Woodstock 99: three days of peace and music, or an Altamont redux?

On July 26, I accused MTV correspondent (and infomercial ingenue) John Norris of flagrant melodrama in my Cruel Summer daily column, for comparing the riots during Limp Bizkit's set on Saturday night to the Altamont outdoor concert by the Rolling Stones in 1969, during which fans were bludgeoned and killed by members of the Hell's Angels while the Stones played along almost obliviously.

It's the late nineties, I thought. We live in a P.C.-obsessed universe. Not only would an event like Woodstock 99 be overwhelmed with security, but the investors behind this event would probably rather set kids on fire themselves than allow an ounce of negativity to scar the glowing coverage which the festival had been garnering in the mainstream press.

Plus, what kind of real anger and frustration are the teens of today entitled to at all? Sure, there's always a self-righteous anger that suburban brats can wrap themselves up in. When all you have to do is troll the mall and bag hot chicks, it can be easy to assume that your life is much more oppressed than it is. I know; I've been there. But there's a huge leap from the explosion of the pent-up rage underlying the flower-power era to a bunch of suburban brats in their designer clothes paid for by Mummy and Daddums deciding to beat the shit out of each other and tear down some speakers.

At least, that's what I thought. Now comes word over Sonicnet that at least two women were raped in the mosh pits at Woodstock 99: "In each incident, which occurred on different nights of the three-day, 30th-anniversary Woodstock '99 festival, the woman was allegedly raped and assaulted by multiple men, as concert-goers around the crime cheered her assailants on."

A Utica, N.Y. rape counselor, Rosemary Vennero, continues the horrifying recap: "You hear people saying things like, 'When we went to sleep at night in the tent, I just heard people screaming, and they weren't screams of pleasure, they were screams of terror."

Combine this with the many news reports on the fires that erupted on Sunday night at the festival--flames borne out of a fucking CANDLELIGHT VIGIL, for Christ's sake--and it would seem that Norris might not have been that far off. Maybe the spirit of Altamont, an event which effectively killed the Summer of Love, was as present at Woodstock 99 as the spirit of peace and harmony.

Yet you wouldn't know it if you hadn't been there. The television coverage all weekend seemed to focus almost obsessively on the positive vibe present at the event. Even MTV (whose head reporter, Kurt Loder, ran like a mewling toddler from the festival grounds upon the first sign of trouble on Sunday night) sent their correspondents out all weekend to catch the spirit of the festival. Every spirit they caught was all peace and love and nudity. Hey--let's smoke some pot and watch some tits in our Doc Martens and Abercrombie shorts, while the happenin' tunes of Sugar Ray and Willie Nelson fill our heads with happiness!

The spin on Woodstock 99 was so positive that it makes the horrifying truths of the event all the more disgusting. While the idiotheads on the idiot box spouted their tripe about how much this event echoed the original Woodstock, every dark impulse riding beneath the cynicism of our times was exploding in brilliant flares of nastiness. The television portrayed a return to the spirit of joy and community that was pervasive at the original Woodstock. The reality was full of rape and flames of anger.

Then again, what do we really know about the original Woodstock? There was probably a dark side back then, and it flared in many of the same ways as it did in the 1999 incarnation. From "Woodstock at 25," an article by Gene Ira Katz: "So three days of peace? Well, if you don't count the numerous assaults and flared tempers, the concession stand that almost got torn down, the youth crushed by a backhoe in his sleeping bag, the handful of dysfunctional porta-potties, woefully inadequate for the amount of human waste generated that weekend, and the gargantuan mountain of garbage...Very public drug dealing, nudity and sex pervaded the scene." History has rewritten the original Woodstock as an epochal moment of cultural unity, and little else. You can always find eager hippies who quote the stats of how many babies were born at Woodstock `69, and how many couples concieved children. Even the coverage of Woodstock 99 commented on the weddings and sexual freedom that seemed to pervade the goings-on.

That's not the only reality, though. Beside the love and understanding at Woodstock 99, there were mosh pits, and in the spirit of anger and hate you'll often find in such places, at least two women were raped. Reportedly, pants were torn off and a girl was held down while men passed her around, the crowd too busy flailing to Limp Bizkit to pay much attention. Among the people who did notice, most assumed security would take care of it. They didn't seem to take care of much, until the girl in question was dragged half-naked from the crowd for treatment.

From now on, whenever Woodstock is evoked, I'll always return to that image, to a crushed young woman leaving the crowd in tatters while the mob around her screamed toward the stage for more. Some might say that such anger must naturally coexist alongside such a powerful spirit of understanding, that for every ten lovers there are naturally a few fighters. I say bullshit. The rewrites of time may have eliminated every trace of negativity from memories of the original Woodstock, but this current incarnation must remain scarred, a blinding reminder of the unworthy rage that aches to lash out from the hearts of America's youth.

There is no contradiction. The rage overcomes the peace, the anger destroys the love. All the mud and breasts and understanding were obliterated by some assholes who can't keep their dicks in their pants. I think about Woodstock 99, and one thought overtakes my mind: we GOTTA get back to the garden.