Suburban Generals

Realizing the potential of my Almost Famous fantasy, I made a point of tracking down an exclusive Dispatch interview the next time the trio rolled into town. A few months later, I found myself parked in the back of their beat up van, using my haphazard haircut as credible proof that I could be the next Cameron Crowe.

Pen and paper in hand, Red Bull flowing through my veins, I dubbed myself a cultural archaeologist and observed Dispatch’s descent into underground pop-rock. Along the way, I weathered a few awkward moments—band fights over set-lists and the shaky, unpredictable engine on that raggedy old van—and received a series of special treats, including the chance to help the trio determine a song list on my old Hebrew School notebook. They mistook my awful penmanship for the archaic Hebrew alphabet.

Just like the young Cameron in Almost Famous, I was quickly mesmerized by the band’s budding celebrity charm. I watched each band member blossom into their own celebrity persona.

There was Chad, the humble hippie/activist, Brad, the in-the-shadows businessman, and, of course, Pete. The potential, and slightly arrogant, pop star.

Five shows into their next tour, Dispatch arrived again on my collegiate front door in time to play my radio show and throw me my first backstage pass (even though our stage was, really, just a raised platform).
In a moment of sheer laminated glory, I became accustomed to walking straight past the line of well-groomed girls hoping for a peep backstage. Backstage, the guys handed me a request: “Next time, give us your gym. The bar is way too crowded.”

For a while, I thought Dispatch’s comments a sign of their cementing professionalism. Yet after selling out their last show at New York City’s hippie-rock womb, the Wetlands, Dispatch jumped the shark, slicing their jams into polished pop songs and disrupting their shows’ flow with cheesy rock-star commentary.

I took the stylistic change as a reassurance of mission: proof that this band would one day realize their true radio-rock potential. But the band quickly grew out of favor with my usual concert crew.

As a journalist, the group’s newfound success further enticed me, but, shortly after the spring of my senior year, something unexpected happened. Dispatch broke up.

Well. That’s not completely true. In our post-millennium pop-culture, jambands tend to favor extended hiatuses in lieu of rock-star breakups. Still, given Dispatch’s gradual rise and polished spark, I found this hiatus a bit out of character. Unlike Metallica-style jock-rockers, Dispatch seemed rooted in real rock and roll, albeit coated with an extra layer of pop-infused polish. While a careful surf around the web revealed any number of potential breakup theories, the three normal Behind the Music Clichés remained unuttered anywhere. Sex. Drugs. And rock and roll. Dispatch cut their chops on the college frat circuit, not in years of incessant roadwork.