Photos by:  Josh Baron

A short time before the second annual Green Apple Arts & Music Festival this past April, a three-city event in San Francisco, Chicago and its hometown, New York, founder and executive producer Peter Shapiro asked if I wanted to tag along over a 24-hour period to report what I saw and experienced as he visited each city.

Full disclosure: I regularly talked with Shapiro about the event’s development leading up to its execution (I also secured Taylor Hicks’ involvement with the event). I’ve worked with him as a producer for The Jammys, an event he founded and is also the executive producer of. Relix magazine, of which I am the executive editor, is a producer of both Green Apple and The Jammys.

In light of the recent discussions surrounding Al Gore’s Live Earth event, I thought it would be an interesting time to shed some light and insight on our own company’s efforts at environmentalism. These are my thoughts and reflections on what I saw and experienced between roughly 5 p.m., April 20th to 10 a.m. April 23rd.

April 20th

I arrive at The Beacon Theater for tabling set-up and, coinciding with that, a meet-and-greet with the evening’s performer, Taylor Hicks. When I walk over, Hicks is wearing a dark gray beanie with a Chinese symbol on it with the word soul above it. Without his auspicious gray hair showing, he isn’t easily recognizable. He even looks a bit intimidating. My boss almost accosts him for taking our table for his signing, not realizing it was him.

I should preface this encounter with the following: In the November issue of Relix, I interviewed Hicks during which he said, “I don’t watch American Idol either.” Innocuous enough, especially taken in the context of the full interview, it still eventually caused a major media stir right at the time his post-Idol debut was being released to the degree that Diane Sawyer asked him about it on Good Morning America. It became, as Anchorman Ron Burgundy is apt to say, “kind of a big deal.”

When I introduce myself, he gives me the general “nice to meet you” response and then remembers from whence the brew-ha-ha came. “We caused a ruckus!” he says enthusiastically. Yes, I suppose “we” did though really, as I say, it was all him. We chat affably and he offers to talk about being part of the Green Apple Music & Arts Festival.

“This is something I wanted to do,” he says of Green Apple-after an oddly short meet-and-greet with fans that lasts about ten minutes (that’s not to say there weren’t more people, they just seemed to under advertise it on purpose for his core fans). “When I heard about this I hopped onboard. I think it makes sense.”

Why is he thinking about the environment? “Well, it never snows in Alabama, that’s for sure. I come from an environmentally conscious state.” Forgive me for not thinking of Alabama as a particularly “green minded” state but he made a point I hadn’t thought of: “Living in Alabama and dealing with hurricanes, you’re definitely aware of it.” As scientists have noted, we’re not going to see more hurricanes, just a higher number of really bad ones. How is his talk translating to environmental action though? “We try to recycle on the bus as much as possible-we keep our plastics together.” It’s a start. I asked whether he’s looked into more environmentally-friendly transportation. “I haven’t looked into bio-diesel, this is my first tour but I think it’s a great thought and I hope I can do it. It definitely saves the artist money. It’s a win-win and I’m all about the win-win.”

I hop a cab over to Vanderbilt Avenue outside of Grand Central Station. Not the most environmentally-friendly move I can make but I am already running late and time is a precious commodity. Then again, so is stuff like clean air, so f-me. Conflicted as I am, I take the opportunity to talk to my cab driver. Mohamed Tantawy is from Alexandria, Egypt, and has been living in the U.S. for 12 years. I ask him if he’s heard of Earth Day and what he thinks it means.

“Yes, I have heard of Earth Day. It’s every year,” he says in fractured English. “They close off the street, sell food…” He seems to be describing one of the many generic street fairs around the city during the summer. As he talks about how companies in Egypt go through the garbage dumps to find recyclable materials, we come to a grinding halt in traffic cutting across 59th street. In front of us one of the many horse carriages from Central Park drags itself forward. I wonder what New York felt like when that was the main mode of transportation, back when trains belched smoke, curbs truly elevated pedestrians from the sewage and the automobile was just a gleam in Henry Ford’s eye.

“Egypt is not good about it, it’s polluted,” Tantawy continues. “If you look at the river, the air, it’s all polluted. The factories pollute the river and people drink polluted water from the Nile.” He thinks all of Africa is sliding downhill.

“I think here they care more about the earth than people in Egypt do because Egypt is very poor. So all they care about is finding a job, buying food, not like here.” It’s a point I would hear echoed again and again over my brief journey-being responsible for the environment comes with financial burdens. “When you are ignorant and poor you are only thinking about surviving.” It’s hard to argue with that, especially when being driven in a cab to a free outdoor event nestled between multi-billion-dollar places of business.

There’s been free music all day, and, now, a Friday after 5 p.m., the crowd has grown with post-work, TGIF revelers. The entire block is shut down for the event with rows of booths flanking the street, a setup that Earth Day New York helped develop years before partnering with Green Apple. Companies on hand include Burt’s Bees, Con Edison, Guyaki Yerba Mate, the EPA, Simple shoes, Clean Air NY, Friends of Animals, Natural Resource Defense Council, Rainforest Alliance, Solar One and Rock ‘n Renew. Recycling containers have been strategically placed around. Given the good weather, the turn out is sizeable. As I approach, I can hear the music billowing out like a sheet on a clothes line. The sonics created by the massive buildings play tricks on my ears until I turn the corner to be confronted by it all head on.

Ozomatli is playing and has attracted a somewhat polarized crowd. Midtown business folks in heels, skirts, ties, slacks, jackets and sleeves rolled up to the forearm suck down Amstel Lights and white wine in a frenzy. That’s the thing about these super-intense, money-trafficking business people-once they step out of the office for the weekend, they party with reckless abandon. They go fucking nuts. Meanwhile, dispersed between all of them is a menagerie of people who have made the trek just to see the music-their presence isn’t happenchance. I glance down at one of the raised planters which has been converted into a defacto beer bottle collector. Someone stamps out a cigarette with their foot in front of me. I take some pictures, shake a few hands and give some hugs to friends and business associates I see as I stand there taking it all in. Young kids have been brought up onstage to accompany the band on percussion. “We love coming here and celebrating the earth with everyone around the world, this is a beautiful city,” says one of the group’s MCs. Judging by the crowd’s reaction and obedience to commands for hand waving, they seem pretty happy they’re here, too. I return to the Beacon.

While Hicks may be all about the win-win, I’m not so sure about his audience. If you didn’t know where you were, you might think you’d landed somewhere in middle America at a show equal parts country and Christian rock. The crowd-predominantly white, larger than average and clearly having that intangible out-of-town vibe-is somewhat receptive to tabling and give-away efforts. One of the main items given away at all the events is a magnet listing “5 Easy Ways to Address Global Warming.” To some, we might as well be trying to hand them a dead fish wrapped in newspaper. To others it’s met with such glee that you would think we were handing out free beer. Others, particularly those with children, are also quite eager to take whatever we offer-several even mention taking it back to their teachers, many of whom had done a lesson around Earth Day.

Prior to the show’s start, Nicole from his management company comes out to read an announcement we’ve given her. She lets the audience know that all the cups and straws are corn-based and biodegradable, that the napkins are made from recycled material, that the garbage bags are biodegradable and the cleaning chemicals are environmentally-friendly. These announcements are met with cheers. So is the carbon offsetting proclamation. The DJ continues to play his warm-up music.

The band soon comes out, revs up the crowd a bit and announces the main attraction. Hicks’ actual show is modeled after an old-school Motown revue or soul concert. The crowd greets him with cheers and whooping. Hicks runs through originals and covers, occasionally doing his signature wobbly knee slink across the stage which is met with more cheers. I’m surprised, though I shouldn’t be, that the crowd knows most of the words to most of the songs. And, in classic tradition, he leaves the stage bidding everyone farewell only to return. To his credit, he’s put forth enough physical effort to noticeably sweat through his blazer. While I don’t entirely buy his performance, the crowd seems to.

We handout as many magnets as we can as the crowd files out into the night. Our two volunteers come up with various pitches for potential takers, tweaking them as they see fit. I wonder as people suck down their drinks’ final sips if they know that the straw they have their little puckered lips is different than most straws they slurp from. I wonder if any of its registered. I wonder if they even care.

After cleanup, I head backstage to say hello again to Hicks. There’s hardly anyone there, perhaps ten people. No beers, no party-just a mushy berry pie and some non-alcoholic beverages. We talk about the show and the crowd. He says that he’s doing the “American Idol grab while I can” before hoping to move to smaller, more intimate theaters. It’s clear Hicks doesn’t have any Kelly Clarkson-like dreams of making it big. He leaves to go grab a bite. I exit the main backdoor and there’s still a crowd of about 50 people waiting for him an hour after the show.

April 21st

It’s easier to care about the environment when it’s nice outside. It is, let’s just admit it. I see it as roughly analogous to the “cuteness factor” of when people get all wishy washy about eating, say, a rabbit. Appearance is important to a vast majority of people and their morals gently sway in the proverbial wind like those free plastic flags realtors stick on your front lawn for the 4th of July when it comes time to face the issues.

I’m running late today from the get go. Having slept on the upper eastside the night before, I hop in a cab and shoot down the FDR, one of Manhattan’s main arteries to the east. It’s warm and sunny with blue skies overhead. I stare out over the water toward Brooklyn as we make our way down, the images occasionally being broken up by construction that gives it all a flipbook effect.

My driver, Mosoul Hossen, is from Bangladesh. His relative youth and dressiness don’t seem to fit the job he’s doing nor does the gel-spiked hair. He knows it’s Earth Day tomorrow and that there are events all weekend, ones where people “go to the park for a rally where we encourage people to not use petroleum cars, use bikes, plant trees.”

I inquire if Bengalis in general are environmentally conscious people. He suggests that they are but in a more pragmatic way than Americans (at least for now, anyway): “We are in a dangerous position: the water is going higher and our land is so low. So maybe after 50 years, our lowland will go into the water like The Maldives. Day by day water is rising as our land is going down.” The mass devastation caused by the 2005 tsunami is proof enough for those of us not having the opportunity to visit the world’s seventh most populous country (as of a mid-2006 estimate). “We are from a poor country, so without international help, we can’t do anything,” he continues. “We are not responsible for that [water rising]; the responsibility is for industrial countries that use more petroleum.” I hear a familiar song coming from a massive SUV next to us with its windows rolled down: The Allman Brothers’ “Blue Sky.” I wonder if there will be a day when the skies will be too blue, somehow toxically blue. After all, it’s often air pollution that makes for the most spectacular sunsets.

I get back into the city and return to the office to pick up the laptop. I hop another cab back to Grand Central. My cab driver, Moustapha Diaby who hails from the Ivory Coast and speaks with a thick French accent, has never heard of Earth Day. “Is it a federal holiday?” he asks. Well, no. Diaby is short and stocky with a big, bald head and dark mahogany skin. Even from the backseat he seems imposing. When I ask whether Ivorians are environmentally conscious he brings up the “big trouble we had last year.”

The trouble he mentions was the dumping of toxic waste by a Dutch shipping company in multiple municipal dumps in the country’s defacto capital of Abidjan. The toxic waste was initially blamed for ten deaths and need for mass medical attention. However, through various claims and investigations, it’s unclear as to what exactly caused the deaths. While the company at fault is off the hook-it claims no wrongdoing and can no longer be prosecuted after giving up $198 million in a settlement for clean-up to the government-the incident made worldwide headlines about water pollution and the need for accountability.

Yet, for all the outrage that was summoned over the incident, Diaby is unconvinced that it will do any good, suspecting that the money went straight into corrupt officials’ pockets. “Africa is not like America,” he says as we pass Bryant Park. “Here, if you don’t respect the rules, it’s big trouble for you. In Africa, if you give the leader…” he reflects, pausing for a moment. “If you want to talk, they send the people to kill you and nobody going to talk no more.” It would be an understatement to say such a dynamic would make speaking out about environmental policy tough. My guess is that it’s exponentially tougher when you’re dealing with a country divided by a recent civil war, still rippling with constant strife as the Ivory Coast is.

Outside Grand Central, Vanderbilt Avenue is again home to music and tabling. The sun indirectly illuminates the blocked off streets below the sky scrapers. The final act of the day, Assembly of Dust, takes the stage to cheers from the large crowd. Lead by Reid Geneaur, they’re the only carryover from last year’s free event at the same location. There’s one clear reason why this year’s event, for Geneaur and the band anyway, is so much more successful: It’s not raining.

The band works through a set of originals, a sound that combines Americana and folk-rock classicism with plenty of improvisation in between. Babies and dogs make a nice showing in the crowd. People munch on free Clif bars and read over stuff from The Green Guide, Vegetarian Times and Mother Jones. It’s odd to feel so cozy in midtown Manhattan.

Promptly following the show, we are ready to leave for the airport. Shapiro shakes hands, says his thank yous and seems to have an air of nervous energy about him. He could be a politician in another life. I grab some leftover food from the artists’ tent and throw it on a plate as I don’t know when I’ll have a chance to eat again. Geneaur is in the back tent with his son, Ryder, on his lap doing an interview. This is his son’s first show since exiting the womb. Both are smiling. As Shapiro thanks him again on his way out, Geneaur replies concisely: “Mission accomplished.”

Our driver, a solemn-looking Middle Easterner in his 40s with a navy blue turban drives us to La Guardia. On the way, Shapiro makes and takes several calls, most related to getting people into concerts that night in New York. He takes one about the cost of getting a piano for the Benevento/Russo Duo: “I’m true to my word” he says before hanging up. When I ask him what Geneaur meant back in the tent, he isn’t really sure. Whatever the case he says, “we have a lot more to go.” He fidgets with the window and mercilessly taps away on his PDA. Shapiro will be like this all weekend-any car we are in the windows come up and down for the entire duration.

We arrive at a nearly deserted La Guardia. I don’t think I’ve ever been here when it is this empty. We check in and pause at a table so I can pack the liquid items of my dopkit into a quart-size plastic bag. Shapiro has only brought a small backpack and a toothbrush and hence has no liquids that need packing. “We should try to get on an earlier flight,” he says.

There’s a flight leaving for Chicago in less than 10 minutes. Normally, this would be impossible to make but given that there’s literally no line at security, it makes it feasible. He runs ahead as I repack my laptop and liquids. I start running and get a text that says D10. Running in flip flops makes everything feel a little more dramatic and loud, too. Sure enough the gate agent, who clearly has very little patience, waves me on as I round the corner into view. The door to the jet bridge practically hits us as we board. We went from Grand Central Station to this American Airlines flight in less than an hour. It feels mildly illegal or how people with lots of money do things. I pull out the American Way magazine from the seat pocket in front of me. On the back is an ad for American Express concert series featuring Dave Matthews, Prince and Christina Aguilera. Its slogan? Three cities. Three concerts. Three journeys. Seems apropos.

As my boss noted, my cross-country sojourn seems antithetical to the environmental consciousness that the event is trying to increase: Airplanes are a notable source of CO2. So, falling in line with the event’s aim to carbon offset its entire impact (they used the company Native Energy), I went about finding ways to offset our travels. The good news is that there are very easy ways to do this. The less good news is that it’s a little confusing as to how it actually works. Here’s my attempt at simplifying.

The general principle is one of balance-for every pound of carbon dioxide released, a counterbalance can be provided in one of three major ways: renewable energy (wind, water and sun generated energy), energy efficiency (helping businesses have less environmental impact) and reforestation. These and other initiatives fall under the category of “emission reduction projects.” These can all lead to verified reductions in greenhouse gases which thereby counterbalance your emissions (i.e., the reductions wouldn’t be happening without your support). Kapiche?

Now once you’ve decided how and how much you want to offset-you can offset your car, daily living, family existence and business, too-you purchase your credits. The places these credits are going are most likely nowhere near where you lived or traveled. Specifically, if you wanted to offset with reforestation, trees are planted as far and wide as India, Kenya, Nepal and states like Montana and California. That this reflects the notion of  “if a butterfly flaps its wings” seemed to be confirmed by the prominent homepage picture of a dragonfly on Carbonfootprint. One of the best websites I found for all this was Carbonfund as it listed a number of different options each with its own options (which I found from another website, EcoBusinessLinks).

For my flight’s offsetting, I used Terrapass. Its navigation and language was clear and precise. For the three-leg, 10,298-mile journey, it said I was responsible for 4,103 lbs. of CO2. They offer Flight Passes that offset different amounts. I bought two 2,500-pound packages. Total cost? $20. Pretty damn cheap if you ask me-i.e. everyone should and could be doing this.

Chicago seems to be a more environmentally conscious city than New York, at least judging from the airport. As we walk through O’Hare, there is a plethora of recycling bins next to all the trashcans. I don’t recall-and I could be wrong here-seeing any such things at JFK or La Guardia. And again, they are everywhere. Shapiro stops to pick up Time Out Chicago so he can see what the GAMAF ad looks like. It also doesn’t hurt that it’s 78 degrees when we step outside.

“Vince is psyched,” he says. He’s referring to the festival’s Chicago coordinator, Vince Iwinski, who’s also Umphrey’s McGee’s manager. Having spent months planning for it, the event’s realization-the delivery of goods, the signs going up, the tabling finally in place-has goosed him in a way he didn’t expect. It’s actually all coming together.

When we arrive at Vince’s apt, some of the band is watching the Glastonbury DVD on the big screen, friends mull about and several women chat affably in the kitchen over various drink concoctions. We whack back a Makers and Coke and head out to see what the venues are looking like. Directly across the street from the apartment is The Vic Theater where an already sizeable crowd is loitering and ambling about in anticipation for Umphrey’s show there later that evening. We peer inside and see GAMAF volunteers handing out programs with magnets stuffed inside. The banner is hung prominently. It’s a feel-good, communal moment as we were just in New York several hours ago witnessing similar efforts. We head down Belmont Avenue to Schuba’s.

A bar with a small back room, Schuba’s has played host to many a famed singer/songwriter and band. The music won’t start till 11 p.m. tonight but everything is in place. Our GAMAF volunteer has tucked the table into a corner next to the bar in the music room and enthusiastically recalls the previous night’s efforts. They went well, she says, noting that she’s almost out of certain supplies. Shapiro scans the table’s contents, looks relatively pleased, and we head off to The Beat Kitchen further down the road.

In reality, he’s not entirely pleased. There seems to be literature missing from the table and he’s visibly concerned about it. For all the major coordination and structuring he’s responsible for, these more minor things often get to him the most. Pulling his hand through his auburn hair a few times, he shakes his head. He’d expected more and he’s not sure where the problem is. His deep concern about the little things is what impresses me the most about him over our brief time together.

Fact: You can still smoke in certain bars in Chicago. I think the rule, as they begin to ultimately phase the complete ban in, is that if the establishment does over 65% sales in liquor, people can smoke. I find this stunning. The Beat Kitchen’s music room reeks of stale smoke long soaked into the walls and floors. That smell bites the nostrils when a room is empty but becomes more tolerable once enough humans and their various scents occupy it. Tom Hamilton of Brothers Past happens to be there and says the smoke was unbearable the previous evening.

One of the head coordinators for Chicago’s GAMAF, Julie Schilf, is there as well, filling in for a missing volunteer. Earlier in the day she headed up a free environmental program for kids at the Peggy Notebaert Nature Museum. “I used to volunteer there, I was the head horticulturalist,” she says as she straightens some literature on the table. Inner-city kids were bussed in and the event was open to children of all ages, and newborns to 10-year-olds showed up to make stuff (toilet paper roll kazoos), hear stuff (Deep Fried Pickle Project) and learn about stuff (nature).

“Some of them do get it and other ones just like the coloring books,” Schilf says of the day’s mission to raise their environmental awareness. “But some of them do get it and have questions. Most of them are just like, ‘What is Earth Day’ and you have to explain to them that everyday should be Earth Day.” I point out that even adults need reminding, too.

“None of them really asked questions till their parents came. You give them some flower seeds in a bookmark and say you can plant this bookmark and they’re like, ‘Wow!’ Then they start asking about their mom’s garden and then they kinda start thinking, ‘Okay, you can’t have a garden if the ground is covered in garbage.’” We finish off a quick drink and head to Park West to see how the Aqualung show is doing.

We get there for the encore, a surprisingly Radiohead-like confluence of harmony, noise and energy that congeals predictably into a big crescendo. When the lights go up, the room reveals itself to be something akin to a really large jazz club: cushy, semi-circle booths, dining tables, all seated. As people file out, we start handing out magnets. The slow trickle puts the audience in your face for about seven seconds. The crowd-unlike Hicks’ from the previous night-is more receptive to the magnets. If my approach is meeting them two-thirds of the way, Shapiro’s is almost like he’s defending someone on the basketball court: it takes more of an effort to not to accept the magnet. He’s strong-arming them into thinking about the environment if you will.

A guy named Josh Day introduces himself and mentions that his good friend is going to the free show in Golden Gate Park the next day. Turns out he’s the drummer for the opening artist, Sarah Bareilles. “We’re not doing anything for the earth tomorrow, wish we were,” he laments, though acknowledging, “We’re lucky to even be on a bus right now.” We thank the volunteers and head back to The Vic.

On our way back, Shapiro is convinced that things like the magnets are key to the event’s success: useful objects that people keep and that they’ll look at regularly. We throw ideas back and forth-maybe a calendar of some sort, who knows. Our cab driver, who claims he’s a native Chicagoan but has a deep West Indian accent to suggest otherwise, has never heard of Earth Day. It sort of befuddles him as to why there would be such a thing: “All the time we’re on Earth.” Good point.

The Vic is steamy. Or maybe it’s balmy. Or maybe it’s a combination that makes it feel like Southeast Asia in the summer when you’re out in the thick of the crowd. Whatever the case, the place is buzzing after the first set. A GAMAF table is set up in front of the venue, a good location as people have to shuffle past it as they head out to smoke (The Vic is a venue that now no longer allows smoking). The backstage area at The Vic is essentially a long hallway with doors coming off either side. While we are welcomed and know plenty of the people there, there is always a certain sense of anticipation or nervousness as to what you’ll find behind any given door. What is behind the doors I open in no particular order: A band dressing room with several large bottles of vodka which I help myself to (no one was there), random guys doing drugs, bathroom with shower, another band dressing room with several members inside and the venue manager Mike Lemastre’s office (the door was actually open).

Lemastre watches several video screens of people flowing in and out of the venue, particularly around the newly implemented smoking section which has posed various logistical issues with the in-and-out requirement. He is pleased with how the evening is going, and the crowd, and he expects more of the same the following evening with The Disco Biscuits. Additionally, he’s happy to have the eco-friendly products on-hand and intimates that, should the price ultimately be right, the venue will start using them regularly. At this point the hallway turns into a friendly gauntlet of faces new and old, hugs and handshakes, raised eyebrows and laughs.

Before the start of the second set, Shapiro goes out onstage to deliver a few brief remarks about the event. His emphasis-as is his vision for what Green Apple can really accomplish-is on many people doing little things (like the actions listed on the magnets) versus fewer people doing more. This outlook comes from his years as owner of the social activist rock club, The Wetlands, in New York City (he bought it from the previous owner who had instilled its activist ethos). Inside was a VW Bus that had been converted into a literature dissemination center and there were frequent concerts supporting a variety of causes (animal rights, marijuana legalization, left-leaning politicians, the environment). While effective and righteous, Shapiro saw that asking the average person to take a big step for whatever cause when they might not otherwise have known or cared about it was often a tough sell. So he essentially adapted the mantra from What About Bob?, “Baby steps, baby steps.” Change a light bulb, adjust the thermostat, plant a tree. Just do something.

Halfway into the second set, keyboardist Aron Magner from The Disco Biscuits and mandolinist Michael Kang from The String Cheese Incident join the band for “The Triple Wide,” replacing Joel Cummins on keys and Jake Cinninger on guitar. Allen Acouin from the Biscuits joins on percussion as well as the band segues into “Nothing Too Fancy.” After encoring with “Band on the Run,” a small mob once again fills the backstage. Preparations are made to hit the late-night shows. There’s supposedly a massive line for DJ Mark Farina at Smartbar, so we head toward Martyrs’ to check out dub master Mad Professor.

The club is largely empty with the portly, bespectacled Mad Professor spinning upbeat dub tracks, inter-stitching vocals from exclusive mixes as he sees fit. The ten of us or so that have come out creep on to the dancefloor, drinks in hand, and start swaying and shuffling to the beat. It’s about 1 a.m. (I think) and to the right of the stage is another Green Apple banner and table. A couple who have volunteered are resting on it with some drink glasses and bottles scattered about as well. Given my experience tabling at JazzFest and various festivals for Relix, I know that once the clock strikes midnight, people simply aren’t interested in whatever you to have offer, say or tout. This becomes further apparent as we venture on to see Farina. Despite an effort to talk to Professor about his participation in GAMAF after the show, he wants to get paid for the gig first. Money first, talking second-I can’t blame him. 

With no line, we weave our wave into the sardine-like Smartbar quickly. The club is illuminated in blues and purples, the bar and lounge area only slightly less packed than the dancefloor. I suck down a beer and squeeze on to the floor to shake and shimmy. The ethnically diverse crowd seems to be there first and foremost for the music as opposed to attending some meat market where people cruise and visually grope those they’re attracted to. I didn’t see it at first but there shoved into a corner is a Green Apple table. Shapiro and I are both tipsy at this point and it’s a visible buzz kill to him. He shakes his head and agrees that it’s not effective. He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s a learning experience,” he says in a shouted whisper. We hang for a while longer and then head back to Vince’s to pick up our stuff before going to the airport. There’s a note taped to the door that says: “Hi Pete & Josh-People are sleeping upstairs, your bags are by the door, I love you, be quiet, we have an early morning… Good Work Team! Vince.” Unfortunately they’ve forgotten my flip flops which are stuck under the mattress on which a rather large individual is sleeping.

O’Hare is empty at 5:30 a.m. We’re both pretty rough around the edges. Pete keeps obsessively talking about the weather in San Francisco-it’s supposed to rain, it’s supposed to rain a little in the morning, it’s supposed to be cloudy. It’s supposed to be a lot of things except sunny and nice. He’s been monitoring the weather all week and it’s gotten to the point of annoyance (well, at least to those who have to hear it about hourly). To insure we get on our flight to San Francisco, Shapiro lays down literally in front of the doorway to the jet bridge at our gate. I sack out nearby, close to a window. We’re roused by a slow bustle and plop ourselves on the plane. In no time at all we’re six miles high and passed out.

April 22nd: Earth Day

“We’re about 140 miles outside of San Francisco,” says the captain over the loud speaker. Groggy and more than a little bleary-eyed, I pop open the window shade. It looks pretty nice at the moment but I know better-the Bay Area is all about micro-climates. It can be sunny half a mile while away, while cloudy and cold the next. I’ve never experienced a city quite like it. “It’s currently 56, scattered skies and partly sunny,” he continues. “It looks like it’s going to be alright.” At this, Shapiro who’s several rows ahead of me, pops his head straight up and turns around, flashing a toothy grin. His eyes are big enough that they look like egg yolks from a distance.

Shapiro is glued to his phone as soon as we land. He’s talking to New York and Chicago producers to see how the free events are going. This is the big day-Earth Day-and all three city’s events will be going at the same time. Early reports indicate that Central Park is packed for kids music superstar Laurie Berkner. They’ve closed three entrances in the vicinity of West 96th Street because there are too many people. I envision armadas and phalanxes of strollers wheeling themselves into the park like some epic battle scene out of Lord of the Rings. We hear that Jon Stewart was in the crowd as a civilian, wife and two kids in-tow. As the day closes, police will estimate 15,000 in attendance.

As we shoot down the 280 toward Golden Gate Park, Shapiro is again playing with windows as he talks to Vince. Chicago is more of the same as tens of thousands have arrived at the Lincoln Park Zoo for Paul Green’s School of Rock, Umphrey’s, the Biscuits and others. The weather is perfect and, what’s unique is that the music is being broadcast all over the zoo via delay towers. I smile at the thought of monkeys listening to the Biscuits’ “Crickets” or something. In its culmination, the day will break all previous zoo attendance records with an estimated 40,000 people. Event organizers suspect about half came for the music. And now, with the sky a crisp, post-rain deep blue in San Francisco, it has that “all coming together feeling.”

What’s larger than New York’s Central Park, once consisted of sand dunes, is now covered with more than one million trees and is bison-friendly? That’s right, Golden Gate Park. And, just about smack dab in the middle of it is Speedway Meadow, a massive green rectangle of land with sloping hills of trees boxing it in on its two long sides and, today, a stage and vending areas marking its shorter ones.

Finding where Speedway Meadow is, even with a local resident, isn’t the easiest task. We follow a heavily stickered pick-up truck for a while before deciding that they too are directionless. Soon enough we start to see an increasing amount of people walking, from trickles to small flows, all heading in one general direction. No staff official on-hand, from event parking to local law enforcement know where Parking Lot A is located-our destination. We travel down one road toward the critical mass only to have to turn around.

The crowd continues to fill in, most from the back and various amounts ambling out of the trees. Approaching from the back, it feels massive as you come around a small bend that opens to the main part of the field. It’s much bigger than I expect. Shapiro is like a Labrador in a car that knows it’s about to be let out at the beach. After changing his socks and putting on a t-shirt, he jumps ship: “I’m sorry, I just need to see this now.” Brad and I make a disastrous attempt at driving down a road that we think leads past the stage. Not so: it just gets us in the thick of San Francisco freakness.

In case you forgot, the Bay Area is the original home of the hippies, crispy freaks, burnout cases and jocular socio-cultural, political street preachers. Sure, New York has its share of eccentric, out-of-bounds personalities, but San Franciscans let their freak flags wave higher (and yes, there were indeed some literal flags waving about). Maybe it’s the tanner skin, longer beards or propensity for wearing worn, biker-like leather, but there’s a Wild West sense to it all. If New Yorkers are the hands-in-the-pockets, head-down, shoulders-hunched walkers of the streets, Bay Area folk are an eye-contacting, engaging breed that-gasp-even smile at you on occasion. So, translating those ethos to the seemingly lawless, transient or still-in-the-‘60s crowd, there’s a certain rawness that puts you on alert.

Martin Sexton is playing his brand of funky folk with his band. People are languidly streaming into the massive grass field. As the set comes to a close, the band forms a semi-circle around the mic. “Our mother has a fever and we’re trying to lower it,” says Sexton as he briefly talks about the positive aspects of using bio-diesel (which, incidentally, most of the generators at this particular event are running on). The crowd sings along to the chorus of “Black Sheep”: “We are friends and we are family.”

As the stage turns over to The Greyboy Allstars, I mill about the field looking at the wares people are casually selling, the vending area, just the whole scene. What becomes quickly apparent is that openly smoking pot is not a big deal here; it’s happening everywhere with relative frequency. Since possession for personal use is practically legal and carries little punishment, law enforcement (I’m told) look for bigger fish to fry.

I sit down with two sun-crisped kids selling a sundry of natural items-rocks, crystals and the like. After chatting about their wares I ask them a few questions about environmental consciousness and what they’re doing. One looks at me skeptically as if I might be some sort of narc while the other happily responds. “I’m an organic farmer, does that count?” asks James Hill, a 23-year-old from Santa Cruz. Yeah, I would say it does count. “Hopefully it registers something good, things click a little bit more. It’s all about sustainability. We are going to see the repercussions of that soon.” I ask him what he thinks of the event today: “It’s pretty neutral, people just like to party. It’s San Francisco, it’s about as liberal as you can possibly be.”

He’s got a point-even those that are trying to educate on various causes are getting an earful about how their carbon-activities are hypocritical (no paper, man). The left being attacked from the left-it just wouldn’t happen in New York or Chicago. The local Green Party has a booth with several staffers. “We’ve paid next month’s rent and we’ve paid the booth fees,” says Liam Woodsmith, an artsy, literary looking 33-year-old volunteer from the Bay Area. “I think these events have a huge impact. Awareness is everything at this point; I think once people are aware, they will make the necessary changes. Once they get it, it’s sort of an “a ha” moment. They just turn on to it. They’re either on that wave length or not.” He pauses, looks down at my recorder and visually acknowledges that he’s been taped.  “Good music by the way.” He does express some frustration at the high prices and lack of eating options. Other non-profits with booths include one percent for the Planet, Conservation Value, Earth Island Institute, Global Cooling Collective, Rock the Earth and Sierra Club.

The Greyboy Allstars are now playing, delivering they’re brand of soul-groove jazz that echoes the sounds of Grant Green and Jimmy Smith from the ‘70s. As I make my way toward the stage, I bump into Hilary Clarkson, a woman whom I know from the east coast jamband scene. I’m surprised to see her given she lives in Vermont with her husband and kids. “I have to be in the Bay Area for Earth Day because this a hub for the enlightened and leaders of consciousness that want to heal the earth where we can have a sustainable life for many millions of generations.” She’s particularly happy to see Shapiro involved given that she spent her formative years as a Wetlands regular. “It was basically the beginning of the jamband thing that wasn’t Bill Graham,” she says of Wetlands. “The first time I celebrated Earth Day in SF was 1990. It makes me proud. What’s more important than the earth?” We say our goodbyes and I eek closer to the stage.

A short distance later I encounter a man delivering what he calls “organic television.” He’s set up a small makeshift cardboard stage with various little props. I give him a $1 and proceed to watch him create a crime drama involving a bank robbery, helicopters and police. He says he frequently comes to the meadow to perform though it was his ex-girlfriend that told him today is Earth Day. “Earth is all I know,” he says dryly. “George Bush has a solution for global warming. It’s called nuclear winter.”

Two of Bob Marley’s sons, Stephen and Damian, are now holding court. Their versions of “Midnight Ravers” and “No Woman, No Cry” sound (not surprisingly) uncannily like their father. Damian has a guy whose sole purpose is to wave a massive Rasta flag onstage. That’s it. No joke.

RatDog takes the stage a short while later. Easing into “Jack Straw” from a jam, it’s an idyllic moment for the 25,000 or so that have gathered. The band seems psyched to be playing to such a big audience in their own backyard. I wonder how many times Weir has performed in Golden Gate Park since the mid-‘60s. Whatever the case, he’s certainly not taking this opportunity for granted. Several songs later, Weir announces, “Here’s something for the kids. Today’s a very special day. Today the red rocker turns green.” Out comes Sammy Hagar for a blistering version of “Loose Lucy.” After a healthy dose of “Eyes of the World,” beat-boxer and former Spearhead rapper Radioactive comes out to freestyle, incorporating a large amount of environmentalism all the while. While the band’s instrumental improvisation is always impressive, Radioactive’s vocal improvisation is equally so. GAMAF national music producer Bob Kennedy is watching the show, staring out over the crowd and motions in Shapiro’s direction. “What amazes me the most is how much he gets done. Thinkers and doers in this world-he’s a doer.” Kennedy pauses for effect. “He’s out of his mind,” he says smiling.

We watch the band’s encore of “Samson and Delilah” from the side of the stage. The band is supposed to end at 5 p.m. sharp and they’re already over (theoretically hefty fines could be imposed). Shapiro is pacing and talking to Kennedy. The band plays the final notes of the song and I see Shapiro giving Weir the cut sign across his throat. Weir looks at him for a moment and then proceeds to launch into an acapella version of “Attics of My Life.” It seems the perfect ending. “Go do something green,” says Weir before walking offstage. Shapiro says a few words, thanks the audience and reminds them to do what they can to help the environment, the first thing being to clean up anything they brought that day.

Hugs are exchanged and people exchange pleasantries. There’s only one car parked backstage and it seems out of place-a limo for Weir. Many of the Dead’s crew are around, former manger Cameron Sears and longtime roadie and Garcia-manager Steve Parish among them. Upon leaving and heading back toward the car, Shapiro is stopped in his tracks. “This is unbelievable,” he says gesturing toward the largely empty lawn where just 30 minutes ago thousands sat. It’s impeccably clean. All the garbage has been deposited in trash cans or next to them. But really, it’s totally clean. Almost eerily so. For Shapiro, it’s the most impressive thing he’s seen all weekend. He can’t get over it.

My friend Brad, Pete and I talk about the weekend’s events. “It’s not so much that everything has gone green but the common perception is that everything should be green,” says Brad. It’s not the uphill battle it once was and, in fact, it’s becoming an entire industry unto self. At the opposite end of the meadow is a drum circle with people dancing around it soaked in the setting sun’s golden glow. It’s clear that a few of the people are tripping, wide-eyed as they look at the world with different lenses. A guy is soon dancing naked in the middle. No one seems to much notice or mind-par for the course here in the hippie home of Golden Gate Park.

April 23rd

The next day Shapiro and I go to breakfast down the hill from where we’re staying. He picks up The San Francisco Chronicle as soon as we walk in and looks to see what coverage the event received: some nice images taken early on during the day before the meadow had filled up along with some photos of other events that happened around the city. He’s happy but disappointed-typical Shapiro to a large degree. We order our food and he gets a Blood Mary to celebrate.

“It’s going to be interesting to see how it plays out,” he says taking a sip, looking to the future of the event. “It’s an exciting opportunity for us now because I think we’re in a position where we can broaden this event and activate around it; think through what the best way to effect change is, encourage people.”

This conversation took place in late April. It’s now July, a week after Al Gore’s Live Earth events. Much of what Shapiro talks about echoes the rhetoric of the Live Earth campaign-awareness not direct action. In hindsight, some of his comments seem prescient in relation to the criticism Gore’s event has received: “If Earth Day becomes a bigger deal, then I think that issue will be addressed. I don’t think it’s so much global warming or climate change-those are important issues-but in making Earth Day a bigger deal we’ll be able to make change.”

That said, much of the same criticism directed at Live Earth could be applied to Green Apple: When and how does awareness translate to real action? At the moment, the approach is on the softer, non-confrontational side. And, for now, that makes the most sense to Shapiro.

“We can’t force people. I think if it becomes more ubiquitous, it’s a good thing. It’s not the answer. Green Apple isn’t going to change the world on its own but the world won’t change without lots of things happening. I don’t try to fool myself into thinking this is a big deal. I think it’s more about a lot of people doing little things. If we can build this into a more cohesive Earth Day event across the country then it will become a little part of the larger goal. It’s interesting to think through what are simple things that we have at Green Apple shows that will just make it easier for the guy that’s on the fence and doesn’t really care, who just wants to buy a cheap light bulb. If we can make it easier for them, that’s what we’ll do.”

Shapiro takes another long sip and does a shoulder-shrug, raised eyebrow combination that suggests he’s trying to be emphatic in his next statement: “I just found it weird that environment is everywhere, people are talking about it yet there is a day that has been around for 37 years that was huge a long time ago. What a great opportunity that you have a day that exists, April 22nd every year, around the world, to bring a consciousness to these issues. I found it oxymoronic that that day had fallen off the radar while the issues are much more important now than ever before.” The bottom line for him: “I don’t think there’s any denying that Earth Day had a higher profile because of the Green Apple festival.” Say what you will, it’s tough to argue with. 

Addendum: In the months following the second annual Green Apple Arts & Music Festival, the event’s organizers and producers looked to the future after assessing what they had accomplished. Their goal for next year is to bring the event to additional cities nationwide.