For as long as I can remember, I have been crazy for rock concert films, going back to—at least—the 1970 Midsummer Rock Festival that I caught on TV (and which my cousin attended, and says was appropriately deafening). That concert, from Cincinnati’s Crosley Field, featured Grand Funk, Mountain, The Stooges, Alice Cooper, and Traffic. While I couldn’t tell you much about most of it, Traffic’s set of songs from “John Barleycorn” made me a lifelong fan. It was pretty cool for a kid like me to see a show like this at such a tender age.
[Since writing that paragraph, in yet another indication of my glacial “writing” speed, I’ve seen Midsummer Rock Festival again. Every indication is that it’s the identical footage that aired originally in 1970, and this viewing made apparent why “John Barleycorn” was the only song I could remember from it. Perhaps it also aired very late at night and I dozed.
For the most part, the program is compellingly awful (a not-uncommon attribute of the kinds of Art I tend to gravitate to, seems like), with straight-laced announcers talking over the seemingly-randomly-selected performances with condescending observations about the clamorous music and the unwashed, lemming-like concertgoers. Some of the music is good, some ok, and there is one fascinating interview with the parent of an attendee, but overall, it is everything that, other than the T.A.M.I. Show and until the Woodstock movie, was lousy about TV and Hollywood’s perception and presentation of live rock and roll. Undoubtedly, I’ll write more about this, later.]
* Just some of the artists scheduled or announced to perform that I’d like to have seen represented on the Living Legends of Rock and Roll: Live From Itchycoo Park DVD—several I’d much rather have seen than, oh, most of the acts on the DVD, and none of whom you’d think would constitute difficult performance/appearance rights.
[A couple of years ago, we found ourselves passing through Manchester, the weekend before Bonnaroo, and had the opportunity to buffet amongst the waves of humanity filtering in from all parts of the globe to sweat, eat Burger King Whoppers, and step out in front of our vehicle without looking. While I am eons past the target demographic, the sheer numbers of people that attend this event—and the aggressive self-centeredness and cluelessness of those we encountered—would repel me, at any age.]
Accounts of the inaugural Itchycoo event are not easy to find and tend toward the common cluster-flub attributes (lousy facilities, price gouging, no-shows, etc.) that characterized 70s festivals. The lack of promised septic hookups, expensive showers, and sparse, costly vending choices seemed to be the rule. In fairness, at least one online article cited an attendence figure of 80-some thousand.
Not that any of the negative—some would say, nightmarish—elements are apparent in the only surviving evidence of the festival, a DVD titled Living Legends of Rock and Roll: Live From Itchycoo Park.
I first became aware of the film’s existence when it aired on HDNet or Palladia, and, to no one’s surprise, have been mildly obsessed with it since. That initial viewing was without any context whatsoever: when it took place, why the random assortment of acts, who thought the public was clamoring to see the likes of Firefall perform live. It is a compellingly weird document of a nearly-forgotten event, and pretty fascinating in its own right.
No, it’s not surprising that someone would perceive a market for a festival of 60s and 70s acts in a new, mid-American setting. What is baffling is how anyone thought this was either a representative documentary or an appealing concert package. Even without a viewing, the selection of performances could generously be called egalitarian, and more accurately, random, ranging from 60s classic rock icons to 90s one-hitters.
But view it I have, repeatedly. It fascinates me with its arbitrary roster of acts and the highly variable quality of the performances, with the condition (good and poor) of the performers, and with the sad fact that virtually none of the festival acts I’m interested in were included in the Itchycoo Park DVD.
For all its drawbacks, people like me, who grew up in an age when opportunities to see live rock and roll footage were rare as rock concerts without drum solos, will sit through hours of the Styx and REOs for 3:28 of “Born To Be Wild.”
