I spent my seventeenth birthday stoned watching "Woodstock" in Boston.

That wasn’t the plan.  I wasn’t supposed to be in Boston at all.  I was supposed to be spending the day with her.  But she never called.

Days had gone by.  She had promised.  I’d told my mother that I couldn’t drive her brother and mother back to Peabody because of our plans. Finally, at 10 a.m., I caved.

My Uncle Harvey is no longer with us.  And neither is my friend Ronnie, who I spent that weekend with in Brookline.  Medicating his back injury Harvey took too many pills and passed away half a decade later.  Twenty years after that, Ronnie succumbed to the colitis that had first badgered him the year before, that had caused him to miss a year of high school.

But this night Ronnie was healthy.

He produced a pipe, filled it with tobacco, and taught me how to inhale and hold.  Then he tamped down some marijuana, we smoked it and a couple more bowlfuls, then strode out the front door to catch the T.

Just like yesteryear’s marijuana was mild, in the early seventies movies only opened in big cities, oftentimes only New York and L.A., and spread from there.  You couldn’t see "Woodstock" in Connecticut.  It was an exotic experience, with Sly Stone wanting to take us higher, with the now superstar CSNY scared shitless.

The next evening we got stoned again.  And went to the supermarket.  Potato chips never looked so appetizing.  And then we went back to Ronnie’s friend’s house and listened to music.  "Led Zeppelin II" and the Guess Who’s "American Woman".  I’d been told that everything sounded great high. This turned out to be incorrect.  The Zeppelin album had been overplayed the previous fall, I could barely endure it.  I enjoyed the long version of "American Woman" more…

I’m not sure what we did the next night.

But the night after that, we went to see James Taylor at the Sanders Theatre at Harvard.

My sister had bought me JT’s debut for my birthday.  I’d listened to "Carolina In My Mind" every morning thereafter (she’d given it to me early…) Ronnie bought the just-released "Sweet Baby James" in anticipation.  I didn’t know its cuts that well.

But the concert didn’t feature only James’ new material.  I remember him playing Joni Mitchell’s "For Free" most.  I forgot he started with "With A Little Help From My Friends".

There was no simulcast on the Internet.  This was before they were even doing this on the radio.  The concert experience transpired in an intimate hall, in this case a semi-circular one, it was only for the people there.  Then it evaporated into thin air, only to live on, imperfectly, in your brain.

And then it’s thirty eight years later, and you find out that there’s a tape.  And you download the MP3s from the Internet and are jetted right back to who you used to be.

He opened with "With A Little Help From My Friends".  A counter-cultural anthem long before classic rockers sold out their music for commercials.  It was rare to even hear our music on TV.

From there, he went to "Anywhere Like Heaven", a "Sweet Baby James" track you never hear about, but radiates in its simplicity.

Covers include "Mannish Boy", "Okie From Muskogee" and "Greensleeves", which had been featured on that initial Apple album.

There’s even a rendition of "Riding On A Railroad"…

We are riding on a railroad
Singing someone else’s song

That’s what JT was doing.  He wasn’t shy material, but this was before concerts were rote replications of the album.  They were unique events.

We are standing, standing at the crossroads
Take your side and step along

"Riding On A Railroad" didn’t see release until a year later, on "Mud Slide Slim".  It’s part of an exquisite trilogy I dialed up immediately upon owning the programmable CD.  I matched it up with "Machine Gun Kelly" and "You Can Close Your Eyes", which originated on the other side.

Well the sun is surely sinking down
But the moon is slowly rising

It’s September.  I hate the heat, but how come the months go by so fast?  I can feel myself getting closer to the end.  I’m not about to buy a burial plot, but I can envision a time when I’m no longer here.

It won’t be long before another day
We gonna have a good time
And no one’s gonna take that time away

That’s what it’s about.  Rich or poor.  Privileged or not.  Waking up to the light and embracing the day.  It’s yours to cast, to mold into your heart’s desire.  And when you get it right, the memory stays with you forever.

James didn’t do "You Can Close Your Eyes" that April night.  It might not even have been written.  I guess that proves that greatness is always in front of you, if you can hang in there.

Used to be our past was truly history.  But now, as a result of the Internet, we hear from seemingly everyone we ever knew.  And there’s a cornucopia of evidence, droppings left behind that delineate our path to here.

JT hasn’t quite developed his MOR voice.  His audience didn’t yet have babies, they were still in college, they were squatters in the land of opportunity.  They had their whole lives in front of them.  Now, most of their living is behind them.

Who are we?  Why did we make these choices?  How did we get here?

Listening to the music it comes clear.  The music was owned solely by us.  It wasn’t made for the machine, it was pure artistic expression.  There were no lasers and few lights.  The tunes were enough.  Honest, pure, and in JT’s case, swallowed easily.

That girl gave me her copies of "Surfer Girl" and "All Summer Long" as presents on Monday, when we were finally back in school.  She said she’d called to go bike-riding just minutes after I’d left.

I went to see James Taylor not even a month later at the Capitol Theatre in Port Chester.  He played to a three-quarters empty house.  Word wasn’t out yet.

But soon it was.

James’ material, his impact, was so rich and to the heart that he can still tour today.  You see, we want to remember…