GREEDSTOCK 99 The Night The Music Died
©1999 L. Paul Mann

Historians have long debated how to interpret first hand accounts of a significant event. Perceptions depend on where the eyewitness is in relation to the most relevant action. The press, by the nature of who they are, generally have a distorted view of what is actually taking place. So it was at the Woodstock 99 music festival. Journalists were given a special, easy access parking lot, so they could return to their hotel rooms at the end of each evening, to a soft bed and clean shower. Backstage, they were treated to secure tents full of freshly catered food and drink. They had access to the front of the stages, so they could observe their favorite performers, and the frenzied crowds, with comfort and ease. Press conferences were arranged, to feed them the corporate line from the organizers of the event. For three days, they painted a rosy picture of the musical event, from their rarefied perception. Then, when the rioting broke out, they descended like sharks on a carcass at sea, and fed their lust for an easy story hook. They formulated a quick easy storyline, from a multifaceted tale full of intrigue and irony. Perception is in the eye of the beholder, and I had a different view of the event, than most of the press. I would not be so presumptuous as to sum up what happened in an easy review of events. I will share some of the ironies of what I witnessed, however, with anybody who is interested. I arrived at the concert on Thursday, July 22, the day before the official start of the festival. Traffic was heavy, but not unbearable. Arriving at the main gate, I was greeted by moderate security. The friendly state troopers were only visible directing traffic and patrolling the outer perimeters. Inside the event, all security was handled by people hired by the promoters. I later learned that the staff, from security to food vendors worked on a trade basis. For two ten hour shifts, you were given free housing, transportation, and food. But the event was four days long? That first day, you needed to show your ticket, receive an arm band, and be scanned by a metal detector. Then you had a second perimeter where they searched your bags. This got you into the massive campsites, where many people had already established themselves and were beginning to party. After a very long walk, the entrance to the concert site is reached. Another search of bags was conducted. Finally inside the overwhelming concert area, you quickly realized that the biggest problem was going to be acquiring information. Two massive stages loomed nearly a mile apart. The East stage had a huge backdrop painted by Peter Max, in his well known sixties style, made famous by the Beatles', "Yellow Submarine" cartoon. The West stage was in the shape of a huge Greek temple, complete with artificial columns, stretching to the heavens. Bands were already performing here. In the middle was the emerging artist stage, a converted airplane hangar, where new bands would play, and raves would take place at the end of each night. In between were endless concessions run by Ogden entertainment (parent company of the promoter), and a few smaller independent food booths. A quick survey of food and drink prices proved to be troubling. $10.00 for a burrito, $4.00 for a soda, $12.00 for a mini- pizza, $30.00 for a T-shirt. It was clear that this was severe price gouging on a captured population. Some of the independent booths had reasonable prices, if you searched carefully. One vendor sold chilled pasta salads for $2.00. I had half a dozen of them over the course of the event. Several areas contained long lines of portable toilets, with water fountains and showers, in front of each set. Everything looked very organized. Other noticeable attractions included, extreme sports courses, where you could try your hand at nude rock climbing or dirt bike races. Specialty booths were everywhere, including one that would paint your breasts for you. it turned out to be one of the most popular attractions at the festival. This unofficial first day saw only about 35,000 fans arrive and most were enjoying the festive atmosphere in the campsite. After dark, the first significant band played, at the emerging artist stage. George Clinton, master of American funk music, celebrated his 49th birthday by performing a special unannounced concert (He was scheduled to play the next day on the West stage). Complete with all the founding members of his former band Parliment- Funkadelic, including Bootsy Collins and Bernie Worrel, he performed a blistering three hour set. The hangar gyrated with young fans crowd surfing and singing along to the funkmaster classics. The concert ended with an appearance by Peter Max, to present George with a portrait he had painted for his birthday. This smoking set may have been the highlight of the entire festival, and was one of the few truly diverse musical moments over the next several days. Most of the musical acts were aimed at 18-28 year old middle class white kids, and indeed the speed metal saturated line-up attracted a crowd of very little ethnic diversity. Perry Farrel, of "Jane's Addiction Fame", D.J.'d a rave following Clinton's birthday concert, into the early morning hours. Leaving to return to a small inn in historic Camden, a few miles and a world apart from the concert, it quickly became apparent that the concert was not so organized as it seemed. There were no provisions designed for people wanting to leave the site. Traffic flowed only into the parking area and you had to invent your own exit route. To get back in you merely had to show the stub from your arm band. You could, however, give your stub to someone else to use, if you kept your armband attached to your wrist. People quickly began to exploit this flaw in security. Returning to the concert on July 23, the official opening day, the mood had dramatically changed. Long traffic jams stretched southward towards the many metropolitan areas. Talking my way back into the main parking area proved difficult, but not impossible. Although it was supposed to be full, there were spots to park right in front of the gate. Security had become more lax with the large number of people arriving. They had already dropped the inside search to enter the concert area. Now the concert was in full swing and the crowds were large and intense. Music was being performed everywhere simultaneously. A local artist stage greeted people in line at the front gate. There was a band playing an interesting, 90's version of Jefferson Airplanes' "White Rabbit", as I waited to enter the festival. Inside, both of the main stages had big name acts playing continually. The emerging artist stage was also going off. The event was overwhelming. Music also blared from the extreme sports area. I saw a skateboarder fly out of the compound into a muddy field. On top of a truck, a local photo business was having a contest. Men and women were stripping to have their pictures taken. There was a long line of girls waiting to have their breasts painted. It was clear that the kids were quickly discovering the one main similarity between this Woodstock and the one of their parents generation. The promoters had to be commended, because they had indeed created a social experiment unheard of in American society. For four days, several hundred thousand young people and people young at heart had the freedom to do whatever they wished. People began shedding their clothes, taking a multitude of different drugs and just basically have a raging good time. Everywhere you went the concertgoers were polite and friendly. Even if they fell on you crowd surfing or slammed into you dancing, they would apologize and check to see if you were okay. Complete strangers everywhere were introducing themselves, sharing their belongings and helping out people in trouble. The only information available came from sketchy stage announcements, and small groups of volunteers who were obviously overwhelmed from the start. Concert goers became the best source of information. For four days, I did not see a single fist fight. Everyone was in the spirit. I decided to spend Friday at the east stage. It was not an easy decision. Choices seemed endless, including an airplane hanger that had been turned into a giant movie theater and played continuos independent movie hits. I worked my way towards the front of the stage. Beautiful naked young bodies were everywhere, baking in the summer sun. Jamiroquai, one of the few English performers, was playing a set of pleasant, dance oriented music, but was uninspiring in the heat of the mid-day sun. He would have been better suited for one of the slots during the nightly raves. You could walk nearly to the front of the stage through the docile crowd. The mood in the crowd slowly changed as the afternoon wore on. Sets by Live, Sheryl Crow, and DMX, were increasingly well received. By the time the three main acts played, Offspring, Korn, and Bush, the crowd was in a frenzy. Hundreds of people were being crowd surfed to the front of the stage. Security guards desperately tried to keep up with the bodies pouring into the pit at the foot of the stage. They hosed down as many people as they could, to try and prevent dehydration from taking a heavier toll. An endless line of exhausted people streamed out of the backstage pit. During particularly intense moments, like the beginning of a dark set of music by the band Korn, large numbers of people were being stretchered out, with injuries or exhaustion. The front area of the stage became a muddy pit and, taking their cue from Woodstock 94, many people began embracing the mud, clothed or otherwise, and establishing themselves as the mud people. They played the role for the cameras. The cameras! Perhaps the single most distinctive feature between The original Woodstock and Woodstock 99, are the cameras. It is clear we live in the video age. One of the most sophisticated video shoots in the history of rock music, the kids loved every minute of it. Everyone played to the cameras. Girls removed their clothes, boys stage dived, people flashed illicit drugs, and did anything outrageous enough to get the MTV cameras to fly into their area. A small news booth where MTV personalities would make quick reviews of the concert, became the focal point of fans, waiting patiently for a chance to be in the background shot. All the while, they were oblivious to the concert raging behind them. Actually, this helped to illustrate that, while the music at the festival was the glue that held it together, the people in the audience were the real stars of Woodstock 99. The bands played to nearly 1 a.m. Afterwards, I wandered over to the emerging artist stage, where the Rave began about 2 a.m. Moby and his band played a phenomenal set, while the ravers began emerging from their tents. Dressed in anything imaginable, from clothes you would wear to a formal opera, to nothing more than a sophisticated paint job, the crowd raved on until dawn. I purchased an interesting device, selling for about the same price as a bottle of water. It was a battery operated light that was full of liquid and pulsated in different colors when you shook it. As I left through the main gate that night, more disturbing signs began to appear. One literal sign said " No return to parking site after exiting". The security staff were letting people through the gate without tickets. They would ask for a bribe and pocket the money. The campsite nearest the gates had also lost their water due to a broken pipe. It was clear that Saturday was going to be a much more difficult day. I went back to the inn to get my mandatory four hours of sleep. Saturday, July 24th was hot at Woodstock. I had managed to talk my way into the main parking lot and found a space near the gate again. A fleet of tow trucks were towing away entire rows of cars. After some inquires, I learned that people had moved the designation cones for the parking area, to create more spaces. Unwittingly, hundreds of people were parking in these spaces and had no idea that their cars would be gone when they exited the concert. I sat in my car and sucked down a few cold beers, not realizing how much the security situation had changed. There were people everywhere in the vast parking lot. The only reference points were the two ticket entrances, and the twelve foot mural wall surrounding the entire concert site. Most of us used the murals to mark where we parked. All security staff were gone from the parking areas and vagabond entrepreneurs had set up makeshift concession stands, selling everything from grilled chicken skewers, to "Laughing Gas". Yes, nitrous oxide, a popular way to get high, especially with the rave crowd, was being dispensed from large metal canisters, like the ones used to fill balloons with helium. Balloons of the gas were being sold for five dollars, the same price as a foamy cup of budweiser, in the concert area. By the end of the concert, this illegal gas was being dispensed from all areas within the concert site. I wondered if these huge canisters were not unofficially sanctioned by the promoters. The profits would be enormous. After my beers, I proceeded through the main gates. By now the crowds were overwhelming. Wrist bands were being checked, but almost all other searches had been abandoned. Young teenagers were toting cases of beer, food, and other supplies on their backs. The campsites were full and tents were springing up in any available space, including the fields right at the concert sites. Reaching the concert area, the mood seemed much more frenzied than the day before. naked or scantily clothed people were everywhere, dancing, drinking, eating, sitting, and sleeping. Everywhere, people were passed out from the non-stop party and searing summer sun. From the front of the stage to the parking lot, people lay in coma like poses. Serious problems had begun to develop with the sewage and water facilities. Sewage trucks could not keep up with the portable overflowing toilets. One septic truck had a paper sign across its logo that read; "Woodstock Crystal Springs Drinking Water". Many of the concert goers reported on internet sites that they thought the water was indeed making them sick. They could not be sure, however, as there were so many other contaminate possibilities. Near some of the toilets, some of the water lines began to rupture. This posed two significant problems; People had to find another source of drinking water, often far away, without any direction. Also the muddy pools, resulting from the spilling water were picking up the raw sewage overflowing from the toilets. The results were muddy pools of sewage, that grew larger as the day wore on. As overwhelming as the situation was, people still seemed to be enjoying themselves, for the most part, and actually seemed to be embracing the disastrous conditions. Everyone was trying to be helpful to the newest arrivals, providing them with much needed information. Large groups, trying to escape the summer heat, began engulfing themselves in the tainted muddy pools. Everywhere, people were getting high. Cases of beer were being consumed. Old hippies were selling acid. All manner of smoking devices were being used to smoke pot. The aforementioned balloons were omnipresent. Anything else I have ever heard of in the drug culture was also available in lesser amounts. I am surprised there were no reports of anyone dying from an overdose. One fact that the press seemed to overlook, is that no one died during the event. (Actually, two people who attended the concert later died in hospitals from unrelated problems. One who was recovering from recent heart surgery, and the other from undetermined causes). In American society today that is a significant fact. Heading over to the sweltering East stage, the large crowd was fairly docile during the set by Counting Crows. The lead singers soothing voice was a good call for the early afternoon heatwave. He was followed by the Dave Matthews Band. Although I am not fond of his poppy radio sound, I was impressed with his band's live performance, more indicative of their world music roots, than their records. You could walk to the front of the stage during this interlude from the heavier music of the day. Out of the pit emerged a naked threesome of mud people. After running away from the security guards hosing down the heat exhausted crowd, like the wicked witch of the west avoided water in the "Wizard Of Oz", they began posing for pictures. All over the area, people doing crazy, fun, and mostly illicit things, were smiling and embracing photographers. Kodak and Fuji should have sponsored Woodstock. By the time the actor who played Mini-Me, in the "Austin Powers" sequel, announced Limp Bizkit, the sweltering crowd was ready for a moshing frenzy. The lead singer taunted an earlier set by Alanis Morissette, calling her old school Birckenstok rock, and said it was time for the 90's. This set the tone for the next few hours of frenzied chaos. Unfortunately, one of the few reported cases of sexual assault, allegedly took place during Limp Bizkits'' set. One woman reported that she was pulled into the mosh pit, fondled by two men, and raped by one of them. She then crowd surfed out to escape them. While such conduct is reprehensible, and must be fully condemned, it is important to mention that we must take responsibility for our own actions. Crowd surfing is dangerous under any conditions. That is the way crowd surfers like it. It is not unlike rock climbing or running with the bulls. The element of risk makes it exciting. But if you are a half-naked teenager, being crowd surfed into the front of 200,000 frenzied fans, during a Limp Bizkit concert, you may want to consider what you are getting yourself into. The only sexual molestation I witnessed during the entire event, was when a nineteen year old college student named Nicky, from Connecticut, came up behind me, while I was at the front of the East stage engrossed in picture taking. She reached around with a muddy hand and began fondling me. I turned to see a smiling faced teen covered in mud, poised with a budweiser can. I don't mean to make light of such matters, but the crowd that I witnessed would have not tolerated aggressive behavior and would most certainly intervened to help any victim. As evening descended on the festival, the event reached its' apex in intensity and size, with an electrifying set by Rage Against The Machine. One of the few bands in the 90's to belie strong social lyrics in their music, they follow in the footsteps of such songwriters as Bob Dylan, or Woody Guthrie. They were also one of the first bands to play in the style that has defined the later part of the 90's, mixing rap and speed metal in a frenzied fusion. They were definitely the crowd favorites. The mud pit forming from the broken water main, by the toilets in the back of the East stage, had now reached an enormous size. Stretching all the way to the middle of the crowd, hundreds of mud people began moshing in the sludge and showering anyone in front of them. Soon a giant mud hole developed in the middle of the frenetic masses. From the front of the stage, the view looked like a scene from Dante's "Inferno". Bathed in eerie light from the stage, a crowd of 200,000 strong was swaying, crowd surfing, moshing, waving clothes and flags, and gyrating eratically to the music. At the end of their set, R.A.T.M. burned a giant American flag, presumably in some obscure protest. It was the frenzied crowd that was truly burning, however, if only psychologically at this point. The frenzied crowd was briefly quelled by the threat of an approaching thunderstorm. Warnings were issued from the stage to get ready. The sky grew dark and ominous and a strong wind began to blow trash all around. The threat subsided with only a light sprinkling of rain. Although a large crowd remained, it was clear that many people had had enough of Woodstock 99 and were beginning a mass exodus from the festival. The threat of rain only accelerated the pace. Diehard Metallica fans kept the East stage area filled with people throughout the bands' long, erratic set. Metallicas' music seemed more out of date, now however, than when they were the reigning kings of Woodstock 94. Large gaps in the crowd seem to attest to the fact that they had passed the torch to R.A.T.M. In the middle of Metallica's' set, I began to wander towards the emerging artist stage. Passing along the much touted security wall, I could see people breaking off parts of the mural pieces to take home as souvenirs. Through the cracks, carlights were visible for miles, exiting the parking lot. When I reached the Rave site, I could see and hear the music from the West stage. I learned later that I had missed a smoking finale set by the Chemical Brothers. Their headline status on the West stage seems to attest to the fact that the music for the millennium is moving more and more in this dance oriented, techno direction. Over in the vendor area, there was an impromptu drum circle, composed of fans, beating most any item that resembled a drum. This circle had been manned almost continuously, for two days. The rave Saturday night(actually Sunday morning), proved to be the biggest one yet. Tens of thousands of gyrating techno fans, packed the emerging artist stage. A spectacular fireworks show began about 1.30 a.m. and continued until the arrival of Fatboy Slim, the Rave headliner. He came in on the back of a flatbed truck, spinning records on a massive turntable. True to the organization surrounding the festival there was another glitch. When the truck rolled into the hangar, it was overun with techno fans. The concert had to be halted and the truck removed for safety reasons. For hard core techno fans, stopping the trancelike music in the middle of a rave for thirty minutes, is pretty much a sacrilegious event. The music and lights eventually restarted and the rave continued until dawn. At about 4 a.m., I headed back out to my car, to escape for a few more hours of sleep. Although the exiting traffic was heavy, I was one of the fortunate few that was heading north. The next morning, I tried to get a fairly early start, since it was the last day. As I drove towards the concert through the beautiful Oneida county farmland, I listened to radio reports of the concert. After promising not to sell single day tickets, the promoters had reversed themselves and began advertising $80.00 tickets for the last day. The original policy was that you would have to purchase the full pass for $150.00 ($185.00 at the gate). Of course, every concert fan that lived in the many surrounding metropolis areas, within five hundred miles, wanted to attend the event. They had seen the media reports for two days about how great a time everyone was having. It was Sunday and most people had the day off. The unsuspecting concert fans were in for a big surprise, however. All the on site parking lots had been closed. After hours of frustrating traffic jams, they were funnelled miles away from the concert area. At makeshift parking lots, they were sold tickets and then waited in long lines to board buses back to the campsite. This was the most difficult day for me to talk my way back into the main parking area at the festival. I had to negotiate through three barricades, and eventually take the bus route back into the parking lot. Before, I went to the concert, I had stopped in downtown Rome, for lunch. The town was overrun with concert fans, but the local business people were working overtime, and happily serving their customers. They had stalked up on large quantities of everything, were charging normal prices, and making their profit on volume. Everyone was happy with this situation. I noticed many young people with shopping carts full of beer, and later learned that they were wheeling them back to the concert site only forty minutes walking distance. You can imagine how the thousands of fans arriving the last day felt, after they spent the better part of the day to reach the concert, paid $80.00 for tickets, and had to wait for busses back to the concert. When they arrived at the gate they soon realized that there were no more ticket takers and they could have walked into the concert for free, and parked in town hours before! Adding insult to injury, they quickly realized that the legions of fans arriving with shopping carts, had walked into town to avoid the serious onsite price gouging. There was nothing new about this! This is the same formula that the promoters had used in the two previous Woodstock concerts. Sell as many tickets as possible, promising an organized event, and then opening the floodgates to allow masses of fans to invade the event and create a huge media story. Then they would sell the media rights in all sorts of merchandising schemes. Even at the first, supposedly altruistic event, food vendor stands were burned down, to protest flagrant price gouging. Woodstock has always been about capitalism and the music industry business, in its' most ugly form. It is only the fans that show up for the concerts that make them more meaningful and spiritual, than other events of their kind. As I sat in my car, tossing down a few cold beers, I noticed a definite mood change in the parking lot from the day before. Many people were cranky and just plain exhausted. There was a steady stream of cars leaving. Garbage was everywhere. I lined up my car with a cartoon nose mural on the security wall, and headed for the concert area. As I mentioned, there were no longer any ticket takers, let alone any type of security check, to get into the festival. You could bring in pretty much anything you could carry. When I reached the emerging artist stage, I popped into the hangar for a brief respite from the early afternoon sun. Everywhere inside, there were people collapsed, trying to escape the sun. Suddenly a band appeared on stage. It was the John Entwistle group. As the bass player of the Who, he was the only one of two performers that played at the original Woodstock festival. Micky Hart, the former drummer of the Grateful Dead, was the other. He had played the night before with his tribal drum band. Entwistle launched into a song from Quadrophenia, and true to his image, stood stoically, while playing some of the fastest most precise bass licks imaginable. Perhaps no more than fifty fans surrounded the front of the stage. Heading back out into the sun, I proceeded towards the East stage. The water in the back area had been turned off, and fans were forced to walk a half-mile further to get wet. Fans a the front of the stage were passed out everywhere. Everlast was performing an interesting set of music. His live performance leaned more towards jazz, than his hip-hop radio songs. With an upright bass player on one side and a record scratcher on the other, his characteristic voice rang out much deeper than I expected. He reminded me of a performer I had seen in Los Angeles, earlier in the month, Tom Waits. More than their deep gravely voices, they share an eclectic since of unique musical style. As the sweltering afternoon pressed on, Elvis Costello did a solo set and a duo with a piano player. His quirky music was soothing in the sizzling afternoon sun. I decided it was time for the long trek over to the West stage. There was a large crowd when I arrived, awaiting a set by Sevendust. This relatively new band, based out of Atlanta, is fast becoming popular, with a very 90's rap-metal sound. The crowd received them well and moshed and crowd surfed intensely. During their set a thunderstorm approached, and at one point, dark ominous clouds spit lightning, from three directions at once. At the same time, a rainbow had formed in the direction of the East stage. A short rainstorm ensued and I retreated to the emerging artist stage. A band was playing a blistering set, but is one of the several dozen emerging artist acts I had never heard of. The nature of the event was to overwhelm you with so much music, that you could not possibly assimilate all that you heard. I found one of the smaller vendors selling a delicious burrito, with grilled chicken and vegetables, for $5.00, and had another pasta salad. Collective Soul was playing when I arrived back at the West stage. One of the few acts that had also played Woodstock 94', they played fine music, but again seemed a little dated in their style. Another new and very 90's band followed. Godsmack, a New York based band, played electrifying metal music. I left in the middle of their set for the long journey back to the East stage to see the Chili Peppers finale. Many people were rushing over for the twilight spectacle. I passed a booth set up by some sort of peace group that was handing out candles for people to light. When I arrived at the front of the East stage, the band was already playing. I had seen the Peppers several times before and they had always suffered from bad sound mixing. Although they were still a little muddled, it was the best that I had seen them play. Flea played bass in the nude as he had done so frequently in the early days of the band, but it seemed an anti-climatic gesture at this point in the festival. True to their nature the Peppers tried to incite the crowd. At one point the lead singer asked to start a new tradition at Woodstock, and wanted all menstruating women to remove their pads and throw them on stage. A few fans obliged. As the concert progressed into the night, some fans began using their candles to light the knee deep trash on fire. Some fires became bonfires and people danced around them in pagan-like trances. Pieces of the security wall became fodder for the fires and suddenly there were several large blazes. The promoter came on and asked people to contain the bonfires or they would stop the show until the fire department put them out. This did not happen, however, and the concert continued. In typical Chili Pepper fashion they chose an inciteful version of the 60's Hendrix classic "Let Me Jump In Your Fire", as their last song. To blame the music for what followed would be a misnomer, however. If the music were to incite trouble, then it would have most assuredly occurred during Saturday nights' intense trio finale of Limp Bizkit, R.A.T.M., and Metallica. What happened next could only be blamed on the promoters poor organization. After the Chili Peppers, there was to be a much discussed Hendrix tribute. Although the promoters denied it, there was much speculation that this was to be an allstar jam. Indeed, the Rolling Stones, among others, were reported to be back stage Sunday night. The reality was a brief laser show synched to a Hendrix song. In the meantime the bonfires were beginning to get out of hand. Whether or not there was a scheduled final jam, most fans had been led to believe there would be and seemed very disappointed with the finale. As the concert ended one of the fires got out of control. A vendor tent had been set ablaze by candles and sparklers. Next to it were parked twelve brand new semi-trailers used for storage. While most equipment had been arranged in secure areas, these trailers had been conspicuous from the start of the festival. Unsecured, they were first used by throngs of fans as shade to escape the mid-day sun. As the concert progressed, many hundreds of fans scurried up the sides to use the roofs as viewing platforms. It was obviously a disaster waiting to happen. As the tent caught fire, it collapsed onto the first trailer and caught the wheels on fire. Quickly the fire spread and engulfed the other trailers. What the press and promoters seemed to fail to mention, was that, according to the State Troopers I spoke with, the trailers were full of propane tanks, to fire the food stands. When the trailers went up in flames, they exploded into huge fireballs, terrifying nearby vendors and fans. At this point, realizing there was no established security, and the concert was over, a few hundred thugs began looting and burning nearby vendors. Kegs were being carried off. T-shirts were being thrown into fires, and vehicles were being overturned. The remaining 150,000 or so fans were left to fend for themselves. The last Rave was cancelled for fear of the rioters trashing the stage. Riot police moved in and secured all of the vendors operated by the promoters first. Suddenly, there was no more food or drink available for the remaining 14 hours of the event. No information was available and all stage announcements had ceased. Many people were lost and scared. The toxic smoke from the burning trailers sent choking ash into the air. The State Police finally sealed the concert area, forcing everyone into the campgrounds. I decided to return to the safety of my car, or so I thought. By this time, most of the security wall had been pilfered or burned. There was no other reference for the massive parking lot, and it was impossible to find my vehicle. Remembering the legions of tow trucks, I had seen, I was not even sure if my car was still there. I returned to the campsite. The main area had a large area of sewage tainted water flowing through it, caused by another broken waterline. 50 or so tents were completely inundated in the sludge. I found a piece of cardboard and took it to a piece of the concrete runway that was still dry. I collapsed totally exhausted. Everywhere people were lighting more bonfires and forming new drum circles. The police were shouting at people and forcing them out of the concert area. Ash continued to spew from the trailer fires. In a tent nearby, a woman moaned in a continual orgasmic groan for several hours. Finally, an eerie fog crept over the area. The fires began to die out and people began to quiet down. I passed out for a few hours and awoke to a disastrous sight. In the early morning fog, people were abandoning their campsites, like the Kosovo refugees, after the war. Everywhere there was debris. Walking over towards the East stage, I could see the full extent of the rioting the night before. The trailers were smoldering shells. Speaker scaffolds and lights were knocked over and smashed. Speakers were burned. Portable toilets were squashed. Trash and debris were everywhere. The State police maintained a security perimeter. I shuffled over to the West stage which was relatively unscathed. There was a food vendor open selling coffee and good pancakes. Run by The Twelve Tribes, a communal group, they had a small group of acoustic musicians playing out front. They were the last band to play Woodstock 99'. As I sat there sipping my coffee, I had the strange feeling I was listening to the band that was playing on the Titanic, when it sank. Who was to blame for the outcome? The promoters of course. Would I ever go to another Woodstock, if they had one? You bet your butt I would! To read thousands more firsthand accounts of Woodstock 99, go to: woodstock.com, and check the community message board