MUSIC: Woodstock Suburb

Well, it turns out everything didn't go exactly according to plan. Despite the chain-link fence surrounding the 840-acre site, despite the 550 state troopers, the metal detectors, the confiscation of drugs and alcohol and the roaming private security force with the Orwellian name "Peace Patrol," a bit of the anarchy of the original Woodstock crept into its successor 25 years later. Several hundred people crashed the gates. The transportation system broke down early on, stranding huge numbers of fans and making the roads impassable. The audience pitched tents all over the grounds, despite pleas from the stage to do so only in designated areas. Perhaps most telling, the overcrowding made it impossible for workers to empty the 2,800 Port-O-Sans. If there was one thing about Woodstock '94 that was going to distinguish it from the original, it was that the Port-O-Sans would work.

Like the first festival, Woodstock '94 did not actually take place in Woodstock. It was held over three days last weekend in Saugerties, New York, and attracted about 255,000 people, half the number who made up Woodstock Nation in Bethel, an hour's drive away. The crowd was overwhelmingly white and middle-class. The bands, 50 of them, were more diverse and included everyone from sexy female rappers Salt N Pepa and trippy alternative rockers Blind Melon to punk-funksters Red Hot Chili Peppers and even soul crooner Joe Cocker, who reprised his Woodstock '69 classic With a Little Help from My Friends.

Rock has expanded since 1969 -- as these bands indicate, there are now many thriving subgenres -- but like sports heroes, the performers have gotten smaller. There were no young musicians at Woodstock '94 who compared in sheer potency to Pete Townshend or Jimi Hendrix or Janis Joplin. Still, some turned in rousing sets. Rapper B-Real of Cypress Hill flouted authority, smoking a marijuana joint onstage and then throwing himself into the crowd to surf on the hands of his fans. Guitarist-singer Melissa Etheridge offered a punchy, joyous version of her pop-rock hit Come to My Window. And the Irish rock group the Cranberries won over the crowd with their moody, introspective sound. "We expected ((the turnout)) to be large, but it was still a bit of a surprise," says Cranberries guitarist Noel Hogan. "Once we got onstage, it was just a vast sea of heads."

The first Woodstock became a symbol of communalism by accident. Says John Scher, an executive with Polygram Records, which invested in Woodstock '94: "There's this myth that Woodstock was a free festival. It wasn't a free concert at all, and it wasn't intended to be a free concert." On that weekend in '69, the kids broke down the fences; the promoters couldn't stop the influx, so they gave in to the inevitable and announced that the show was free. It was a huge money loser for its backers.