Willie's First Fourth of July Picnic was 50 years ago today
Hail Hurlbut, the home of outlaw country and punk and, in recent years, million dollar ranch houses
Just as magic mushrooms grow out of cow manure, the musical event that put Austin on the map on July 4, 1973 sprouted from a financial shitshow on the same Hurlbut Ranch. The three-day Dripping Springs Reunion in March 1972, dubbed “the Country Woodstock” by promoters, anticipated crowds of 60,000 a day for a mix of country legends- Buck Owens, Loretta Lynn, Merle Haggard, Roy Acuff, etc.- with hip, offbeat favorites Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofferson, Roger Miller, and Tom T. Hall. Projections were 160,000 short, as a total of only 20,000 came through the gates. The crowd for Friday’s bluegrass lineup, including Bill Monroe and Earl Scruggs was a paltry 2,000. Biggest day was Sunday, with Willie, Kris, Rita Coolidge and Waylon playing to 12,000. It was “a successful failure,” according to Mike McFarland, one of the four promoters from Dallas who lost their asses.
In a 1973 interview, Nelson blamed the fiasco on too much money spent on advertising in New York and Nashville, and not enough in Texas. Indeed, much of the hometown crowd was unaware of the festival until Townsend Miller raved in the Statesman about the quality of the music, and good-time festival air. He called the event “an all-day picnic with singing on the grounds,” paraphrasing a bluegrass church song.
Willie Nelson picked up on that vibe when he brought his first Fourth of July Picnic to Hurlbut Ranch, 35 miles west of Austin, the next year because the infrastructure was in place. Those poor Dallas guys had to build roadways, bring in electricity and drill wells.
The rock festival format apparently didn’t appeal to hardcore country fans, who preferred seating and shade and plumbing. But Texas music history was made, nonetheless, at Hurlbut in ‘72, not only because the cordial co-existence of dopers and ropers convinced Willie that Austin was where he needed to move (which he did with Connie and the kids four months later), but for the live music debut of an unbilled Billy Joe Shaver.
Pushed onstage by Kristofferson during a set change, the hard-rode poet from Waco was so nervous he sat in a chair so his knees wouldn’t knock. Singer Bobby Bare, whose publishing company had hired Shaver, warned him not to, under any circumstances, sing “that interracial song or the rednecks’ll kill you.” So, of course, a defiant Billy Joe opened with “Black Rose,” and when he got to “Well the devil made me do it the first time/ the second time I done it on my own,” the crowd roared, and gave Shaver a standing ovation at the end of the song.
A guitar pull in a backstage trailer was even bigger for Shaver’s confidence- and the arrival of a new, raw, direct kind of country music. After he sang “Willie the Wanderin’ Gypsy and Me,” Jennings poked his head in and asked if he had any more of them ol’ cowboys songs. “I have a whole sack full of 'em,” Shaver told his favorite singer, which led to Waylon’s Honky Tonk Heroes LP, featuring nine Billy Joe compositions. Heroes came out the month before the first Willie Picnic, as did Shotgun Willie, which introduced Nelson’s version of Johnny Bush’s “Whiskey River.” Though now regarded as classics, the opening salvos of “outlaw country,” neither LP sold very well, except in Austin.
Willie would be a Red Headed Stranger-to-the-charts until “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain” hit #1 in 1975. In the previous 12 years, Nelson did not have a single top ten hit on the country charts! So how did he and his scruffy friends draw 40,000 fans to Hurlbut in July heat the year after the biggest bust in country music concert history? They treated the Picnic as a counterculture festival of country music, hiring the crew from the Armadillo to run things, and buying ads on KLBJ-FM and other rock stations in Texas and neighboring states.
The secret weapon was Leon Russell, whose gospel-infused piano turned concerts into spiritual revivals, making him one of the biggest touring rock acts. Promoting 1973’s triple-LP Leon Live, which reclaimed “Delta Lady” from Joe Cocker, Leon had his own headlining dates in Texas so he couldn’t be advertised. But word-of-mouth confirmed him coming to help his new best friend Willie celebrate Independence Day for country music! Nashville considered these guys- and Sammi Smith- renegades for wanting to have creative control over the music that had their name on it.
The Cult of Willie went national when Rolling Stone and the New York Times, among others, covered the Picnic as if it was the Super Bowl of the hippie cowboy lifestyle. It was also an endurance event, for both fans and power supply, as the sound system blew out during Kris and Rita, and stayed out for an hour. Kristofferson didn’t get a chance to sing his Picnic remake, “Help Me Make It Through the Afternoon.”
Even as Nelson was being dropped from Atlantic Records after his Phases and Stages masterpiece bombed at the register, his second Fourth of July Picnic brought a well-oiled throng to Texas Motor Speedway in College Station in ‘74. The heat was so intense and shade so non-existent that 17 cars self-combusted (including Robert Earl Keen’s). And still the crowds kept coming back every year, topping off with 80,000 at Gonzales in 1976, which was no picnic, with its ratio of one port-o-potty per 4,000 attendees.
An accepted form of hazing was sending rookie reporters to cover Willie and the gang in the Fourth of July swelter, but the crowd’s attitude has always been “bring it on.” Willie’s Picnic became a test of loyalty and sunscreen, boot camp for your cosmic cowboy badge. That’s why folks look so happy no matter how miserable they are. Fans of smart Texas country music, influenced by blues and folk and rock, were proud to prove they’re tougher than the rest.
More Reading: Viva 1973! and an Outlaw Country playlist
WOODSHOCK
When you look at those hot and dusty photos of Hurlburt Ranch in ‘73, it’s hard to believe that the Woodshock punk festival was held in the same setting, which required a long drive up a rocky road, so your car would get fucked up, too. From ‘83-’85, anarchy was tamed by nature in “Tripping Springs,” when punks turned into hippies if only for the longest day. Even the skinheads were mellow.
But the music onstage was ferocious, especially from midnight to dawn. Seattle’s U-Men, San Francisco’s Tales of Terror, and the Austin bands Poison 13 and Scratch Acid all came out swinging. These were considered punk bands, but there was something different going on, from the U-Men’s melding of Captain Beefheart and Gang of Four, Tales of Terror’s manic metallica, Poison 13’s blues on fire, and Scratch Acid’s big bottom sound, which was closer to Led Zeppelin than to the Sex Pistols. It was the morning of June 30, 1985, the last day that Ecstasy was legal, and pop music had changed right before the dilated pupils of the 600 or so still in attendance. This blessed fest had kicked off at noon with Daniel Johnston singing “The Marching Guitars,” and ended the next morning with the Hickoids, the American werewolves of roots music.
Richard Linklater and Lee Daniel made a cool short film about Woodshock ‘85.
This new style of music — slowed-down metal played with punk attitude — wouldn’t have a name until six years later, when Kurt Cobain, a big fan of the aforementioned bands, led Nirvana to the top of the charts, and the U-Men’s manager Susan Silver guided Alice in Chains and Soundgarden to the platinum promised land. They called it “grunge,” and it sold almost as many albums as it did flannel shirts and combat boots.
Every young man and woman should have an experience like Woodshock, where you lose yourself in the music and the camaraderie, shaking up your mind to get rid of the excess brain cells that are holding you down. Every outdoor musical event should also have an option to add $5 to your ticket price for two grams of mushrooms.
Though there’d been a few half-assed productions in subsequent years using the Woodshock name, the last real one was ’86 at Camp Ben McCullough, after three years at Hurlbut. You can’t call an all-day punk festival Woodshock without a swimming hole and psychedelics.
Nobody protested when developers built million dollar homes at Hurlbut Ranch, but from “the Country Woodstock” to the birth of grunge, that’s sacred land to native Austin music.
That first 1972 gathering also advertised free admission to ANY law enforcement personnel and as a result mounted law enforcement officers patrolled the grounds, making it hard to find a play to have a few tokes. Also, the 4 Dallas promoters thought they could grow grass (atop rocks and dirt) but of course no grass grew, at least not in time for the Fest. Thus, attendees had to sit on rocks baked by the sun and few had brought chairs or blankets. Also, there was no ice available so even if you brought an ice-packed cooler, the heat melted the ice quickly. I covered it for SPACE CITY and it ran as a big spread, think I may still have some pics. I heard that the land owner said he'd have SOLD the land for way less than he got in rent. Thanks for the rundown. John Lomax III
I did not make it to a Willie's Picnic until 1980 when it was held at his Perdenales Country Club. Cars parked alongside the road, people walking for what seemed like miles carrying styrofoam ice chests, hellish heat and absolutely no security. It was like the Bataan Death March, but with pot.