This article first appeared in the St. Louis Beacon, March 21, 2013 -For the better part of 30 years, the Grateful Dead changed the lives of the young people that came to see them, setting into motion all kinds of personal adventures, transitions and lifestyle re-arrangements. To some, the changes were ultimately more of an affectation; how many of us know that “college Deadhead,” who’d go on to discover the next musical flavor with just as much enthusiasm, leaving the proto jam behind? Jimmy Tebeau’s not one of those guys, he always stayed true.
Catching the Grateful Dead live was a life-changer for Tebeau, who’d see the group 77 times before vocalist and songwriter Jerry Garcia’s death in 1995. By that point, Tebeau’s distinctive dreadlocks and beard were a part of his daily look; and he says now that the shows “had a profound effect on all of my being. That’s what happened to my hair! Repeated Grateful Dead shows did this to me. It slowly became my trademark, people starting recognizing me for it; it’s my schtick. The beard I started letting go around 10 or 11 years ago and I kept getting, ‘Dude, your beard’s rocking.’ Well, thanks!”
While his look may’ve sealed the deal, it was his musicianship that ultimately made his connections to the Dead both deep and lasting. Always the type of guy to mix-and-match gigs, Tebeau began a Dead tribute in 1991, The Schwag, playing an every-Tuesday-night gig at the then-tiny Molly’s in Soulard. Around that time, his original music group, Vitamin A, was touring the Midwest and hitting showcases like South by Southwest. Eventually departing that group, he put together a jazz quartet, building the group through SIU-E players, while occasionally playing percussion in the Capitol Records act Stir.
Eventually, though, The Schwag became the central gig, with the group moving out of Tuesday-night-only appearances and into a year-round Midwestern touring circuit. With Garcia’s death in ‘95, the group became one of a small handful of bands to hit a bigger-than-regional market, bringing the Dead’s vibe and music to an audience not even remotely ready to let it all go. In town, they’ve split carrying the Dead’s flag with Jake’s Leg, a longer-running group with a tighter local focus.
Spreading The Schwag
“We never wanted to play St. Louis too much,” says bassist Tebeau, noting that the group carefully spot their shows at venues like 2720 Cherokee and the Old Rock House, where they played just last week. “Jake’s Leg can play here three times in a week, and they won’t hit 500 people at a single show, but they’re out doing it. They’re a great band. I have a lot of respect for those guys and they’ve created a niche for themselves. The fact that St. Louis can support two bands with a similar format says something. We both have our own interpretations and there’s not one that’s right and one that’s wrong. We’re just different and there’re enough people in town that we can both do it.”
Playing recently with a four-piece lineup, a potentially thin formula for a Dead tribute, Tebeau sees (and hears) a versatile group hitting a certain stride.
“No matter who’s in the band, from the perspective of some longtime fans, who’ve been coming out for years, The Schwag has become Jimmy Tebeau and some other dudes jamming out to Grateful Dead Tunes,” he admits. “We’ve had two guitarists die, which is weird, y’know? But I just keep replacing people as needed. To answer the question of how we sound now, it always seems to be getting better. Every lineup is good, but I get feedback from people saying that it’s gotten better. Maybe my own talent’s gotten better. I rehearse the group a lot. We do new things with songs, but keep them interesting, for sure. It’s harder for a big group to turn on a dime. With this four-piece, we can drop dynamics, turn corners. We just look at each other and go into another song and that’s always fun. As players have left, bowed out gracefully because of marriages or kids, I’ve always kept a second chair guitarist, keyboardist, drummer. I book the shows and then find the guys.”
Right now, Jimmy Tebeau’s booking his band (and his life) around the date of May 28.
Trouble at camp
The Schwag built a reputation through hard touring, but also smart touring. Arguably their shrewdest move was playing a series of festivals at Camp Zoe in rural Shannon County, Mo. Five or six times a year, the group would headline a weekend long music festival, rooted in jam band culture and routinely drawing 5,000-7,500 people to the 330-acre property.
In time, Tebeau not only invested in the Schwagstock project, he bought the land; already, he was booking the acts and always created a bigger, better stage show. Eventually, wearying of the million moving parts, he brought in outside security and management, so that he could focus more on the music. A total of 200 people worked in some capacity each festival weekend.
“We went strong from 1997 all the way through the end of 2010, a good, 14-year run,” Tebeau says. “There were some tough events. … You’re working 18-hours and, crap, now you have to run onstage and play. Then after the set, you’re counting money or dealing with some weird issue. Toward the end, I tried to make it more about the music for me. There was a full management team, a full security team. What I’d be able to do is rehearse the band all day; we tried to play the full season’s shows without ever repeating songs. So I was the music director for the Schwag, as well. Towards the end, I had more fun. I was making more money before, but it was killing me. I looked at it like ‘why am I doing this?’ You’ve got this big crowd, this big production. That’s what drives all musicians and we were hitting it. But it’s ironic that at the end, that’s when I got into trouble. I delegated to other people and...”
And he got hit with federal drug charges. In a case that’s drawn the attention of civil libertarians all across the country, Tebeau’s case is unique. Essentially, federal prosecution alleged that Tebeau’s Camp Zoe created an environment in which drug sales were allowed to happen, that he and his managers didn’t take the necessary precautions to dissuade the dealers. Agents were peppered through the crowds, buying and selling and creating a case against Tebeau, who’s still unable to discuss all the particulars of the situation.
Appeal ruling looms
That’s because he has one more hearing coming before the Eighth Circuit Court of Appeals, with a working date of May 28. On that day, he’ll be informed of his possible two outcomes. In the best scenario, the three-judge panel will determine that his case deserves to be overturned, that investigators pushed too hard. In this outcome, he’ll regain full control of Camp Zoe, a property on which he’s been paying taxes and upkeep, but without income for two summers.
The other option, one that’s less palatable, is that he’ll surrender to federal marshals that day, part of a process that’ll take him to a federal prison camp in Yankton, S.D., where he’ll serve out the plea deal-mandated, 30-month sentence. He’ll lose Camp Zoe and he’ll leave behind a family that includes a 4-year-old daughter, 6-year-old son and wife, Tiffany, with whom he’s spent the last 14 years. (The 45-year-old Tebeau also has an adult son from a previous relationship.)
To the degree that he’s comfortable discussing it, he says, “Currently, I’m appealing the whole thing. The judge was nice enough to let me stay out and work during the duration of the appeal. If I lose the appeal, then I do time. Which really sucks. I didn’t hurt anyone. I didn’t steal anything. It’s in the Eighth Circuit, for a panel of judges to review the whole thing. I have high hopes of winning the appeal. I took a plea deal of 30 months. I didn’t want to go to trial; then, I could’ve been looking at eight years. It’s in such a gray area of law, that it’s really 50/50.”
Two months, no rest
Tebeau is also a member of the group Terrapin Flyer, which includes original Dead keyboardist Tom Constanten. And for the past half-decade, he’s been the bassist of the Jerry Garcia Band, which has kept alive the namesake’s side project. Included in just his recent travels are all kinds of twists, from playing dates in Canada (and almost not being let out of the country, due to the legal issues) and playing on a classic rock cruise with the JGB, alongside acts like BTO, Foreigner and the Marshall Tucker Band.
“Well, it’s a lot of hard work, for sure,” he admits. “Especially with the kids in the equation. When I’m here, I’m really focusing on home stuff: activities with the kids, reading them books. When I’m gone, we do the Skype thing and iChat, so that we can see each other and talk. It’s a long way from dial-up phones and being in a certain place when you call.”
His says that music, recently, has even become more important to him, as “I think it has healing properties. Going onstage and playing to people takes me back to that. Having the support of the audience has helped me through this. Once Zoe wasn’t in the equation, for the past two years, I’ve done about 180 shows a year. Back in the ‘90s, some years I’d be hitting 200 shows; 211 was the record. But with a 4- and 6-year old, I’m trying to stay around as much as I can.”
But the road does beckon. When this piece hits, he’ll be in California, on a short tour with the JBG. In April, he’ll be playing 2720 with Terrapin Flyer and there’ll be multiple Schwag shows dotted throughout the next two-month stretch, as well. In the days prior to May 28, he’ll have the latter group on a quick “victory tour” of Missouri, with dates in St. Louis, Kansas City and Columbia.
The busy calendar come from Tebeau’s ingrained sense of playing live, but also because he has to; in the past couple years, he figures that he’s spent $70,000-80,000 on direct legal fees, while taking a $50,000 fine and losing two full seasons of income on the campsite.
At one point, Tebeau lived on the property, serving a member of two local chambers of commerce, grossing $1.7-million in a good year and serving as one of the thriving businesses in Shannon County, which he admits “is one of the Missouri’s biggest counties and also one of the poorest.” The ancillary income spread through the county, he says, with the Wal-Mart in nearby Salem taking in $30,000 every weekend that Schwagstock held forth at Zoe.
“If I lose the appeal, I’ll sign it over to them, 330 acres that I’ve owned since 2004,” he figures. “I’ll lose all the equity in my property, even while I’ve been paying its bills. I would hope things get better, once the appeal is over. Even if I win, I’ve lost. But if I lose, I lose big. I lose the property and with all the fines, legal fees and the property, the lost revenue, you’re getting to over a half-million dollars. All because I wanted to rock out.”
Thomas Crone is a freelance writer.