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Happy together at Britt By Peggy Dover Jul 17, 2022 12:15 AM A A “Imagine me and you, I do. I think about us on the hill, it’s only right To think about the groups we love on a Britt night. So happy together.” — slight variation of The Turtles’ 1967 hit, “Happy Together” Leave it to the folks at Britt Festival to bring not one, but six ’60s bands together for one memorable evening. The hill sat populated with fellow classics lovers, and believe me, they were not all of ancient days. Young couples with obvious good taste seemed to be enjoying the night — very gratifying. Or they got their kicks watching the hippies grow dreamy-eyed about fine, old times. Actually, these were not hippie groups, but Top 40 pop dynamos of the day. One after another, they took the stage: The Turtles, The Association, The Buckinghams, Gary Puckett, The Vogues and The Cowsills sang fresh life into their hits. They were all fabulous. If you weren’t around, these are among the biggest of the big names in pop music of the era. I looked up at the evergreens silhouetted against a pink twilight transforming that hill, with a full moon working to clear the clouds, and I returned to kindergarten days. OK, maybe not, but definitely to kid-dom. Yet we knew every song, and I sang along without being heard because of the audience-voice-canceling sound system. Only my lips moved. Songs like, “Cherish,” “Elenore” (gee, I think you’re swell) and “Hair” filled the cooling air, transporting us for a couple of hours. Britt had put together a show that exceeded my expectations when purchasing the tickets. I honestly wondered, how good could these bands still sound? It was well worth the price. The energy from the stage was contagious, and the groups seemed happy to be alive — still doing what they love — and to have us there applauding six decades of bringing joy to the masses. Heads moved, but I missed the dancing energy. It was a fairly sedate group where we occupied the cow blanket, but I picked out my fellow dance buddies in the crowd. I confess to crushing on Gary Puckett in the sixth grade and thought he sounded like my science teacher, Mr. Quass, on whom I had a bigger crush. Yes, sixth grade. I pictured Mr. Quass serenading me in Puckett’s voice with his groovy, long union jacket, except Mr. Quass stood about 5 feet 4. Oh, well. Dreamy stuff. There are several great shows left at Britt, and there’s something enchanting about that venue after the sun goes down. We have tickets for Chicago (the group, not the city) in September. So a word on the wine purchased at the venue because we could not tote our own bottle. Let’s just say it was not worth our $13 for a small cup. I love everything about Britt but that rose wine and the moon-high price. Maybe they’ve had more than their share of rowdies, and that’s their way of ensuring no one over-imbibes. And while we’re on the subject, a correction from last week’s column about the Medford Rogues Baseball Club. Once in a blue moon I err, and every three or four blue moons, I fess up. I’d whined about no wine for sale at the ballpark — only beer. Dave May, general manager/owner of the team, and a most gracious and generous man, thanked me for the write-up and gently informed me of my oversight. Not only do they sell wine out at the good, old ball park, it is wine from one of my favorite local wineries: Hummingbird Estate in Central Point. I was mortified. So, feeling duly inspired, we visited Hummingbird that very day and tried their crisp and refreshing 2021 White Pinot Noir. It was so tasty (not usually a fan of white), I bought a four-pack of cans and received two free tickets to any Medford Rogues game, where I will purchase wine while counseling the ump. Peggy Dover is a freelance writer/author/editor/proofreader/cat feeder. Reach her at [email protected] unless you have a gripe.