“All right friends, you have seen the heavy groups, now you will see morning maniac music. Believe me, yeah. It’s the new dawn.”
It’s eight a.m. Sunday morning when Grace Slick awakens the crowd from their short nap. Only two hours ago The Who cleared the stage. Wavy Gravy’s Hog Farm is still struggling to serve “breakfast in bed for 400,000.”
“There’s always a little bit of heaven in a disaster area,” Wavy said earlier. He might have been talking about The Jefferson Airplane’s lead singer.
Ted Nugent is a bit of a cartoon character today. With his hunting shows, Fox News appearances, and general lack of ability to possess an unspoken thought, he’s either hero or embarrassment to his fans. He’s not the only formerly dangerous soul to be softened by the pop culture machine. Ozzy Osbourne, once considered the epitome of evil by suburban mothers, is now a cuddly pet suitable for Justin Beiber commercials. Gene Simmons, the blood spitting, fire-breathing demon, the God of Thunder, appears in Dr. Pepper commercials with dwarves. He’s better known today as a merchandising whore than a musician, and he claims to be proud of that. Alice Cooper: golfer, family man, Christian. It’s hard to imagine that these cute little kittens once were fearsome dinosaurs who roamed the country in fringe jackets and codpieces, laying waste to hotel rooms and snapping Polaroids of local girls with daddy issues. Go go, Godzilla.
