The Mythology of Woodstock

I was born 17 years after Woodstock, about 37 too late by my account. The funny thing about that concert, which celebrated its 40th anniversary this past August, is that it wasn’t the greatest concert of all time. From the footage on the documentary to the first hand reports by the bands, you can tell everyone was a little off that day, be it because of drugs or the lousy soundsystem or the general disorganization of the whole affair. But that’s not how people remember it. Woodstock is as much an enigma as it can be, despite being the most covered cultural event of the late ‘60’s. It’s mystery is as intriguing as the music. The mystery being, what made this concert such a force when similar things had been done before? Why do people remember those three days of peace and music as a significant happening, regardless of whether they were there or not?

The Monterey Pop Festival predated Woodstock by two years. Taking place in Northern California and organized by John Phillips (The Mama’s and the Papa’s), it was the first real rock festival America had ever seen. It was the American debut of Jimi Hendrix, who lit his guitar (literally) and the stage (metaphorically) on fire. Janis Joplin first got noticed there, too. The Who destroyed their equipment on the stage, shocking the gentle hippie crowd. Jefferson Airplane, The Byrds, Buffalo Springfield, Otis Redding, Laura Nyro, and a score of others played there, too. It was a gathering of beautiful people celebrating beautiful music, crowds of people wearing Davey Crockett hats and floral shirts entranced by the new sounds of the era. Yet, you don’t hear people bragging about how they were there, at least not to anyone that isn’t a music nerd, and you don’t see 40th anniversary Monterey Pop Festival merchandise peddled at Barnes and Noble. It had so many of the same components as Woodstock—the right music, the right attitude, ample drugs— but is largely ignored by the current media and public. It can be deduced, then, that there is something else that set Woodstock apart from other rock concerts, even ones of similar taste and design.

What made Woodstock unique was its spirit. It had an energy all its own, an energy so powerful people remember it years later, and those who weren’t there wish that they had been. Because Woodstock wasn’t just a concert, it was a larger metaphor for what was going on at the time. It was chaotic due to bad planning, it was messy due to rain, it was dangerous due to the fact that there were half a million people gathered in one space… but none of that mattered. You can blame it on the effect of LSD if you’re cynical, but what happened in those three days was a meeting of spirits who refused negativity and accepted positive vibes as the only alternative. Things could have gone horribly wrong, but they didn’t. How could it be that no crime of violence was reported in three days, with that many people gathered? How could it be that when it rained, people chose to enjoy the mud rather than complain? People ran out of food, they were hungry, thirsty, and badly needed showers. But the community spirit overrode all of that. The Hog’s Farm, a commune in New York State, took it upon themselves to feed their brethren, free of course. People shared their tents, their clothes, their water. It was a powerful rejection of the status-quo, of a selfish culture, of the cold fisted LBJ administration and consumerism of the 1950’s culture in which they were raised.
While today people use the word “hippie” as a catch-all for 1960’s counter-culture, it would be unwise to do so. Part of what made Woodstock significant was that so many differing branches of the counter-culture came together. The Yippies (who could forget Abbie Hoffman stealing the microphone from Pete Townsend?), the dead heads, the women’s rights and civil rights groups, artists, the large number of runaways, all came together and created something bigger than themselves. Generally when there is a mass rejection of something, it is done in a negative or violent way (see today’s Tea Partiers, whose methods have unfairly been compared to that of the ‘60’s counter-culture by The New York Times). But in this case, these very different people with very different goals all agreed on one thing: positivity. Love, even. Love is the answer, they seemed to say collectively, if “What is it all for?” is the question.

California tried to replicate the event, unsuccessfully. On the advice of The Rolling Stones, the Hell’s Angels were used as security and a young man was killed. The concert, meant to be a West Coast equivalent, ended in violence and chaos, the name “Altamont” becoming a lyric in the requiem for the counter-culture movement.

No one knew then that Woodstock would turn out to be what we think of it as today. A free event (again with the sharing!) with the biggest stars of the day jamming in the rain on Yasgur’s farm in Bethel, New York seemed to be, at its core, simply a really cool concert. The mythology, it could be argued, was made by the media and not the enduring spirit of the times. Are we a more cynical nation than we were 40 years ago? Certainly. But what is worth noting is that people remember and celebrate Woodstock, while Altamont is barely mentioned. Love wins.