by Jane Scott
I’ve slipped down a muddy hill at Woodstock ‘94, been nearly carried away by an avalanche of people rushing the stage at Lollapalooza, and been accidentally locked in a ladies room at the Stadium.
And the ‘90’s are only half over.
In the last five years, Clevelanders have seen everything from Woodstock ‘94 to preparations for the long-awaited opening tomorrow of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum at North Coast Harbor.
The changes have been sweeping. Rockers went interactive (Todd Rundgren) and onto the Internet (Michael Jackson). Alternative rock went mainstream. Grunge put Seattle at the center of the nation’s musical map. Rap, hip-hop and neo-punk made their presence felt at the top of the charts. There was a crackle of excitement at concerts again.
Frankly, my common sense told me it would be foolish to go to Woodstock ‘94 in Saugerties, NY.
Hundreds of thousands of people as far as your trifocals could see and probably very few senior citizens. I might be the oldest one there. But then, I might never get another chance (Woodstock 2019 seemed a little far away).
So go I did.
I must say that the young people there didn’t stare at me, or even question what I was up to. However, one streetwise 19-year-old took me under her wing and said I should get with the 90’s. Her binoculars unscrewed and revealed two flasks of hootch.
But I was done in, along with three young things, by a dirty three-letter word: Mud. I not only slipped on a little hill the second day, but couldn’t get enough traction to stay up.
A kindly photographer retrieved my mud-covered glasses and led me through the tent cities to the press area.
I sneaked out early the third day and watched Bob Dylan on pay-per-view while nuzzled in a cozy armchair at a nearby bed and breakfast.
In spite of the flaws and failures, there was good music. Melissa Etheridge came into her own with her strong, raspy voice. The Neville Brothers and Blues Traveler stirred up the crowd, mud-coated Nine Inch Nails was electrifying. And who could forget Dylan.
Before Woodstock ‘94 became the Woodstock of the ‘90’s, that moniker went to the Lollapalooza alternative music festival. The first Lollapalooza tour stopped at Blossom Music Center in 1991. It was the most exciting show since Aerosmith, Rod Stewart and Crosby, Stills and Nash played a "World Series of Rock" concert at the Stadium. The first Lollapalooza was a novelty, but also established the power of alternative music.
And it was varied -- everyone from the Rollins Band and Ice-T to Jane’s Addiction, led by Lollapalooza founder Perry Farrell.
The breakout act was Nine Inch Nails. When the industrial-rock act led by former Clevelander Trent Reznor was announced, there was a huge rush from the jam-packed lawn. I have never seen such a stampede. I held on to one of the metal seats in the pavilion for dear life. My big straw hat was swept away.
Johan, the 6-foot-6 marketing executive from the Agora club in Cleveland, was swept up and carried 30 feet in the air, though none the worse for wear.
Nine Inch Nails was worth it, though. The band’s performance was so riveting that Farrell had to hustle and bait the crowd with anti-gay rhetoric during Jane’s Addiction’s set to keep up the pace.
At Lollapalooza ‘92, the headlining Red Hot Chili Peppers gave a scorching set at Blossom. They jolted fans by playing Jimi Hendrix’s "Crosstown Traffic" for their finale, wearing gas-powered flaming helmets on their heads.
Quite an upgrade, too. First time we saw them, at the Phantasy Nite Club, lead singer Anthony Kiedis wore a bunch of green curls on his head. And drummer Chad Smith sported a University of Michigan cap.
"Press a little button and it played Michigan’s ‘Hail to the Victors,'"Smith recalled backstage at Blossom. "And it really went over big in Columbus!"
I wish I had had a button to call an attendant last summer when I got stuck in the ladies room in the empty Stadium. I had arrived early for a promoter’s news conference announcing a concert by the Rolling Stones. I sneaked into a ladies room, the found that the exit door was locked from the outside. Luckily, a workman happened by as I was banging on the door for dear life with a heavy broom handle.
Bruce Springsteen was still the boss at his Coliseum show August 20, 1992. One of my greatest rock moments was his dedication of "Dancing in the Dark" to me, after I had asked at a news conference if he were going to play it.
Other ‘90’s happenings:
Singer Celine Dion is recording it for her next album, and it’s expected to be the first single. "My wife [Susan] was in the studio in Hollywood [where Dion was recording] and let me hear it over the phone," Carmen, now living in Gates Mills, said recently.
What’s more, Carmen said, the same song will pop up in the upcoming Nicole Kidman movie "To Die For." You also can hear it in "Clueless," as sung by Jewel.
Sheryl Crow sang "All By Myself" on the flip side of the European single version of "Leaving Las Vegas." Meanwhile, Capitol Records just released "The Best of the Raspberries," a CD by Carmen’s old band.
I had sneaked out of a party I was co-hosting in the Flats to check her out. CBS president Tommy Mottola told us he had intercepted a demo of Carey’s song at a Manhattan music party, listened to it on his car radio on the way home, then went right back to the party. He not only signed her to CBS but later married her.
We didn’t know how lucky we were. Pearl Jam had promised a makeup concert date back on October 21, 1991, when it had to cancel, and it kept that promise, even though its "Ten" album had leaped to quadruple platinum.
The story didn’t end there for Peabody booker Vicky Labby, though. She found that Gossard had left his wallet behind at the club. She drove to the band’s next gig in Detroit to return it to him. Gossard not only gave her all the money in the wallet but a limited edition T-shirt.
Kurt Cobain celebrated the holiday by taking the stage dressed as Barney, the children’s-TV character. He soon doffed the outfit.
One unreported item: Cobain was so irritated by a fan who tossed a tennis shoe at him that he turned his back to the audience, urinated in the shoe and tossed it back to the fan. But what an impact the band made, touching the hearts of alienated youth (and music lovers of all ages). Cobain was found dead April 8, 1994. What a shame it had to end.
But Dulli, who sang in the Beatles film "Backbeat," was basically good-humored and things went well -- at least until an audience member threw a cup of beer into the face of bass player John Curley, cutting the show short by two songs.
During the opening set by local band Jawbox, someone in the audience threw a full cup of beer into the face of bassist Kim Coletta. Scott Weiland, the Pilots’ lead singer, emerged from the side of the stage and temporarily stopped the concert, telling the audience, "One act isn’t more important than another!"
After the show, Coletta said the beer had shorted her bass.
The Pilots, touring behind the best-selling album "Purple," gave a fun-filled, quirky show. The stage was an old-fashioned parlor scene with a couch and 20-foot lamps. Weiland darted out in a Stetson hat and Ecuadorian heads, later singing the Pilots’ hit, "Dead and Bloated."
It was kind of hard to picture him growing up four miles from me in rural Bainbridge Township, near Chagrin Falls. "Well, actually, I never felt I fit in in Bainbridge," he said afterward.
It’s not his hair sticking up in a mini-Don King cut. Nor is it his Fabio build or his wild motorcycle. It’s that dry wit, his James Thurber sense of humor.
Plus he’s got an endearing, modest charm. I can see why Julia Roberts had all his records. He once introduced his "L.A. County" song as "your typical fatalistic country song. Boy meets girl. Boy shoots girl."
Phoenix seemed much younger than 23. He died six months later of drug abuse.
"But we can’t stop until we have self-determination throughout the world," said band leader Speech.
The two seventh-graders, Chris Kelley, 14, and Chris Smith 13, did something that even Springsteen couldn’t do. They had a single, "Jump," at No. 1 in the country for eight weeks.
During an interview, their Southern accents -- they’re from Atlanta -- were a little hard to understand at first. They bragged like the big rappers, but had no mean attitude.
"We wear our caps backwards and our T-shirts backwards and our pants backwards," Kelley said. They thought they would make them stand out -- and they were right. They even inspired top designer Calvin Klein to show low-slung denims at his spring show.
They knocked Bill Cosby out of first place in Forbes magazine’s list of the world’s 40 richest entertainers. Their 1990-1991 estimated income was $115 million.
Incidentally, his custom-made glasses may be the only ones in the country shaped like stars. "They’re prescription," he said.
You never know how an interview will wind up. My chat with Beach Boy Brian Wilson in the lobby of the Stouffer Renaissance Cleveland Hotel had gone rather smoothly but mechanically. His eyes seemed vacant. Then, he spied a grand piano at the back of the lobby and made a beeline for it. He came alive, his eyes sparkling. He played his favorite song, "California Girls," and I joined in.
A duet with Brian Wilson? Not bad for a kid who was rejected for the Emerson Junior High School choir.
But then music has always been my love. I got a post card from a classmate who said: "I remember you. You were the one with the Hit Parader tucked behind your Latin notebook."
I’ve always believed that the first song that reaches you tells a lot about you. The first record that I played on my cheap little wind-up record player was "I Sent for You Yesterday, and Here You Come Today." It was a blues record with a beat that got you right up on your feet. Maybe that’s why I love blues-based bands like the Rolling Stones and Eric Clapton.
The are songs that not only stir you, but also unite you with others at the show. There is a point in good shows when the music is on a roll and suddenly becomes an entity of its own. And you feel at one with the band and you feel you are all brothers and sisters.
And not just at a show. I was on a hillside in Kiev once when a young girl smiled at me and said "Bee-tels?" It was the only English word she knew, but it was enough.
As I like to tell people, I may be the only metropolitan rock writer with a backstage pass and a golden age bus pass in my wallet at the same time. But when I’m at a great concert, it doesn’t matter. It’s for everyone.
from The Plain Dealer August 31, 1995
Reprinted with permission.
