BARBARA CHARONE and GEOFF BARTON report on the day the spirit of Woodstock invaded Wembley Stadium

It was a great day for it. The promoters, the artists and the 72,000 audience had luck on their side when it came to matters of weather - an almost cloudless sky and a sizzling sun heralded the start of the "big one", the Wembley Supergig '74.

I was anxious to see Jesse Colin Young who, as I could faintly hear, had already started. I managed to get into the stadium after some little difficulty, only to discover that I could not find the press gantry.

At precisely 12:40 pm I religiously took my seat, readied my notebook - and Jessie Colin Young walked off the stage. "Missed him" I wrote, and sat back and wondered what to do.

Eventually, I managed to gather from various sources that Jesse's set was very well received.

I had hoped, not being all that familiar with The Band that they would come over as a good, stomping boogie band, and so balance a bill which, to all intents and purposes, had an acoustic "sit down and listen" bent to it. But I was disappointed. If you had to pick out an act that got your feet tapping and made you cry out for more, then I would choose Tom Scott's L A Express and their all too short solo spot. The Band, however left me cold. It was a great pity that they didn't live up to Rob Mackie's enthusiastic preview of them last week.

Untogether

In truth, they came across as being rather untogether. A couple of bum endings made you wonder if they had been rehearsing much recently. Strange - as they sound so completely together on the ":Before The Flood" album, so completely in control of what they're doing.

The P.A. didn't enhance their first number any, as the sound level seemed to go up and down incessantly. Perhaps it was because I was so high up, but the sound that eventually came out was a muggy, messy, bassy sort that seemed to come from above rather than from the stage. There was also some echo from the opposite end of the stadium.

But The Band were well received throughout, and Robbie Robertson's guitar sounded, on occasions, quite fine. I thought they were rather impersonal: "nice to be in London" and "you're beautiful" they said, and that was it. Nearly as bad as Lou Reed. Sometimes they might as well have been playing to themselves. No, I wasn't too impressed at all.

They played "The Shape I'm In", a peculiarly half-paced, ponderous version of "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down", "Up On Cripple Creek", "I Shall Be Released" and others besides.

In all fairness a large majority of the audience seemed to be able to get off on them, particularly during Garth Hudson's keyboard solo at the end. But for me it wasn't too good a start to the day. However, things picked up with Tom Scott and Joni as you shall hopefully see. -
GEOFF BARTON.

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IN CONCERT, Joni Mitchell is one of those rare performers whose sophisticated charisma and fairy-tale personality reach the inner emotions of her audience.

Yet an artist who relies on this special brand of audience-performer rapport, loses some of the magic in an exaggerated situation like the Wembley superconcert. Despite excellent support from Tom Scott and the L A Express who smoothly decorate her stories, Joni Mitchell does not belong in a performing situation the size of the mammoth stadium. Too many of the lovely subtleties so integral to her music were swallowed up by the gargantuan sound system.

Despite the handicap, Joni conquered the overwhelming odds and delivered a technically entertaining set. The moody atmosphere she strives so hard to create was however, sadly absent; a situation to be blamed more on the circumstances than the merits of the performer.

The L A Express swung smoothly through a half hour exercise in self-disciplined jazz weavings. Making few consessions to a rock audience, Scott earned more than polite respect with the jazz rhythms dependent on his expertise horn playing.

The first lady of rock 'n' roll finally walked out to enthusiastic cheers from the crowd. Her usual on-stage apparel of debutante gowns gave way to trousers and blazer, making the lady look a bit like Eno from the fifty yard line. Opening with a shaky "Free Man In Paris", nervousness turned to confidence in "You Turn Me On I'm A Radio" as the audience swayed to the sexy beat.

The intricacies of songs like "Same Situation", "People's Parties" and "Blue" were lost in the festival-like situation. The vocals sounded on key but distant. Slower tunes did little to keep the crowd attentive.

Tunes which made full use of the L A Express were easiest to enjoy. The whole entourage rocked gently on "Big Yellow Taxi" while they created a jazzier mood on "Woodstock". That song is a fine example of just how much L A Express has done in adding versatility and depth to Joni's music. What once was a painfully slow exercise in voice and piano has been changed into a sophisticated supper-club swing.

Of her now standard solo spot, "This Flight Tonight" and "All I Want" from the "Blue" album succeeded best. One lady and a dulcimer for "All I Want" reached all 72,000, a feat in itself, as the crowd suddenly came alive. Yet the rest of the set dragged on a bit until the L A Express returned for the rocking part of the show.

A Top Twenty tune in America, "Help Me" woke up some of the more restless listeners, but the real tour de force was a hard, rollicking version of the classic "Raised On Robbery". Coming out at God knows how many decibels, Joni's own brand of female rocking sounded superb. Thus aroused, the only thing left was the sleazy, cabaret atmosphere of the old Annie Ross tune, "Twisted". Unfortunately Joni found it necessary to rap in Americanese to the English crowd who found it impossible to comprehend the things this twisted American lady was saying. Stuck in the middle of the song, the uncalled-for speech practically destroyed the feel and flow of the tune.

The last few notes of "Twisted" reaffirmed what had been apparent throughout the whole of Joni's set: that the artist was painfully out of place at Wembley. There was little wrong with the music, Joni Mitchell was unfortunately in the wrong place at the wrong time.

EVERYONE HAD their doubts. Throughout the day-long musical orgy all 72,000 paying customers sat in nervous anticipation, enjoying the exceptionally fine music and the low-key atmosphere but privately wondering if the rave reviews from the States were true.

Like a dream come true, three masters of the California sound and one transplanted Englishman flawlessly revealed how after all these years and all those changes, they remain unchallenged title-holders as the definitive American band, heavyweight division. CSN&Y had been good in the past but they were even better at Wembley. From the "Love the One You're With" kickoff right on through the passionate "Ohio" finale, CSN&Y turned a content, sane crowd into crazy, raving cup-match brawlers.

Too proud to deliver anything but the best, the band paid special attention to the details, lyrical phrasing and spellbinding guitar duels as if the 72,000 were a room full of people. They sang emotionally and played superbly. Crosby and Nash cranked up the enthusiasm and polished off the harmonies. Stills and Young turned on the rhythms and revved up the solos. Kunkel, Drummond and Lala pounded out the beat with frenetic energy. English hard rock devotees blinked twice in disbelief and finally agreed that well, er, ah, yes those Americans really could rock 'n' roll.

The Wembley set, the last concert of this CSN&Y reunion tour was largely similar to the summer's previous shows, yet played and presented with opening night fervour. You're not supposed to hear high falsetto or background piano weavings in a sports arena. You're not supposed to sit on the edge of the hard wooden seats eagerly awaiting the next song, oblivious to the brisk evening temperatures or the passed-out drunk to your left.

The quality was high throughout the set and the magic moments many. Joni Mitchell injected delicate harmonies into Young's stunning "Helpless". Nash earned the applause with a beautiful rendition of "Our House", back-up vocal support from CSN&Y gently blasting out of the monster speakers with unbelievable clarity. A whisper-soft "Blackbird" hushed the audience to a ecstatic silence of admiration.

And again "Suite Judy Blue Eyes" got all 72,000 people clapping along as the song builds to its joyous climax. "Deja Vu," done up harder and rockier, showed off Young's piano abilities as Stills delivered a wincing guitar solo that come out of nowhere and destroyed everyone. While Young almost stole the show with his autobiographical delivery in "Don't Be Denied".

By the time they got to "Carry On", the whole CSN&Y front line looked more like a swinging chorus revue than a rock band, as Stills and Young axed out guitar conversations that left fans speechless. The applause was overwhelming.

'It was great to be here,' Nash squealed as they stood stage centre embracing. 'We love you all', Crosby mumbled. There were 72,000 people standing, waving, clapping and behaving like lunatics. It was rock 'n' roll at it's most potent high.
BARBARA CHARONE