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POP MUSIC REVIEW : ’20 Years After’: Weak Woodstock Vibes

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No mud. No traffic jams. No open drug use. No babies born. Certainly no copulation. Plenty of bathrooms. No epithets of “pig” directed at the friendly policemen strolling through the crowd. Only about half of 1% of the original crowd figure. No superstar acts. No climbing on the speaker towers. No illusion of unity or purpose or agenda. And no brown acid to avoid.

Other than that, the first day of the “20 Years After” music festival tribute Saturday at Cal State Dominguez Hills was almost exactly like Woodstock.

To wit: a drum solo for every billed attraction! A grilled chicken booth for every pothead! Dozens of tie-dyed T-shirt concessions! Men with hair! Earth mamas without bras! Jams without endings! Stage dialogue like: “You people are the music; we’re just the band right now” (courtesy of Humble Pie)!

And, best of all, emcee and counterculture class bozo Wavy Gravy, trying desperately to imbue this most laid-back of daze with some sense of urgency! “If you respect our Mother Earth, let’s pick up the trash a little bit,” he pleaded, making the scant littering of the Olympic Velodrome--pardon us, the 7-Eleven Olympic Velodrome (yes, the revolution will be sponsored)--sound like the imminent rape of Ma World.

Poor Wavy had a tough time relating to some of the younger, more cynical kids in the audience. “I’m a clown,” he told them. “You’re an acidhead!” some whippersnapper shouted back. “No, I’m a clown,” he repeated, a bit of resigned sadness in his voice.

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If there seemed to be a noticeable lack of a Woodstock vibe Saturday among the relaxed crowd of fewer than 5,000, it may have been partly because that day’s bill was devoted mostly to acts that became more famous in the ‘70s than in the ‘60s, like Edgar Winter and Grand Funk’s Mark Farner. There was a Spinal Tap appeal to watching semi-reunited war horses like Iron Butterfly and Humble Pie go through their ‘70s chunk-rock paces, in incarnations that combine long-in-the-tooth original members with hunky new recruits who look as though they were conscripted at the Sports Connection.

Electric Flag was one of the few to reunite all its original personnel (except, of course, the late Mike Bloomfield), in this case for the first time in 20 years.

Sunday’s bill, which was scheduled to include such memorable Woodstock veterans as Country Joe McDonald, Melanie, Canned Heat, Richie Havens and Sha Na Na, was expected to draw more of the real Woodstock audience contingent.

“The music has been fine and it’s been a good day,” said Dawn Souder of Pittsburgh, who was operating a tie-dye concession at the rear of the field with her husband Eric. “But it doesn’t seem like a Woodstock audience. It’s more like college kids, just kind of a thing to do on a Saturday.”

The highlight of the day, as chosen by the Souders and most in attendance, was the penultimate set by Leon Russell and Edgar Winter, in which the two keyboard veterans fronted a tight band and alternated lead vocals. The crowd went wild for Winter’s monster instrumental smash, “Frankenstein,” which proved still a whole lot of hokey fun with Russell’s piano providing a rollicking, almost boogie-woogie undercurrent.

Prior to that, the still golden-throated Farner also fared well with the audience, mixing early Grand Funk boogie (some kind of dull), mid-period Funk pop hits (truly “Some Kind of Wonderful”) and his current “God-rock, Dee -troit-style” material (some kind of evangelistic). Even his awesomely ill-conceived ditty about what a drag it is to go to hell, “Judgment Day Blues,” was too high-spirited to bring the crowd really dooooown, maaaaaan.

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But, after the crowd-pleasing Winter/Russell set, the climactic “Superjam” was a fizzle: Croaking “Roadhouse Blues” and “Back Door Man,” guitarist Robby Krieger solved the big mystery of why he was never the Doors’ lead singer, and of the other participants--including Randy California and Tim Bogert--only Ginger Baker (celebrating his 50th birthday) really redeemed himself, turning in the sole justifiable drum solo among so many that day.

Popular verdict among the crowd, average age about 30: The 12-hour opening day concert seemed well-staged, well-run and, well, fun, but, according to Eric Moser, 27, of Mission Viejo, “I think the ‘60s were better in the ‘60s.”

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