go-carts, which was pretty cool. But I realized these sites were too small and inaccessible for a festival.
Then, soon after New Year’s, close to Saugerties, we chanced upon the Winston Farm. It was perfect—over seven hundred acres, rolling hills, and right off the New York State Thruway. It was owned by a Mr. Schaller, the kingpin of Schaller & Weber meats, famous for their German sausages. Schaller used the land only for hunting and the occasional weekend retreat. After we spoke several times to his caretaker, it seemed Schaller might be open to renting the property. When I told Artie about it, he agreed that it sounded ideal. All we needed now was an investor. Artie put out feelers to various record-company execs.
I’d recently met an entertainment attorney, Miles Lourie, and told him our ideas. He was intrigued by the festival and studio, and heknew a couple of young venture capitalists, John Roberts and Joel Rosenman, who were financing a new recording studio in Manhattan. Maybe they’d back the studio in Woodstock. He set up a meeting for an early February afternoon at the guys’ apartment on the Upper East Side. About our age, they were roommates, and their East Eighty-fifth Street bachelor pad doubled as their office.
Upon meeting them, we realized we were from completely different worlds. A trust-fund kid, John Roberts, at twenty-one, had inherited a million dollars from his late mother’s estate, part of a pharmaceutical empire, and would be collecting more. Joel, the son of a Long Island orthodontist, was a recent Yale Law School graduate. They had formed an entrepreneurial partnership called Challenge International Ltd. Their first big project, Media Sound, was under construction on Fifty-seventh Street. With an open and relaxed demeanor, John had me from hello. He was a forthright, down-to-earth guy, completely without guile. Joel seemed more what I expected from suits. He was somehow less accessible, while at the same time trying very hard to be charming. I wasn’t at all sure about him, but both he and John had great senses of humor, and Joel had a good and open laugh. That put me at ease.
In their 1979 book, Young Men with Unlimited Capital, Joel and John recalled their impressions of us at our first meeting:
Kornfeld has longish brown hair and is wearing an embroidered leather vest over a T shirt…Lang, however, cannot be placed on the spectrum. An enormous halo of dark curls frames a face that is, by turns, evil, wanton, fey, impish, and innocent. Beneath this disturbingly protean countenance: a frayed work shirt, an Indian leather belt, faded Levi’s, cracked and filthy cowboy boots.
There isn’t time to register astonishment. On introducing himself and Lang, Kornfeld grasps first John’s, thenJoel’s, hand in both of his and smiles a smile of fraternal commiseration, as though he and they share some painful secret or are about to embark on a dangerous mission behind enemy lines. Lang is cheerfully acquiescent, all-accepting, attuned to unknowable vibrations.
I didn’t say much. My father once told me: “If you’re talking, you’re not learning.” Artie expertly handled the meeting, enthusiastically articulating our concept of the Woodstock studio. We hadn’t intended to discuss the festival in detail, but Artie mentioned it in passing. Once in a while, John and Joel would glance over at me, and I’d smile while Artie made the presentation. Our future partners did not seem too interested in the idea of a studio in the country.
JOEL ROSENMAN: The tale they unfolded was an essentially uninteresting tale about the need for a recording studio in Woodstock, New York. They impressed us with the superstars who lived in Woodstock, but they failed to make a case for spending the money to construct a huge facility for these stars. Even though we hadn’t opened our doors at Media Sound, we knew enough already from talking to the experts about what it takes to make a recording studio
Then, soon after New Year’s, close to Saugerties, we chanced upon the Winston Farm. It was perfect—over seven hundred acres, rolling hills, and right off the New York State Thruway. It was owned by a Mr. Schaller, the kingpin of Schaller & Weber meats, famous for their German sausages. Schaller used the land only for hunting and the occasional weekend retreat. After we spoke several times to his caretaker, it seemed Schaller might be open to renting the property. When I told Artie about it, he agreed that it sounded ideal. All we needed now was an investor. Artie put out feelers to various record-company execs.
I’d recently met an entertainment attorney, Miles Lourie, and told him our ideas. He was intrigued by the festival and studio, and heknew a couple of young venture capitalists, John Roberts and Joel Rosenman, who were financing a new recording studio in Manhattan. Maybe they’d back the studio in Woodstock. He set up a meeting for an early February afternoon at the guys’ apartment on the Upper East Side. About our age, they were roommates, and their East Eighty-fifth Street bachelor pad doubled as their office.
Upon meeting them, we realized we were from completely different worlds. A trust-fund kid, John Roberts, at twenty-one, had inherited a million dollars from his late mother’s estate, part of a pharmaceutical empire, and would be collecting more. Joel, the son of a Long Island orthodontist, was a recent Yale Law School graduate. They had formed an entrepreneurial partnership called Challenge International Ltd. Their first big project, Media Sound, was under construction on Fifty-seventh Street. With an open and relaxed demeanor, John had me from hello. He was a forthright, down-to-earth guy, completely without guile. Joel seemed more what I expected from suits. He was somehow less accessible, while at the same time trying very hard to be charming. I wasn’t at all sure about him, but both he and John had great senses of humor, and Joel had a good and open laugh. That put me at ease.
In their 1979 book, Young Men with Unlimited Capital, Joel and John recalled their impressions of us at our first meeting:
Kornfeld has longish brown hair and is wearing an embroidered leather vest over a T shirt…Lang, however, cannot be placed on the spectrum. An enormous halo of dark curls frames a face that is, by turns, evil, wanton, fey, impish, and innocent. Beneath this disturbingly protean countenance: a frayed work shirt, an Indian leather belt, faded Levi’s, cracked and filthy cowboy boots.
There isn’t time to register astonishment. On introducing himself and Lang, Kornfeld grasps first John’s, thenJoel’s, hand in both of his and smiles a smile of fraternal commiseration, as though he and they share some painful secret or are about to embark on a dangerous mission behind enemy lines. Lang is cheerfully acquiescent, all-accepting, attuned to unknowable vibrations.
I didn’t say much. My father once told me: “If you’re talking, you’re not learning.” Artie expertly handled the meeting, enthusiastically articulating our concept of the Woodstock studio. We hadn’t intended to discuss the festival in detail, but Artie mentioned it in passing. Once in a while, John and Joel would glance over at me, and I’d smile while Artie made the presentation. Our future partners did not seem too interested in the idea of a studio in the country.
JOEL ROSENMAN: The tale they unfolded was an essentially uninteresting tale about the need for a recording studio in Woodstock, New York. They impressed us with the superstars who lived in Woodstock, but they failed to make a case for spending the money to construct a huge facility for these stars. Even though we hadn’t opened our doors at Media Sound, we knew enough already from talking to the experts about what it takes to make a recording studio
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