An Orange-Eyed Pigeon in a Wizard Hat
The Sticker That Introduced the Pigeon Hat Collective
By Ana Jimenez | Photos by Tyler Boshard
Pigeon Hat Collective members Mari (left) Jeremy (top) and Ryan (right).
It was a chilly night in November when I made my way up the walkway, stopped to show my ID to the bouncer, and slipped onto the patio of Berlin Bar for a show. I took refuge from the cold near a powerful heater and absorbed the satisfying sounds of live music. After enjoying one of the performances, I made a donation to the band and, in return, was gifted a sticker. This sticker had a plump orange-eyed pigeon in a wizard hat; on the belly of the fantastical bird was printed “The Pigeon Hat Collective”. I was instantly intrigued. I had heard the name before but had no idea what the collective was all about—only that they were connected to bands and events. As I got to know them, I realized that music and live performances were the bare bones of what they represent.
If you were in Las Vegas for the National Finals Rodeo or saw the viral videos of pigeons in the city sporting tiny cowboy hats in 2019, you probably have a different idea when you hear “Pigeon Hat”.
“As the National Audubon Society put it, “The internet was generally delighted by the yeehaw pidgies,” but the incident drew national media attention and outrage from animal advocates. To set the record straight, the Pigeon Hat Collective (PHC) had no involvement in that stunt, though it did inspire their namesake.”
Members are quick to say that gluing hats on pigeons is “a cruel and shitty thing to do” and assure you, they have never glued hats on birds.
Coolamity Jane was the name given to a Las Vegas pigeon who unfortunately had a plastic cowboy hat glued to her head in 2019. Courtesy of the Audubon Society. Photo credit: Mariah Hillman/Lofty Hopes.
The Pigeon Hat Collective’s logo now symbolizes the everyman through the pigeon, while the cowboy hat represents the Wild West ethos of embracing freedom and taking risks. Las Vegas. “Germs” (Jeremy Luker), one of the founding members of PHC, says.“What encapsulates the scene here in Vegas is the gritty, resilient, weird,” just like a pigeon in a cowboy hat. Other members view the symbol as a nod to the oddness of Las Vegas’s existence itself. Founding member Ryan Pasion compares the absurdity of PHC’s bug-eyed, wizard hat-wearing mascot to the contradictions of our desert city. He describes it as "the thousands of trees…the amount of water that passes through here that is never supposed to be here," where nothing truly belongs, yet everything asserts its place without question.
The roots of the PHC took hold when the founding members first met at the Happy Earth Market Open Mic event. Happy Earth Market was a community organization that promoted sustainability, sold local art and held community events. From there, they came together as a Halloween cover band—a group of friends having fun, playing live and streaming their performances, including cringey covers of “Ghostbusters,” for others during the pandemic. They weren’t taking themselves too seriously.
Although a few of the band members continued to make music as “The Trash Animals”, the project didn’t fit everyone’s slant. Some members had different musical interests or other projects they wanted to pursue. With diverging visions among their group, but a deep appreciation for what each person brought to the table, they decided to continue working with each other, but as a collective of musicians.
Ryan reminiscences to when they were toying with the idea of a collective. “I was mentioning when we were doing that about how Vulfpeck isn’t really a band, but just a bunch of people who do music together,” he says. “We have expanded it way beyond just the collection of musicians.”
Today, the PHC represents 20 active musicians, artists, artisans, poets, comedians, and organizers. Many members have multiple artistic pursuits, like Figgy, who creates both music and visual art. Other members are artisans that create functional objects using their exceptional skills. No matter what disciplines or roles, PHC creates space and community where creatives are free to explore any form of expression that they feel called to.
When I first met with the PHC, they made it clear that weirdness is at the heart of who they are. That's why, during their weekly open mic event “MF Mondays”, you might experience acrobatic performances, poetry, stand-up comedy, an open closet, live art painting, and more delightful acts.
“The first time I attended, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a children’s book read to me until one performer did just that, but to the next level; he sang it! In a rich, deep, almost operatic voice, he belted out the storybook lines. It was both silly and profoundly beautiful—a true reflection of one of the PHC’s values that has endured since its inception.”
As “Mari” (Marielle Acac) , another founding member, simply puts it, “It’s just the homies and we were just doing fun stuff together and then we just grew that.” From comedy, to music, to art, and everything in between, members are always developing and expanding their passions as well as creating spaces for the community to do so as well.
Germs says, “I wanted to do something that had kind of a bend and had kind of a voice and was just like, no, this is for weirdos and this is for people that get it.” For them, weirdness stems from experimentation and creating purely for the sake of creation. It’s born from a desire to break away from the mainstream, believing that true art emerges from authentic originality.
Although some might wonder how weirdness can be so important, a member of PHC might respond by asking, “How can it not?” The best way to see it for yourself is to watch any of their videos on YouTube, or attend their weekly open mic, MF Mondays at Hola Habibi. You might find that having a children’s book sung to you is the sort of unique experience you can only experience at a PHS event.
One recent Monday night, I finally took the leap and signed up for an open-mic slot. I was nervous; I hadn’t performed in about a year. Still, I put my name on the sign-up list, and soon I was “on deck,” then “in the hole,” and lastly, “up next.” The host finally announced, “and coming to the stage, we have Ana!” and everyone warmly applauded as I walked up to the mic. Standing on the stage, the lights were so bright, I could barely make out the audience, but I could hear them. They clapped for me after each poem despite my lack of experience. At the end of my set, the applause was abundant, though I didn’t feel I deserved it. But at MF Mondays, everyone is supported regardless of their skill level or act. The audience, largely made up of the performers themselves, understands the vulnerability of putting creative projects out into the world. As I was leaving that Monday night, a complete stranger introduced themselves, gave me a hug, and encouraged me to come back. I felt so valued in that brief moment. This is the essence of the type of community the PHC is cultivating: a space where even through brief encounters, you leave feeling like you are truly seen.
The space Pigeon Hat seeks to create is one of diversity and exploration, Mari says.
“Affectionately known as the ‘mom’ of the group, she explains, ‘I don’t want any of us to be pigeonholed into like you’re a musician or you’re a writer or whatever, like everyone should just explore whatever they're called to do. Just fostering a space where it’s like, this is okay and you should do it.’”
Sure, the PHC is overflowing with "fun stuff," all made possible by the safety and freedom that come from being a space for those who embrace their unique, authentic selves. But beyond the fun, it also fosters meaningful participation in mutual aid initiatives—a core value of the collective. For PHC, mutual aid means sharing resources in solidarity: anything one person or group has that another may need. One way the collective puts this into practice is by hosting community wellness events, such as Grief Circles and Suicide Prevention Workshops.
The Grief Circle is a great example of the PHC’s commitment to aid—it was envisioned as a way for people in the community to openly grieve and talk about their fears and anxieties, particularly given the changes going on in our country right now. Pigeon Hat works with other mutual aid organizations such as The Fifth Sun Project, Solidarity Fridge, and Las Vegas Liberation, which host programs such as free self-defense classes and food share. They also co-host a festival every year to raise funds for the food share program called Their Home Too.
To Mari, the PHC is a rich and supportive community. It’s the kind of group where if you have a need, there is someone who can fill it. If you could use a book to read, a meal to eat, or even help setting up and tearing down an event, someone’s got you.
“I feel like we’ve created a community model that is like what life should fucking be like…you should have people that you can lean on, you should have someone with a set of tools that you can borrow or a book for you to borrow or like extra food to get,” Mari says.
In this way, their community functions as mutual aid within itself. In the future, they hope to share their story to encourage others to create their own communities that function in a similarly reciprocal and generous way. Over the years, as the PHC has grown in membership they’ve become more deliberate in defining the collective’s purpose and identity. They’ve come to understand how essential open, honest communication and clear boundaries are for the group's cohesion, both individually and as a collective. Although PHC exists to uplift the community, they have had to make tactful choices when it comes to inviting people into their organization. Mari puts it this way: “If we didn’t have boundaries or if we didn’t say “no” then we wouldn’t have an identity. And for people that we’ve said no to, I always encourage them to go find your people. It may not be with us.” Germs, too, acknowledges that “not everyone’s not gonna be everyone’s cup of tea.”
Although excited to share their journey, the PHC maintains that they are not representative of a clear path to success for artists. They are more about the voyage, not looking to do “the ultra marketable thing,” as well as getting out of the mindset of commodifying art. Take the bands, The Trash Animals and Switterbeet, both of which are composed of some Pigeon Hat members. These bands create music for the sake of creating music— not expecting to be the next Killers or Imagine Dragons to spawn out of Las Vegas, nor do they want that. While not opposed to success, their reasons and motivations are more grounded than achieving idyllic fame. Like Mari says, “If it’s not fun anymore, why do it?”
Although the founders of Pigeon Hat have been together since 2020, their experiences with the collective and the roles they hold are different. Mari is the group’s main organizer, booking shows and events consistently. She also runs all of the social media for PHC. Mari takes care of the physical and emotional well-being of the group, often cooking meals or bringing food. In fact, when she invited me into her home for our interview, the first thing she did was offer me a lovely assortment of pastries from a cafe called 85°C. As she pulled them out of the bag, she named each flavor, “mango, berry, lemon. . .” Of course, I had to take the mango. Fluffy and delicious, it tasted as warm and inviting as I felt there in her living room, having just come in from the cold. Mari also serves as a mediator or counselor of sorts for the collective members in times of conflict. Her natural ability to organize and care for others has been evident since elementary school, where she was always starting clubs. She has a knack for helping people find where they fit and what their talents are.
Ryan’s role in the PHC tends to be more technical. He plays a key role in sound engineering and quality control during shows and other productions, and helps to provide spaces for bands to jam, workshop and even record. He even takes on the occasional role of producer as well. According to Mari, Ryan is one of the best audio engineers in town, not just because of his exceptional skill, but also for his professionalism. He brings all of that to the table as part of the PHC.
“I go to work so that I can go do Pigeon Hat stuff,” Ryan says. “Like what I do is work, it’s labor for what we make happen but I’m not trying to be financially compensated for it. Because it doesn't matter. That’s not what this is about. We just love doing this.”
Germs believes he serves as the point where the logical, detail-oriented side (Ryan) and the creative, intuitive side (Mari) of the PHC come together. He values both artistic vision and technicality, but he tends to be the person who helps establish the direction and voice of the group. He also does some tech and logistics work on the practical side of things. As if those skills weren't enough, Germs draws on his carpentry background to build stages and occasionally assist with sound management at PHC events. Together, the three founders of the PHC collaborate to complement the others' strengths.
Looking ahead, Pigeon Hat is committed to preserving its core identity by creating space for weirdness while continuing to grow and evolve. They’re excited to launch a blog on their website, and one of their members, Chris, has been working on a quarterly zine that will showcase poetry, visual art, and short stories.
PHC will also continue to nurture its established presence on freakscene.us, a rapidly growing DIY community that unites musicians, artists, promoters, and fans to bypass exploitative social media and music streaming companies. Throughout the collective’s community-minded initiatives, the PHC has become a vibrant and multifaceted force within Las Vegas. The future is bright, filled with dynamic collaborations and impactful community projects that will uplift their corner of the city. They stand as a living, breathing example of the magic that happens when the homies get together, have fun and create art.
Ana Lorenza Jimenez is a visual artist, writer, and high school English teacher. She seeks to draw out that which is understated and under-appreciated through her art and writing. Ana is plugged into local Las Vegas culture, specifically the art, music, and literary scenes and is excited to see it grow.
