Like weeds in a garden, Woodstock stories seem to be a fact of life. We are now at the 40th anniversary of Woodstock, and since I started growing weary of Woodstock stories ’round about 1975, this year marks the 34th anniversary of the onset of my chronic Woodstock fatigue.
Sure, I saw the movie, several times in fact. I bought the album. Everybody bought the album. What’s an album? Ask the guy behind the counter at the antique store. He’ll show you some.
Of the people who were at Woodstock, here’s a true story you’ll never hear anyone of them tell. “After attending Woodstock, I went back to New York City, coped-out to the man, got a job and got on with my life. Woodstock was a lot of fun, but in the end, it accomplished nothing, proved nothing, and meant nothing. It was just a big concert.”
A lot of good bands were not at Woodstock. Led Zeppelin wasn’t at Woodstock. Do you know why? Because they could make more money by not being at Woodstock. Jimmy Paige was no fool. Bob Dylan wasn’t at Woodstock. Do you know why? Because he hated all the hippies hanging around his house who wouldn’t leave, and the last thing he wanted to see was a big field full of more hippies. No doubt, when the hippies left his house to go to Woodstock, he looked at it as a kind of vacation.
A few years after Woodstock, Bill Graham organized what he called, “Day on the Green.” Some called it the “Woodstock of the West.” It was an all-day concert held at Kezar Stadium in San Francisco. I went to that one. A lot of good bands were there, some of whom had played at Woodstock. Led Zeppelin wasn’t there either, but Bob Dylan showed up. It was a lot of fun. When it was over, I coped-out to the man, got a job and got on with my life.
