TRASHING A TRADITION IN NAME OF WOODSTOCK

CHILD OF THE '60S FINDS ANNIVERSARY EVENT NO FUN; ORIGINAL SITE IS REVERED

DATE: Sunday, August 21, 1994 SOURCE: BY JOAN RICE, Beacon Journal staff writer

Woodstock '94? Puh-leese. Call it Greedstock, Woodschlock, Mudstock, Tentstock, Gridstock. Don't call it Woodstock. The three-day festival last weekend in the upstate New York town of Saugerties (we called it "Soggy-ties" after hours of torrential rains) doesn't have anything to do with Woodstock, one glorious, peaceful weekend in August 1969 that became a sacred countercultural symbol to a whole generation. This year's 25th anniversary attempt at celebrating the memory was more like Partydowndudestock. Generation Xers -- the vast majority of the crowd of 350,000 -- came to party mega-time and get wasted. Wastedstock. There, you got it. As my sister, Marie Rice, told a New York Times reporter tracking down interviews on the festival grounds: "There's only one Woodstock."

We weren't at the original, but the big mudfest they threw on an 840-acre farm in the shadow of the Catskills last weekend wasn't a sequel. Not even close. Yes, we were in Saugerties. My sister, who's a television news reporter from Buffalo, and I joined a college professor friend from Kentucky. All of us -- children of the '60s -- were on vacation. Stuck with nonrefundable airline tickets to Albany after a concert at the original site of Woodstock in Bethel, N.Y., was canceled, we trudged to Saugerties. No, not in your dreams were we naive enough to think anything of the fabled '69 event could be recaptured. Maybe, though, something magical in a '90s kind of way could materialize? Wrong-o, high-tech breath. OK. There's nothing wrong with kicking back and chilling out on a grand scale. But whiz-bang gadgetry, corporate logos, metal detectors, licensed merchandise and carnival rides do not a Woodstock make.

This was a theme park, for gawd's sake, that virtually squandered the spirit of '69. Now, let's take a break (where would you like it -- ankle? leg? neck?) here for a discussion of moshing. Yes, you respect it on one level. There's no wimp factor in the pit. While music shreds the airwaves, sweaty bodies slam and bang into each other. They catapult off stages into jerking, frenzied masses, where the lucky ones "bodysurf" through the crowd. Held aloft, they are passed hand-to-hand overhead. Now factor mud into the equation. You tell me. What's it all about? Bumps, bruises, bloody noses and broken bones are the trophies displayed with pride. This is peace and love? Not at my Woodstock. Half a million strong in 1969, Woodstockers seemed to revel in a spirit of commonality. In its own way, the gathering was a peace rally.

If the '60s generation was galvanized by the Vietnam War, why can't the Gen Xers be prodded into action by other concerns? The environment, for example. Producers of the Saugerties festival dedicated an Eco-Village to socially conscious organizations and pushed car-pooling, nonaerosol products and cleanup. A lot of good it did. When the festival came to an end last Monday, the grounds looked like the aftermath of an uprising at Lucasville. But we were long gone. "We were stardust. We were golden. And we've got to get ourselves back to the garden" -- as Joni Mitchell would describe it in her song Woodstock. Cutting our losses, we booked out and headed down state Route 87 to Bethel, back to the garden. Back to the former farm of Max Yasgur, where it all began. Parking our car on Happy Avenue (yes, believe it), we hiked into the serene countryside.

On our way to the hallowed ground, we pass black-and-white cows grazing in a lush, green meadow. Up ahead, a road called Best intersects Happy Avenue. We say hello to a young family. On we go. Then we are there. We stand in wonder at the wonder of it all. This is where it all happened. There is the hill, the natural, grassy amphitheater that rises into the horizon. The one filled with half a million faces, stretching as far as the eye could see. Wait a minute. Listen. Can we hear the anguished wail of Janis? The tortured whine of Jimi's take-no-prisoners guitar? Well, we can pretend. A modest monument listing all the original Woodstock performers marks the spot.

Someone has decorated it with flowers. This day, the grounds again are squishy with mud. The atmosphere is laid-back. We smell a wood fire. Corn on the cob from a local farmer is offered at one tent. A young woman dips out free soup. A puppy romps on the hillside. You can buy a T-shirt for $5. We hear Richie Havens has footed the bill for a small wooden stage at which Arlo Guthrie and Melanie have performed. Canned Heat, Mountain, and Paul Yarrow of Peter, Paul and Mary are expected. The concert that wasn't supposed to happen did come together in honor of the 25th anniversary. When Guthrie found out the gathering was free to the public, that was when he decided to perform, he told a local newspaper. You can bring back Woodstock. It's in our hearts and minds.

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