MARATHON ROCK—Spectators spilled on the field for the Ultimate Roq concert at the Coliseum Saturday. Session ran overtime forcing some acts to cancel.

Ultimate Roq

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The empty bowl began to fill. As a sky the color of faded denim turned a shade of gray flannel, the show's production staff hurried to haul final equipment into place.

The Ultimate Concert seemed abuzz with organization. In addition to the ubiquitous police and security men, 150 ushers recruited through Peace Power had been deployed about the Coliseum.

An ingenious stage had been constructed with a sliding floor that enabled a group to set up in the wings while another group performed, and a 100,000-watt sound system, boasted to be seven times stronger than Woodstock’s, was already warming up.

Co-producer Sam Riddle provided five cameras to capture the moment on videotape for future television release. Six radio stations tuned in to carry the concert live.

Under cover of darkness, the crowd was now multiplying logarithmically, while in the heavily guarded backstage area, complete with white and yellow striped tents fresh from some renaissance tournament, lords and ladies, the attendants and camp followers of the rock acts assembled, in their custom-tailored bluejeans, suede and velvet boots, sequined dresses, feather boas, hair shagged, shaved, conked, curled, teased, tangled and blow-dry, began their evening promenade.

Shortly before six, Charlie Tuna introduced the Fabulous Rhinestones, thousands and thousands of kids jumped the walls and spilled onto the field, and with the jar of grinding gears, the Ultimate Concert began.

Bookasta came on stage to try to quell the mutiny. “The Coliseum has asked us to stop the show, but I told them you won’t damage the grass. If you want to get damp and catch cold, you can stay there. But one, you are going to have to sit down. Two, stay off the track. And three, there is a tarp on the grass, so no smoking.” In defiance, the mob lit another joint, and, helpless, the concert’s machinery swung back into action.

“... Can’t Grow Grass”

“Here at the Coliseum they got to play football the rest of the year,” a DJ pleaded. “Be careful—you can’t grow grass in a week.” At which the audience laughed knowingly.

Sha Na Na.

Love.

Batdorf & Rodney.

The acts succeeded each other like clockwork until difficulties with the sound system forced a half-an-hour’s halt.

Not that it mattered.

The audience had already discovered that you can’t have a superconcert without appropriate superstars and, with the sole exception of Sly and the Stone, the Ultimate Concert lacked the big-name acts that ensure an audience’s attention.

So the multitude extemporized. Comforting threads of marijuana spread like a cover of finely spun lace throughout the stadium. (Of the 322 police arrests, most were for narcotics.) Vacuum bottles full of whiskey were uncorked. In the stands, the older kids dozed under blankets, while on the field their younger brothers forced introductions with passing girls in a similar pursuit of warmth.

Then, just as the crowd was becoming surly, Keith Moon of the Who introduced Stevie Wonder whose drumming and singing mesmerized the audience for near unto an hour.

Later—after sets by the Raspberries and the Four Seasons—Chuck Berry tried to work a similar magic, but whether because the house had lowered the volume as some command or because Berry’s guitar was out of tune and he not up to par as others said, the spell had been broken.

Merry Clayton next.

Then the Bee Gees who were rudely interrupted by a phone call from Yoko Ono, apologizing for her and her husband’s absence and assuring the crowd that their support of the Free Clinics made for “a beautiful project.”

She should have called the Coliseum’s management or the LAPD instead, because it was now long after midnight, the concert was 2½ hours behind schedule, its end nowhere in sight.

“This is going to cost KROQ a bundle of money,” Ken Good, assistant general manager of the Coliseum, warned. “They've broken their agreement by letting kids on the field and by not stopping at midnight. There’s not any chance of their coming back here.”

No Cops for Sly

Meanwhile, representatives from KROQ huddled with the officials to hammer out a compromise.

The management had turned up the house lights in hopes of driving the photosensitive away. Sly would have none of it!

“Turn down those damn lights,” Sly taunted. “We’ll play as long as they let us,” he told the audience. “We don’t hurt nobody and we don’t need no cops!”

After sitting through 10 minutes more of Sly’s tirade, large portions of the crowd began to flee out of the stadium in disgust.

Like a soufflé left to cool too long, the Ultimate Roq Concert collapsed.

Further sound problems developed, Bookasta called an end to the show and Sly stormed angrily off stage.

Isolated cries of ‘Ripple!’ peppered the thinning crowd. Somewhere in the stadium, a disembodied voice begged for those left to ‘Repent, shame on you all, Sly Stone, stop using God’s name in vain, all of you, read your Bible.”

“We had to stop,” Bookasta explained. “Live entertainment is illegal in Los Angeles after 2 a.m. and the police had already given us an extra half-hour.

“Until the breakdown of the sound system during Batdorf & Rodney, we were moving along well. But that was the crisis that set us behind.”

Bookasta was tired. Exhausted by the tension. It was clear the concert had not been an overwhelming success. Added overtime expenses that would have to be paid to the Coliseum and the police would further cut into any proceeds left for the Free Clinics.

So when’s the next concert? Bookasta was asked.

“Yeah. Sure,” was all he could answer, smiling grimly. For along with the crowds, hyperbole had fled.