A quick glance over the mass of people gathered on EMU’s baseball field revealed an older group, full of families, war vets, retirees and fire fighters.

Beyond the veneer of big-name artists and flashy stage shows, these concerts were essentially political rallies for a well-oiled Democratic machine. At the exits in Ypsilanti, fresh-faced college volunteers handed out little yellow slips of paper listing all the "correct" candidates for office. Beyond the baseball diamond, scores of scruffy opportunists competed with campaign representatives to sell Obama posters, T-shirts and other memorabilia. Even in the more festive confines of Cobo Arena, the politics were never far from center stage; an army of volunteers lined the walls, proudly wielding clipboards and voter registration forms.

So was this a return to the ’60s — that long-prophesized, much-heralded and eagerly-awaited comeback of the activist masses? The synchronization of popular music and liberal activism into one great, youthful thrust at political change?

No. And it shouldn’t be.

Woodstock may be an iconic moment in American history, but the baby boomers who experienced it have idealized the movement it represents beyond all recognition. What we’re left with is an exaggerated image of that age and generation — an image of extraordinarily involved students protesting to the tune of Jimi Hendrix — that’s as misleading as it is fascinating. It’s an ideal that the babyboomers’ millennial children might find appealing, but couldn’t live up to if they tried. And really, they have no reason to. As the protests to the Iraq war showed, the techniques that once defined American political activism no longer apply.

In a way, then, these concerts for Obama point to what might come next. They were not spontaneous gatherings of people with a common cause just trying to be heard. Nor did they come off as shallow, largely nonpartisan celebrity appeals to “Vote or Die.” From top to bottom, they were events organized by a specific party and political candidate with a very specific goal in mind — to get votes. And the artists employed here were simply willing draws for a targeted constituency. It’s why Jay-Z performed in a black metropolis while the Boss showed up in a whiter town. And if Springsteen’s acoustic strumming harkened back to the days of Dylan, the Obama staffers spread among the crowd were a constant reminder that, for once, such idealism had a very practical backbone.

Is this a winning formula? We’ll know soon enough. Bruce Springsteen and Shawn Carter may have long since left our state, but the thousands of left-leaning voters they’ve helped register remain. And if these thousands of new voters translate to a blue state on Election Day, come 2012, we might see a few more free shows thrown our way.