The Editors-In-Chief of The Commentator obtained complimentary Woodstock tickets and press passes from the producers of Woodstock 99. Below, you'll find a detailed account of this incredible experience.

The Scene:

Woodstock 99 took place at Griffiss Park, a 3,600 acre decommissioned air force base in Rome, New York. Two majestic stages graced the large grounds - the east and west - set half a mile apart, allowing for two bands to play simultaneously. The east stage usually featured the "more popular" artists. At the middle of the site rested an old airplane hanger that had been converted into an Emerging Artist stage where new bands could showcase their talents to thousands of willing listeners.

The unbelievable talent lineup featured: James Brown, Oleander, The Umbilical Brothers, Sugar Ray, Jamiroquai, moe., LIT, Buckcherry, The Roots, Insane Clown Posse, Live, Sheryl Crow, DMX, The Offspring, Korn, George Clinton, Bush, The Tragically Hip, Kid Rock, Wyclef Jean, Counting Crows, Dave Matthews Band, Alanis Morissette, Limp Bizkit, Rage Against The Machine, Metallica, Guster, The Bruce Hornsby Group, Everclear, Ice Cube, Los Lobos, Mickey Hart, Planet Drum, Chemical Brothers, Willie Nelson, Brian Setzer Orchestra, Everlast, Elvis Costello, Jewel, Creed, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Mike Ness, Our Lady Peace, Rusted Root, Sevendust, Collective Soul, Godsmack, and Megadeth.

Day One:

The first day found us furiously searching through the crowded grounds for an open campsite, walking for over an hour toting heavy camping equipment while Live distantly concluded their performance and Sheryl Crow prepared to take the east stage.

After finally locating a site that satisfied us, we decided to find the car and move it to a more convenient location. It was on this suspect journey that we learned just how massive the air force grounds are. We hiked empty fields that sprouted with strange buildings, we jumped across streams of water, we walked on an endless runway, we trailed several fences to dead ends, we followed the Woodstock gate around its many and curious corners, we took a "short cut," we strolled through an irritatingly infinite garden of parked vehicles. All this and we couldn't find our car.

After walking for what seemed like hours, we decided to continue the impossible search another time and hurriedly sprinted toward the main stage to catch the end of Offspring's punk-infused performance. They seemed to have most of the crowd swaying to their juvenile but honest lyrics. The east grounds held well over a hundred fifty thousand people listening attentively to the music and watching the glorious sun set above us in an intoxicating dance of light and color.

As the dark and cloudless sky settled, we headed out to the west stage, where George Clinton performed a sixty minute set that ran a little low on energy. The people flocking at the front of the stage remained so submerged in the collective experience, they didn't seem to care which band currently played. At the outskirts of the west grounds, people sat on sun-stained grass, mostly talking to their group of friends while the music of Clinton sounded off in the background.

The night's energy level considerably lifted when Bush took the east stage and lead singer Gavin Rossdale - who seemed so high it is doubtful he knew he was at Woodstock - pranced up and down the platform, screaming lyrics at the top of his tired lungs. The crowd greatly enjoyed Bush's music, waving lighters for their fine performance of "Glycerine" and singing along with most of their recognizable tunes, such as "Comedown," "Machinehead" and "Everything Zen."

As most people headed to an all night rave taking place inside an airplane hanger and hosted by MOBY, we walked a mile to the Media Compound, where press members could interview the artists after their performances. More importantly, it is where we could stock up on free drinks being generously offered to the media. The prices on the Woodstock grounds were outrageous - $4.00 for a bottle of water or soda. (Each person spent an average of $24 a day on drinks).

Day Two:

The concerts started in the afternoon, with Tragically Hip opening the days lineup. Their performance could be neatly synopsized by the first word of the bands name. They basically shouted unclear words and stroked their guitars with no apparent regard for the rules of music or concordance. Kid Rock took the stage next. Somehow the entire crowd was drawn by their offensive lyrics and immoral promotion of sex and drugs for little children.

We decided to walk to the west stage, which drew a smaller crowd and possessed a more quaint atmosphere, to hear The Bruce Hornsby Group. It was very peaceful to lie on the ground, look at the blue sky and listen to the calming lyrics of Hornsby permeate the still air. He delivered a modest but passionate performance, and most seemed to enjoy it. We returned to the east stage in time to catch the beginning of the Counting Crows sixty minute set. I am a big fan of the Crows, but must sadly report that they didn't give their best performance. They tried to improvise lyrics, seemingly changing and adding lines on the spot. This didn't work, however, and most of the crowd entertained themselves while the Crows shouted away on the large stage.

Dave Matthews Band offered one of the best performances of the festival. Their energy remained high and the sound they delivered was at once clear and stinging. They preceded the pharmaceutically-altered Alanis Morissette. I stood transfixed by the cords emanating from the mouth of Morissette, as her strong voice converged with the instruments in a fiery wave of sound and creativity that was so appealing it quickly brought the listener into the depths of her enraged lair, keeping him bound there, mesmerized, until the very end of her set. Alex, who had been dragged to the stage against his will, thought her performance was average.

After eating dinner, we arrived at the now dark east stage in compete shock. Almost everyone on the grounds stood on the east field waiting for the next band to take stage. I had never seen so many people collectively gathered. Over two hundred fifty thousand eager fans packed into one field, leaving little room for anyone to move. Within minutes, we too were shoved into the crowd and surrounded by thousands of people - dim faces that we could not clearly fathom. At this point I realized we were part of something grand, perhaps even monumental. The aura of Woodstock had finally arrived and it grabbed me by the throat. We heard the blustering shouts of a quarter million people, and the sound of the lively instruments playing as Rage Against The Machine took Woodstock by storm with an electrifying ninety minute set that ended with an illegal burning of the American flag. The entire field shook and swayed like a giant glob of Jell-O, changing pace with the altering rhythm of each new song. Although I wouldn't categorize myself as a Rage fan, I admit their show was unbelievable, as it resonated with bouncing energy and absorbing lyrics that most people already knew by heart.

Metallica served as the last performance of the day. They had a tough act to follow, but they played very well. Their performance was immediately interrupted by the Woodstock host (who's name I still do not know), who announced to a thrilled crowd that a heavy thunderstorm ruthlessly headed in our direction. The penetrating night grew more intense by the minute. The crowd cheered as the clouds crept slowly behind us, and Metallica resumed playing to a now hysterically-charged audience. We waited for the rain to pour down on us - a rain that would mark our foreheads with the legendary Woodstock trademark, a rain that would highlight an already unforgettable experience, a rain that would initiate us into an exclusive society that had been started in 1969, a rain that would leave us standing in a muddy field. A rain that would ultimately not come.

We returned to our tents as dry as a grain of sand in the Judean desert. We attended part of the all-night rave hosted by Fatboy Slim, and then went to the media compound for some more free drinks and artist interviews.

Day Three:

The third day of Woodstock, which featured all kinds of music, was hailed by one reporter as "the most diverse day of music in history." It was kicked off by old-timer Willie Nelson, who predictably drew an older crowd. We watched as aged fans emerged from under the woodwork to watch an incredibly talented and senile man sing. He performed many songs that I like, but went way over his one hour limit and slowly began to wear off his welcome. When Willie finally staggered his way off the platform, Brian Setzer Orchestra, the first swing band to ever play at Woodstock, brought their hip tunes to the east stage. The crowd really enjoyed the swing scene, and during the one hour spirited performance it began to feel as if the year was 1920.

Everlast sang their monotonous tunes next, and with the exclusion of their one hit single, "What It's Like," they really didn't have the crowd going. The following act, Elvis Costello, certainly won "The Most Boring Woodstock Performance Award." It really wasn't his fault, though; all his lyrics just happen to be slow. Perhaps if he wasn't preceded by two dry performances the crowd would have been more kind.

We were surprised when the nameless host came on stage to announce that there was rain on the way, "and this time it will hit us for sure." His announcement served as mental coffee for the tired and hot audience. Jewel took the east stage as the rain clouds quickly formed above us. The Atlantic recording sensation flaunted her beautiful voice for an enthusiastic crowd. If only the Counting Crows possessed her virtuous skills they too could have taken Woodstock by storm. Jewel conversed with the audience and seemed to improvise lyrics on the spot, turning her quick single, "Who Will Save Your Soul," into a ten minute ballad filled with surprise cadences and accentuation. The clouds soon initiated their two minute sob on the crowd, and the rain left as quickly as it had arrived. Once again, Alex felt the performance was merely average.

As the sun began to set and the fading golden rays merged one last time with the brilliant sky, we returned to the darkening east stage for the last Woodstock performance - that of Red Hot Chilli Peppers. They came onto the stage flaunting their green and white hair (at the last Woodstock, they dressed up as light bulbs); bassist Flea played completely naked. They had the audience jumping in no time. Everyone on the field swayed, rocked and clapped to the catchy tunes of the Peppers as I came to the silent realization that Woodstock was about to end. It would only be minutes before all of hell would break lose.

The Peppers played the Jimi Hendrix classic, "Let me Stare Into Your Fire," when a few intelligent concert goers decided to start a bon fire in the middle of the crowd. Shortly thereafter, large fires were lit throughout the east stage, and animated fans started to jump over the flames, dancing around them in a neo-satanic trance, throwing in tables and chairs. The Chilli Peppers finished their set, and a laser tribute to Jimi Hendrix formally concluded the festival. A video of Hendrix's legendary rendition of "The Star Spangled Banner" was showing when a nearby tower caught fire and immediately exploded, spreading a fierce three alarm blaze to two other towers. Aggressive security guards surrounded the area wearing shields and helmets, completely blocking off the Woodstock site. Some rebellious fans jumped on trailers, looted the venders and kicked down the Woodstock murals. An event that was innocently created to spread peace and love, had abruptly ended in violence and mayhem.

"Was it like '69?" That is the singular question most people asked upon my return from Woodstock. Many skeptics have predictably questioned whether the spirit of Woodstock was present at this years massive, well-attended and well-sponsored extravaganza. I feel that Woodstock '69 can never be recreated, nor should it. Times have changed, and so have priorities. We didn't witness a Vietnam in our lifetime, there is no universal cause that ignites the souls of every college-aged kid nowadays. The original Woodstock attendees bathed in rain and mud, we remained dry; '69 concert goers were isolated from the rest of human society for three days, we had "computer tents" to check our e-mail; our tickets were priced at 150.00, the first Woodstock cost nothing; the original was held in Max Yasgur's dairy farm, this year's festival took place in a military zone. But the one thing we unquestionably share with the previous generation is our love for good music and our desire to break all restrictive rules. This was certainly one of those experiences I hope to one day glorify to my grandchildren and pointlessly include within the adjective-saturated pages of a future novel.