecstatic. That piece of the puzzle had eluded him. Although wonderful breaking news, they didn’t need The Chemist yet–they needed the ingredients and specifically since we were at All Good we had to find this Sugar Bear. My phone didn’t have the best connection on the mountain, I had to call Teflon back six times due to the poor reception. But I told him I was on it. I’d find what he needed. You know I got mad skills. I’d comb the mountain. At the time, I decided to keep this info on the down low from Geri. I didn’t want her to worry or get even more emotional. I’d wait to tell her. Shore Morris could help cuz he knew people. But Geri, for her own good, just needed to enjoy the festival. I could find this Sugar Bear alone, that was my intention. It started with Umphrey’s. I told Geri that I really wanted to see Umphrey’s McGee. I tucked her in at camp after Further and went back. I literally walked all around during Umphrey’s McGee like a mad man. Are you Sugar Bear? Sugar Bear? Where you at Sugar Bear?? Umphrey’s jammed and yelling wasn’t my style. I had a mission, for sure.

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8. THE MYSTERIOUS CASE OF SUGAR BEAR

J.J. Colagrande — Tue, 02 Aug 2011 23:51:14 +0000

All Good, indeed. Yes, indeed. Thelonious could be saved. Great news. Awesome. Kurtis pulled me aside Saturday afternoon and told me what he learned, and also how he had spent a sleepless night walking the festival in search of this foe. I agreed to keep it secret from the girls. Geri was pregnant and emotional, no need to get her excited. And Princess, well, she belonged in a special class–although I am learning quickly not to underestimate that girl. Still, with her ankle sprained, not much she could do. All Good. I couldn’t believe it. When he told me the news, I perused the Rolodex in my mind. I knew a Rolling Bear from Tucson, and also a Dancing Bear from Burlington who did some production rigging, but I couldn’t place Sugar Bear. It didn’t matter. The plans for the day sort of changed. Shucks. What the Nitrous Mafia did to Thelonious at Oracledang was unacceptable. If I could do anything to right the wrong committed, well–where did I sign? Kurtis and I both figured Sugar Bear must have been connected to the Nitrous Mafia in some way. With Princess on the disabled list, and Geri pregnant, we spent most of the day Saturday alternately sneaking away, sniffing around for clues. I gotta go to the bathroom. Back in a jiffy. I forgot something in our tent. Anyone need anything from anywhere? I’m going to grab a bite on Shakedown. Want something? I’ll be right back. We alternated excuse after excuse to sneak away and the girls didn’t know the difference. We set them up with a nice spot inside of the festival grounds, left of the soundboard, closer to the Dragon Stage–see-there’s the dragon again–the dragon will always protect you. We convinced the girls that we should all stay inside and enjoy the Saturday afternoon jams of Donna the Buffalo, JJ Grey, Rebelution and of course YMSB. Are those bands awesome? Indeed. But we really needed a home-base right-in-the-middle of everything–and there was no better central location than inside the show. One thing seemed certain, it’d be easier to find this Sugar Bear under the cover of daylight. That was just a matter of optics. Can’t see so good in the dark. Also, it’s not really kosher to roll up on unknown campsites at night; during the day you might as well post up a welcome sign, but not at night. So we had to use the light to our advantage and I did. I learned from an old time production kid that there was indeed a Sugar Bear from Atlanta on the mountain, in the East Meadow. Kurtis was eager to explore. He made up an excuse. It’s impossible to find any glass here. I need a pipe. I’ll be back. And off he went, nodding at me. There were thirty thousand heads out there. I wished him the best.

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9. NINJA HIPPIE

J.J. Colagrande — Tue, 02 Aug 2011 23:14:00 +0000

I found Sugar Bear. Sitting next to a bus painted with dancing bears. My eyes zoomed in on a container also shaped like a bear, like an old honey jar. It was filled with a multi-colored powder. I’m looking for Sugar Bear! Who wants to know? And there sat this wook, so smug and complacent, with the antidote right out in the open. I’m Kurtis. Are you Sugar Bear? Go away, Kurtis. I hear you have some powder. I pointed to the canister on the table. My powder is not for sale, dread. He picked up the bear-concoction and held it like a trophy. I tried to be cool. Hey, bro–we’re all family here–All Good–no worries–hee-hee–I have money. I just want some powder. He snapped back–tell it to the judge, Kurtis–there’s no powder here for sale. The cat proved to be difficult, so I tried sincerity. Listen–my boy needs some of your sugar, he’s in the hospital, sick, very sick, and they say your sugar can help, so why don’t you help our family out. I don’t give a fuck about your family, Kurtis; if your friend needs my sugar, then he must have done something to deserve his condition. I exhausted all avenues, money, sincerity, friendliness–there was only one more option: Delta Force ninja time. Don’t make me take that from you. I took a step towards him. He didn’t buckle. Boys. He clapped and three of his friends that had been sitting around all rose up and circled in on me. They didn’t know the full extent of my trickery, and real quick I showed them the secret of Kurtis–old school skills–dormant, acquired from my days in Thailand. Boff whamm sock kapow splatt crash zamm a roundhouse a few punches and kicks klonk thunk whap zok zam whamm I broke it down in a minute–knowing the exact spot to render someone unconscious urkkk clank klonk clash I turned my attention back to the smug kid with Thelonious’s remedy. Don’t fuck with me, Sugar Bear–give me what I asked for. Mamma Cass, he yelled–and then the largest woman I’ve ever seen in my life appeared from behind the bus. She was huge. Sugar Bear stood. I’m sorry, dread–no one gets my sugar unless I’m told to give them my sugar–and you ain’t got the kind of money it takes. Mamma Cass, treat this young dread to some manners, show him some love. In the meantime, me and my sugar will be hitting the road. The scoundrel darted out of the trashed campsite, carrying the concoction. Meanwhile, this large woman bear-hugged me, deflating my esophagus of oxygen. Handling me like a sack of soiled laundry, she tossed me to the ground and sat on me. The other three dudes began to regain consciousness, while a group of neighbors hovered around us like a gallery.

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10. RABBIT HOLES

J.J. Colagrande — Tue, 02 Aug 2011 21:16:42 +0000

Think it was Saturday afternoon. Everything was definitely cool, bro. The weekend flowed pretty smooth. Time seemed useless–we we’re sort of on Rainbow Time–that’s Rainbow Gathering lingo for who cares about time, albeit at a music festival time is somewhat important considering the scheduling of the music acts. But hey, no worries, really. That’s the reason why we love All Good–it’s mellow. You can always count on very little drama, if any. I did hear a little drama about some bad Molly on the mountain–allegedly floating around from Camp Bisco–but I knew festie gossip when I heard it. So funny. From one seventeen year old overdosing at Camp Bisco on bad Molly, the story evolved into 17 kids overdosing at Bisco, with the Molly still floating around All Good, apparently giving people heart palpitations and seizures. Freaking gossip–what glory lies in its hollowed hallways. Shit. I didn’t care, bro. I felt great. All that bullshit represented kid stuff, really. I was on that Just Say N2O vibe all-the-way; and I didn’t really care what anyone else did, as long as they kept me in perpetual peace. Even Princess’s whines grew on me. Yeah, she complained and bitched and moaned, but it was just sarcasm, really. She didn’t mean half the things she said. Princess is a lot tougher than she pretends. Having a sprained ankle at a music festival is not fun, and staying in one spot for a long time could also get restless, yet the Miami girl bore it well. It’s so weird that we were from the same city. I mean really. Like she’d never been to Moksha Gallery or Churchill’s or Art Walk or even Vagabond. She’d never heard of Afrobeta or Telekinetic Walrus. Her version of Miami was like South Beach and the Doral Ale House and Blue Martini. I was like really, that’s where you hang out? That’s why we wanted to leave Miami. Not that she seemed closed to other avenues of culture, she just had zero awareness of their existence, like most people really. I found it endearing and loved her more for it and spent long conversations sharing all the counter-cultural to-do’s in the Magic City. Plus it was so ironic to me that Princess and Shore Morris were an item. Just whatever works, right–which again won me over completely. All Good. It was late Saturday afternoon when I decided to network–Kurtis had disappeared like he does sometimes–looking for a pipe. From what I heard there was no glass on the mountain and a shortage of smoking paraphernalia, so I knew he might be gone awhile. Just knowing Kurtis, I hoped he didn’t fall into any rabbit holes–the secretive rascal–I mean I trust him completely–besides–it’s impossible to get into trouble at All Good.

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11. SHAKEDOWN

J.J. Colagrande — Tue, 02 Aug 2011 19:20:42 +0000

I pulled one of my slithering secret wrestling escape moves on this mammoth Mamma Cass. Then I resorted to pure speed to escape the woolly beast. I saw Sugar Bear heading towards the main road out of the East Meadow. I caught him on the Trout Run path down to the entrance of the show. Tackling him from behind splatt boff we started rolling down the hill. Give me that powder, Sugar Bear!! We began to wrestle and throw punches thunk boff ooooff zap kapow while we continued to roll. The rascal kicked me in the nuts whap temporarily disabling me. He jumped to his feet. You’ll never get this powder, Kurtis!! Sugar Bear ran and I chased, albeit gingerly at first. At the bottom of the hill, he bucked a sharp right and made his way towards the giant slide. He cut the line like a dickhead, swooping down the slide with a hoot and a holler–the fucker–I was in full chase, although I asked nicely if I could skip ahead to go down the slide. On the bottom I had him in sight. Sugar Bear saw me and panicked, jumping in front of a production golf cart. He forced the All Good worker from the vehicle and headed towards Shakedown in the hijacked cart. Luckily an empty cab drove by and I literally jumped into it and yelled FOLLOW THAT GOLF CART!!! My cabbie did what I told her when I stuck a hundred dollar bill in her hand. In hot pursuit, we chased Sugar Bear past the Shakedown vendors, up All Good Avenue, past the Ferris wheel into the rocky inclines of Magnolia Circle. At times we pulled up beside him and he tried to ram us off the road. I even jumped into his cart and punched him repeatedly crraack ooooff thwapp but he shook me off by slamming on the brakes and then accelerating again. Sugar Bear tried to lose us by cutting through the heavily occupied campsite in the Big Meadow. Zig-zagging through Maple and Walnut Avenues, we wrecked more than a few campsites as he made his way towards the steep drop off known as Buzzkill Hill. Again we pulled up beside the golf cart. This time Sugar Bear knocked us into a sideways spin, flattening our tire. He pulled off laughing. You’ll never get my sugar!! I started to chase him on foot, but he was definitely getting away. By the time I surfaced near the Check Point, I scanned the crowded area only to see the golf cart over by the entrance to Staff Parking. And then Sugar Bear appeared in a car, exiting the staff lot. He literally drove right past me; dust kicked up in my face as I saw him exit the Music Festival altogether, laughing and hooting and hollering. No way!! Thelonious’s remedy couldn’t get away. I looked around. I needed a car, like stat.

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12. PUKEGRASS, PEANUT BUTTER & DOLCE & GABANNA

J.J. Colagrande — Tue, 02 Aug 2011 17:16:20 +0000

Oh. My. God. The idea to keep out rif-raff from our campsite like totally didn’t really work. This one guy came into our shelter, helping himself to our whiskey. He stuck a finger in our peanut butter and started talking drunkenly about how he didn’t want to have sex with me or Geri or even Shore Morris–he didn’t want to have sex with anyone–I was like okay, Pukegrass, time to get your ass grooving on down the road, to which he received a gentle shove from me. Get going, Pukegrass–go stake a flag and call it your home–that was my new word–Pukegrass–some people camping nearby had a flag with those words on it. It was a stupid word, but I liked it. We had walked back to our camp because Geri wanted to get some of her clothes and put the hooping gear away for the night. Shore Morris and me tagged along because she needed help carrying stuff; well Shore Morris carried the gear. Kurtis disappeared on a stupid mission looking for a pipe or something. Geri said Kurtis always had a way of disappearing and popping up. I really liked Geri’s ability to trust. Besides, we were Guardians of the Fairy Convent. I remember when I first met them at Oracledang I thought her and her man were dirty Bob Marley white spanish dreadlock dudes. I’m laughing at how far I’ve come in a short period of time. I mean, hello. Princess, a 18-year old South Floridian, chilling at a four-day music festival in West Virgina, dating a 37-year old Asian hippie anarchist. And loving every second of it. I might not have let it on, but I loved the whole trip and kind of secretly wanted everyone to like me because I really liked them so much. With Geri I felt a connection. She even let me tag along with her to Shakedown Street. Shopping and me equals heaven. Oh. My. God. The vendors. Like better than South Beach, cheaper, more options. Instead of Hermes, Dolce & Gabbana, Valentino and Pucci–we perused Hooked, Dragonfly, Eagle’s Nest Outfitters and Bella Luna. Everything looked so colorful and loose fitting and open. And we could trade, if we wanted to. Geri sewed her own work. And she showed off the wares to some people who seemed extremely impressed with her craftsmanship. Some vendor Phunkypatches actually loved Geri’s patchwork so much they took all of her clothes on a consignment deal, and they said anything else she made to send them. The business transaction occurred so smoothly. Impressive? You betcha! No lawyers, no contracts, just a card with a receipt and a handshake. When I questioned Geri about legitimacy, she explained among family it was easier. Phunkypatches wasn’t going anywhere. Geri even gave me a shirt, kick-down. I hugged her. What a cool vibe. This All Good thing.

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13. TOO MANY DUCKY’S

J.J. Colagrande — Tue, 02 Aug 2011 16:26:34 +0000

In the overflow Day Parking area, also the Artist Campgrounds, a few dudes were unloading equipment from a couple of running buses. No one was behind the wheel of one, so I hopped in and borrowed the ride. Driving away, I heard the band members yelling at me–and I responded–I’ll be right back, hee-hee. So I borrowed, not stole, but borrowed Papadosio’s bus to chase Sugar Bear. Then I jetted out of the festival up Huggins Drive and down Sunny Hill Road. I caught up to Sugar Bear in a little while, ramming into his back bumper. I could see his beady little eyes notice me in the rear-view mirror. He sped up, making his way towards Route 7 and I followed in full pursuit, through Masontown and all the little nooks and country crannies. He couldn’t shake me. Hee-hee. I stayed on him like glue as he headed East on Interstate 68, getting off by Cheat Lake. He even snuck ahead by blowing a red light but I followed him down to the lake, getting to the Marina just in time to see Sugar Bear ride off into Cheat Lake on a wave-runner. What a motherfucker!! I rented a wave-runner and chased after him. Passing a fleet of pontoon boats, I followed. At one point I pulled right up next to the Wook and jumped off my wave-runner, tackling him off of his. Both wave-runners came to a halt. In the water we punched and scrapped and pulled at each other bloop glurpp ooooff slosh Give me that powder, Sugar Bear!! And then the fucker got a lucky punch to my temple klunk leaving me discombobulated for a minute. Back on the wave-runner he peeled off, spraying me in a mist of lake!! I made my way back aboard and chased him. By the time I caught him the river had become unmanageable for wave-runners. He had commandeered a Ducky one-man kayak from a group of white-water rafters, so I did the same. As the white-water picked up its speed, we maneuvered our way through the narrow channels, dodging rocks, splashing, twisting and turning. The river was high and the pace quickened. Give me that powder, Sugar Bear. Never!! I had enough. I steered the ducky on a crash course with Sugar Bear and we collided. Right before impact I swung the oar right into his face thwack knocking him back. In addition to the collision, we both wound up in the water, getting tossed about. He was knocked out but I had him in my hands. Soon the river slowed down and opened back up so I swam to a clearing, eventually depositing Sugar Bear along a rocky bank. He was knocked out cold, half-dead. But I reached in his inner shirt pocket and retrieved the multi-colored powdered bear, still dry, wrapped in a plastic baggie.

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