There was so much history this summer, and so little change.
The anniversary of Woodstock arrived and waned, much like the first time around. It was mostly a convenience for the media, a way to get a handle on an upstart pop phenomenon. For music, a fan remembered, all the festival symbolized was a washout. Lysergic mud and bad amplification. The rest was a fairy tale.
And, as the fairy tales say, it seemed that it might be time again for legends. Twenty years later there were suddenly on every side the familiar sounds of the '60s: Bob Dylan, the Who,...
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