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Rock of All Ages
By THOMAS ZUCCO, Times Staff Writer
Appropriate title, it would seem. Delaney, his 13-year-old daughter and four of her friends had driven five hours from Tallahassee so the girls could see O-Town. For the uninitiated, O-Town is the latest in a line of pre-packaged boy bands that dates back to Menudo. (At least The Monkeys held instruments.)
So now, seven hours later, the show had started. All around Delaney was a sea of screaming girls, most of them in the 8-14 age group. Somewhere in that crowd was Thea, his daughter. But he remained engrossed in his book. Delaney, 44, works for the state. He handles workers compensation claims. He had given up his weekend and driven all this way because his parents never went with him to a concert, and his daughter really wanted to go to this, and her grades had been good, and . . . "Just watching how excited she is makes your day," he said. And so it was for this grand experiment. Could classic rockers co-exist with teeny boppers? Could you mix The Knack with Prince Hakim? Would the ensuing clash of cultures create some sort of violent cosmic upheaval and destroy time and space as we know it? (pause for effect) "Isn't this just great?" said 72-year-old Hester Newberry as she was walking her poodle Dixie just outside the fence along North Shore Drive. "All these people -- kids, teenagers, adults -- all having a good time. Everyone seems so happy." They were. With several stages pumping out, often at the same time, classic rock, teen pop, hip hop, country rock, R&B and other subgenres too numerous to mention, Bay Fest drew some of the largest crowds Vinoy Park has seen for concert events. At least 15,000 crowded the park on Saturday alone. It dwarfed the crowds that flock to the waterfront for the annual Tampa Bay Blues Fest. In its own small way, Bay Fest had certain Woodstock qualities to it.
Both were three-day events. Both were a meeting of many kinds of popular music. Both took about two years to plan. And both were originally going to be held somewhere else. Organizers of Bay Fest had considered the Ice Palace and the parking lot at Raymond James Stadium. And like Woodstock, Bay Fest had its share of characters. On the other side of the O-Town stage, opposite from where Gus Delaney was sitting, a middle-aged man stood, ramrod straight, head and shoulders taller than almost everyone else around him. He was wearing an olive green flight suit, the kind a helicopter pilot might wear. He wore workout gloves, combat boots, wraparound sunglasses and a large, white bicycle helmet. This in the 90-plus degree heat. There were no patches or insignias on his uniform. Except for two captain's bars on his shoulders.
He said his name is Brad Preusser, that he's 41, he works at Publix in St. Petersburg, and he's a big music fan. "I'm drinking a lot of water," he said. "I hope they do this again." There weren't any bad acid trips or clogged highways or thunderstorms or mud at Bay Fest. And the audience was a fraction of the masses who came to Bethel, N.Y. for three days in August 1969. The mood and feeling of the country are vastly different now. America is involved in a very different kind of war these days. And it wasn't the Chrysler-Jeep Woodstock Music and Arts Festival. Still, it was difficult not to draw at least one more comparison. Early in Journey's set Saturday night -- the last show of the evening -- guitarist Neal Schon played the Star-Spangled Banner. It wasn't the searing, psychedelic version Jimi Hendrix played 33 years ago to close out Woodstock. But it was moving nonetheless, and it brought the vast audience to their feet. "This is the best show I've been to in years," said Bonnie Furst, 38, an office manager from Largo who, instead of holding up a lighter to honor Schon's effort, had raised her cell phone. "God, I hope they do this again," she said. Back at the other stage, the O-Town show had ended, rap star Ja Rule had taken over, and the Delaney party was off to the Pier and then to their campground. Gus wanted to see Journey, who ruled the airwaves in his youth, but the kids were tired. "On the way down here the girls played nothing but O-Town videos and O-Town CDs," he said. "I'm going to be able to sing along with them." He shook his head. And then he smiled as he got up to leave. "But you know, I don't mind," he said. "They're only young once. And before you know it, they'll be grown and gone."
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