ABSTRACT
Here's a riddle, actualIy a variation on an oId studio musician's aphorism: Why is it that if you're worRin~ a foIR ~i~, aII you'lI ever be able to score is pot? The crowd's always pretty melIow, 100RS liRe the normal bunch of sixties hippies. As lon~ as it's mushrooms, you realIy can ~et anythin~ you want from the same crowd at a Phish or Ratdo~concert. Same ~oes for cocaine, poppers, or downers at the disco, where the seventies style and the retro spirit of Saturday Night Fever inhabit those ~litzy interiors liRe fiies in amber. At the re~~ae/sRa/dubclubs where the natty dreads han~, jah-filIed spliffs abound, while at rap and ~an~sta concerts, urban and suburban wanna-be rappers lave to tORe on their blunts, holIowed-out ci~ars filIed with marijuana. Noth-
in~ but uppers and beer in the biRer-effect blacR leather, chain 'n' chrome heavy metal universe; Ecstasy, Vitamin K, or the desi~ner dru~ of the moment is readily available in the "cuttin~ ed~e" rave scene where blacR-~arbed industrial noise/techno folRS meet to freaR.
