It was a sunny, humid Friday afternoon and the sounds of Blues Traveler, James and Live pierced the air, bands I had not yet heard that would go on and make some pretty good records.
When Candlebox and the Violent Femmes played later in the evening, we were fully embraced by the setting and the music, part of nearly half a million curious souls who quietly wondered if the spirit of '69 would reappear.
While we sought out key vantage points to take in the bands, we mixed with the moshers, who were trusting complete strangers to keep them aloft, horizontal to the world, arms and legs dangling, eyes on the moon.
In the days that followed, we found ourselves in the middle of the Green Day mud fight, dancing in the mud to Crosby, Stills & Nash and eating pizza in our tent while the unfamiliar industrial riffs of Nine Inch Nails blanketed and immersed an unsuspecting audience.
Fifteen years ago.