Elvis was invited, man. he was there somewhere. Dylan was there, even if he, he never got out of Swami Suchanuj's helicopter. and we wanted more Brits, too--we invited Lord Sutch, but he thought we were some kind of drug rehab center (s'cuse me, centre). there were some Brits at Applestock. they walked around all weekend singing "...when you walk down Picadilly with a poppy or a lily in your mee-dee-eeeval hand." far out.

Got to be honest - we Brits never really cared much for your Applestock. Elvis on the other hand was stark raving...
http://www.trashfiction.co.uk/raving_elvis.html

On behalf of the few remaining, living musicians who were at Applestock- either on stage blowing in the rain and wind or waiting to be invited to go onstage to jam- I wanna know when Toad and Applestock visions will go public. I personally know a lead guitarist, drummer, bass man, rhythm player, harmonica dude, and sound man who are ready to hit the road, or at least play in a 2-county region. Plus back-up singers- some told me they have huge credits (actually sang as "The Sweet Aspirations"). Marching orders we await, Baba.- Greenriverband

when is the book about Applestock gonna be finished? i've been in the b&N five times to steal it and it isn't there... :(

Forgive my son, he was always a little Coke-swilling, Nike-wearing little shit.

We did not meet at Applestock, my wife and I, despite my son's fondest fantasies. We met smoking Monte Cristo's (and some other herbals) in Havana and waiting for Fidel's ship to come in, baby. Strapped on a gun, fuck what a feeling. Grew a beard. (Didn't wear shoes, Trey.) The revolution was the ultimate trip, it was super-sized if not televised. Dig? First there were people in those big beautiful buildings, and then they were _gone_, and who knew where they went? I think I camped out in the Minister of Information's former office, which smelled of roast lamb. I declared myself the Minister of Information before Fidel showed up, at which point I was politely asked to vacate the premises and help collect up garbage. It was such beautiful garbage, man; it was OURS.

Will somebody tell me whetehr this festival thing actuallly happned or if somebody is lpulling my leg? Cause I did go to a kind of biblical event up there in one of those new Engladd states back in 66, there was music & all (&sex&drugs) but I don't remember alot of FUDGE. I wd remember fudge because it has become the thing I love most in all the world, more than my dog, more than my wife etc. etc.

i was there because my car got lost (i was in it of course) on my way to work and i couldn't get to my job at the library which i never went to again...what is a "Brit?"

i was there.
all these yrs since, i wasn't sure, i thot i had dreamed it. glad to know it really happened.
I,ME,NOW, go Grateful Dead/FISH, right-on, brothers&sisters, the man can't bust our MUSIC!!
(was that me?)
--scoundrel

Being a so-called Brit, I take American cultural icons with many grains of salt. However, I must say that Applestock, was truly the "stealth" progenitor of everything "hip," the opening shot of the REAL sixties. I consider being there the most magical, most influential experience of my life. I vividly recall every moment of it, but, oddly enough, as a dream, as if it existed not in this world, but in some parallel universe of pure imagination and soul. Oh...I lost my virginity there.

Everything bad that ever happened to me began at Applestock. My parents met there, of course. Silly fucking boomers -- leave it to them to take mob-think and repackage it as counterculture. Dad liked the shoes, Mom liked that she didn't have to cross her legs when she sat down in mixed company. They were Midwesterners.

If not for Minor Threat, I'd be dead of boredom, or lost in my parent's house among the piles of fondue sets, Cuisinarts, Betamax machines, cheap Monet posters, and brochures for assisted-living centers. But I have discovered the joys of homelessness, sobriety, and the free market. I am the logical outcome of my parents' solipsism. I am straight edge.

More to come, if I don't freeze tonight.

III

Well, now, *this* is a blast from the past. Takes me right back to the day of Applestock, when I realized my true calling: Separating all these hippie suckers from their money. Standing there, looking out over all that humanity, I was actually kinda pissed off -- here was the biggest damn crowd anybody had ever seen, and I had not yet figured out a way to make any $ off of them. Talk about your missed opportunities! But I more than made up for that later, and I owe it all to you Baba Ray.

-- Gus DeGrande (CEO, Grandiose Concerts, Inc.)

Edited by author 12-15-2002 10:40 PM
I'm so excited I found this place! Man! I was with my brother Jimmy and we got there early through all the traffic before it rained and got bad. The mud just kept us there once we got in. I just remember the pa system constantly going down and it didn't really matter! They were just climbing the rafters, singing louder and everybody was there for the guitars mostly and could sing the lyrics anyway. I remember being soaked and sharing a blanket with this guy and following a whole bunch of people I didn't know up to this hill because they said there was food. Somehow this hot dog truck had gotten stuck in the mud. They started serving since all the kids who were hungry had found them there. We all had some food (I don't think we paid) and then helped them get unstuck and the old man running the truck said he'd be back after they did a gig somewhere else. We never saw them again but it was the best food. All these warm, wet people next to each other covered in blankets and all this warm food getting passed around in these huge cooking vats after we had spend hours getting completely lost hiking around looking for this food truck. I didn't see my brother again for three days. When he found me we just stayed for god knows how long and finally packed up the truck with about eight people (we started with three.) The music was incredible. I had no idea who I was really listening to until the festival at Woodstock, when everybody knew.

I remember it all. The ski lift. The state patrol cordon (I hitched in with a radio reporter, and wow, they hardly looked at his press pass). And none of the promised acts showed up...except for Melanie. Wait a minute, that wasn't Appletock--that was Powder Ridge!!

Hmm. I was definitely there. But I'm having some logical problems--lemme ask a philosophical question. If I'm NOT so sure...does that mean I really WAS there? Okay, but anyway, I've got definite Applestock flashes coming from somewhere. Like the Fudge Lady, at dawn, handing out a million pieces of candy. And the white piano dropping out of the sky. And Dylan circling in the helicopter. I'm a high school science teacher now. Nobody knows I was a total freak in 1966. Yes...I was there! Of course I was there! I want to go back there....

Applestock, August, 1966. Were you there? Some of you might not remember—but doesn't that, like, prove you were there? Whatever—here's a place to post your choice Applestock Festival memories. . . .

Baba Ray