Though Woodstock was a sublime event for many of its 500,000 attendees, it had been something less for the 400 in triage for bad acid trips, not to mention the three who died straight. And, though it launched some of its 36 bands -- notably Santana, CSN, Sly and the Family Stone -- it was a downer for others.
Pete Townshend of the Who called the historic festival of peace and love -- celebrating its 40th anniversary next week -- “horrible.” Grace Slick of the Jefferson Airplane described it as “a bunch of stupid slobs in the mud.” Barry Melton of Country Joe and the Fish noted: “When they tell me it was great, I know they saw the movie and they weren’t at the gig.”
Among other star performers who had less than a transcendent experience at Yasgur’s farm were Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix and Jerry Garcia.
“We were just plumb atrocious,” said the Dead’s frontman. “It was raining to boot and I was high [on Czech acid] and I saw blue balls of electricity bouncing across the stage and leaping onto my guitar.” Throughout their set, the Dead were buffeted by 60 mile per hour winds, and their roadies were screaming that the groaning stage was about to collapse.
After the Dead escaped unscathed, Credence Clearwater came on, followed by Janis with her Kozmic Blues Band. Propped up by three roadies, the Queen of the Blues stumbled on stage clutching a bottle of booze in each hand. She’d just shot up in one of the portapotties, and had chased the smack with tequila and vodka, the same triple that would kill her a year later.
Stage cameraman, Henry Diltz, recalled that she was “tortured and crying into the microphone. She really screamed in agony on those songs.”
After climaxing the set with her signature "Ball & Chain," she retreated to her tent and fixed again. When her manager called in, announcing the arrival of a Life reporter, she bellowed back: “I’m not talking to fucking anybody! F--- him, man, and f--- the world.”
Woodstock was a bitter disappointment compared to Monterey Pop, which had launched her career two years before.
The same was true for her former lover, Jimi Hendrix. Since his apotheosis at Monterey, he had toured relentlessly and had become the highest paid rock performer. But his Experience had broken up three months prior to Woodstock. At the same time he had been busted for heroin possession in Toronto.
Desperately in need of rest, he had taken a summer trip to Morocco. Here the king’s clairvoyant had predicted his imminent death.
Returning from abroad, the guitarist retired to his rented mansion near Woodstock where he tried to put together a new band, Gypsy Sun and Rainbows. The group was under-rehearsed and, in spite of Hendrix’s objections, his manager booked him as the headliner for Woodstock.
He was scheduled to perform on Sunday night but, due to delays, didn’t come to stage until early Monday morning when only 30,000 rainsoaked diehards remained in Yasgur’s muddy, trash-ridden alfalfa field.
