Of Hippies and Hipsters
Ashkenaz Center Has Gone From Activistsâ Mecca to Hot Spot for Multicultural Music
Groundationâs lead singer Harrison Stafford, wearing a turban, says the band has played at the Ashkenaz Music & Dance Community Center six times
What the guy in the turban really said: "Time to get stoned, fellow peace-seekers! So grab a rock and help me stone these two naked harlots on my left, then we can crucify the drunken Jew and the pot-smoking infidel on my right. Join in or my guitar explodes in five seconds, Inshallah!"
By ARLET ABRAHAMIAN Contributing Writer Tuesday, February 10, 2004
A wall of smoke and relaxed faces greet you as you enter the West Berkeley theater.
| "Like, wow, man! The West Berkeley theater! I am so, like, y'know, stoked!" |
The band lounges around the back room with their friends, smoking joints while preparing to go on stage, and the smell of burning incense sticks protruding from the walls blends with the marijuana smoke.
Wearing a turban on his head and a smile on his face, the lead singer of the reggae band Groundation, Harrison Stafford, speaks fondly of the mellow scene at Ashkenaz Music & Dance Community Center, as he awaits go-time Saturday night.
| "It is, like, melllllow, man!" |
Ashkenaz is a place where âevery nationality can live together,â
as long as theyâre not Bushitler supporters
says Stafford, who has played at the theater six times.
| "I, like, think it was six... I think it was this theater... I think it was me... Hey, man! Is there any of that weed left?" |
But although the ideal of bringing different peoples together has remained constant since its opening, the theaterâs brand of activism has changed since its founding in 1973. When Ashkenaz was first founded, human rights activist and folk dancer Dave Nadel envisioned a transformation for the old San Pablo Avenue warehouse into a dance hall devoted to the ideals of peace and world music.
| "Yeah. Like, once we even had Zamfir, Master of the Pan Pipe. It was, like, waaaaay kewl!" |
Stepping into Ashkenaz is like taking a time machine to Berkeley in the colorful 1960s: The outside is covered with a mosaic of tiles called the âWorld Wall of Peace,â and a peace sign stands guard above the door. On the inside, the walls are lined with pictures of Cesar Chavez and protest signs, such as the one reading âR.O.T.C.=Racist Corporate Puppets.â
and iconic portraits of other peace-movement deities, such as Ho Chi Minh and Che Guevara.
The patrons, too, are dressed in the decadeâs hippie uniforms of loose-fitting tie-dye, like theater-goer and artist Claire Z. âItâs a remnant of the â60s, the old days of peace and activism,â she says.
| "I mean, when you buy quality shit like this, you don't have to buy new stuff. I been wearing this same tee since Altamont!" |
But it was an act of violence that threatened this relicâs existence. In 1996, Nadel was shot and killed by a customer who he had banned from the club for being too drunk.
| "Thash right! The bitch bann' me from da club. Shaid I wuzh too drunk. Plugged 'im right through the brishket. Hic!" |
After Nadelâs death, Ashkenaz nearly lost its home in the West Berkeley warehouse, until a group of community members turned the theater into a nonprofit organization. They were able to raise enough money through donations to put a down payment on the warehouse, and try to carry out Nadelâs dream. âIt is very much the same as before David died,â says Janis "Joplin" Kenny, an Ashkenaz patron of 20 years. âThe music is always good, itâs laid back, and you can trust people here.â
| "We're even hoping to raise enough money to bury David. He's still out back. We've got him in the freezer, cuz he was starting to go, like, bad, y'know?" |
But the theater has still lost some of its original activist spirit, some employees say.
| "It ain't the same as it was, Strawberry. It just ain't the same. [Sigh!]" |
âIn â75 this place used to be packed with people protesting,â says Dave Chachere, the trumpet player for Groundation. âThe hippies are all older now, they donât have the time and energy to be the spearhead of protest.â
| "I mean, they are realllly whacked out after 30 years of heavy-duty recreational medication. We're talkin' serious gene breakage here. Some of 'em come in, we don't put 'em in chairs. We put 'em in vases..." |
Edwin Thaxter, who has worked at the theater since 1983, when Nadel hired him as his doorman after he broke up a fight at a dance show, says the theater has lost its focus. âThere is something left outâthe willingness to help the community,â Thaxter says. âIt doesnât do the same as David did. He fought for equal rights for people.â
| "But then that guy shot him. I mean, it was like Lennon, y'know? Only without Yoko... Is there any of that weed left?" |
Today, the theaterâs aging hippies have been replaced by families with children, and the atmosphere of activism and protest has mellowed out over the years. Being inside Ashkenaz today feels more like being in a jazz club than a old stomping ground for flower children. âThey used to have a machine that would cut off bandsâ electricity when they got too loud,â says Chachere. âYou just had to learn to play more quietly.â
| "Now, it's like goin' to a museum, y'know? Y'see all these granny ladies that were, like, trippin' chicks 40 years ago, an' y'see these guys who were, like all righteous an' shit, but now they're, y'know, like... quaint." |
The theaterâs focus now is putting on cultural performances, ranging from Afro-Brazilian dance to Balkan brass bands to classes where people can learn belly-dancing and Ta Ke Ti Na percussion. Ashkenaz has shifted its activism focus from equal rights to making sure people in the Berkeley community are exposed to cultures from all over the world.
| "Y'see, until you've heard these, like, pygmy guys singin' and bonkin' their hollow logs, you ain't, y'know, ummmm... cultured. An' then, an' then, we got these white guys, that ain't been outta Berkeley, like ever, except maybe a day in Oakland, to the mall, y'know? An' they get up, an' they sing the old pygmy songs, an' they bonk their hollow logs, an' it's all so... so... ethnic!" |
Still, the theaterâs performers say educating the masses doesnât pay the bills. The nonprofit relies heavily on community donations to stay afloat and carry on Nadelâs dream, and is currently campaigning to raise $50,000.
| "I mean, we'd rilly like to give the guy a decent funeral an' all. It's been awhile..." |
âItâs difficult to keep the balance of making enough money and keeping culturally diverse shows,â Stafford says. But if the theater goes under, hundreds of Berkeleyâs retired activists, reminders of a not-so-distant past, will be left without a place to escape the present and return to a decade where they were in their element. âItâs a home away from home,â Kenny says. âSome call it their church.â
I find the skeptical tone of this piece, written by a student reporter, very refreshing and encouraging. I will now desecrate and blaspheme the trustafarian, mumia-cong, pop-culture commando holy of holies by declaring that the Counterculture was the scam of the century, little more than an advertising gimmick run amok.
| "Awwww, man! That was my bong!" |
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