Uh oh, the 40th anniversary of Woodstock is about a month and a half away. Did you remember? If not, it’s probably due to the distinct lack of buzz, seeing as there is no official concert scheduled, although boosters keep adding “as yet” in hopes that original co-producer Michael Lang will manage to put together a show in New York’s Prospect Park.

A handful of mostly lame events are planned for different parts of the country, and a tour called Heroes of Woodstock — featuring Mountain, Jefferson Starship, Tom Constanten (repping Grateful Dead) and others — has 16 dates on the books (none in the Southeast). In all, though, it would seem as if folks have other things on their mind than memorializing the watershed cultural event.

That doesn’t mean it’s a complete wasteland. Sony Music has released a well-thought-out group of reissues called The Woodstock Experience, five two-CD packages pairing a classic 1969 album and a complete Woodstock performance. Sony catalog artists Santana, Janis Joplin, Johnny Winter, Jefferson Airplane and Sly and the Family Stone got the treatment.

Thirty-three acts performed at the Woodstock Music & Art Fair from Aug. 15-18, 1969, including such long-forgotten names as Quill, Sweetwater, Keef Hartley Band and Bert Sommer. (The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Bob Dylan, The Byrds and a handful of lesser-knowns declined invitations. Jeff Beck, Iron Butterfly and Joni Mitchell canceled.)

Only a handful of the performances have been immortalized, mostly via the 1970 film Woodstock and its soundtrack. And Sony can legitimately boast three of them in this collection: Sly, Santana and Joplin. Winter did not make it into the movie and while Jefferson Airplane were represented with two songs in celluloid, their set has not earned the same historical cachet as the top three.

Let’s have us a closer look at these twofers. I’ve ranked them on their merit as live performances.

Sly and the Family Stone. The runaway winner. Sly’s 50-minute, nine-song show is a balls-out party from the opening “M’Lady” to the closer “Stand!” The group’s rhythm tracks have a collective propulsion that has as much to do with Larry Graham’s rumbling bass and the interlocking guitars as it does with drums. Deep, deep funk — with rock crunch. Sly and company find just the right blend of scripted performance and in-the-moment spontaneity.

A band has to be really tight to play this loose. They accelerate the pace of “Everyday People,” giving it a gospel-tent fervor. The sing-along during “I Want to Take You Higher,” one of Woodstock the film’s crescendos, benefits from the leadup tune “Music Lover” and Sly’s spoken set-up. Even the song “Love City,” in my view a second-tier Sly tune, has an uncommon crackle. The set’s companion CD, Stand!, is a terrific bonus, the best Sly album this side of Greatest Hits.

Santana. The band’s self-titled debut, which is the companion CD in this twofer, was released in May ’69 and reached No. 4 on the charts in late September, so it’s safe to say that a scintillating performance at Woodstock played a big part in putting Santana on the map.

The group’s use of Latin rhythms must have been an exotic treat for the hippie hordes in upstate New York. Santana plays a fairly rote version of the hit-to-be “Evil Ways,” but excels in the dynamic Latin jams, especially “Soul Sacrifice,” with its relentless groove, roil of hand percussion, monster riff and hair-raising guitar solo.


Janis Joplin. The damaged blues-rock songstress had made her bones two years earlier at the Monterey Pop festival. A few months before Woodstock she left the sub-par Big Brother and the Holding Company, went solo and transformed her show into kaleidoscopic R&B revue, heavy on the horns. I generally find Joplin’s vocals akin to a razor blade scraped against a rock, but I’ll give her credit for the unhinged energy and commitment she puts into her ragged performance.

Of all the live CDs in this series Joplin’s most effectively captures the flavor of Woodstock. Before closing with “Ball and Chain,” she launches into a spacey speech, in which she says, “Music’s for grooving, man, and music’s not puttin’ yourself through bad changes. You don’t have to take anybody’s shit, man, just to like music. So if you’re getting more shit than you deserve, you know what to do about it.” Uh, OK. If Joplin’s caterwauling in her Woodstock set wears you out, load up the companion CD, I Got Dem Ol’ Kozmic Blues Again Mama!, where she tones it down considerably.

Johnny Winter. Very few people knew of the reed-thin albino when he took the stage and pumped out an hour of raucous Texas blues, boogie and early rock ’n’ roll. Winter’s set thrust him into pantheon of late ’60s guitar heroes. He played fast, and fast was much revered in that era. As his career has worn on, Winter has spewed so many notes that it’s devolved into chattering, but at Woodstock he brought a lot of slides, slurs and bends into play. His bottleneck work on “Mean Town Blues” still raises goosebumps.

Winter, joined mid-set by his brother Edgar on sax and keyboards, played a show in front of a few hundred thousand people in much the same way he would’ve performed at a roadhouse outside Fort Worth. The second album in the package is Winter’s self-titled debut.

Jefferson Airplane. The San Francisco band’s ensemble vocals always sounded precariously held together, even on this set’s companion CD, the stridently anti-war Volunteers. At Woodstock, the singing came unglued. Grace Slick’s pitch wavered and her already shrill voice turned into a yelp.

The blend of instruments is mushy — and not just because of the recording quality — and the guitars consistently slide out of tune. The rhythms wander, and the extended jams — especially on “Wooden Ships” — come off as rudderless noodling. The band gets a foothold near the end of the set with a sharp “White Rabbit,” but by then it’s too late.

How did my mom go from owning such a wide range of rock n’ roll records, from the Beatles to Black Sabbath, to devoting her ears solely to Celine Dion? Living in the land of oldsters and hipsters (some people are both), this question ultimately pervades every aspect of existence in Tampa Bay. Issues of marketed generation norms, like older people being more mild mannered and set in their ways and younger people experimenting with sex and drugs, maintain arbitrary divisions between age groups and sonic preferences. Generalizations of the 1960’s “Summer of Love” are quickly ripped to shreds in records by bored mutants like The Stooges. Their self-titled record in 1969 and Fun House in 1970 destroyed notions of the singular cultural experience by being nasty and unlearned instead of nice-sounding and well-trained. History has never been as cut-and-dry/black-and-white as we are led to believe. Likewise, our present continues to be very complicated.

All my life I’ve heard things like, “now that John Lennon could sing” or “Eric Clapton knows how to play real guitar music” or other such flapdoodle. People who make statements like those assume there’s a correct way to sing or play guitar, and other musicians who are inferior or get it wrong should do something else. Iggy Pop’s snarling vocals and Ron Asheton’s unsophisticated, immediate and exceedingly raw approach to the guitar challenged the notion of perfect technical skill as the ultimate goal in music. (Pictured: the late Ron Asheton, photo by Dena Flows.)

I was pretty bummed out by news of Ron Asheton’s death this week. I consider him one of my favorite guitarists because of his ability to play with music for the sake of sound and emotion on truly immediate levels instead of precision of notes and clarity of intonation. As I was driving home from band practice last night, I caught WMNF’s Surface Noise paying tribute to Asheton by playing some of his songs and discussing his legacy. My closed-minded preconceptions of Tampa Bay’s cultural buffoonery happily dashed for a few minutes, I reflected on death and nostalgia while I drove up depressing 66th Street.

Recently, The Stooges re-formed, toured a bunch and put out the solid album, The Weirdness, in 2007.  Standing out in the rash of comeback tours and reunion shows, Ron Asheton’s guitar playing, while slightly more refined than 35 years ago, cut through preconceptions of people losing relevance with age. Simplicity in riffs and biting imperfect leads influenced and continues to influence generation after generation or underground mutants. The Stooges always made me want to play music, regardless of my skill level. Anyone who can open their mouth and emit sound can sing, anyone who can pick up a guitar can play and getting old doesn’t mean you have to be lame and irrelevant.

*side note: Obviously Asheton didn’t wait around for Iggy to call him up and play again for 35 or whatever years. Check out some of his other really great sounding guitar bands like The New Order (not THAT New Order) and Destroy All Monsters.

From the “Just Fuckin’ Creepy” Dep’t. here at CL Music, John Lennon pimps free laptops for the Third World:

What will acoustic funk favorite Christie Lenee perform from '68?

WMNF’s Flee is straying from his typical tribute show tradition. Instead of having a diverse lineup of local acts honor a single artist he has asked all the bands listed below to cover a tune from 1968 for the community radio station’s upcoming New Year’s Eve bash.

Songs I would like to hear from that year? How about killer renditions of The Rolling Stones’ “Factory Girl,” The Beatles’ “Happiness Is a Warm Gun,” Otis Redding’s “Hard to Handle,” Loretta Lynn’s “Fist City” and The Velvet Underground’s “White Light/White Heat.” Seriously, that would be a rad setlist!

Rewind: The WMNF Tribute to the Music and Songs of 1968 w/ Boon/Christie Lenee (pictured)/Crabgrass Cowboys/Ted Lukas/Johnny Zoom/Lush Progress/Midnight Bowler’s League/Rancid Polecats/Roppongi’s Ace/Talk to Mark, Wed., Dec. 31, Skipper’s Smokehouse, Tampa.

The Beatles’ songs have been used to peddle everything from sneakers to big box stores over the years but nothing offends me more — at least for the moment — than their music being co-opted by American Idol. I’ve always loathed the show for flying in the face of everything spontaneous and edgy about rock ’n’ roll. Learning that the contestants covered Beatles songs last night makes me want to start picketing outside the program’s studio.

Contestant David Archuleta (pictured) committed a grave sin by attempting to cover “We Can Work It Out,” one of my favorite Fab Four originals, before actually learning the song. Entertainment Weekly reports:

[Archuleta] promptly missed the song’s opening note. (Strike one!) And then botched the second line of the first verse. (Strike two!) And then, a few seconds later, blanked on a few more words. (Strike three!) But wait, we’ve got one more fumbled line. (Uh, strike four?) And a wrecked attempt at falsetto! As Simon so succinctly put it, the performance was ”a mess.”

This guy should be struck down by the rock ‘n’ roll gods and have his vocal cords ripped from his throat. There’s just no excuse for such ineptitude, I don’t care how young he might be. And while I’m on a rant here, when are people going to stop watching this pitiful show that’s only succeeding in making that slimy prick Simon a rich man? OK, it did launch Kelly Clarkson’s career, and I dig her, but that was years ago. Do we really need another Daughtry to emerge — or this ass-wipe Archuleta to land a recording contract — before American Idol gets taken off the air?

My new Bar Tab column “Snooping in SoHo” is basically about me eavesdropping. People frown on the practice, but most of us do it. I have no qualms about listening to what the loud mouth is saying at the table or bar stool next to me. From my latest column:

If I’m at a bar and overhear a gal blabbering to her girlfriend about the act she performed last night in bed, I’m gonna make damn sure I do my best to absorb every detail. It’s my right. Likewise, if my buddies and I are swapping tales in public, I welcome any and all to lean in and listen — especially if I’m out with Buck and he has a nice buzz kicking. It’ll be worth your while. Although I’m talking shit about Puffy Lips and Square Jaw’s dialogue, I’m sure Buck and I often engage in chats that are also inanely humorous.

Top 10: Songs about snooping, eavesdropping, etc.

1. “I Heard it Through the Grapevine,” Marvin Gaye

2. “The Window Up Above,” George Jones

3. “Every Breath You Take,” Police

4. “The Dangling Conversation,” Simon and Garfunkel

5. “She Said She Said,” The Beatles

6. “Watching the Detectives,” Elvis Costello

7. “Private Conversation,” Lyle Lovette

8. “You Talk Too Much, “George Thorogood

9. “Listen to What the Man Said,” Wings

10. “The Spy,” The Doors

WHAT DID I MISS?

Songs to avoid (or wallow in) on Cupid Day.

Few holidays hurt like Valentine’s Day. February 14th proves tough on even the healthiest relationships. The ultimate evening of romantic bliss followed by the hottest sex since Pam and Tommy videotaped each other on that yacht — it doesn’t often happen. But I know what you’re thinking: A disappointing night spent with a significant other still beats flying solo on V-Day.

Hallmark Cards and all your miserable, married friends will stop at nothing to make you feel like shit about sitting home alone on Cupid’s big occasion. Moms aren’t much better: “You’re spending Valentine’s Day by yourself, honey — again?”

Here’s a playlist that couples should avoid. Singles, on the other hand, might take comfort in these decidedly unromantic — maybe even downright sadistic — songs. Especially after polishing off that bottle of wine and family-sized bag of cheese puffs.

“Eleanor Rigby,” The Beatles
There’s nothing like a song about the loneliest woman in the world to lift your spirits. She attends weddings and her own funeral — alone.
Killer Line(s): “Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name/ Nobody came.”

“Untouchable Face,” Ani DiFranco
The abandoned lover kills time driving around at 2:30 a.m. She listens to the local country station count down the Top 20, probably a bunch of songs dealing with heartache in the most maudlin way. Unwilling to be a victim, the singer issues her vain ex an insult that would warrant a six-figure fine from the FCC. And she does so with infectious glee.
Killer Lines(s): “So fuck you, and your untouchable face/ And fuck you, for existing in the first place.”

“It’s Over,” Roy Orbison
Orbison’s distinctively sad warble is the perfect vehicle for this painful realization that a once-vibrant love affair has run its course, thanks to the introduction of another man. Michael Caine, playing a washed-up talent scout, melts down to great dramatic effect while croaking his way through this song in the 1998 film Little Voice.
Killer Line(s): “All the rainbows in the sky/ Start to weep, then say goodbye/ You won’t be seeing rainbows any more.”

“Ex-Factor,” Lauryn Hill
The end has finally come for the guy doing her wrong. Or has it? Though Hill’s demand for “reciprocity” is unmet, it still sounds like she might stand by her man.
Killer Line(s): “And when I try to walk away/ You’d hurt yourself to make me stay.”

“He Hit Me (It Felt Like a Kiss),” The Crystals
Does pop music get any more disturbing than a girl group singing about the virtues of domestic abuse? Here’s a surprise: Phil Spector, close friend of the late Ike Turner and alleged murderer, produced the recording. A guy, Brill Building tunesmith Gerry Goffin, penned the horribly misogynistic lyric. It should also be noted that his former songwriting partner and ex-wife received a co-writing credit. Her name? Carole King.
Killer Line(s): “He hit me, and it felt like a kiss/ He hit me, and I knew he loved me.”

“Solitary Man,” Neil Diamond
He found Melinda in the arms of Jim and then his love with Sue “died too.” In response to consecutive losses, the singer swears off relationships, opting to live like a hermit rather than risk another heartbreak — until he finds a girl to love him “right or wrong.” Johnny Cash also recorded a gripping version.
Killer Line(s): “Love’s a small word/ Part-time thing/ Paper ring.”

“You’ve Changed,” Billie Holiday
Recorded near the end of her pain-ridden life, Holiday recalls with great devastation yet another man who inevitably let her down. Cut in 1958, it still bears Lady Day’s tears.
Killer Line(s): “You’ve forgotten the words ‘I love you.’”

“Changed the Locks,” Lucinda Williams
No more reconciliations, compromises or accommodations to that brutish lover. This time the makeover will be complete. She’s leaving him no possibility of ever getting his boot in her door again. At least that’s the plan.
Killer Line(s): “I changed the name of this town so you can’t follow me down/ And you can’t touch me like before, and you can’t make me want you more.”

“Stranglehold,” Ted Nugent
She cheated? Hooked up with one of his roadies? She humiliated rock’s macho wild man by commenting on the size of his penis? Perhaps in public? The song doesn’t exactly spell out what crime the woman committed against The Nuge. But he’s putting her down — permanently.
Killer Line(s): “I got you in a stranglehold/ I gotta crush your face.”

“Love Is a Losing Game,” Amy Winehouse
Taking a chance on love doesn’t pay off, and the singer’s left crushed in the wake of its demise. Her gorgeous voice aches with sorrow, creating an unholy marriage of beauty and despair that’s undeniably alluring.
Killer Line(s): “Over futile odds/ And laughed at by the gods/ And now the final frame/ Love is a losing game.”

Originally Published in Creative Loafing 02.06.2008.

WHAT DID I MISS?