This is Murder in the Rain, where each week Emily Rowney, Alicia Holland and Josh

McCullough tell true crime stories of the Pacific Northwest. Murder in the

Rain contains graphic content, listener discretion is advised.

The other day, Netflix released a three-part documentary about Woodstock 99, called Train Rec.

I was 19 when that happened, and as a fan of pretty much every performer, it was a huge

moment in music as a whole and for myself. Before watching, I remembered the many reports

of rape and sexual assault, the mud and the fires, but the details shown in Train Rec made

it even more horrific.

For those who weren't around, Woodstock 99 was to be the 30-year celebration of the

original three-day music festival full of peace, love, and weed, and probably acid too.

It was anti-war, anti-military, and anti-capitalism, and the same guy who put together the first

one also ran the one in 99. It was disheartening to see that over time he'd gone from peace

and love to, how do we make every aspect of this event profitable?

Instead of it being about the music and people and connection, the festival runners had

no clue about the artists or their audiences, and never considered the needs of 250,000

youngsters that would be camping, partying, showering, and shitting in an abandoned military

base for three days. Attendees were price-gouged for food and water, and as the asphalt baked

them from below, the sun above blasted the crowd into madness. The surrounding buildings

of the military industrial facility offered little shade or escape. Creating a lineup that

included corn, kid rock, limp biscuit, and the red-hot chili peppers pumped the already

discontented crowd into a frenzy. Festival department heads feel the creative experience

that would peak and release each night, giving its quarter million guests the chance to

...