Fred Durst performs at Woodstock 99, as shown in the Netflix documentary series.
Fred Durst performs at Woodstock 99, as shown in the Netflix documentary series.
It's incredible how fast peace, love and happiness can spiral into riots, sexual assault and death. At the Woodstock music festival in 1999, it took only a single afternoon on the first of its three days.
This speedily grim descent into human depravity is captured in utterly wild archival footagein Netflix's fascinating new documentary series Trainwreck: Woodstock 99. Told over three episodes, one for each day, the series proves every bit as catchy as the best pop-punk chorus of the era as it attempts to make sense of the chaos and map out the cascading series of decisions and events that led to more than 250,000 people turning what was supposed to be a celebratory music festival into what one commentator refers to as "a human zoo".
As the documentary shows, it all started off quite well. The kids were excited. The promoters were confident. A hippie-ish vibe wafted through the air. A group of Tibetan monks blessed the festival. Attendees and organisers alike believed that they were not just recreating history by tapping into the peaceful spirit of Woodstock 69, they believed they were adding their own entry to the history books.
Which, in a way, they did. Only not in the way any of them had hoped.
"The idea was to give that generation an idea of what Woodstock was about," original founder Michael Lang explains, saying he wanted to show his kids what they missed out on. "Peace, love and music. Let's do it."
Of course, you can't pay your bills with vibes. Which is where Lang's long-term business partner, the commercially focused promoter John Scher, enters the picture. Quickly established as one tough cookie, this is epitomised by his high-stakes game of chicken with the Godfather of Soul, James Brown.
Booked to open the festival, Brown told his manager to advise Scher that he wasn't going onstage until his full fee had been paid. As the huge crowd began chanting "James Brown! James Brown!", Scher simply refused.
While there's no footage of the showdown between Scher and Brown's management, there is video of Brown, resplendent in a blue jumpsuit, waiting backstage for the money while his band walk on the stage. It's remarkable to see his confident swagger drain into a nervy apprehension as the standoff drags on and the crowd's chants get louder and louder. Given the circumstances, it's not surprising he buckled first.
The doco is filled with astounding footage like this thanks to Scher's idea to sell the broadcasting rights. MTV had a team on the ground focusing on the acts and commentary while a team filming for a pay-per-view audience focused on the wild antics and increasing debauchery of the crowd.
It quickly becomes clear it wasn't a single thing that lit the fuse, causing the whole thing to blow up in an explosion of base human instincts. Rather, it was an almost impressive amount of bad decisions all toppling into each other like a chain of dominoes.
The venue was terrible, a mostly concrete old airforce base selected due to its high walls that'd keep gatecrashing punters out and not with any consideration for the concert-going experience. There was a woeful lack of amenities and professional cleaners to pick up rubbish. The sweltering heat was unbearable and bottled water cost a whopping $4. This shameless price gouging a direct result of Scher selling the festival's food supplier rights, an action that left organisers powerless to demand the price be lowered to the standard RRP of .69c. And of course, everyone was boozed up and "high as balls", as one punter puts it.
More than 250,000 people turned up to Woodstock 99.
There was also a bubbling problem with the line-up, which featured many popular, yet highly aggressive rock bands, like Kid Rock, Korn and Limp Bizkit.
"The 22-year-old me raised my hand and tried to bring to everyone's attention that they really need to look at this line-up of artists," Lee Rosenblatt, who worked as an assistant site manager, says, before noting that he only received dirty looks from Scher and Lang for his troubles.
"The more intense bands John booked, I was not familiar with," Lang admits. "I had no idea who these people were."
Predictably, chaos and madness greeted their sets as events began to spiral. The mosh pit for Korn is simply mindblowing, an ocean of bodies creating rolling waves as they react to the sound reaching them. Limp Bizkit's mosh pit the next afternoon was just true anarchy, with fights, mass injuries and destruction everywhere, all fuelled by singer Fred Durst, revelling in the crowd's uncontrollable descent and egging them on.
Reflecting on the moment the crowd pushed past the point of no return, Scher now says: "I didn't take into account what a jerk Fred Durst is."
It's obvious that's the least of things Scher didn't take into account. But, as the doco, makes clear, the blame can't be blamed on any one person or thing. It really was a compendium of bad decisions, choices, luck and organising bubbling up into a violent pandemonium.
About the only thing organisers did get right was the festival's ad slogan: "It's not your parent's Woodstock".
