The songs of Woodstock are relevant 50 years later

Richard Aquila

In the spring of 1969, the No. 1 hit in America was The 5th Dimension’s “Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In.”

The song, which came from the Broadway musical "Hair," reflected the hopeful but apprehensive mood of the country. The first part celebrated the dawning of a countercultural utopia — a new America in an Age of Aquarius.

“When the moon is in the 7th house and Jupiter aligns with Mars,” sang The 5th Dimension, “then peace will guide the planets and love will steer the stars.” The second part of the song was less certain of the outcome, beseeching listeners to “let the sunshine in.”  

The joyous sound and positive message resonated with Americans still reeling from the horrors of 1968. That nightmare year saw the assassinations of Martin Luther King Jr. and Bobby Kennedy, more than 100 race riots and innumerable campus protests. The ubiquitous violence was set against a dark backdrop of an escalating war in Vietnam. The nation had no logical reason to think that 1969 was going to be any better, but The 5th Dimension’s hit at least offered hope.

Poster of the 1969 Woodstock music festival

Age of Aquarius vs. dystopian vision

Of course, not all songs of ’69 were as sure that a new era was dawning.

Utopian visions of an Age of Aquarius often collided with dystopian images of a troubled America. Many hits spotlighted subjects that were dividing the nation. The Vietnam War inspired protest songs such as John Lennon’s “Give Peace a Chance” and Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Fortunate Son.”

Countercultural lifestyles were glorified on The Cowsills’ “Hair” and Tommy James and The Shondells’ psychedelic “Crimson and Clover.” The Impressions’ “This is My Country” (released at the end of 1968) addressed civil rights. As the Woodstock musical festival began five decades ago this week, the bleak “In the Year 2525”  from Zager and Evans rode a growing wave of future shock all the way to No. 1 on the charts.

Some records depicted a polarized nation on the brink of violence. The ominous sound and lyrics of Thunderclap Newman’s “Something in the Air” served notice that the counterculture would not back down. “Hand out the arms and ammo,” sang the group. “We've got to get together sooner or later, because the revolution's here.” 

Merle Haggard championed the other side of the political divide with his country hit “Okie from Muskogee”: “We don't smoke marijuana in Muskogee, we don't take no trips on LSD. We don't burn no draft cards down on Main Street, we like livin' right and bein' free.”

Songs about gloom and doom were everywhere. Harry Nilsson’s “Everybody’s Talkin' " and Simon & Garfunkel’s “The Boxer” expressed feelings of alienation and despair. Other hits — like Blood, Sweat & Tears' “And, When I Die” — confronted death itself.

Darkness but also ways to cope

The most cynical record of the year was Peggy Lee’s rendition of the nihilistic masterpiece by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller, “Is That All There Is?”

Verse after verse finds Lee uttering that question every time she experiences one of life’s highs or lows. Why she just doesn’t kill herself? The singer replies she’s “in no hurry for that final disappointment.” As the chilling song concludes, Peggy sings, “If that's all there is, my friends, then let's keep dancing. Let's break out the booze and have a ball, if that's all there is.”

Luckily, some hits offered ways to cope.

Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline” and Peter, Paul and Mary’s “Leaving on a Jet Plane” suggested love was the ultimate source of happiness. The Edwin Hawkins Singers’ “Oh Happy Day” took a more spiritual approach, insisting that Jesus was the key to salvation. Other hits provided temporary escape. Elvis Presley’s “Memories” and the Classics IV’s “Traces” found happier times in the past, while The Archies’ “Sugar Sugar” gave listeners a temporary high, powered by saccharine lyrics and a bouncy beat.

Perhaps the best advice for overcoming adversity came from Jerry Butler’s soulful ballad “Only the Strong Survive,” which encouraged listeners to face life’s problems head on. “You gotta be strong, you gotta hold on," Jerry sang, “'cause only the strong survive.”

Snapshots of a nation in turmoil

Although 50 years have passed, the songs of ’69 still reverberate in popular memory. Those sonic snapshots offer glimpses of a troubled nation divided by a never-ending war abroad and political, social and cultural turmoil at home. Although America’s specific problems have changed, the public’s current anger and pessimism are all too familiar. Just like then, Americans are now hopelessly divided over myriad issues, and many voters have an unfavorable view of a controversial president and believe that the country is moving in the wrong direction.

It's been this bad before: My daughter thinks 2018 was the worst year ever. I'd nominate 1968, when I was in Vietnam.

The songs of ’69 provide a road map for the present. Those hits from a half-century ago offer evidence of the nation’s resiliency. They suggest that contemporary Americans can overcome their problems just like their counterparts in 1969 bounced back from their malaise.

Of course, there’s always a catch. As the 1969 hit “Bad Moon Rising” warned, things could get a lot worse before they get better. That realization might explain why the dystopian message of the Creedence hit resonates as much today as it did 50 years ago. The apocalyptic song alluded to earthquakes, hurricanes, floods and rising violence. “Don't go 'round tonight. Well it’s bound to take your life,” warned John Fogerty. “There's a bad moon on the rise.”

Richard Aquila is a professor emeritus of history at Penn State University and a Distinguished Lecturer of the Organization of American Historians. A specialist in U.S. social and cultural history and former host of NPR’s "Rock & Roll America," he is the author of "Let's Rock! How 1950s America Created Elvis and the Rock & Roll Craze."