Huge concerts take root in unlikely soil

GRANT COUNTY — Down a two-lane country road just outside the Central Washington town of George (pop. 540), the fields and vineyards give way to a patch of grass surrounded by a fence.

On about 25 nights each summer, the grass becomes a parking lot as up to 20,000 concertgoers crowd the terraced slopes of the Gorge Amphitheatre, creating for a few hours the largest city in the county.

Some of the biggest musicians in the world, from Ozzy Osbourne to Britney Spears, play as the sun sets over the Columbia River. Over the course of the summer, about 300,000 people will make the pilgrimage to the Gorge, most of them driving three hours from Seattle or Spokane to the scorching high desert.

They come to a place with sweeping views and a remote location like no other in the country. Despite its distance from major urban centers, the Gorge is a most successful concert venue. For six of the last seven years, readers of Pollstar, the concert industry's largest magazine, have voted it the best large outdoor venue.

For all its success, maybe because of it, the Gorge — owned by music-industry giant House of Blues — hasn't been able to avoid controversy, even tragedy. Two weeks ago, a Seattle man was shot and killed in the Gorge campground. There have been beatings, robberies and rapes.

Neighbors complain their property is overrun by trespassers looking for water, shelter and a makeshift toilet. Farmers find they're unable to navigate the roads because of huge traffic backups. Local politicians demand changes; one concert is singled-out and asked not to return.

There have been problems before, but never a homicide. While even its harshest critics expect the venue to weather the latest crisis, perception is crucial. If people don't think the Gorge is safe, they won't come.

Birth of an amphitheater

The Gorge exists today largely because Kentucky Bluegrass — the plant, not the music — doesn't care for the climate of Central Washington.

In 1980, a Mercer Island neurosurgeon, Vincent Bryan, and his wife, Carol, bought several hundred acres to start a winery along the rocky shelf above the Columbia. Four years later the Bryans were set for the grand opening of Champs de Brionne, which at the time was little more than a tasting room. They seeded a field with grass and invited everyone in George to come down, drink wine, sit in the field and listen to the Wenatchee Brass Band. But the grass never took hold.

"It was like a dust bowl around the place," Vincent Bryan said. "So with 72 hours to go, we panicked."

The Bryans knew of a natural amphitheater on their property with the acoustics of a concert hall. In just three days, the winery's workers somehow created a performance space. Nearly all of the townspeople and their relatives came for the event and sipped wine while the first official performer at the Gorge played.

"It was evident people were getting as much joy, frankly more, in being in that environment," Bryan said, "than in drinking our wine."

After each summer, the Bryans enlarged and improved their amphitheater, planting hardy grass along the terraced slope. They were able to book acts such as the Oak Ridge Boys, Toto and the Smothers Brothers. Unable to handle the place themselves, the Bryans brought in professional promoters from Seattle. The site was coming together, but it was still a hot, dusty place in the middle of nowhere.

In 1987, Chuck Berry was booked to play the amphitheater. By all accounts, Berry — hired to play for 45 minutes — wasn't too pleased with the Spartan accommodations.

"The whole time he was looking at his watch," said Jeff Trisler, who has booked acts at the Gorge since 1987. "At 44 minutes and 45 seconds he duckwalked across the stage, threw his guitar in the trunk of his car and was up the road and gone before the band had finished playing."

The Bryans installed a campground on site, serving a continental breakfast to guests. When Rod Stewart played in 1989, he stayed in a neighbor's house. Sting spent the time before his show zooming up and down the Columbia River in a farmer's speed boat.

For the Gorge, the breakthrough came in 1988, when Bob Dylan drew 16,000 people. "It put us on the map," said Trisler. It was also the first instance of serious trouble at the Gorge. The traffic was a mess, a near riot broke out and someone was stabbed.

Sale to MCA

By the mid-1990s, the Gorge was a rising star. Huge crowds swarmed the site for more and more shows each summer. In 1993, the concert arm of entertainment giant MCA (soon to be Universal Concerts) bought the amphitheater and about 100 acres around it from the Bryans for $3.9 million.

The company spent $2 million to improve the site. Bleachers and fences, whose crowd-restricting layout was blamed for contributing to a riot at a Pearl Jam show in 1993, were out. In went a better sound system and seating, addressing two problems that had prompted usually mild Steve Miller fans to rampage through the grounds only weeks before their grunge counterparts trashed the place.

But the problems of being a huge production in such a small space only continued to grow. Once the Bryans closed their campsite, many people chose nearby fields or off-limits state land to rest up for the long drive. There were never enough toilets. Lines of cars often stretched the six miles from the Gorge to Interstate 90.

"It might not seem like a big deal, but when the roads are tied up for hours it makes it very hard for farmers to get into their fields," said Elaine Elshoff, who owns a farm two miles from the Gorge. "It can really mess up the harvest."

For performers, the Gorge is now a luxurious place to play. Behind the stage, an air-conditioned banquet hall is built into the hill. Musicians can hit biodegradable golf balls into the river or practice fly-fishing in a stocked trout pond on the grounds.

For the audience, though, the Gorge can be rough. Even at 7:30 p.m., the temperature can be over 100 degrees. Heat exhaustion is common. Once the sun sets, temperatures plummet. Mix in alcohol, drugs and general adolescent flakiness and trouble is practically guaranteed.

"I went out there one evening not too long ago and there were a lot of people in pretty bad shape," said longtime resident Dena Hooyer. "Girls were walking around barefooted, with no way home. Other kids stumbled about wasted. It wasn't pretty."

When people get into trouble at the Gorge — if they've had way too much to drink, overdose on drugs or get hurt — the county often has to take care of them. Nine miles away, Quincy Valley Hospital can be flooded with kids on big nights.

After a 1997 show by Grateful Dead disciples Phish, the hospital billed the Gorge $20,000 when 20 people treated for drug overdoses and broken bones left without paying. Farmers would later seek money from the county for the thousands of dollars spent over the years to clean their land of debris.

Grousing about the Gorge has become sport among many in Grant County. It's blamed for everything from disrupting the county's quiet ways to bringing in "bad elements." As one approaches the amphitheater, feelings become more and more passionate. Several houses within walking distance are for sale, their owners sick of living next to the Gorge.

Curtis Judkins lives almost directly across from the Gorge entrance. Over the years, he's moved his house farther away from the street and tucked the work toilets for his 63-acre vineyard out of sight. On concert days, he strings orange tape between the trees along the street. There are several "No Trespassing" signs.

Judkins said the Gorge isn't why he's moving to the Yakima Valley. He says things have improved, and he just wants to retire. But then he talks about the kids knocking on his door for the bathroom and the traffic that makes getting home feel impossible and he lets out a deep sigh. "We've been doing this too long," he said.

Costs and benefits

A 30-minute drive from the Gorge is Ephrata, the county seat, population 5,300. On Mondays, those arrested at the Gorge over the weekend will line up along a wall before marching into Superior Court.

Employees can tell what kind of concert there was by whether the incarcerated have dyed hair, tattoos and piercings or dreadlocks, woven clothes and beaded necklaces.

The Gorge boasts the highest average attendance of any outdoor venue in the country. For a county of 50,000 with an annual budget of $22 million, that can often be more people than it can handle.

"At times, it's been overwhelming," said Stephen Hallstrom, who as the county's chief deputy prosecutor has worked with the Gorge since 1984. "It severely taxes our social services — our police, fire, ambulances and hospitals. Our system can only take so much."

Grant County gets something in return. In 1994, it began collecting a 5 percent fee on all tickets sold at the Gorge. That year, MCA paid nearly $275,000 to the county. Last year, House of Blues, which bought the venue in 1999, paid more than $700,000, as the number of people attending shows nearly hit 300,000.

Many of the more than 500 people who work at the Gorge each summer live in the county. In Quincy, the closest big town, many businesses are dependent on people coming into the area for shows. Hotels fill up months in advance for big shows; gas stations have lines at midnight on a Friday; the pizza parlor triples its staff every summer. Each year, several million dollars gets pumped into the local economy.

Each year, House of Blues pays about $25,000 to help the sheriff defray overtimes expenses. Its crews clean trash from area roads. The company has paid to widen access roads to decrease congestion. Inside the venue, House of Blues hires local nonprofit groups to work some of the concession stands. The groups keep 10 percent of the profits, which pays for team uniforms and educational trips.

"They've worked really hard to make everyone happy," said Lisa Karstetter, executive director of the Quincy Valley Chamber of Commerce.

Ingredients of trouble

Recent history, whether the marauding crowds at the 1999 Woodstock or the overdose deaths at a Widespread Panic show two months ago in Alabama, proves any big venue has the potential for trouble.

Older audiences for, say, a Bonnie Raitt or even a Radiohead, usually stay in control. But even concerts by Jimmy Buffett, that paragon of mellow living, have been raided by police.

Mark Mann, the sheriff's chief deputy, has studied crowd control to help better understand what causes trouble at the Gorge. He said there are four main factors police worry about: a crowd so big it's difficult to police; alcohol or drugs; youth; and something in the show — hateful lyrics or a huge mosh pit — that can stir things up.

At the Gorge, those four factors converge most often at high-profile, aggressive festivals such as KUBE's hip-hop showcase Summer Jam and Ozzy Osbourne's heavy-metal rock tour, Ozzfest. Last year, deputies arrested 659 people at the Gorge, 53 at Summer Jam alone. Police stopped nearly 400 cars heading to Ozzfest, finding drugs, alcohol and in one car, four homemade bombs.

For law enforcement, one of the worst moments in the history of the Gorge came in 1995 when a local farmer opened a campground next to the Gorge. Problems started quickly.

The concert industry says it has evolved sophisticated techniques for dealing with safety inside the shows. But security usually doesn't have to worry about activities outside the venue. At the Gorge, though, there is the campground, which is virtually on site. The situation is so rare, even industry experts can't name another quite like it.

After the Lollapalooza alternative-music festival on July 31, 1996, things got so out of hand in the campground, the sheriff cleared the place out, battling rocks and bottles thrown from the darkness. On any concert night, nearby farmers keep watch for stray fireworks launched into their tinder-dry fields.

Through its first four years, both Universal and the sheriff complained about the sprawling camp's "Lord of the Flies" nature. When House of Blues purchased the Gorge in 1999, it bought the campground as well. Trisler, who now works for House of Blues, said that owning the campground — and making improvements to security and sanitary conditions — would help rein in the unending party.

But two weeks ago, Leonard Smaldino, a popular Seattle vendor, was fatally shot after the KUBE Summer Jam hip-hop show. The sheriff has no suspect. By the time the night was over, there also would be a gang rape and robbery.

Paul Wertheimer, whose Chicago-based Crowd Management Strategies tracks the concert industry, said he wasn't surprised by the homicide at the Gorge. He says promoters in general do not provide enough security.

"It's not complicated, it's not rocket science to solve these problems," he said. "It's up to the willingness of the promoter. The question remains why they can't control that small minority in an otherwise safe crowd."

Trisler insists the Gorge is safer than before, but no one can ever guarantee there will be no problems — in the venue or at the campground. "By and large the 300,000 people who come through the Gorge every year have a great experience," he said

Sheriff Michael Shay agreed safety in the campground has improved — a little. "People often ask me what I think of the campground," he said. "Would I allow my 16-year-old to go there and camp? No. People can draw their own inferences from that."

Last week, the county commissioners, Shay and the prosecuting attorney sent a letter to House of Blues asking that Summer Jam not return. Although no problems were reported at the actual show, officials decided it had to go.

In a few weeks, Ozzfest comes to the Gorge. Its testosterone-laced heavy metal has county officials worried.

Trisler insisted House of Blues does all it can to ensure the safety of its patrons. Hallstrom said it can do more. He said he fears problems at the Gorge will only get worse. But not because of what House of Blues does or doesn't do. The county's chief deputy prosecutor Hallstrom just thinks concerts everywhere are becoming more dangerous.

"Our society is also getting more violent," he said. "Nobody can create a risk-free environment."