Geezer Woodstock

I think the first record I bought with my own money was Surfin Safari by the Beach Boys. Prior to that purchase the Four Seasons, The Everly Brothers and Willie Dixon were heard ( among others) but I owe Brian Wilson for the first interest in what became the music of the sixties. Motown helped it along until the world changed in 1967 and 1968. In 1967 the Box Tops, the Beatles, James Brown and the Doors made the charts and Jefferson Airplane took off. In ’68 Jack Flash was Jumping and I was deep into Disraeli Gears and Donovan. The earliest and most long lasting influence were the Rolling Stones.

My first real concert was in 1967 at the Filmore in San Francisco where I caught Quicksiver, Spooky Tooth and Cold Blood for the outrageous price of three dollars. John Phillips organized the world’s first outdoor festival in the same year and Monterey was on the map. Things were happening, to be sure.

Rock festivals had a quality that was unprecedented. Very hairy pushers would weave among the crowd mumbling “speed.., mescaline.., grass” low enough to keep the fuzz from hearing. You ate other people’s food and kissed other people’s girlfriends. You were warned to avoid the Blue Dot Ousley or the Orange Sunshine. Finally, there was Woodstock.

I must have played Soul Sacrifice more than five hundred times when the Woodstock Sound Track album came out.

Imagine my interest when I read on the neighborhood social platform the following warning. If you’re out strolling tomorrow evening, you might hear music coming from Felice Drive. Naturally, a quick trip to Felice Drive was in order and what transpired there was a perfect window on 92128 and our generation in general. A group of graying musicians had gathered a twelve string and a Karaoke machine and a couple of stand mikes. The show was on.

Unlike every other festival, social distancing was firmly in place. Apparently -at our age- the sexual revolution was long over and ten feet of space between persons seemed just about right. Masks were worn and none were tie dyed. The young man who walked up to me did not offer a consciousness raising experience, instead he said, “there are a couple of chairs over there if you want to sit down.” Time had caught up to us and comfort had trumped experience. The music was also the music of the gently aged …. there were no songs by Santana, The Who, Ten Years After or Joe Cocker… the tunes were by Linda Ronstad, John Denver and Jim Croce…pleasant songs that didn’t raise the heart rate. They even played The Last Waltz and it was the original, nothing to do with The Band.

We had gotten old but not so old that we wouldn’t travel to hear some music. Our toes still tapped and our backsides still swayed, though at a much slower pace. What was best, was all the memories that these garage troubadours evoked. We have plenty of memories in 92128.

It was a pleasant thing and I will not feel bad that I needed a seat more than a mind expansion. I agree with Keith Richards, ” I’m not gettin old..I’m evolving.”

Alexa. Play Monkey Man.