CROUCHING TOWARDS BOWMANVILLE OR ELVIS: What Happend?
I must confess to hating “rock festivals” with some passion. My response to the rhetorical “Would you have gone to Woodstock?” question has always been a resounding “No, no...God no!” What? Go voluntarily to a place where I would be covered with mud, dosed with all manner of cheaply-made hallucinogenics, forced to watch heaving mounds of human flesh copulating all around me, and after all that...not seeing the bands very well!
CROUCHING TOWARDS BOWMANVILLE OR ELVIS: What Happend?
Susan Whitall
I must confess to hating “rock festivals” with some passion. My response to the rhetorical “Would you have gone to Woodstock?” question has always been a resounding “No, no...God no!”
What? Go voluntarily to a place where I would be covered with mud, dosed with all manner of cheaply-made hallucinogenics, forced to watch heaving mounds of human flesh copulating all around me, and after all that...not seeing the bands very well! Then, after the fairly interesting (talent-wise) festivals of the 60’s, the 70’s versions were strictly bloato supergroup extravaganzas; any fest with “Jam” in the title to be avoided at all cost. * *