Radio New Zealand - Te Reo Irirangi o Aotearoa

Woodstock and Other Festivals

Naomi

I have just finished performing my one woman show 'Songs My Mother Taught Me' in the Christchurch Arts Festival based on my parent's experiences in 1972 part of which consisted of hitchhiking to Ngaruawahia from Christchurch where they were studying. It was touted as 'New Zealand's answer to Woodstock.'

My parents didn't have a tent, just a fly and two tree branches.

Some of the funny experiences my mother remembers are Corbin Simpson (the opening act) performing naked and inspiring a rush of nudity from the festival-goers. She estimates half the crowd were naked. My father remained naked for the rest of the festival. My mother didn't take off her clothes but distinctly remembers averting her eyes as people bent over to pick up rubbish in the nude!

Black Sabbath played at which point a huge cross was burned on the hill and at some point there were a bunch of Harley Davidsons on stage and the band played Leader of the Pack.

My mother remembers it being all very peaceful and groovy - I think she was stoned for the entire time!

Lindsay

I was in Rio de Janeiro as crew on a luxury yacht.  Jorges lived near Copacabana, where we met. He was short and coffee coloured with a mass of wild black hair, while I was tall and sun bleached blonde. We were both in our early 20’s and had little language in common but, squatting in the sand and communicating with pictures, sign language and smiles, we became mates. Perhaps it was my Kiwi egalitarianism but, in a climate of pre Carnival tourist paranoia, I instinctively trusted him.

Jorges took me home where his mother, father and a crowd of siblings lived under rusty sheets of roofing iron and a faded shop sun awning spread across a nest of boulders and weighted down with rocks. Most of the family sprawled in the shade, wrapped in light colourful tropical cloth, but Jorge’s mother stirred the ashes in a fireplace and produced a tasty snack of fish (I think..) pieces which we ate off plastic bags with our fingers.

I drew a map of the world in the sand with an oversized New Zealand and the smaller children were summoned to witness this new wonder. Some touched my hair and ran away giggling at their bravado. There was a peace among those boulders and I spent the midday siesta there, lulled by wavelets tinkling nearby, while along the beach the beautiful people paraded in minimal bikinis and high rise hotels soared into distant smog.

Eventually I left. I wanted to give them something but wasn’t sure how to go about it and gave a round of hugs instead. Jorges walked me back to the yacht club marina and I tried to show him where I lived, but the marina guard, caressing his pistol holster, wouldn’t let him through the gate.   

We met again in the evening cool. “Come,” he smiled, “to favela for samba rehearsal.” Favelas are populous shantytowns clinging to the the hills around downtown Rio. Established by freed slaves in the 1890’s, each favela fields a team in the Samba (dance) competition for the annual carnival and Jorge’s team was practicing in a school playing field on the Hill of the Singing Rooster.

We jogged along city streets in the sultry air, then left the lights behind and joined the throng of black faveladors trudging uphill towards the rehearsal. I dogged Jorge’s footsteps as he wound up malodorous alleyways between a crooked collection of makeshift homes. People brushed by in the dark and, through unglazed window frames, I glimpsed men in white singlets, hunched over tables lit by kerosene lamps and laden with bottles.

We filed through a narrow gorge between two rough adobe walls into an area about the size of a rugby field and crowded with hundreds of black people. Jorges led me to a low concrete block bunker – and several dark forearms, pink palms outstretched, reached down to help me up.

From my elevated position I peered uncertainly down on a heaving mass of humanity. Then the drumbeat began. Moonlight helped flaming torches spread some light over the playground as the drum pulse deepened and the tempo picked up. A shadowy mass of swaying, clapping people kept time with the beat and white smiles flashed from hundreds of faces. A small area was cleared in front of the building where I stood with, I think, a dozen or so local dignitaries.

The warm air, moonlit sky and the omnipresent drumbeat took control and I began to dance. Soon I’d been hefted down to the clearing and giggling women; from huge black matriarchs to tittering teens, sashayed forward to dance. Some taught me their moves and the crowd shrieked with hilarity when I tried them.

We samba-ed into the night. Time became irrelevant; we lived by the beat of the drums. Sweat streamed, my pulse pounded and I was absorbed into a swaying wheat field of dancing Brazilians. The ground shook under the stomp of a thousand bare feet. Straight from Africa, filtered through generations of slavehood and poverty, the drums were the living pulse of triumphant survivors.

Scores of people taught me the shrill ululating cry that is created by holding your tongue to the roof of your mouth while forcefully exhaling, that passes for applause in Brazil and which I still use to express my appreciation for a performance to this day.

Sometime just before dawn, a beaming Jorges took my arm and lead me down through the slumbering favela.  Faveladors loomed out of the night and patted my shoulders and men lightly punched my arms until we emerged from the dark alleys of the favela into the lamp lit city streets.

Somewhere near the yacht club gates, Jorges gave me a shy hug, said ‘ciao’ and walked off towards the beach.. My whole being thrummed with the passion of the samba, visions of a school yard thronged with writhing black bodies,  streaming sweat and white smiles, drums pounding like some giant’s heartbeat.

“Where you been?” the guard demanded as I walked through the marina gate. “Hill of the Singing Rooster,” I replied cockily, “samba rehearsal.” “Whaaatt…man – you lucky to be alive.” he said, shaking his head.

Back on board; air conditioning emitted a gentle hum, polished teak joinery gleamed and the tart smell of leather upholstery tickled my nose.

Next day I scoured the beach for Jorges, but the family had gone - back to the bosom of the favela where samba reigns supreme.

Gav

Woodstock 99: Drove there for the 30th anniversary concert from Alaska in a '68 7 litre v8 we bought for 1000 bucks. Took 3 weeks, didn't look far on the map. Aerosmith never showed, too many plastic bottle bonfires so left before chili peppers... hot, dry and dusty. Water mud flavoured and coloured or 5usd a bottle.Beers 10usd slice of pizza 12usd...Highlight was watching a way too cool for his own good Fred durst getting carried out of mike range on a piece of ply, out into the crowd. The look of panic on his face up on the big screen hilarious. James Brown great, band incendiary. George Clinton a riot... nervous as hell when Zac from rage against the machine set fire to the stars and stripes on stage but this was pre sept 11 so the crowd didn't lynch, they loved it. Metallica incredible, bush and everclear fun. The car made it back to Anchoragua via Tom Petty and Lucinda Williams in Nashville, New Orleans... 19,000 miles all up.

Met a guy who had been at the 25th anniv. when nirvana and nine inch nails played and it poured. He was in mosh pit, everyone mud plastered except for eyes like Rambo in first blood. But nine inch nails were due to come on and stage was empty. Where were they? Then security came over into the pit and one by one, Nine inch nails got up from the pit and played the set of their lives...

Mike - Christchurch

In remembering Woodstock, coming from the S Island I never got to go to the Sweetwaters, etc but the one I did go to in the S Island which brings back memories is the Punakaiki Festival of 1983. It was Easter 1983, the weather was brilliantly fine and (for the West Coast a big surprise) it never rained once!

It was more or less a celebration of the 'big' and emerging Flying Nun bands of the time. I recall what may have been the (outside of Dunedin) debut of Look Blue Go Purple, the S Island debut of both an emergent Children's Hour and Nocturnal Projections and a stunning set by the Stones (Fab World being an absolute highlight I think of any song I've seen done live - Wayne Elsey (sadly RIP) in his prime). There was also a cracking impromptu jam session between well known producer Rex Visible, the former Androidss bassist (Frankie) and former Gordons drummer (Brent).

And some earlier story today recalled. nudity! Wellington's Naked Spots Dance also played and I recall mud covered topless dancers who did a fire eating intro to the Spots' set.

It was the care free days of the early 80s - no booze problems either and the police barely bothered us.

Jeff

I' m not sure if this qualifies as a festival experience, but definitely
a music get together.... back in the mid 70's here in Christchurch a local radio station ( 3ZM, I think) use to hold concerts on the Avon river bank with the local bands  set up in the band rotunda on the other side  of the river on a Sunday afternoon and often 2-3000 people turned up for an afternoon of music, fun and anything goes...I distinctly, (well not that distinctly really)  remember games of touch and frisbee in the river, cut feet, days off work and lots of real neat memories of  how almost impromptu concerts are often the most memorable....then living as a hippy in the Nimbin area of northern new south Wales in the late 70's there were often similar impromptu gatherings at the monthly Nimbin Sunday markets...but that’s another story entirely
cheers
Jeff
P.S.
Loving the Woodstock series

Paul

Well I went to both Isle of Wight Festival 1969 -saw Dylan go electric in UK, 1970 Hendrix last big show -I think .69 show with Doors but getting on the boat in Portsmouth you could hear The Who playing -30 mins away by boat!
 plus two Berlin Jazz Festivals to see some greats, inc Miles Davis
plus The Famous Stones in the Park in Hyde Park celebrating Brian Jones life -King Crimson were on the bill -all this after an all night concert at Lyceum in Strand seeing Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band and Howlin Wolf

Can't wait for Shadows next march in Ch Ch

Cris

I went to one of the Nambassa festivals about 29 years ago with my baby daughter bouncing along in her bounce-a- net on the floor of my little old VW car without a back seat, and my trusty cocker spaniel!  I didn't realise that dogs weren't allowed but nobody seemed to care. However, much to my embarrassment, my dog had picked that day to be experiencing some sort of problem with her rear end and spent the whole of the time scraping her rear along the ground much to the amusement of everyone who saw her.  It did not go with my image of long blond hair, muslin dress, beautiful child and earth mother.  We stayed for most of one day but towards the evening we slunk out, dragging our doggy bottom behind us!

Andy

Musical memories of festivals gone by, you say? Well, I've seen a few in my 38 odd years of existence on this here ball of dirt and water. Seen 3 BDOs with the best easily being 2004. Shapeshifter, 8 Ft Sativa, Kings of Leon, Fur Patrol...all good performances. But in 2nd place for the mind-blower award would be Peaches. The silly sods leaving the Boiler Room after Concord dawn did their set haven't a clue what they missed. But by far the crowning glory of the night wasn't the band that formerly had integrity .ie. Metallica (I guess the fact that a wee kid in the queue told me he wasn't even born, the last time I saw them live with Cliff still on bass didn't help matters), but the absolute party that was the Flaming Lips. There wouldn't have been a sour face in that crowd at the end of that set!
You might be forgiven for thinking this would be my festival of choice. Not so. This has become way too commercial for my tastes now. Since when is crowd surfing dangerous? Bullsh1t! No...The best festival I have attended would easily be the 93 Mountain Rock held in Balance, east of Palmerston North. This was a feel-good gig. Sure there was still the odd drunken asshole out there. But the music output was a real treat to the senses. Now defunct band, Silent Scream got us metal-heads going wild. Jan Helriegel doing her set and playing a blinder version of 'Ace of Spades' for her kid brother and the mellow tones of Muttonbirds, to name but a few...well, the song 'The Bands Played On' by 80s HM band Saxon, summed up the feeling of the moment perfectly. We were perched on a hill, sun shining strong and the music played. We were in bliss.

Cheers

Angry Andy Ewen
Proud oldskool punk and Gen Xer
(and a Mountain worshipper...Leslie West kicks A.R.S.E!!!)

Ps   Mark my words...Mountain Rock will be back. Keep your superficial BDO for the in-crowd! Mountain Rock is for the music fans

Paul

It's always weird to relive the experiences of the music and times of my formative years in the 60's and 70's and a pleasure to do this in conjunction with your current segment about the Woodstock festival.
I grew up in England and was lucky enough to attend the Isle of Wight festivals in 1969 and 1970.
I recall one wag in the huge compacted crowd slowly moving towards the turnstiles in 1969 shouting out "I've got leprosy!!"; and taking part in what seemed like endless mass African -styled drumming sessions with people I'd never met but during which there was a kind of happy hypnotic experience going on.
The highlight for me in 1970 was seeing Jimi Hendrix, and camping in relative luxury on a golf course up on a hill overlooking the entire stage and arena.
My mother telephoned my school office the morning of Hendrix’s death 3 weeks later to ask the secretary to get a message to me that he'd passed away. I was devastated, but bless her for calling the school and thinking of me. My mother was in tune!
It was a Fab time to grow up.

Hi - My Favourite Woodstock moment was People sliding Down the Slopes in the Mud. That Made it a 'Dirty Weekend'- HeHeHe.

Kevin, Mahoenui

I attended 2 of the Brown Trout festivals in the Dannevirke/Norsewood area inthe early 1980s. The first was in a natural amphitheatre surrounded by Holly trees. A natural boundary for my 3 year old so I was able to give him free rein over the site. If he got stuck amongst too many holly leaves and wailed there was always someone to assist. The atmosphere was very intimate and friendly, there were only a few hundred people there and the music was awesome!

The next one I went to was a lot larger and held on a large flat area of a farm next to a river. It was advertised on radio and subsequently a large number of less well behaved people attended. In spite of this we set up camp in a tent close to friends in a bus and a tent and took turns at watching the children while others went to the arena area to take in the 2 stages of music that went for 2 nights and 2 days. A rubbish truck came around in the mornings, closely followed by a milk truck. I had a huge pot of Beef Stroganoff I had prepared for the weekend. My, we were sick of Beef Stroganoff by the end of the weekend.

The kids were able to swim in the river and no-one drowned, although some kids tried hard to. The first night we were there the wind blew so hard our tent nearly blew away! So we moved the tent closer to our friends and away from the strategic bluff from where we could see the stage areas. The very stony ground there hampered our tent's ability to stay on the ground.

I grew up in Texas, was 17 when Woodstock happened, but mother forbade us to go, but the next summer, I attended the 2nd Atlanta International Pop Festival over the 4th of July weekend in 1970 and got to see the fantastic performance of Jimi Hendrix on July 4 Sat. night before a half million hipsters and freaks....wow it was angelic.Joseph, Christchurch

Lila

Thanks for wonderful Woodstock! Didn't go, but made myself a caftan printed with acrowd scene from the event.

Judith

Going 2 Woodstock made up 4 not being allowed by my mum 2 go 2 Beatles concert in Leeds UK when I was 14 cos I had a cold

Jeff, Mt Albert

Tell Judith 18 was good. I was 20, & back from Viet Nam. Also, it was $18 US/ $12 NZ at the time. Cheers

Carl, Arrowtown

The Lizard Festival in Cornwall, waking up mid-sleep after a very hectic night to my devoted boyfriend putting socks on my exposed feet just outside the tent door.Mary, Wellington

My best Woodstock memory is everyone lighting a match at night And looking around at a few hundred thou. Little lights! Wow far out! Cheers

Toby, Titirangi

Getting lost in the cornfield trying 2 sneak into Strawberry Fields was hilarious and terrifying!

John, Dunedin

I was not at Woodstock but went to the Woodstock movie in Dunedin with a friend. Before going in we went into the toilets to smoke a couple of joints in one of the cubicles, we were laughing so much that people coming into the toilets must have wondered what was going on. Anyway we had a great time.