hot, blazing the screen with color and motion. When King ended a hot number, the lights started blipping, flashing like a quick-charging strobe light, or like a machine gun with the trigger taped back.

While the audience waited for the instruments to be set up and the sound to be wired for The Who, the light show people entertained. They flashed things like: Let's have a good hand for —pause—a picture of Doris Day, in soft focus, of course. Let's have a good hand for—pause—a picture of W. C. Fields.

Then The Who performed. The crowd pressed in toward the stage. The Who tried to get hot. The light show went full tilt. Every color you have ever seen, thought of or read of was splashed on the screen. All the colors and images, blurring, montaging, changing. Sometimes like a day-glo marble cake, sometimes like an artist's palette, spinning and cartwheeling, but always grooved to the mood of the performers. (See page 13 for review).

A rumor circulated that some "heads" had been busted in a pot party down in the garden. No one could confirm it. There was a heavy aerosol scent hanging outside, the sort used to spray a room Sunday morning after a Saturday night. A long time ago it was burning joss sticks to cover the smell. Last night it was aerosol cans.

Jefferson Airplane started about 10:30 and performed for the next two hours.

The crowd was well-mannered and no one seemed to get out of hand. With 22,000 people packed tightly together and the electricity generated by the performers, there was always the potential. But nothing much happened.