Houston Music

HPD vs. Hippies: The Day San Francisco Acid-Rock Stormed the Sam Houston Coliseum

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The main attractions were the two most iconic Haight-Ashbury bands of the day: the already notorious Grateful Dead and the surly, thunderous rock of Jefferson Airplane, with the original lineups of both bands. By the time the Dead hit the stage, the whole program was several hours behind schedule. Acid dropped at noon had begun to wear off, strange smells wafted through the Coliseum even as HPD stormtroopers manned every exit and stairwell. The attitude of the sold-out crowd was "Fuck you, Herman Short," the Houston police chief at the time.

A couple of Dead roadies came to the edge of the stage with large paper grocery bags and began to hurl showers of pre-rolled joints into the crowd near the front. The place suddenly became electric :would the cops do anything? Would there be trouble?

The lights went down and the Dead meandered out like it was just another day at the office. They played some of the material off Live Dead, and when they got to their rave-up closer, Bobby Bland's "Turn On Your Love Light," the crowd seemed to meld into one throbbing entity with the band. The ovation was standing and long.

The next time the Dead rolled into town, they were the headliners as Houston became one of their Southern strongholds for years. It wouldn't be long before they'd get busted at their hotel in New Orleans, which would result in one of their most widely-known tunes, "Truckin'."

But it was the terrible, revolutionary, acid-dropping Grace Slick and Jefferson Airplane that drew the throng to the Coliseum that day, and they were in no hurry to take the stage. In one of the longest interludes between sets I've ever encountered at a major concert event, the time dragged on and on, and the old wrestling arena filled with smoke (of all kinds) as the tension built.

When the Airplane's iconic bassman Jack Cassidy strode out purposefully in his motorcycle boots and started that thumping bass line on "3/5 of a Mile in Ten Seconds," the joint came unwound. Our saviors had arrived. The cops got very, very nervous.

The Airplane powered through all their surly, revolutionary songs, and lit the place up like Las Vegas with their signature "White Rabbit," with all its drug references and deeply psychedelic musical vibe. Grace Slick snarled at the line of cops between the stage and the crowd as though she hoped a riot would break out.

The story continues on the next page.

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William Michael Smith