When Bethesda Was Cool
In the 1970s downtown Bethesda was the center of the local music universe
BY JAMES MICHAEL CAUSEY | Published: 2016-07-25 09:00
It was March 14, 1979, in downtown Bethesda, and radio disc jockey Don Grossinger was sitting shoulder-to-shoulder in the cramped on-air studio of Washington High Fidelity Stereo (WHFS) 102.3 FM with reggae legend Peter Tosh, co-founder of Bob Marley and the Wailers, and Program Director David Einstein. All of a sudden, Peter decides he wants to play some music, but he doesnt have a guitar, says Grossinger, now 64. Not wanting to miss the opportunity to hear one of his idols perform, Grossinger thought quickly.
I ran across Cordell Avenue to the Psyche Delly and asked Jimmy Thackery if I could borrow his guitar, Grossinger says. Thackery, a member of the local band the Nighthawks, agreed. Armed with a flashy hollow body Gretsch guitar, Grossinger dashed back into the studio, where Tosh, his distinctive dreadlocks corralled by a woolen cap, started to perform.
Known for being more strident and overtly angry about social injustice than Marley and some of his reggae brethren, Tosh quietly began singing one of his more obscure songs, the gentle, spiritual Jah Is My Keeper. ... It affected all of us, Grossinger says. There was a complete stillness in the studio when he performed. Though Toshs unexpected on-air jam session was certainly memorable, Grossinger says he will never forget what happened immediately afterward. He got out a cannabis plant and rolled a joint about 7 inches long, Grossinger says. I had some and almost died
it might have been another night for him, but it was pretty amazing for this white boy.
For the young people listening that night, WHFS represented more than a cool place to hear new music. The WHFS ethos was showing me the way to be different, the way to be myself, take chances, overturn rocks, slow down and be subversive, says actor Daniel Stern, who grew up in Chevy Chase and starred in Home Alone and
City Slickers. ... From the late 1960s to the early 1980s, Bethesdas music scene transformed what had been a quiet Washington, D.C., suburb into one of the nations most important rock, bluegrass and new wave hubsall powered by an anarchic radio station that was so small it didnt even appear in the Arbitron ratings.
"Straight Outta {blank}" is turning into a meme. Last week I saw two t-shirts with that theme, for two high schools in northern Virginia: "Straight Outta West Springfield," and "Straight Outta T. C. Williams."