A producer of the original Woodstock in 1969, Lang is, despite financial obstacles, political blockades and much sneering cynicism from the media, bringing Woodstock ‘94 to life. The sprawling three-day anniversary event, featuring a youth-oriented lineup of bands like Aerosmith, Metallica and Nine Inch Nails, has been criticized in baby-boom-generation magazines from The Village Voice to Rolling Stone for being too commercial and for squandering the spirit of ‘69.
Commercial it is: the festival’s approximate $30 million cost has been put up by worldwide conglomerates like Polygram, and the dove-and-guitar-neck logo can be purchased cheaply on cans of Pepsi. Plenty more capital-raising plans are in place: an album and a film, a CD-ROM, a $49.95 pay-per-view broadcast, scores of T shirts, programs, posters and other merchandise. Tickets cost $135 apiece and must be purchased in blocks of four; the producers say that 150,000 of the 250,000 available have been sold.
Lang is just a wee bit defensive about the whole thing. “A lot of what the media wants to talk about is the difference between this show and the original one,” he says, bumping along in his Range Rover. “And this show hasn’t even happened yet.” Other members of the festival’s production team are touchier. Joel Rosenman, a ‘69 alumnus who has reunited with Lang and John Roberts to produce ‘94 (along with concert promoter John Scher), gets cynical about the cynicism. “There seems to be a feeling on the part of the generation that was having a great time at Woodstock in ‘69 that the good time is theirs,” Rosenman says. “As if that memory alone is sacrosanct and cannot be repeated. As if we invented rock-and-roll parties at Woodstock, and we finished them off at Woodstock for all time.”
In fact, the party line, so to speak, on Woodstock ‘94 is that this one’s for the kids. The baby boomers had their Woodstock; now let’s do one for those poor, alienated Generation Xers who get picked on all the time. Lang smiles his secretive smile. “You don’t think we should do one for this generation?” he says sweetly. “You have something against these kids?”
If you are above the age of, say, 29, Woodstock ‘94 doesn’t want you. If the idea of camping out doesn’t appeal to you, then don’t come. If you don’t watch enough MTV to know that the world’s coolest bands are Green Day, Porno for Pyros, the Rollins Band, Cypress Hill and the Red Hot Chili Peppers; or if the names Flea and Lars Ulrich mean nothing to you, then stay home. Want a festival? Head for “The Reunion at Yasgur’s Farm” on the actual site of Woodstock ‘69. There, on the same weekend of Aug. 12-14, you can see aging hippies like John Sebastian and Richie Havens nostalgically paying homage to the “real” spirit of Woodstock. You’ll have plenty of room to spread out. So far, ticket sales for the 40,000-capacity “Reunion” gig have been extremely slow (price: $94.69 for three days).
The irony that Woodstock ‘94 is implicitly excluding old-fashioned hippies has not been lost on local scenesters like Duke Devlin. A long-bearded, beefy fellow who hitchhiked to Woodstock in ‘69 and never left, Devlin calls himself “the ghost of Woodstock past.” “I’m a fossil now,” he adds. “This isn’t my Woodstock, even though I want to be in the crowd. I want to get out there and get that feeling back.”
The kids, of course, will be rocking out at Winston Farm in Saugerties (except for Chelsea Clinton; her parents won’t let her go). There they will, it is hoped, abide by a daunting list of rules and regulations designed to make Woodstock ‘94 a safe, sanitary, trouble-free venture. These rules are as strict as the average parent-supervised party. No alcohol will be sold or allowed onto the premises. No illegal drugs or drug paraphernalia. No guns, weapons, knives, axes or sharp tent stakes; festivalgoers will be searched or sent through metal detectors in advance. No food to be brought on site; 900 concession stands will sell everything from veggie burgers to hot dogs. No cooking utensils, propane grills, metal flashlights or videocameras. Non-aerosol bug spray only, please. One of the unfriendliest rules is the discouragement of small children. There are two hospitals, an X-ray lab, water stations and thousands of Porta Potties; more than a thousand security guards will be on hand to help you or bust you. A hysterical New York Daily News columnist actually printed that there would be an on-site jail, but producer John Scher denies this. And what if it rains? “If it rains,” says Scher solemnly, “people will get wet.”
The Woodstock sequel may not have much to do with peace, love, mudslides and naked dancing hippies. But for a teenager used to arena rock shows, these open fields just might seem liberating. B-Real of the rap group Cypress Hill thinks Woodstock ‘94 deserves a chance. “The whole thing Woodstock represented was just everybody hanging together for three days,” he says. “That’s hard to do these days. It’s going to be interesting to see how it happens this time.”
Yet Woodstock cynicism is not confined to the Woodstock generation after all. For some of the younger bands on the bill, this year’s festival is just another gig. Trent Reznor of the industrial-metal group Nine Inch Nails says, “To be quite frank, we were offered a lot of money. We don’t have sponsorships; this way we can fund the rest of our tour.” Reznor’s band is receiving $250,000 for a 90-minute set; other acts are reportedly receiving as much as $350,000.
Punk-rock ideals and the Woodstock Nation make strange bedfellows. “It’s going to be fun and everything,” says Henry Rollins, the iron-muscled, thick-necked, punk icon. “But it’s nothing but these ex-hippies, or whatever they are now, making money that they were too high to make the first time. For the kids? They’re doing it for themselves. All I’m going to do is play my ass off like I usually do and then move on to Cleveland.”
Even Stephen Stills of Crosby, Stills and Nash, a band that defined the Woodstock generation as well as any, seems a little tired of all the hoopla. Crosby, Stills and Nash are one of the few holdovers from the original; other rock elders include Joe Cocker, the Band, Santana and Bob Dylan, who the producers found still had high name recognition with young audiences. “Now, this bunch of old guys, we’re just going to go out and shred the motherf—er, because that’s what’s called for,” says Stills. “But you don’t have to make some big heaviosity about it. I’m too damned old to take things that seriously.”
In the end, Woodstock ‘94 may turn out to be exactly what Woodstock ‘69 was originally intended to be: a great big concert in the country full of bands that young people like. The producers know cultural moments can’t be manufactured. But they can’t help fantasizing. “Should lightning choose to strike twice,” says Scher, “it can.”
