Photograph by Jake Peterson

Half Hour Late: covering the Dead in a lively set.

A text message buzzed my pocket as I stood outside of the Template, waiting to see Half Hour Late in Ocean Beach. “You’re in OB,” read the text from my colleague, “and the heart and soul of OB is in Mission Bay right now.” I didn’t know whether to believe fellow Gonzo Report writer Gabe Garcia or not. In an attempt to back up his claim, he sent a video of the show he was watching. Was he trying to insinuate that his crowd would be better than mine?

As I listened to waves crash nearby, a healthy line began to form outside the venue/coffeehouse, which stands just footsteps from the ocean. The doors were supposed to open at 7 pm. After standing around outside listening to the opening band Dolphins on Acid do their soundchecks until nearly 7:45, I decided to dip out for a moment and run around the corner for a couple of slices at Pizzeria Luigi on Newport. When I returned to the Template, the doors were still closed. When I took a better look at the crowd of people, I noticed many young cats who had most likely been dropped off by their parents, or who were actually accompanied by older adults to the show.

The doors finally cracked open, and we were let inside. A rainbow of abstract colors showered the interior, and the place filled quickly. After grabbing a cup of joe, I planted myself on a seat next to a friendly amigo named Fernando who was wearing a mustache. He told me it was his second visit to a Half Hour Late concert. “The only other time I saw them was at a birthday party for three pugs,” he said. Pugs? The smashed-faced lovable little dogs? Seemed as if Half Hour Late was down for any gig. I respected that. However, this night was special, in that it was the opening show a West Coast tour for the flavorful rockers.

First, Dolphins on Acid played to the youthful crowd, which was amped with enigmatic energy. The three-piece-band gave off some Blink-182 undercurrents, only with more echoing effects to accentuate their raw, yet cool songs. As I was getting into the music with my own movements (dancing, if you want to call it that), I felt somebody grab my shoulder. My concert mate, Neekol, had found me. “How did you get in?” I asked. “I have your ticket.”

She said she’d bought her own at the door, and it had been a bit of an ordeal. “Stay here,” she said, “I’ll be right back.” Five or ten minutes passed, and she approached me again. She said she had found somebody outside to buy the extra ticket we now held.

Back outside, the surfer dude who Neekol had talked into buying a ticket stood waiting . For twenty bucks, the guy scored a cosmic conversation with Neekol and a ticket to the rest of the show. I’d say he got himself a hell of a Saturday night deal. Then we got back into a line that seemed, mysteriously, to keep growing. “You guys can go inside without me,” the surfer guy said. “You’ve already got your wristbands.”

We told him that we’d stay outside with him until he wanted to go in. “We’re okay, brother, we won’t make you go in alone,” I told him. “You see, there’s all sorts of loons out here that want to feed you to the sharks and throw your surfboard from the cliffs, but we won’t let that happen. We’re your friends now. Would you like a mushroom gummy?”

After we got inside again, Half Hour Late grabbed the stage and began jamming some catchy songs. “These guys remind me of The Grateful Dead a little bit,” I yelled over the crowd to Neekol. Coincidentally, a song or two later, the quartet covered a Dead song. That’s when I busted out my phone and clicked record. I texted the video to Gabe in MB, who’s a well-known Deadhead, letting him know he was missing out on a new breed in which he might be interested. Then I asked whether he had noticed the jam-packed crowd in my video. Bouncing up and around were bodies — many young, some not so young, but all happy. An artery from the heart of Ocean Beach may have trickled some love over Mission Bay that night, but it was pumping heavy on Niagara Avenue.