"Peace." Yeah, baby, the last time I was in a big crowd on an upstate New York hillside listening to music was some years ago, like (if memory serves and my addition is correct) 36 years ago in White Creek at the festival known as Woodstock. The Falcon Ridge Folk Festival was somewhat smaller (say, 10,000 people rather than 500,000), but some things appear to be eternal: tie-dyed T-shirts, serious rain, white people, a cool farmer, protest songs and a general distaste for the status quo. I don't think there were any lesbians at Woodstock, however, or contra dancing, or Sirrus radio, or cell phones, or enough food booths, or fire dancing, or dreadlocks or environmentalists. On the other hand, Woodstock boasted nudity, serious drugs, traffic jams, helicopters, the Hog Farm and free-floating paranoia. And Jimi Hendrix. But, hey, some old farts lived to make it up to Falcon Ridge. Jessie Colin Young—the Youngbloods, remember? C'mon people now/ smile on your brother/ everybody get together/ try and love one another right now.
Do it. I'm sirrus, uh, serious.
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