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August 14th, 1994 marked the final day of my first-ever camping concert, the very large and somewhat un-notorious Woodstock 1994 (when compared to the original peaced-out Woodstock in 1969 and the angry/fighty Woodstock in 1999). I had attended begrudgingly, miffed at the corporate cash-grabbery of the whole ordeal as any semi-idealist in his mid-twenties would be, but had surprised myself by having a great time. And really, how could I not? In retrospect the festival had a pretty knock-out lineup chock full of notable appearances and rare collaborations, so many in fact that the bands I didn’t see would make for a stellar lineup at some alternate universe festival*. Blues Traveller, Sheryl Crow, Live, Cypress Hill, Blind Melon (with Shannon Hoon), Salt ’N Pepa, Nine Inch Nails, Melissa Etheridge, Green Day, Arrested Development, Mavis Staples, Primus…oh the things I missed!
That said, I saw a lot too.
Now, by day three I had become rather unrested and had run myself a tad ragged. I’m pretty sure I started the musical day with Country Joe McDonald but I could be wrong about that, or even about seeing him at all. Same goes for Santana (who I’m pretty darn sure I saw but would simultaneously almost swear that the first time I saw him was in Toronto a few years later**), Spin Doctors, and Jimmy Cliff’s All-Star Reggae Jam. Okay, I’m fairly confident that I didn’t see the reggae jam but I so, so wish that I had I think my brain is projecting a little.
I can state with absolute confidence that I saw The Allman Brothers and I liked it too. I remember getting mad at the late Bob Dylan for keeping the crowd waiting musicless for an hour as he prepared to deliver a set that sounded more like southern jam-rock than it did any Bob Dylan that had been heard before. I mean, for this set Dylan went so electric you’d think he had been just pounding dirt back in Newport. During his set I sat down amongst the enormous crowd to shelter myself from the sun for a spell and nodded off. When I awoke I literally thought we were still hearing the Allman Brothers; figured maybe they were sitting in or something. Nope, it was just Dylan and his band being extraordinary. I had to stand up and see it with my own eyes to believe it.
I’m pretty sure Bob Dylan had followed (or perhaps was followed by) Porno For Pyros, who might have been good save for the fact that I was shocked to the core by the utter un-Woodstock vibe that was immediately and mercilessly thrust upon the million+ eyes that were watching the stage. They had evil clowns running around the stage cutting hookers’ throats with faux-razors that were filled to the brim with fake blood…they had…well, thankfully my brain won’t allow me think past the evil killer clowns but how much more do you need? Woodstock is the antonym to evil clowns running amok with razor blades.
It was icky. Like I say, the music might have been good but I was too young and impressionable to give their set the benefit of the doubt.
I distinctly recall the Red Hot Chili Peppers coming out wearing giant light bulbs on their heads, someone’s bright idea that has become a legendary footnote in the band’s career. And what a good idea too. At that point in the day there were probably 300,000 people between me and the stage – I was so far back that Flea looked like an ant – and those light bulbs projected all the way to the back of the crowd. Brilliant. I remember the set sounding a bit muddy (or was that the crowd?), but I definitely liked it.
Once again though I had been mostly anticipating the ultimate act of the day, and once again I found myself disappointed, though this time for a different reason. The night’s headliner was Peter Gabriel and let me state right up front he was awesome and fantastic and great. But this was the second time I was seeing him, and that first Peter Gabriel concert (at an Amnesty International concert in Montreal) had been and remains to this day a musical standout in a lifetime of musical standouts. That day back in 1988 Peter Gabriel left me weeping; tears were still streaming down my face when the lights came up at the end of his set. And here he was headlining the whole Woodstock festival…I was expecting big things. And when he was just his usual brilliant self – even when he urged us all to light the thin candles we had been given and stick them in the mud, which at least a quarter of a million people did and it was a bloody amazing way to actually end the fest – even then he was not the godlike musical soul-shocker I had witnessed as a young buck rollicking through Montreal, so I was a tad disappointed with his set. I had been disappointed with Aerosmith the night before because they were being Aerosmith.
And so ended my primary camping music festival: walking wearily through the darkness towards my temporary home with the twinkle of countless flames lighting the ground around me while a dozen glorious notes churned infinitely through my soul.
No wonder I kept doing it.
*Too late. I’m copyrighting the name Alternate Universe Festival.
**And I would be right both times, because it turns out that the Toronto Santana show actually occurred a year earlier, in September, 1993. So I think I saw Santana at this show. Now that I think of it***, is it possible Bob Weir or someone else sat in?
***Don’t you wish I thought about these things before I started typing?
Todd Man Out 