Willie Nelson: Rednecks, Thai Sticks and Lone Star Been

Country Willie's done it again. He threw a picnic on the 4th of July and everybody came. I use the word "everybody" advisedly. 95,000 people may not be everybody in the world, but it sure looks like it if you're trying to find a place to park.

And, of course, "Country Willie" isn't just anybody. He's Willie Nelson. That may not mean much around where you live, but in Texas it means a hell of a lot. It means the Governor up and declares the nation's 199th birthday Willie Nelson Day, for one thing. In Texas, when Willie Nelson speaks, people—all kinds of people—listen. They've been listening for three years now, ever since Willie gave up on trying to be both successful and sane as a Nashville songwriter. He was plenty successful, and that was the problem. The move back to his home state of Texas was just what he needed.

He started out in Texas in the early fifties, working with Ray Price's band and writing songs for Price, recording his own versions on a score of tiny record labels. When he moved to Nashville, his songs started takipg off, with pop artists recording and getting hits off of them, as well as country artists. Such classics as '/(Ain't It Funny), How Time Slips Away," "Crazy," "Hello Walls" and "One Day At A Time" have been recorded by everybody from Perry Como to Joan Baez. He's written hundreds more, too, mostly dealing with loneliness and desperation. He saw a lot of that in. Nashville.

Willie came on and a girl ripped off her clothes and jumped on the stage.

But once he was back in Texas, he found the climate more to his liking. For one thing, Austin was abounding with cosmic cowboys, and the surrounding folk were beginning to adjust to the style. For another, Willie was! a'hero in Texas.* Darrell Royal, the University of Texas football coach, was a fan. Leon Russell came from Oklahoma to hang out. The favored type of music around town was something called "progressive country," and Willie, in both his music and his lifestyle, sort of epitomizes what that teVm is all about. So when Willie made it known that he wanted to get some of the top progressive country artists together for a little bash, some of his friends set it up, and in 1973 was born the first annual 6 Willie Nelson 4th of July Picnic. It lost scads of money, it was a monumental disaster in a lot of ways, but it did set the precedent. Last year, they threw it at the Texas World Speedway and made it three days long. That one lost money/too—too many'performers, too few people in the crowd, too many ways to split the money up once the thing was over.

"I figure we'll stop selling tickets at 50,000 and let the people in free after that point,"" Willie's manager, Neil Reshen, said at the cocktail party the evening before this year's festival. "But don't let that get out or I'll have to deal with number 49,999." Even though I knew that Willie was riding high with his new Red Headed Stranger album and figured that the festival mystique would have to build year by year,, this still seemed like a pretty optimistic estimate.'

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In fact, it seemed that way right up till I tried to get to the festival site about eleven the next morning. I'm glad I left Austin early because people wound up parking as far as five miles from the site and walking under the 95 degree sun (usually lugging a styrofoam cooler of beer) right through downtown Liberty Hill, the small town that played host to the festival, to the site, a flat, grassless plain just outside of town. As I marched through Liberty Hill, a silver Mercedes came through with a police guard. Willie Nelson sat in the back, smiling and waving, wearing a Rolling Stones Tour eaglejet t-shirt. A phalanx of motorcyclists rode behind, and even the folks of Liberty Hill, watching the procession with some bewilderment, knew who Willie was.

And so did the audience. Willie's band kicked the day off at 12:10 (imagine! Only ten minutes late getting started!) and after they did a few numbers Willie came on and a girl ripped off her clothes and jumped on the stage. The crowd roared. The festival was off to a good start. The afternoon part featured local talent like Delbert McClinton with Little Whisper arid the Rumors, a fine combo consisting of Delbert (he played harmonica on Bruce Channel's "Hey Baby"—there's some rock trivia for ya) and a band with some ex-Kristofferson sidemen in it. Oldline Texas talent was on hand too— Floyd Tilman, writer of the classic "Slipping Around," and Johnny Bush, the "Texas Caruso," his incredible tenor still there, but slipping due to throat cancer. There was a surprise visit by John Sebastian, who sounded just great. Somebody announced that George Wallace was there, but I doubt it was George C.

Then, at 5 p. m., a blue cloud appeared out of nowhere and lightning started whizzing around. Some people were drunk enough to assume it was the way David Allen Coe always starts his set, but the rest of us found cover til it was over. The field was a mudflat, but mqre and more people kept coming. Reishen had told me that 50,000 was reached at about 1:30 in the afternoon. One baby was born, but the one death to balance it didn't come off—some jerk jumped fifty feet off a bridge into the nearby creek, which was two feet deep, landed on his head, broke his neck, and walked away from it.

, After the rain, the show went on, of course, and, since it was dinnertime, huge lines formed at the Col. Sanders tent (it was located just past the Fotomat and before you got to the place where a six-pack of Lone Star Beer was selling for $3.25). The backstage got progressively weirder as the stars arrived. For instance, it was very strange to see the four Pointer sisters surrounded by cowboys as they were escorted onto the stage. Kris Kristofferson and Rita Coolidge milled around, rousted from their trailer one set too soon. Willie was everywhere, shaking hands and spreading good will, occasionally taking the stage to sing a number with a performer. Charlie Daniels played. Doug Sahm turned in his usual excellent set. A whistling firecracker chased a girl in a hoop skirt around the backstage. At 5:30 a.m., they finally called it quits. A sea of people started the trek home.

Next 4th of July is the Bicentennial, Willie expects to have another picnic. Next year, they're expecting 250,000 people to "stay all night, stay a little longer." It wouldn't surprise me in the least. Ilk