40 Years On: The meaning of Monterey
Last month Rolling Stone magazine turned 40. Last weekend “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band,” the Beatles masterpiece, turned 40. And, in a couple weeks we will hit the third, and least recognized, anniversary of the major events of the Summer of Love: the 40th anniversary of the Monterey International Pop Festival.
Maybe one reason Monterey’s anniversary has not drawn as much attention is that, unlike the other seminal events of that summer in 1967, Monterey was the most in the spirit of the times: not meant for a profit. On the other hand, “Sgt. Pepper” was released by a major label in time for summer sales by its hottest band ever. Rolling Stone magazine, of course, was the product of an ambitious entrepreneur, Jann Wenner, whose finger truly was on the pulse of the times. Forty years later both of those factors still matter in terms of these anniversaries. Rolling Stone did a 40th anniversary issue featuring a glossy Chip Kidd-designed cover, and The Beatles remain an industry franchise like no other: the “LOVE” soundtrack is still on the charts, a new Paul McCartney disc is just out, and the band’s catalogue is about to go digital. As for Monterey International Pop Festival, a foundation was set up with the proceeds that still exists ( http://monterey-pop-festival.com/ ) in the low-key way of nonprofits. So, what happened at Monterey that was so special that this concert belongs in a triad with “Sgt. Pepper” and Rolling Stone magazine as the highlights of the Summer of Love?
On June 16-18, 1967, an estimated 200,000 young people arrived to see the three-day concert, and in the process made an underground rock scene a pop culture phenomenon. From the sound system designed to be heard across the fairgrounds to a booth that demonstrated an early version of the Moog synthesizer, Monterey’s impact on what came next has been underestimated and overshadowed by the later and larger Woodstock and the more disastrous Altamont. But while Woodstock and Altamont were important symbols that marked an apex and then an end to the idealistic ’60s counterculture, Monterey was a beginning.
Of course, the impact on the careers of individual performers is immeasurable. Before his Monterey success, a concert appearance by Jimi Hendrix meant opening for the Monkees. After the festival, until the day he died and beyond, Hendrix was a youth icon. Also, leaving the festival as far larger stars than before setting up to play: Janis Joplin’s Big Brother and the Holding Company, the Who and even soul veteran Otis Redding (who sadly lived only a short few months before a plane crash near Madison, Wis., ended his ability to enjoy his newfound popularity among white teenagers).
It wasn’t all positive, either. The Beach Boys’ (whose members had even been involved in producing the festival) failure to appear at Monterey essentially destroyed their credibility with an entire generation. While (another Monterey organizer) Paul McCartney would be the first to admit that “Sgt. Pepper” would never have been possible without the precedent of The Beach Boys’ “Pet Sounds”; the truth is that after Monterey the Beach Boys were considered hopelessly old-fashioned. It would be decades before bands like the Flaming Lips would even look at the Beach Boys again for major inspiration. The Beach Boys were passé. No one wondered why they weren’t at Woodstock.
After Monterey International Pop Festival, the past was closed and the future unwritten. That, in part, must have been the excitement in the feel of being at Monterey. You can still see this in the D.A. Pennebaker documentary of Monterey: first the shock and joy at their numbers and shared affinities and then this dawning realization among the crowds and performers that something special was happening and, unlike Bob Dylan’s Mr. Jones, they all knew, they were on the inside.
After Monterey, what came next was surprisingly clear and easy. The bands of England, L.A. and San Francisco joined political activists, campus groups and assorted motley others to transform a generation of fans into a youth movement focused on social change, ending the war in Vietnam and making a difference with love. None of that was even considered before Monterey. Obviously, the history books are still dickering over how successful the ’60s generation was in achieving the changes it set out to make. But it was at Monterey that such ideas first seemed possible.
Richard Abowitz has written for a variety of national publications. He currently splits his time between LasVegasWeekly.com, Las Vegas Weekly (print), and the Los Angeles Times. Email him at [email protected]