Woodstuck in the Past: 'Woodstock'

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WOODSTOCK CELEBRATES ITS 40th anniversary this summer with a barrage of commemorative products: soundtrack reissues, a six-CD rarities set, an Ang Lee movie, and several DVD and Blu-Ray iterations of the ground-breaking documentary.

The director's cut of Michael Wadleigh's documentary (edited by Martin Scorsese) remains the most intriguing Woodstock artifact, for cinematic rather than musical reasons.

He splices together performances with split-screen footage of the crowd, effectively making the audience the subject of the film and giving an impressionistic depiction of all the hubbub: the setup and arrivals, the yoga and skinny-dipping, the dancing and coupling. There's no sense of narrative, nor any real attempt to identify the organizers, performers or concertgoers.

If Wadleigh creates a you-are-there immediacy, then the concert itself remains a you-had-to-be-there experience. With a few exceptions — Richie Havens' frenetic "Johnny Handsome," Santana's fierce "Soul Sacrifice" — the performances are subpar. The Who and Jimi Hendrix played better sets at the Monterey Jazz Festival, and the lineup ranges from the bland folk of Joan Baez to the bluesy histrionics of Janis Joplin to the anonymous rock of Ten Years After.

Of course, even if the music suffers, the spirit remains. But at times, that spirit curdles into self-regard. The gathering is proclaimed a success before the first notes are played, and the organizers repeatedly claim the show is a financial wash, demonstrating how little they care about the money, man.

Even years later, the three days of peace and music remains the source of baby boomer self-congratulation. Whenever you hear someone say that music doesn't matter anymore, or they don't write songs like they used to, that's Woodstock. It has become the very thing its audience sought to reject: the establishment.

Written by Express contributor Stephen M. Deusner
Photo courtesy Warner Home Video