8-09-04

Pronunciation: 'grü-pE Function: noun 1 : a fan of a rock group who usually follows the group around on concert tours 2 : an admirer of a celebrity who attends as many of his or her public appearances as possible

Webster's Dictionary must have missed the part about ejecting one's bra or panties onstage or having your booby signed with a sharpie. I have first hand knowledge of the groupie scene. If being a groupie were a crime and I was to go to court to testify, I would be in the Witness Protection Program. No, I am not, nor have I ever been, a groupie. I have, however, observed this bizarre behavior, on numerous occasions with numerous artists. Let me introduce myself. I am Jenn and I am a freelance photographer. I have been specializing in concert photography for the past couple of years. During this totally cool journey I have had many personal experiences with the groupies associated with the artists that I shoot, but never have I been able to make the logical association that is necessary to understand these social scavengers.

Most people think groupies originated in the 50's and 60's with icons like Elvis and The Beatles. In fact, they go back as far as World War I. The war transformed regular guys into studs. Even the geekiest of men looked hot in uniform. As the guys marched off to war, women were literally throwing themselves at these guys. I am not talking about the romantic version with pretty ladies blowing kisses. I am talking about a full blown sexual revolution and it didn't matter what you looked like. As long as you had on a uniform, you were guaranteed to get laid.

All groupies have their core objectives in common: Get behind the scenes, get as close to the celebrities as possible and do whatever it takes to get there. But the groupies at country music star Kenny Chesney have a devotion and desperation that is not easily matched. I have had the opportunity to shoot Kenny Chesney two years in a row. Both gigs proved to be chalk-a-block with groupies. A plethora of women who all seemed to hope that Kenny would pick them out of the crowd, sing a song to them, go boink their brains out, and maybe propose marriage. You've seen the signs they hold up. "Marry Me Kenny". Do they really think he looks at the sign and says, "What a fantastic idea, who is that witchy woman with the sign? I think I'm going to marry her just for her originality!"?

At the first concert I did, I witnessed something that was so appalling I almost crapped my pants. After the concert I was waiting for my escort to go backstage and sign some papers. A woman who looked to be in her late 30's and dressed like your local crack whore started screaming across the fence, "KENNY! KENNY!" She then proceeded to yell that it was her daughter's 13th birthday and asked who could she blow to get backstage? About 20 of the roadies clearing the stage all perked up. The daughter was obviously mortified, begging her mother to shut up. The mother was finally escorted out of the arena. When I was waiting to go backstage, I noticed a group of about 10 women who were with some guy that looked official. Still shocked from that incident one woman approached me. "Do you know Kenny?" She asked.

"Of course." I replied. Of course I didn't, but I thought it would be fun to say yes. This threw her in a frenzy.

"Can you get me backstage?" She asked.

"Nope." I replied. The desperation for mercy kicked in full force.

"Please can I come with you? Puhhhhleeeeeze? I'll do anything! " This is how the guys do it, I thought to myself. Unfortunately for her, I don't go that way, but I did need a cigarette bad.

"Do you have a cigarette?" I asked. A look of panic crossed her face.

"I don't smoke. But WAIT! I'll find you one!" She then sprinted towards the congregation of groupies, begging all of them, for a cigarette. I tried telling her that I didn't need one that bad, but she was on a mission. She was focused. A non-smoker dying for a smoke; talk about irony. My escort came while the woman was still pleading for a cigarette, and off I went backstage. I felt about a million voodoo curses being performed by the crazed groupies all wanting to take my place. I could have sworn I heard melodic chants of, "Death to the photographer. Death to the photographer."

Backstage I learned why there was a concert official congregating with the groupies outside. Apparently some promoters arrange for an "after-party" and this was the group that I saw. A dozen women waiting to come backstage and see Mr. Chesney all about to be sorely disappointed. I was just standing there innocently eavesdropping, when I heard Kenny's manager lay down the law.

"No after parties, we have said this many times."

The poor sucker trying to arrange it said, "But…they are all waiting."

"Too bad , so sad, not gonna happen," was the reply he received. For this, I gained respect for Kenny and his crew. There was not a single groupie backstage, and they had no plans of letting any in. How refreshing, I thought.

When I was backstage, I did in fact, meet Kenny. He’s a nice guy. Unbelievably short, but nice. There was no cowboy there, though. He was in track pants, tank top, and a hankie around his head.

There was a HUGE table lined with gifts from fans. I made the comment that I picked the wrong profession. I sure as shit didn't get presents. Voodoo curses from groupies don't count. He walked over to the table and plucked an enormous hot pink teddy bear and gave it to me. I laughed and said "Uh, thanks". I later noticed the little tag had a secret message, "Tulsa, Nashville,California,Oregon. Love, Mary". This chick had listed all of Kenny’s concerts from across the country that she had attended and signed her name "Mary". If you were going to go through all that trouble, wouldn't you at least give a phone number or an email?

What is it that makes women throw themselves at someone who is singing a ditty? Is it the fame, fortune and the fact that they can carry a note? Perhaps, but groupies have not restricted themselves to music. They are everywhere! NASCAR, basketball, football, baseball, and let's not forget those boys who can ride cows. If you can professionally handle a ball, sing a song, or drive a car so fast that it could potentially kill you, you are prime target for groupies. I have yet to see a bowling groupie, or a garbage man groupie. Shouldn't the groupies be chasing the folks who really do something important? What about firefighters, cops, doctors, or the Coast Guard? These guys and gals save peoples lives!

Sadly, I feel that I could mull and ponder for days over this bizarre phenomenon. Are people's lives so terribly boring that they must resort to groupieism? Will it ever produce a long lasting memory they can share with their grandchildren? From all of the events I have witnessed, I would have to conclude that the behaviors and actions I have witnessed, are a result of a brief bout of derangement. It's the only logical conclusion. I know as long as I continue to photograph musicians, I will have the opportunity to observe groupies in their natural habitat. Maybe I will be the next Jaques Cousteau of Groupies. For now, I will leave this thought with you: Next time you see a groupie, ask yourself, "What would they do for me, if I told them I knew the band." You might get lucky.



Jenn from the Block
Volunteer Writer