They're popping up all over the country -- rock 'n' roll bands with names like Prematurely Gray, Average White Collar Band, and Pipedream. Some play for a few weeks and break up; others keep going with a string of local gigs. They're boomer bands, 40- to 50-year-old guys -- at least they're mostly guys -- getting together to jam before a live audience and, perhaps, fleetingly relive their youth.

These retro groups aren't the product of spontaneous generation, though. They're the brainchild of Skip Maggiora, a 50-year-old ex-rocker who owns Skip's Music in Sacramento, Calif., whose program has been licensed nationally. He was the first to put the amateurs together -- and equip them, too. His idea? Make it irresistibly easy for wannabes who gave up their guitars and drums in the '60s and '70s to take up music again. Then, if they get hooked, they'll buy the gear they always wanted but couldn't afford as teenagers -- presumably at Skip's. It's a clever marketing approach with implications for any industry seeking to attract new demographic groups.

Maggiora has dubbed his program Weekend Warriors. For $75 per player, the store puts warriors into a band and provides instruments, a professional coach, and a soundstage for four once-a-week rehearsals. In the fifth week, Maggiora organizes a concert with four to six bands at a local hotel lounge and prints up tickets for band members to give friends and family. ''We become their roadies; we tune their guitars for them,'' says Maggiora, a roadie himself for Johnny Winter at Woodstock. ''They're the stars for the night.''

Take Sacramento trial attorney John Q. Brown, 48. From 1963 to 1967, he played in a Sacramento band called The Prophets, which opened for such long-forgotten acts as Grass Roots, Sopwith Camel, and Harpers Bizarre. Then college intervened. He hadn't played more than a few licks in 25 years. Now, he does rhythm guitar and vocals for a group called Four Lawyers and a Rice Farmer. ''But for Skip having everything set up, I would never have done it again,'' he says. That's been good for Maggiora: Brown bought a guitar and amp. The band got an electric piano.

A few of the warriors actually make some money. Auburn (Calif.) veterinarian Lauren H. La Rue's band, Lash La Rue and the Love Slaves, recently landed its first paying gig, a company party. La Rue, 40, says ''acting out the fantasy'' is the real fun of it, though. Maggiora furthers the cause with perks like laminated backstage passes that prominently state ''artist.''

Maggiora dreamed up Weekend Warriors five years ago after his store staged a 20th anniversary bash. ''So many guys in coats and ties stopped by to say, 'I used to be a customer,''' he says. Those early patrons had vanished one by one as dreams of rock stardom gave way to the harsh realities of real jobs and raising families. Now, their kids -- the echo boomers -- were driving the store's growing sales. What Maggiora wanted to do was lure back the parents -- and their fatter wallets. But it had to be easy, promise fun, and most of all, connect them to their love of music. He points to the golf course across from his store: The pro shop can sell expensive clubs because there's a course to use them on. ''Selling them a guitar doesn't keep them involved,'' he says. ''Giving them something to do with it is what's bringing them back.''

So Weekend Warriors -- which helped boost Maggiora's revenues from about $6 million in 1993 to more than $9 million last year -- is designed to address its target customers' concerns. ''I don't have an instrument'': It provides one. ''The sound police won't allow it'': There's a state-of-the-art place to rehearse. ''I don't have the time'': It's two hours once a week, and the fifth week you're on stage. ''I'm not good enough'': All Maggiora says to that, rolling his eyes, is: ''It doesn't take a lot of finesse to play Louie Louie.''

STARTUP KIT. Now, Weekend Warriors is spreading. The International Music Products Assn., a trade group of retailers and manufacturers, licensed the program from Maggiora for a nominal fee. For $75, association members use the Warriors name and receive a startup kit that includes a promotional video, point-of-purchase displays, and brochures. After two years of tests at selected retailers, the association began its national rollout earlier this year. Now, 135 stores boast active programs, and about 50 more plan to launch them.

With U.S. instrument sales growing 5.6% last year, to $6.1 billion, retailers are far from desperate, and reviews of the program are mixed. Some smaller stores have complained that unless they flesh out the bands with their own staffers, they can't assemble enough bands to stage a decent concert. Others say renting a venue is too expensive.

True, the program is time-consuming and barely breaks even. But most store owners see a payoff. ''More than half end up buying something,'' says Peter E. Volpe Jr., who, with his father, runs South Shore Music in Weymouth, Mass. John R. McMurray, owner of McMurray Music Center in St. Louis, says that after less than a year he has a waiting list of about 150 players. On average, he figures, each band has spent around $1,500 in the store. Reese A. Marin, who owns American Music, a four-store chain in Seattle, says that, unlike his average customer, who wants a $200 to $300 instrument, a Weekend Warrior spends from $700 to $2,000 on a new guitar. One of Maggiora's customers spent $30,000 on music and studio gear.

More important, the boomers are bringing in their friends. (Says Maggiora: ''Don't forget, Four Lawyers and a Rice Farmer started with one lawyer.'') A third of Maggiora's customers are now his age. Some, in fact, are just discovering their dreams. ''I'd be the last to predict where this will go,'' says Michael H. Barosso, 48, of Pleasant Grove, Calif. When he's on stage with his clean-cut colleagues, you can tell him by the ponytail and the white Lundberg Rice baseball cap. ''But I've got ambitions beyond Weekend Warriors,'' he says. He's investing in those dreams, too, with four basses and an amp bought at Skip's Music. As far as Maggiora is concerned, Barosso is already a star.

By Larry Armstrong in Los Angeles

This article was originally published in the Nov. 9, 1998 print edition of Business Week's Enterprise.

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