The Euphonious Echoes were in San Francisco at the invitation of an organization called “Love Eat and Fuck Year-round,” or LEAFY, a genuine grassroots movement whose members believed first and foremost in the life-affirming and potency-increasing attributes of lawns, and who actively promoted not only the eating and drinking of them and their byproducts, but also the actual smoking of the green growth itself, the act of which led to a certain amount of misunderstanding between core members and outsiders who thought they were inhaling a particularly good batch of marijuana, not chlorophyll.
LEAFY was itself a splinter group from Taste The Real Earth’s Energy, or TREE, who literally worshipped the ground they walked on, and who as part of their sacred rites included substantial amounts of mud in all of their food. LEAFY was born the morning after the introduction into the dietary rotation of mudhen, or roasted chicken stuffed with wet dirt, following the ingestion of which thirteen members broke their heretofore strict rule against seeing doctors and spent the morning having their stomachs pumped and writing the charter for their new soil-free enterprise.
On June 21st at 4:30 a.m., the official hour of the summer of love solstice, LEAFY was scheduled to hold its first public event, a day of music and poetry designed to celebrate the medicinal powers of the natural world and the wonders of creation. In the spirit of the season’s sundry Be-Ins, Love-Ins and other like revelries in which men, women and children embraced life and pretty much anyone they could get a hold of, LEAFY’s gala was christened the “In-Vitam-In,” and had been expected to attract a large and lively crowd.
Due to the unexpected medical interlude, however, and its resultant disruption in the LEAFY routine, the already lackadaisical Committee For Getting Things Done As Close To Originally Planned As Possible completely broke down, and they neglected to file for the necessary permits to hold “In-Vitam-in” in the public space upon which they had set their poorly focused sights.
Upon learning of this entanglement, some LEAFY members boldly suggested holding the event there anyway, potential consequences be damned. Others, including the entire Committee To Keep As Many Of Us Out of Jail As Possible, argued vehemently against this suggested tactic, persuasively reminding their colleagues that among their number was the son of the local FBI bureau chief, currently on sabbatical from the rest of his life.
Following a brief presentation from the Committee To See If We Have Left Anything Out, LEAFY, much to their present dismay and future embarrassment, voted to set in motion their backup plan, which resulted in “In-Vitam-In” taking place at the Waikiki Room of the local Holiday Inn, which was owned by LEAFY’s president’s father, and which provided a setting for Boots and the band unfortunately not very removed from those they had become intimately familiar with during the previous several years on the road. (read to here at july/97 salon)
During all of the above painful and protracted negotiations, LEAFY had also decided it was best not to inform the band of any of the changes taking place for fear of losing them along with essentially everything else that comprised the original plan (no committee was essential for this resolution, it was instantaneous and unanimous) and had simply provided them with a street name and the vague admonition that, “you’ll know it when you see it, man.”
Expecting a wide open, free-spirited and closer-to-nature venue approximating that of the just completed Monterey Pop Festival -- which the Echoes had attended and thoroughly enjoyed but in which they had not been invited to participate, their still developing hit not yet placing them in the same ready-to-break-through professional fraternity as the likes of Hendrix, Joplin, Redding and The Who -- when the band first drove by the spot, instrument trailer in tow, they were sure that a mistake had been made, and they hoped it was by them.
“Maybe the Committee to Look Up The Right Goddam Address didn’t pay their dues this month,” said Lips as the band whizzed by the hotel the first time.
“I don’t think LEAFY charges dues,” said Smarts.
Circling around and driving down the street a second time, the fruits of their search for any signs of the counterculture turning up only a brightly painted doorway for “Way Out Cleaners” and its invitation to “Come on in and get really dry,” the Echoes were sure that a mistake had been made, and they knew it was by them.
“Maybe we should call LEAFY headquarters for help,” said Sparks, who was beginning to doubt that “In-Vitam-in” was actually destined to take place at all.
“No need to, the clowns have arrived,” said Lips, pointing out the window towards a large group of people emerging from a very small van, “And they’re going into that hotel.”
“Maybe they’re lost, too,” said Sparks.
“Then how do you explain that sign?,” asked Smarts, indicating a placard sitting in the middle of a parking lot across the street as he recited its contents. “`Welcome to the Holiday Inn. Today’s event: In-Vitam-in. Parking’s Free, So’s The Pool, Take a Break, The Rooms Are Cool.’”
“I think I’m going to vomit,” said Lips.
“I think we’ve been duped” said Boots.
“I think we’re in hell,” said Sparks.
“Do you think it means they have air conditioning or that their rooms are really great?,” said Smarts.
“I don’t actually give a fuck, and we’re not ever going to know,” said Lips, stepping on the gas and pulling out onto the road away from the hotel. “LEAFY and In-Vitam-in will just have to get along without us.”
“Damn straight!,” said Boots, whose inclination to be the sensible one had made a brief appearance but disappeared quickly. “I didn’t come to San Francisco to get screwed over by a bunch of disorganized dope-heads.”
“Yeah,” said Sparks. “Let’s find a bunch of organized dope-heads and play for them. That’ll show ‘em; sort of a high for a high kind of thing.”
“You’re missing the point,” said Boots. “I’m not interested in revenge, I just want to play for people who will actually appreciate us.”
“We’re an almost very famous rock band, there should be someone who wants to hear us play,” said Lips. “Maybe there’s another ‘In’ of some sort around here that we can crash.”
“I’m not sure you can actually crash an ‘In,’” said Sparks. “They’re always free, and anyone’s invited.”
“So what you’re saying is that an ‘In’ will never throw you out?,” asked Lips.
“Can we change the subject?,” asked Boots.
“Okay,” said Smarts. “Does that look like an ‘In’ over there?”
The Echoes had reached the top of a very steep hill, and at its peak was a small green park, open on all sides and populated by pockets of brightly dressed people. The casual observer would notice that they were engaged in the usual range of activities, some sitting, some standing, some talking, some quiet, but closer scrutiny revealed there was a singular symmetry to the scene, an ineffable “togetherness” -- marked by the way they looked at each other, or didn’t look at each other, or the way someone over here would say something funny, and the way someone over there would laugh, or the way they would occasionally shift at the same time, not quite in unison but fluently, the way a great flock of birds would all at once prepare to leave the land, migration on their minds -- that was simultaneously indefinable and immediately apparent.
“It’s a happening!,” said Sparks, as he began climbing out of the car, which was still rolling to a stop.
“That may be, but it’s not a happening to us,” said Boots, grabbing on to his guitar player’s belt and tugging him back into his seat. “We weren’t invited.”
“I thought you didn’t have to be invited to a happening,” said Smarts, who found himself intrigued by the enigmatic aura surrounding the scene not to mention the strange looking drums he noticed sitting on a blanket not far from where they’d finally parked.
“No, I think that’s only an ‘In,’” said Sparks, who did not in fact have a strong opinion on the matter, but instead was hoping this conversation would distract Boots enough to give him another chance to bolt out of the car. “’Happenings’ are slightly more formal affairs.”
“I don’t actually think so,” said Lips, who, as always, was more than happy to explore the deeper ramifications of any subject. “’Ins’ strike me as themed events requiring planning and some sort of public notification, however lame that may be, i.e. LEAFY’s sorry attempt, which, might I add with some pleasure, is currently unfolding without us, whereas the very word ‘happening’ implies spontaneity and the lack of any sort of pre-, but not necessarily transcendental, meditation.”
“Says you,” said Sparks, as he quickly opened his car door and spun out onto the ground, his right hand firmly covering the belt loops closest to Boots. “Happening, love-in, or random gathering of people who I have not been cooped up in a car with for the greater portion of the last couple of years, I’m going over.”
“Me, too, and don’t try to stop me,” said Smarts, who emerged from the car in the same way, even though it was now apparent that no one actually was trying to stop him, and indeed both Lips and Boots were actually getting out of the car themselves.
“Alright,” said Boots. “But please show some respect for whatever the hell is going on over there.”
“Respect is my middle name,” said Sparks over his shoulder as he quickened his pace.
“When did you change it from Harold?,” asked Smarts, running to catch up with him.
Meanwhile, the antics inside and outside the car had attracted the attention of most of the people in the park, several of whom were now approaching the band. At the head of the group was a tall male with long blonde hair, wearing a green headband, blue t-shirt, orange bell bottoms, red moccasins and a large peace symbol necklace hanging around his neck.
“Greetings, countrymen,” he said as he met up with the Echoes, Sparks in the lead and the others now closely behind. “If you were lost, you have been found; if you were following your inner direction, you have arrived.”
Sparks, who while conversant with the stuporous effects of traditional pills of various sizes, colors and shapes, was as yet unfamiliar with the consciousness-altering vernacular of the transpiring psychedelic era, fell back on what for him was a familiar and he hoped universal idiom.
“Awop-bop-a-loo-mop, alop-bam-boom,” he said, while raising his right hand in the air and waving it rapidly from side to side.
“Bless you, my son,” said the blonde-haired leader, leaving Sparks unsure whether or not he had recognized the Little Richard song or simply thought Sparks had sneezed. As he launched into Long Tall Sally in an attempt to clear the matter up, Sparks was cut off by Boots, who stepped forward and extended his hand in greeting.
“We’re fine, thanks, and sorry to have disrupted your, uh, happening,” Boots said. “We’ll be on our way, and won’t bother you anymore.”
“Nonsense,” said the blonde-haired leader. “We are all one, and happy to have you among us.” With this, he stepped forward and vigorously embraced Boots, who while not at all unfamiliar with this particular gesture of affection, and actually rather fond of it as an effective tool for the conveyance of varying states of approval, was not at all prepared to receive it from someone he didn’t know, much less in front of his friends and a large group of outsiders.
“Gosh, thanks,” said Boots, who was debating whether he’d be less embarrassed staying as he presently was, arms firmly down at his sides, back perfectly straight, feet together and bewildered look on his face, or returning the hug, tentatively relaxing his posture but definitely maintaining the bewildered look. “I usually like dinner or at least flowers before moving into the physical stuff.”
This caused giggles to erupt throughout the now rather large crowd surrounding the scene at the same time the blonde-haired leader broke away from Boots.
“We are all one what?,” asked Smarts of no one in particular.
As Boots struggled to regain his composure (and subtly tried to ascertain whether or not he was going to have to regain his wallet), a brown-haired girl who had been peering closely at Lips took several steps back and said, “You’re the real thing, aren’t you?”
“Funny, I was about to ask you the same question,” said Lips, hoping that perhaps this hugging thing was part of the overall protocol and not simply an isolated incident.
“Yeah, but I have a reason for asking it, and don’t have any intention of balling you,” said the girl, peering closely once again. “Have you ever been on TV?”
“As a matter of fact, I have,” said Lips, impressed that the girl recognized him but disappointed by her attitude. “The boys and I appeared on ‘Rock It Fuel!’ a couple of weeks ago.”
“I knew it!,” said the girl, stepping back to get a look at all the Echoes at the same time she addressed her companions. “It’s them! These are the guys who do ‘Read My Mind!’”
At this, the previous giggles gave way to murmurs of approval, and the blonde-haired leader once again moved closer to Boots. “Our karma is indeed strong today,” he said. “You are in fact Boots Klondike and The Euphonious Echoes?”
“I’ll tell you if you promise not to hug me again,” said Boots, who in actuality was thrilled to be recognized by a group of people he didn’t know in a city far from friends or family.
“You should loosen up and learn to express your feelings,” said the blonde-haired leader.
“Okay, how’s this: yes, I am Boots Klondike, and yes, these are The Euphonious Echoes, and while I think it’s great that you know who we are I don’t particularly want your karma all over me,” said Boots.
“Not quite what I had in mind but not surprising to hear,” said the blonde-haired leader. “The same pessimistic ideology permeates your song, but we like it anyway, especially the guitar solo, and that is why we summoned you here to our Field Trip.”
“You did what?,” asked all four band members at the same time.
“Stay cool, it is not like the piece of paper you get from the fuzz,” said the blonde-haired leader. “We took the liberty of pooling our spiritual energy and sending it out to you, confident that it would reach you and bring you to us, so that we could hear you play and at the same time help you harmonize your metaphysical tendencies.”
“Is that actually legal in this state?,” asked Lips.
“Make fun if you like,” said the blonde-haired leader. “But you are here now, are you not?”
“Of course we’re here,” said Smarts from the back of the assembled group. “But it’s not because of you, it’s because LEAFY invited us, and then fucked up, and then we took a couple of wrong turns. And don’t mess with our harmony, we like it the way it is.”
At this, the Echoes broke into spontaneous applause, not only due to their agreement with the sentiment expressed but also because each band member was not sure he’d ever heard Smarts express himself quite so vehemently or, for that matter, put that many words together in public.
“What is a wrong turn for one person is the right direction for another,” said the blonde-haired leader. “And that is just the point. Your harmony sounds beautiful, but we also believe that underneath the notes you all could use a little psychological fine-tuning.”
“You want to help us be better people,” said Boots.
“That is right,” said the blonde-haired leader.
“And you want to hear us play,” said Boots.
“Right again,” said the blonde-haired leader.
“So you called us here, invoking the gods of Western Union to send a mystical telegram beckoning us westward that had nothing to do with plane tickets, scheduling, managers, performance fees, or any of the standard forms of interaction,” said Boots.
“Not how I would describe it, but, yes,” said the blonde-haired leader.
“Okay, how would you describe it?,” asked Boots.
“We all got in a circle and thought really hard, and you showed up,” said the blonde-haired leader.
“And that makes more sense to you than the possibility that we simply stumbled upon your confusion?,” asked Boots.
“It’s not a confus-in, it’s a Field Trip!,” said someone from within the now sizable crowd gathered around the band. “And what makes you so sure we didn’t call you here?”
“It just doesn’t happen that way,” said Lips, “does it?”
“We don’t really know that for sure, do we,” said Sparks, surprising himself and the rest of his bandmates.
“Bless you again,” said the blonde-haired leader, this time turning to Sparks and hugging the guitar player.
“What’s a Field Trip?,” asked Smarts of no one in particular.
“Well, I don’t believe in this claptrap, and if your purpose was to make me feel better, it’s definitely not working,” said Boots.
“You have to open yourself to the experience, and be willing to let out the bad in order to make room for the good,” said the blonde-haired leader.
“Do you by any chance eat a lot of Chinese food?,” asked Lips.
“They brought their instruments!,” yelled the brown-haired girl from where she was standing behind the trailer attached to the band’s van.
“How do you know our instruments are in there?,” asked Boots, angrier now that he thought he could add breaking and entering to his general sense of dissatisfaction.
“I showed her,” said Sparks, who now also was standing next to the trailer and the brown-haired girl.
“Why did you do that, for fuck’s sake?" asked Boots.
“Because,” said Sparks. “Think about it for a second. It doesn’t really matter whether or not they brought us here through some hippie voodoo, or if it was simply coincidence. We were supposed to give a concert today, and here we are, standing outside in a cool park in San Francisco, which is where we wanted to be in the first place, instead of in another fucking hotel ballroom, and these guys like our stuff, and we’ve got nothing else to do, so what’s the problem?”
“I think you’re cool,” said the brown-haired girl, who was already busy sorting through the Echoes’ equipment.
“We did plan on playing today,” said Lips, who while not at all pleased about the turn of events between the girl and Sparks did agree with his bandmate’s take on the situation.
“That’s true. But didn’t we also plan on getting paid today?,” asked Boots.
“Originally we did,” piped in Smarts. “But since we already decided not to play the LEAFY gig, that’s not really an issue anymore, is it?”
At this, the rest of the Echoes once again found themselves staring at Smarts.
“Maybe the California air agrees with him,” said Lips.
“It is true, we cannot afford to pay you,” said the blonde-haired leader. “But I believe you would have to look far and wide to find a more appreciative audience than the human beings who are currently gathered around you.”
Looking around at the enthusiastic faces of the people in the park as well as those of his bandmates, Boots thought that perhaps he’d been a bit too quick to judge the situation. After all, they had blown off LEAFY, and they had come to San Francisco to give a concert. And the Captain wasn’t due in town until later in the week, so he’d never have to know. And he did love to play.
“It would be fun to play in the park, wouldn’t it Boots?,” asked Lips.
“Maybe it would, at that,” said Boots. “But how are we going to plug everything in?”
“We’ll use the acoustic guitars!,” said Sparks, who by now was actively engaged in unpacking those very instruments and setting up Smarts’ drums near the van with the assistance of the brown-haired girl (who, Sparks had also by now determined, was named, much to his delight, Molly).
“Alright, but we’re only going to play for a little while,” said Boots.
“Why set limits?,” asked the blonde-haired leader. “It might turn out you actually are enjoying yourself, and will want to play longer.”
“Could be,” said Boots. “By the way, what is your name?”
“I am known among my followers as Guru-Vy, but my Field Trip name is He Who Keeps His Head While All About Him Are Losing Theirs,” said Guru-Vy, who at the ensuing stares from the band felt compelled to add, “I was an English major at Berkeley before dropping out to lead the Field Trips.”
“I thought you had a Rudyard complexion,” said Boots. “Very literary, and very appropriate, but what exactly is this Field Trip stuff?”
“That’s what I’ve been asking!,” said Smarts to no one in particular.
“Field Trips are modest experiments in group dynamics of my own devise (I minored in psychology),” said Guru-Vy. “Unlike the enormously popular Trips Festival of last year, a free-form, public spectacle for profit featuring the PR power of Ken Kesey, Bill Graham and a cast of thousands, these are serious exercises in mind over matter that necessitate much preparation and resolve...”
“So, I gather from what you’re saying that these advance arrangements make Field Trips much more like ‘Ins’ than ‘Happenings’,” said Lips, interrupting the flow of the unfolding narrative.
“Only if we were to accept your as yet unproved definitions of the two terms,” said Sparks, jumping back into the controversy that had been generated earlier. “And I don’t see why your interpretation is any better than mine. And furthermore, isn’t it just as likely that these Field Trip things possess an entirely separate set of qualities unto themselves and don’t resemble ‘Ins’ or “Happenings’ at all?”
“Maybe there are no specific rules guiding any of these things, and each ‘Happening’, or ‘In’, or Field Trip is an independent occurrence that can’t be measured by any sort of constant,” said Smarts.
“I am not sure I follow this,” said Guru-Vy.
“Count your blessings,” said Boots. “You were saying?”
“Our overall purpose is not to amuse or entertain,” Guru-Vy continued, “but instead to try to learn something about ourselves and further the well-being of our small community. The necessary ingredients are few: a wide open, outdoor space, a group of people who are not afraid to expand their cognitive capabilities, the official list of “Consummations Devoutly To Be Wished,” and enough lysergic acid diethylamide to sink Cleveland.”
“I get the wide open space part,” said Boots, as he watched Sparks now tuning the guitars, Smarts examining the small drums he’d spotted near their car and Lips sitting under a tree writing on a small pad of paper, “but I have to admit I’m not quite sure about the other stuff.”
“As someone new not only to the Field Trip doctrine but also to the San Francisco area, let me illuminate the concepts,” said Guru-Vy. “The official list of “Consummations Devoutly To Be Wished” (borrowed, of course, from the famous Hamlet citation, Act III, Scene i, lines 63-64, and given a positive spin)...”
“What do you call a Danish jazz pianist?,” interjected Lips.
“Let the man finish, will you please?,” said Boots.
“Polonious Monk,” said Lips.
“Far out,” said Guru-Vy.
“Show off,” said Boots, staring directly at Lips. “Alright, I now see that a number of us actually were doing our homework when we were supposed to, which is quite commendable, but I still don’t know what the hell we’re talking about.”
“I like to think of the “Consummations” as a shopping list for the mind,” said Guru-Vy. “Put more simply, they are the phenomena we Field Trippers are trying to bring about through our collective contemplative efforts. Part of the groundwork entails polling the participants and establishing our priorities. In order for any of this to work, we all need to be concentrating on the same thing at the same time.”
“So, if I follow you correctly, we, the Euphonious Echoes, are today’s quart of milk or loaf of bread,” said Boots.
“Not quite how I would describe it, but, yes,” said Guru-Vy.
“I’m just borrowing your metaphor,” said Boots. “How would you describe it, then?”
“You’ve really gotta lighten up, man,” said Molly, the brown-haired girl, as she walked the short distance from the van towards Boots and Guru-Vy. “You have been giving off nothing but negative vibrations since you got here, and if you don’t fucking take a chill pill, the whole Field Trip is going to come crashing down around us, and I will hold you personally responsible!”
“I think I’m in love,” said Sparks.
“Now, now, Molly, remember that the Echoes are our guests,” said Guru-Vy.
“Alright, alright, but can’t we just get on with it?,” she asked.
“Remember that a Field Trip cannot, and should not, be rushed,” said Guru-Vy. “And indeed, one of the important aspects to observe is how the intermingling of seemingly random events and developments creates often visible and repeating patterns among the participants.”
“Something told me that you didn’t start at nine and end at five,” said Boots. “But you must have a schedule of some sort.”
“Not really,” said Guru-Vy.
“How do you know when a Field Trip is over then?,” asked Boots.
“We will know,” said Guru-Vy.
“How long have the others lasted?,” asked Lips, still sitting under the nearby tree.
“This is, in point of fact, the very first Field Trip that we have undertaken,” said Guru-Vy.
“Your first Field Trip!,” said Lips. “How could that be? You talk as if you’ve done dozens of them.”
“In my head I have held many,” said Guru-Vy. “But this is the first actual Field Trip that has attained physicality.”
“Very interesting.” said Lips. “What made it all come together today?”
“It did not actually start today,” said Guru-Vy. “Today is simply now.”
“Let’s cut to the chase,” said Boots, imparting a significant glance towards Lips. “How long have you actually been here?”
“Since a week ago Tuesday,” said Guru-Vy.
“You guys have been in this park straight for going on two weeks?,” said Boots.
“A few of us occasionally leave to call our parents,” said Guru-Vy.
“And I’m sure they appreciate it, but meanwhile, back at the point, what specifically have you been doing all this time?,” asked Boots.
“Boiled down to its essence, and not in this particular order, we have been bonding, thinking and tripping,” said Guru-Vy.
“LSD will definitely cut down on your productivity, won’t it,” said Lips.
“You have no idea,” said Guru-Vy.
“The guitars are tuned and ready to rock,” said Sparks. “And speaking of LSD, I just dropped some.”
“You did what?,” shrieked Boots.
“Well, Guru-Vy told you there was enough, and I didn’t want to be impolite,” Sparks said.
“Where did you get it from?,” Boots demanded.
“I Cannot Tell A Lie,” said Sparks.
“I’m not asking you to,” said Boots. “What I want to know is who gave you the LSD.”
“I Cannot Tell A Lie,” said Sparks again, this time pointing to Molly, the brown-haired girl, who by now it was clear had formed a distinct attachment to the guitar player.
Continued on Next Page