When I saw the great blues man Johnny Winter perform at My Father’s Place in Roslyn, he stepped on stage with long white hair and aided by a cane. If memory serves me regarding this particular Central Park concert we may have hung out on the rocks and listened to the show from beyond the fences. For anyone who attended these shows as regularly as my friends and I did after discovering this magical venue, the party on the rocks overlooking the Wollman Rink is where we got our education, our initiation into the world and culture of rock and roll.
Johnny B. Goode
Rock on!
GQ
I was at this show — seated inside, not on the rocks. (I agree, the scene on the big rock overlooking the rink was quite the party. It was always a game between us and the cops, who would periodically chase us off, only for us to return a few minutes later!) Despite the abundant smoky atmosphere, I recall this show with great clarity and fondness. I was 19, and this was my first time seeing Johnny live. It was a beautiful, clear, warm night, and Johnny was absolutely on fire. My buddy Neil got so wasted he could barely walk; getting him onto the subway and home to Queens was an adventure unto itself.