I loved to play, and we had a gig that Woodstock festival weekend. It was at the “Black Swan” in
We did cool versions of Otis
I don’t know….looking back….17 yo white boys doing this music in ‘69?…I think was pretty daring, but we simply loved the music.
The Black Swan turned out to be pretty dark and dismal, we did two nights and I think the biggest crowd we had were two old black guys with their wives in front of some smoky snacks at the end of the bar.
Sunday morning our ears were turned tightly to the radio; what was happening at The Festival!? We had to know, a lot of our friends had gone, we began to hear some gloomy signs, at the very moment the radio and newspapers were calling it a disaster, like; people were awash in mud and chaos…several were killed while sleeping under heavy equipment. The Thruway was CLOSED… It was rain, rain, and rain. Glad we didn’t go.
But as the months rolled on, it became clearer that
All I knew was that the bandanna guitar man…whom I thought was a verifiable jerk…was now famous.
I kind of resented that for a while. I admire him much more these days.
It was closing towards the end of the summer and we moved back to Ellenville…the little brown house in
The band fell apart as if it were built on a house of cards (it was...LSD pinochle), strangely, astonishingly within minutes. I shut down and within a day or two I hitched a ride in a tractor trailer back to NYC with Corinna (oddly enough) and Danny Stedman. I was shell-shocked. One of countless deep disappointments that would set a pattern of hope and dispair and denial for years to come.