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WOODSTOCK: A NEW NATION part 10 Book excerpt from "Aquarius Rising" by Robert Santelli SUNDAY, AUGUST 17 continued Woodstock was only Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young's second live appearance, but it gave the group instant success and stardom. The music of David Crosby (formerly of the Byrds), Stephen Stills (formerly of the Buffalo Springfield), Graham Nash (formerly of the Hollies), and Neil Young (also from the Buffalo Springfield) emphasized the natural, vibrant sound of acoustic guitars and four-part harmonies and was in direct contrast to the acid- and hard-rock styles of the day. Their music brought to mind the soothing, ethereal qualities of folk music, but they handled it with much more complexity and emotionalism than anything done in the early sixties at the height of the folk movement. The instrumental work was more elaborate and provocative, especially the lead guitar solos of Young and Stills. The group's Woodstock set was begun with a shaky rendition of "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes," written by Stephen Stills for folksinger Judy Collins. The harmonies were a bit off and the guitars had problems staying in tune, but the trio (Neil Young had not yet appeared on stage) introduced a new brand of sensitivity and cognizance to rock. A half-hour into the set, Neil Young sauntered onstage and, along with close friend and occasional enemy Stephen Stills, performed an acoustic version of the old Springfield number "Mr. Soul." Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young were not totally acoustic. In the second half of their set, the band settled into some definitive rock. Accompanied by Dallas Taylor on drums and Greg Reeves on bass, the quartet moved through most of the tunes from their debut album, along with some old Springfield numbers. At 6:30 on Monday morning, the last performer took the stage at Woodstock. The crowd had withered to a meager 25,000, a far cry from the half-million or so people of two days before. Strewn among the people was a field of garbage and abandoned belongings. Jimi Hendrix had been given the honor of closing the festival. The high priest of rock festivals was perhaps the most successful artist ever to play at the large events. His music summed up best what music and the masses could ultimately amount to. How appropriate it was to end the festival with a psychedelic version of "The Star Spangled Banner." It was all over. By Monday afternoon only those who had volunteered to help clean up the garbage remained at the festival site. But Woodstock was, and would continue to be, a newsworthy item. The New York Times, which had given the festival intensive coverage for three days and had placed stories of the event on the front page, criticized Woodstock in an editorial on Monday, August 18. Entitled "Nightmare in the Catskills," the editorial asked, "What kind of culture is it that can produce so colossal a mess?" It also compared the zealous-ness of 300,000 fans to the impulses that "drive the lemmings to march to their deaths in the sea."3 But in a highly unusual move, the following day the Times ran another editorial, "Morning After at Bethel," that softened considerably the verbal blows of the previous day and actually praised those who had participated in the event. ... By adult standards, the occasion was clearly a disaster, an outrageous upset of all normal patterns. Yet the young people's conduct, in the end, earned them a salute from Monticello's police chief as the "most courteous, considerate, and well-behaved group of kids" he had ever dealt with. Perhaps it was just the communal discomfort, that whiff of danger, that they needed to feel united and at peace. For comrades-in-rock, like comrades in arms, need great days to remember and embroider. With Henry the Fifth they could say at Bethel, "He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, will stand a-tiptoe when this day is nam'd."1 Woodstock rapidly became more than just the largest rock festival ever produced. Overnight it assumed legendary proportions. Very little mention was made of the musical performances except in the rock press. It was the crowd and the conditions that were important. Woodstock was labeled a giant tribal gathering that expressed the ideals and life-styles of the new generation. Others in the media considered the event in religious terms. Barry Farrell wrote in Life that "many minds seized upon the metaphor of religion that day: the people were the seekers, the rock stars their prophets and drugs pretty nearly their staff of life." Still there were others who considered Woodstock the ultimate symbolic display of just how massive and powerful rock music had become. Observers pointed out that rock music was the only thing that could have drawn together so many people under such trying conditions. It was fortunate for the promoters of the festival that so much fuss was being made over Woodstock and that so much was being written about it. All the ink intensified the anticipation and impatience for the subsequent movie and albums that would result from the festival. Those young people who did not attend Woodstock but felt a spiritual bond with those who did needed to see the movie to confirm their belief in the power of the event. Those who were at Woodstock wanted to see the movie to recall memorable moments and see if their faces could be spotted in the crowd ("There! There I am! Did ya see me next to the guy with the orange T-shirt? I swear that was me!") as veritable proof that they were really part of the Woodstock legend.
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