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Bad Trip Woodstock Vet Says, "Thanks for the Help."By Rick Horowitz
Well, of course
they rioted -- the burritos were overpriced!
So how'd you like this year's edition of peace, love and pyromania?
Pretty much a major mess, yes?
Depends on what you mean by "major mess." Do you mean setting cars
on fire? Torching tractor-trailers? Trashing vendor tents and looting
the merchandise? Breaking into (and making off with(!)) cash machines?
Knocking over speaker towers? Throwing fruit at the police?
Is that what you mean by "major mess"?
That'll do.
Yes indeed, ladies and gents: The Woodstock Brand Commemorative Music-and-Lifestyle
Gathering and Profit Center reached for the stars -- and fell flat on
its flammable butt. It started out friendly enough, a quarter-million
party-hearties looking for the groove, but the closing festivities were
something else again.
By the time they ended Woodstock, all the vibes had turned to
slime, and everywhere there was crime and conflagration...
Sorry -- momentary flashback. Where were we?
Right: major mess. Anyway, it sure was a good thing they located their
pleasant little gala at an old Air Force base this time around, don't
you think? Better crowd control, the organizers had promised; they'd
have better crowd control at the old Air Force base. Right. And out
of control would have been...?
"I'm bummed big time," said one of the organizing honchos when the
smoke had cleared -- can you blame him? You're probably feeling the
same way about it yourself, even if you weren't on the planning committee.
And you're absolutely convinced that I'm feeling that way, too.
"Golly, Rick," you're saying to me. "You were at the original
Woodstock, weren't you? You trod the sacred sod of Yasgur's farm all
those years ago. Doesn't it make you sad to see how the Woodstock name
and the Woodstock ideals were reduced to ashes?"
Don't be silly.
I couldn't be happier -- and I'm not the only one. In fact, on behalf
of my entire generation, allow me to share with you the following sentiment,
offered with all the sincerity that's in me: "Hah!" And once again,
for emphasis: "Hah!"
See, a disaster at Woodstock '99 is exactly the kind of thing the veterans
of Woodstock ('69) love to see. And by "veterans of Woodstock," I don't
mean just those of us who were actually at that place at that moment,
but everyone who was alive and rocking back then and would
have been there, too, if only they'd realized ahead of time what a total
touchstone it was going to turn out to be.
You have to understand: The last thing my generation wants is some
other generation beating us at our own game. Any of our own games. How
could we possibly keep telling ourselves (and everyone else within earshot)
that we're the best generation that ever was, the only generation that
ever knew how to throw a party, stop a war, save a tree, eat a peach,
if some young whippersnappers suddenly came along and did the very same
thing we did, only better?
We'd have to reevaluate our central place in the world -- and we'd
really rather not, thank you very much; it would be much too upsetting
for most of us. Hey, there's a reason "insufferable" is our middle name,
the fully gazed navel our family crest.
But guess what? Woodstock '99 gave us the best of both worlds.
By trying to duplicate the original, they were paying homage -- and
who deserves homage more than we do? And by going down (or is it up?)
in flames, they proved yet again that the original is still the greatest.
We couldn't have come out better if we'd planned the whole thing ourselves.
Smug as a bug in a rug.
Groovy.
Posted 7/27/99. The hits just keep on comin'
right here at Rick's -- tell your friends!
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Rick Horowitz