I made the term in the Subject line up back in the late 60s, probably
before "trickle down" had entered the public lexicon. The reason was
because I found myself in Southern California at that most opportune of
times, the beginnings of the Hippie Revolution. It didn't turn out to be
all that much of a revolution, but it sure as hell was fun to be part
of.
We were just college hippies, taking advantage of the lax laws and the
fact that no one had ever promoted rock concerts on a large scale before
to run light shows and promote parties/dances/light shows/concerts
featuring some of the bands that were just showing up on the musical
horizon at the time. Bands like the Grateful Dead, Quicksilver Messenger
Service, Buffalo Springfield, The Doors, Big Brother and the Holding
Company (Janis Joplin), and Jimi Hendrix. We had no money, no insurance,
and we didn't know what the fuck we were doing, but we had one shitload
of fun. And we got to party with the bands.
It was in that setting that I first discovered the quantum mechanics of
Trickle-down Groupie Status. Hot bands attracted hot groupies, hot to
trot. But when it came down *to* trotting, there was a definite "pecking
order" of groupie status. Top of the list -- hottest groupie prize --
was the lead singer in the band, if there was one. Next came the lead
guitarist, or guitarists. Next, interestingly enough, came the drummer.
Then the bassist and the other sidemen. All of them were pretty much
guaranteed to score at the end of the gig, if 'scoring' was what they
had in mind.
Next came the band's manager, and after that the roadies. The guys who
produced the concert and manned the light show were dead last. But, even
so, there were more than enough groupies to go around, so fun -- and the
groupies -- were pretty much had by all. It was a fun time, but it was a
fleeting time, and I don't think about it much unless someone brings up
the music of the period here or on another forum.
So imagine my surprise that my conversations with Ben and his friends at
Le Verbalon have seemed to confer me some kind of Old Fart Trickle-down
Groupie Status. To them, the bands of that era are near-gods, the
pantheon of the modern music revolution. To me, they were just guys and
gals I was lucky enough to party with for a very short time in my youth.
They're anxious for stories of those days ("So what *was* it like to
drop acid with Jerry Garcia?"), and I tell them a few that I suspect
will entertain them. But afterwards to some extent I can feel them
projecting some kind of weirdass rock star glammer onto me, *just
because I met these people a few times*.
Me, I know the truth. I stumbled onto the scene by accident, enjoyed my
luck at having done so, and wandered on. None of these "rock gods" would
remember me (were they still alive), and there is no reason why they
should. I was just one of the "entourage," another one of the groupies
(even if they had a legitimate function, like promoting the concert) who
hung around musicians at that time and in that place.
But for the French, almost warming their hands at the thought of what
California must have been like at that time, me having been there, done
that seems to confer upon me some kinda several-steps-removed groupie
status on me. Weird.
I suspect that Bharitu is one of the only people here who will get this.
He used to play on the same stage as some of these people, as part of
the opening act. Me, I just hustled to promote the concerts and worked
the light shows and got invited to the after-parties. Big whoop.
It was just the scene, at that time. You ran into the kinda people you
ran into. If you were smart, you tried your best to have a good time
with them. But -- at the time -- they weren't famous, and neither were
you. You were just people, having a good time together.
That shouldn't inspire groupies. It should be commonplace, how things
work for everyone, all the time.
