Chattanooga Pulse

This month marks the 40th anniversary of the famous Woodstock Festival, held in Bethel, New York on August 15-17, 1969. In fact, there’s a movie coming out this week called Taking Woodstock, which is Hollywood’s attempt at getting people under the age of 40 engaged in what happened one weekend on a dairy farm before they were born.

But Woodstock was a remarkable feat. The “three days of peace, love and music” was put together in essentially one month by four guys who were able to convince some of music’s top talent that hundreds of thousands of people would embark on a journey down a two-lane road to see them play in the middle of a cow pasture. And, aside from the general feeling of peace and love all around, the event didn’t happen at all as planned—but historically so.

More than twice as many people showed up than were expected—some say 500,000. They ran out of food and water. It rained. Two people died. It rained. Two births occurred. It rained. There was a lot of “bad acid” floating around. It was muddy. But despite it all, a lot of good rockin’ went down, very peacefully.

Santana, The Grateful Dead, CCR, Joe Cocker, Jefferson Airplane, Sly and the Family Stone, The Band, and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young all performed. Jimi Hendrix played the most distorted version of the national anthem ever recorded. The Who did Tommy in its entirety (at 4 a.m.). Joan Baez used the stage to tell the world of her husband’s recent incarceration as a conscientious objector. And Janis Joplin put on one of the best performances of her too-short career.

But not everything that went on over those three days was as memorable. Even though there is an equally famous three-and-a-half-hour documentary about the townspeople, farm, workers, attendees, performances, and general atmosphere of the weekend, there were some things omitted from audio or video record that happened just as infamously as the rest of it.

Take Bert Sommer. He shared the same stage with all of the really, really famous aforementioned performers. And although his performance didn’t make the film, he played fourth on Day One’s roster (after Richie Havens).

At the time, Sommer was best known for his one and only hit, “We’re All Playing in the Same Band.” Remember that gem? Me neither. It never made any of the K-Tel compilations from the ’60s that I am aware of. But at the time it peaked at Number 48 on the Billboard charts, which is higher than most songs ever place.

After Woodstock, Sommer went on to combine his musical talents with acting. He played “Woof” in the original Broadway production of the famous hippie musical Hair. You remember—the creative interpretation of the Woodstock generation that boils the all-too-serious political views of kids seething to explode from the right-wing, backwards-thinking conservatism of their parents down to the length of their flowing locks as they arise from the “dawning of the age of Aquarius.” It’s currently a hit on Broadway again.

Then, Sommer moved to the little screen, playing in the “wacky glam rock” band “Kaptain Kool & The Kongs” on Syd & Marty Krofft’s Supershow in 1976 (along with “Dr. Shrinker,” “Electra Woman & Dyna Girl,” and “Wonderbug”). That’s when the drugs really started kicking in. Anyone who remembers ANYthing the Krofft boys did (HR Pufnstuf, The Bugaloos, etc.) knows that they must have been seriously high at the time.

Regardless, before any of that ever happened, Sommer was one of the limited number of artists who could say they played Woodstock. Led Zeppelin, Bob Dylan, The Doors, The Byrds, Jethro Tull, Joni Mitchell and The Moody Blues were all asked to participate, but declined the invitation for one reason or another. I suspect it’s mostly because no one at the time could foresee that magnitude from just another weekend show in the middle of nowhere. At least that’s how history reads.

But Bert Sommer took the gig. And even though, sadly, he died from a respiratory illness in 1990 at the tender age of 41, Sommer was one of the few people in this world who knew what it was like to stand on a makeshift stage of scaffolding and plywood in front of a growing crowd of half-a-million people and sing a hit that, 40 years later, no radio station can seem to find. Maybe that’s what’s so funny about peace, love and understanding.

Chuck Crowder is a local writer and general man about town. His opinions are just that. Everything expressed is loosely based on fact, and crap he hears people talking about. Take what you just read with a grain of salt, but pepper it in your thoughts. And be sure to check out his wildly popular website  www.thenoog.com