Frijid Pink w The Underground Wall – Veterans Center, Allen Park, Michigan 1967/68ish

The remaining days of my family gathering were fairly uneventful, and after saying my good-byes, I was on my way to Metro airport, headed back to Santa Cruz. I decided to take the scenic route by motoring through Allen Park; the day, after all, seemed nice enough. As I drove down Allen Road, nearing Southfield, and Thunderbowl bowling alley caught my eye.

Ah! This was where my old boyfriend Mark would usually buy our LSD, everything from purple micro-dot and white-lightening to green-osley, for our numerous trips into mind-expansion, sexual escapades and just plain fun. I slowed the car, parked in an open lot, and noticed the Veterans' Center across the street.

In seconds I became lost in a daydream, as my mind took me back down memory lane to my first ever excursion to a concert all by myself. I hadn't even arrived yet into my teen years, so going to the Veterans' Center to see a show on my own, without any adult supervision, made me feel so “in” and cool—completely grown up—like I was already a teenager.

My brother-in-law had dropped me off in his Chevy Bel-Air. I was dressed in a pair of blue jean bell-bottoms, converse, and a tee-shirt that I had taken special pains to dye in a colourful swirled formation of pinkish hues. It was so nice to be wearing something other than my Catholic school uniform.

“Don't get me wrong, I love the outfits,” I had said to Phil. “But come on, the same skirt and top to wear every day?”

He turned right and stopped the car in front of the large bricked building. As I hopped out, he said that he would be back at 6 pm to pick me up. It was a matinee performance, and as I looked around, I noticed many of my friends were already there. I guess our parents all thought this would be a safe musical alternative to a late evening show, but I was too excited to wonder at our good fortune. I climbed the steps upward into the building and entered the hall.

It seemed as if half of those in the audience were from local junior highs: Cabrini, Aquinas, along with North and South. Lots of the kids I knew, and others I did not, but everyone seemed to be having such fun. I immediately spied my schoolmates Denise and Kitty, and we huddled into a circle and began chatting about the excitement of just being there.

The noisy chatter of the hall was soon interrupted by a group of about six or so long-haired, bearded and beaded hippie types, who had begun to assemble on the stage. These were the members of the Underground Wall. Their facial hair made them appear so mature, so much older than us, yet from what I had heard, they were barely out of their teens themselves.

They began their set with a few short ballads, a moving beat that had some of the kids dancing in the back of the hall. However, when the Underground Wall announced that their next song was “A Hazy Shade of Winter,” not one person on the floor, myself included, had any clue as to the powerful force this well-equipped army of electronic hippies was about to unleash. The clamoring sounds of the first notes, in conjunction with the rest of the group's electrical force, brought the room to a momentarily standstill. Then came the opening outcry—Time, Time, Time—shouted with a charismatic ferocity that drew us toward the stage like a magnet.

A Hazy Shade of Winter rocked the hall as I never could have dreamed possible. Everyone was shouting and clapping madly as the performance ensued. I felt the sound vibrating throughout my entire body, and God, did it feel good! It was the springtime of my life.... The band continued on, jamming this masterpiece out, a full-on ensemble of guitars strumming wildly, manic drums beating savagely, of trembling tambourines and a wonder-lust of mesmerizing vocals. They pounded out the rhythm 'til the end of the composition. It was incredible! We all were going wild, screaming and clapping, jumping up and down on the metal folding chairs. Wow! I looked around in utter amazement at the euphoria of a new pandemonium that was infecting us all.

Hard, heavy music was what the downriver music scene was now ushering in. The band left the stage amidst tumultuous applause, and within minutes, the Underground Wall had vanished into obscurity.

A few moments later, an announcer walked onstage, and said to stay tuned as Frijid Pink were coming up next. We excitedly awaited their appearance, and in a short time Frijid Pink were on stage. The group began their set with “Cryin' Shame,” which had elements of the blues, and established their sound with this very good opener. They then segued into “Tell Me Why,” which, on the basis of the audience's reaction to their distort-o fuzz-toned sound, was unquestionably a crowd-pleaser. Something about the fuzz guitar seemed to resonate with the Detroit suburban area crowd. As for myself, I definitely had a love of this style of playing, especially when combined with the disorderliness of the wah-wah peddle. The pounding drum beats, fuzzed-out guitar, and inculpating lyrics had most in the audience worked up into a state of frenzied dance.

The band then turned their attention inward, and impressively churned out a fuzzed version of a standard composition, “House of The Rising Sun,” but with a dark, disturbingly apocalyptic sensibility. The guitars dripped with flesh and blood, with the heavy musical metal of fuzzy wah-wah pedals on maximum force. The results were inevitable—the kids grooved in unison to this disturbingly refreshing, reverberant sound. By the time this acid-rock epic had ended, the kids were up again for more thunderous applause.

As the concert quieted down, I remember filing out of the hall with my friends and saying good-bye, that I'd see them in school. Phil was outside in his car waiting for me. He mentioned that I had missed dinner, but I didn't care.

The revelry soon evaporated, and I noticed the time. Not wanting to miss my flight, I was off to the airport.

"Frijid Pink w Undergound Wall" is an excerpt from The Incredible Adventures of Mischa,