When I was 16 in the summer of 1969, I asked my parents, probably my father, whether I could go to this concert in the Liberty/Monticello area, a direct bus ride from Binghamton on Route 17. It featured Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and a whole bunch of other people. He said no, and that was pretty much it. I was OK with that until it became "Woodstock"; then it ticked me off a little. If I were a little older, like Walter Cronkite's daughter Kathy, I would have just gone on my own.
So, when the Woodstock movie came out in the spring of 1970, a bunch of my friends and I rushed to see it. Using more current lingo, we were gobsmacked. It was so wonderful, so fascinating that we sat through a second showing of the film right after seeing the first (for the same admission price, BTW, something that just doesn't happen now). I have this specific recollection during the second viewing of watching the projection light colors changing; Sly & the Family Stone was bathed in purple, as I recall. And no, I wasn't stoned, I was just enraptured.
Of course, I bought the soundtrack - a TRIPLE album! - and listened to it incessantly, so much so that pieces of dialogue (Arlo Guthrie's "The New York State Thruway is CLOSED, man!"; the passing of the "kosher bacon") bubble up in my mind unbidden from time to time. Woodstock, the movie and album, is where I really discovered Santana and Richie Havens; discovered in new context (John Sebastian, formerly Lovin' Spoonful; Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, from their respective groups); and got to hear live some of my favorites (the Who, Sly & the Family Stone). I was nostalgic enough that, five years ago, my wife, infant daughter and I went to the New York State Museum to see Spirit of the Woodstock Generation: The Photographs of Elliott Landy.
Yet, right now I have no need, no desire to go out and get some expanded version of the movie or the soundtrack - not that, if given them, I wouldn't watch and listen - because I don't need to try to experience what I missed. I think the reason I actively avoided going to those concerts called "Woodstock" in 1994 and 1999 was that they seemed like desperate calculations to try to recapture a magic that just defies re-creation. If I go to the http://www.bethelwoodscenter.org/ Woodstock museum in Bethel, it will be as a matter of curiosity rather than wish fulfillment.