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The poster for the show said "Between Somewhere and Nowhere"...
...and that accurately describes the setting of Saturday night's backyard romp in the boonies east of Arcata, a University town in the heart of Humboldt county, about 250 miles north of San Francisco. Another planet away from suburbimallimerica. Located next to Highway 101 on the narrow flats between the coast (more accurately, on a bay or river delta) and the hills, the town combines a laidback seaside intellectual ambience with a rugged legacy of logging, fishing, and ranching, in both its architecture and population. Think hippies and decaying lumberyards.
Home of the kinetic sculpture race (a three-day extravaganza of human powered carnival... but that’s another story); a population that can support a sushi bar, bookstores, coffee shops, and health food stores as well as feed shops, hardware stores and motels; casinos have just been added to the mix; students, organic farmers, growers, ranchers, tourists, and gas station attendants. It’s got a real town square with 100-year-old buildings, surrounded by stately Victorian houses in various states of restoration and repair. Bed and breakfasts nested under the redwoods don’t yet outnumber the trailers nestled next to piles of junk cars, but there are regular signs of post-yuppie prosperity among a general atmosphere of a struggling rural working class. Just out of town, a LOT of winding driveways with "No Trespassing" signs.
 Which leads me back to Saturday night’s romp - a bunch of hippies partying next to a decaying lumberyard. Oh, but it was so much more than that. It was the Zero reunion. And I hesitate to call the band that name, as its featured player was absent. But since that name has encompassed almost 20 years of various lineups, and the other core personnel were all present and accounted for, that name will suffice for now. In brief, a couple of guys persuaded (i.e., how much will it cost to...?) Greg, Bobby, Martin, and Chip to play together at their party. And insist that Howard Danchick do the sound. And the masterstroke was to add Terry Haggerty and Ray White to the mix. But I digress.
The weekend started the night before at a bar/brewery at the next town up the road. Don't Push the Clown (Vega, White, Haggerty, and Jimmy Sanchez) played two damn fine sets. A great night out on the town (if you could call it a town), but only appetizers for the crowd. Most of them knew of the next night’s festivities.
The next day started in the mostly overcast mid-afternoon. One of the hosts lived on a somewhat ramshackle ranchette backed up to a large cow pasture that bordered the highway. No neighbors. A stage had been already erected, but there was a lot of work to be done. The stage backed up to an old milk house or something, and the lawn sloped down toward the cow pasture. Howard arrived and with the help of a couple of hard working hosts, set up the soundboard and PA. Gel-O-Tronics (Vince and myself) engineered screens for the light show by scavenging a pile of irrigation pipes to use as flagpoles. A lot of extension cords were run. Other volunteers decorated, got the kegs going, and/or mixed secret potions, while beautiful kids with names like Utopia and Jasmine ran around. The scene reminded me of a miniature version of Sunshine Daydream - the movie footage that documented a Dead show at Kesey’s farm in 1972.
As darkness approached, the road leading up to the place filled with an assortment of VW vans and four-wheel drive pickups. The Sonoma Zero heads were well represented as well as some hardcores from other parts of California. But it was a mostly local crowd. I gotta guess about 300/400 people, about half that were only there for the party. The light shows lit up (nice video behind and to the right of the stage, slide projections to the left and on the wall of the barn next door) and Don’t Push the Clown took the stage. It seemed they played about 2/3 of a set before a fine mist turned into a steady drizzle. Ooops, no one thought it might rain. The band stopped rather than risk electrocution. The crowd stayed (it was typical weather for them) and moved under some trees and into open vans, houses and outbuildings. Gear was stashed under the stage. A somewhat frantic feasibility study was convened to find the missing giant $200 tarp and ponder the possibility of building a roof over the stage. The band hunkered down in the milk house.
Miraculously, the rain stopped. Tarps were pulled down. The only casualty of the night was Jimmy Sanchez; a two-drummer show was nixed at the last minute. The band took the stage - the front line was (L-R) Martin, Terry, and Ray. Chip was off to the left, Gregg was in back, and Bobby was off to the right.
Now for the music review... Their style might not have changed much (yeah, I know, that can be the biggest drawback to some readers), but in my opinion all these guys have considerably honed their chops since we last saw them together. Bobby has since played with Tower of Power and Mickey Hart. Gregg has become much more precise as leader of his side projects. Martin doesn’t play like he’s in pain. Terry and Ray don’t play like sidemen. Chip’s voice sounded rested and his guitar playing was credible. Maybe it was because they didn’t have to musically defer to the mood of a single lead guitar, maybe because they were all having fun, maybe because the scene was too laidback to be upset with anything, maybe because they were challenged by each other, maybe because they got paid in advance, maybe they were as lit as the crowd, I don’t know, but the band smoked. And they played like a band of equals, not like a collection of grumpy individuals.
The most noticeable difference: the vocals. Your brain is expecting to hear gravely raspy vocals, but instead, you hear Ray belting it out sweetly in new registers. He was reading the words for some of the songs (it could have been the first time he sang them, but I heard they practiced the previous day). You realize these are some really good tunes when you hear them sung slightly differently, like when Zero sporadically included a female singer. A drastic improvement, and even hints of real harmonies.
The guitar you ask... what about the guitar? Well, the two guitars combined worked really well that night. Terry and Ray played in synch and on full throttle. (The previous Clown gigs probably helped.) It was certainly song-centered as compared to jam-centered; not much meandering or intellectual explorations. Less finesse, more group energy. There might have been less emotional dynamic range to the music, but it was actually nice not to have to patiently wait for exploratory noodling to build to a climax. No one was sitting on a stool contemplating the spaces between the notes for this show. The guitarists played with dueling intensity throughout, and all the while, Terry exudes a white bearded fatherly friendliness reminiscent of Jerry, and Ray provides an Al Green-on-acid sexual charm.
And I can’t speak for the old Zero heads, but I think they would be happy with two bands making the rounds. See this band to get your Zero fix and see SKB for pure Steve. The best of both worlds. Maybe the two will occasionally meet up.
That being said, musically, this band could fit right in to the national jamband/festival scene (not that I believe they would pull it off commercially or that I would want them to leave the local environs). Not only do they have a decent repertoire, they still have a unique sound. Compared to old Zero, now they have the vocals and, more importantly, two of the most twisted minds in rock 'n' roll sharing the same stage. With Martin and Ray you get more personality, great bad jokes, worse puns, inane ramblings, and impromptu scat than any other band out there.
Would the kids take to it this version of Zero sans Kimock? I dunno, most newbies wouldn’t know he was missing. It’s definitely more barroom blues than bluegrass, more the road weary dirty old men vibe than the energetic fresh-faced DJ vibe, more soul no techno. This set list was copied from a paper plate I found in the band’s room the next morning. If they didn’t play this exactly, they played a similar list:
Rigormortis
Chance in a Million
Out in the Woods
Sun, Sun, Sun
End of the World Blues
Anorexia
Good Man Down
Tell Me All About It
Gregg’s Eggs
Golden Road
It was good. It was satisfying. It was certainly “Between Somewhere and Nowhere.”
Alan in Sebastopol
JamBase | California
Go See Live Music!
PS: Thanks to everyone who made this show possible, especially the hosts and promoters, and everyone who made it up there, including the tapers. I purposely left out names cause I know several of you are wanted by the authorities.
PSS: The sight of the night: As the party raged to dawn, Ray White meandered between a house party in the living room and a bluegrass jam in the milk house. Rumor has it he sang a verse or two as the sun rose. We only made it to 5:15am.
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