Two responses, the first to Barney, who asked way back on the first page if it was worth taking a risk on a Who show these days. They came through St. Paul last December and called it a night after about 45 minutes because Daltry's throat didn't hold up -- and he hasn't got much left to begin with. I'd excercise caution, even though watching Pete play guitar still has to be nearly worth the price of admission.
To Brad -- I never would have guessed that GCA would be the place where I'd find another veteran of Watkins Glen '73. I, too, have only the haziest memories of that day and night, but to me it marked the true end of the '60s counter-culture.
The experience started with a roadblock 17 miles from the concert site (cops were trying to keep the crowds at a manageable 500,000, but I think the final tally was 750,000.) My buddy and I got around the roadblock by clinging to the front and back hoods of a car full of stoned hippies going 75 mph down the deserted freeway. We walked the final five miles, passing a naked, bearded guy, with cuts all over his body, walking away from the festival grounds with absolutely no brain activity registering in his eyes.
I recall the Dead's afternoon set primarily for the sun, the heat, the vast sea of people occupying every square inch of dirt, and the hippie entrepreneur who somenow managed to get a case of pop onto the grounds and was selling cans for $5 apiece (I think a Coke was 25 cents a can back then.)
I primarily remember the rainstorm that hit just before The Band took the stage, and using the chaos of the situation to finagle my way to the front of the stage, then being mesmerized by Robbie Robertson's guitar playing once the concert resumed.
As for the Allmans, well, I was pretty much in the same condition as the naked, bearded guy by then. I wandered away from the grounds, crawled under somebody's camper and slept for a while, then woke up and started walking home, until I realized I had left my buddy behind and had no idea how I was going to get back to New Hampshire.
I returned to the festival while the Dead were jamming with the Allman Brothers, but just to sleep for the rest of the night. We left the squalor the next morning, hitch-hiked home, and I've never had the slightest interest in going to an outdoor rock festival since then. But damn, I'm glad I went.