They thought it would be “Woodstock West.” It became the darkest day in rock history.
On December 6, 1969, the Rolling Stones arrived at Altamont Speedway with a dream: to recreate the peace and unity of Woodstock. But what unfolded that day was anything but peaceful. With over 300,000 people crammed into a venue ill-prepared for the chaos, the atmosphere quickly shifted from excitement to dread.
The Hells Angels, hired as security in exchange for $500 worth of beer, soon became more menacing than protective. Fights broke out near the stage. The band sensed the tension but pressed on. When Mick Jagger walked out, someone punched him before he reached the mic. He didn’t react. He just looked into the crowd and said, “Let’s just get it together.”
Then came the moment during “Under My Thumb” when 18-year-old Meredith Hunter pulled a pistol in the front of the crowd—confused, frightened, out of control. A Hells Angel stabbed him multiple times. He died within minutes. And it all happened just a few feet from the stage.
The band didn’t even know someone had been killed until later. The footage, captured in the documentary Gimme Shelter, would replay that moment over and over—forever attaching a stain to a generation’s dream.
What was meant to be a celebration of love and music became a funeral for the ‘60s spirit. Keith Richards would later say, “Altamont—it was our nightmare. It changed everything.
The aftermath was messy and painful.
Footage of the killing was captured by camera crews filming the concert for Gimme Shelter. When the scene aired publicly, it shocked the world. Some blamed the Stones. Some blamed the crowd. Some blamed the counterculture itself.
Passaro was arrested and charged with murder, but in 1971, a jury acquitted him—ruling the stabbing was in self-defense, as Hunter had clearly drawn a weapon. Still, the emotional scars ran deep. Meredith’s family never fully recovered. The Hells Angels would distance themselves from the event in later years.
As for the Rolling Stones, they left the U.S. immediately after the show. They never again performed under such unregulated circumstances. Altamont became a cautionary tale for every festival that followed—a reminder that peace cannot be forced, and that even music has limits when the crowd loses its soul.