OZZFEST
by Christine Natanael
And August in New York/New Jersey usually means Warped and Ozzfest. Having already experienced 52 bands and a mean sunburn a week earlier at the Warped show at Randall’s Island, I was primed and ready for the metallic mayhem of Ozzfest.
Well, let’s see…it started with the mad rush to try to get covered with a review ticket. Being as it’s the New York area, there’s gonna be a lot of people trying to get on the lists. That’s a given. But you’d think, that with that many bands they could spread us “press” all evenly across the lists somehow. Man, I tell ya I felt like Charlie looking for the last Wonka golden ticket. At the end of it all, Marilyn Manson’s people came through for me with a seat. I was in the midst of coordinating my interview schedule when the power zapped out in NYC. When the juice came back, I ended up with four interviews to do during the course of the day. (Have tape recorder, will travel…my entire raison d’etre.)
Holmdel, NJ is about an hour and a half from NYC by public transportation. With the first band going on around 10am, that meant that I had to leave the house around 7am, drop the rugrat at the sitter’s and haul ass to the NJ Trans train before 8:20am, making sure that I had all the blank tapes, batteries, film, and other assorted crapola that a journalist needs to do her thing and all the girly stuff that goes with being, well, a girl. Of course, I was totally draggin’ ass and needin’ a caffeine I.V. when I woke up that day, just so my body could make it a little more difficult than I knew it was already going to be. Somehow I made that train on time. Don’t ask me how.
So I’m feeling pretty good that I am actually somewhat on time, when, of course, there’s some sort of malfunction with the train. We end up sitting in the middle of some marshland somewhere on the outskirts of Perth Amboy for 45 minutes. So much for me being on time. Hell, that would be too much like right, ya know? Arriving at the station, I stopped long enough to get that caffeine infusion booted up and ended up missing the shuttle bus that takes you to the venue. Thanks go out to the guy who works for the bus company who took it upon himself to give me the turbo mini-bus ride to the gig instead of making me wait an hour for the next one. (Dude, you rule….and the Zeppelin jams did too!)
So the bus dumps me off at the end of the parking lot, and I start making my way up to the will call window, checking out the tailgate parties along the way as I’m sucking down my joe. I’m not even halfway up the walk when I see the cops jacking up some dude, yanking him straight out of his car with a cloud of weed swirling right above his head. It wasn’t even 11am, and he didn’t even get to make it into the show. (Dumb fucker. Who said weed doesn’t kill brain cells?)
Continuing the correctional theme of the morning was the requisite search at the gate as I enter the venue. Carrying a huge backpack with all my official journalist shit, this procedure always feels like a combination of Riker’s Island flashback and Let’s Make a Deal hallucination. Luckily it was early and the enforcers were still in a somewhat pleasant mood, checking out the press creds, looking briefly through my shit and waving me through to the ticket guy who then waved me through to the wristband guy. At that point it struck me that the whole system was almost like registering and tagging rare species of animals on one of those wildlife shows, and I had to laugh.
Since part of my whole theory of life is that I have to look so sharp I cut people when I walk by, it was time to do the face check in the little girl’s room. Now, usually that’s a pretty uneventful thing and I wouldn’t make mention of it. But the process turned into a comedy when I encountered two of the girls who were traveling with one of the bands. They were tag-teaming the mirror in the 3ft. wide basin area, brushing their teeth and trying to become somewhat human that early in the morning. I could surely sympathize. It ain’t easy to be a chick on a tour bus full of dudes. Tour bus heads ain’t hardly big enough to piss in much less get all primped up…then there’s also that little problem of the puddles of piss cuz the guys always miss the bowl… But I digress.
At this point, I do have to take a moment to compliment the organizers of Ozzfest for having the foresight to run the two stages consecutively instead of concurrently. Thank God I didn’t have to spend the day running back and forth from the 2nd stage to the main stage to try to fit in a song or two from each band like I did at Lollapalooza and Warped.
Unfortunately, since the train was late, I did miss the opening set of one of my favorite NY hardcore groups, E Town Concrete. By the time I made my way through the crowds and over to the asphalt beach of the 2nd stage, it was the end of Chimaira’s set. I must say that live they really carry some of their more disjointed and dissonant material, that comes across as just plain bad composition and theory on their albums, and really make it work.
Motograter was up next. You know, that pseudo-scary body make-up may come off as cool and creative and pseudo-evil in a dark club, but it looks just absolutely ridiculous in broad daylight in 90 degree heat. I was beginning to wonder which one of them would pass out from heat exhaustion first due to the inability to sweat. As for the music, at least it was a bit clearer than the record. While the idea of some invented instrument called the Motograter sounds good in theory, it just made that cd sound like mud. Funny thing is, I don’t remember seeing the thing live….hhmmmm….
During the break between bands I ran into Snake of Voivod, who was wandering through the crowd unnoticed. I lightened the load in my backpack by handing him a huge stack of cds….mostly punk stuff that I had promised to Away when I saw them on tour with Sepultura back in May. (I get a ton of them and they get bored with the same ones on tour…it’s good all the way around.)
That’s when the music cranked up again. I’d have to say that Memento was one of the more melodic bands to grace the second stage. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. They’re a hell of a lot more aggressive than a band like Cold. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see the entire set because I had to bump up to official journalist mode. It was time for the seek and find mission of locating the tour bus of the band Unloco amidst the sea of tour buses and RVs backstage so I could do the first interview of the day. (Thanks to the crew member who helped me locate it…)
Joey Duenas welcomed me into their big red rolling house and its accommodating air conditioning to have a little talk. But in the world of music journalism, things are never as glamorous and you guys seem to think. Duenas is trying to get functional and presentable for his set, so as I’m talking to him he’s brushing his teeth. (What is it that everyone I’ve met so far is brushing their teeth? At least they have good oral hygiene…hehe). There’s a crew member that’s coming in and out of the bus in search of the illustrious lost cable that will make it all right. The tour manager is trying to lay out the schedule as Duenas is putting on his socks and shoes. As he’s lacing them up he gets a view of Twisted Method doing their set through the bus window and let’s out an exclamation as he sees the singer co-opt one of his moves and jump into the crowd. Duenas definitively slams the shade down with a look of disgust. Just another day on the the traveling circus that is Ozzfest. Finishing up the interview, I’m reluctantly ejected back out into the blinding sun and blazing heat.
Making my way back to the stage, I find out that the sets are running a little late (par for the course at any show where you have more than two bands…) and end up standing around waiting for Killswitch Engage to take the stage. I didn’t mind, though, since they are one of the bands on the bill that I care for more than some of the others. Pummeling the crowd with their hardcore edges, it was hard to tell which was more popular, KSE or the band that followed them, Shadow’s Fall. Factor in the fact that the crowd was pretty lit by that time, and the point is moot anyway. But much as I was enjoying the brutality of the moment, it was time to do some real work….
So I find myself on tour bus number two with three of the guys from Hotwire. We’re all crammed in the back lounge, including my photographer. Arrogance and irreverence abound, and I’m quickly losing my patience with them as they proceed to comment on the videos on the tv (which they didn’t care enough to turn off for the interview) and insult one of my fave singers, Sully Erna. I guess it’s fashionable to kick the guy who’s on top, but it just left me with a bad taste in my mouth and the impression that they’re total pricks. I finished the interview and exited as quickly as I could.
Seek and find mission number two had me in search of the Endo RV…which the tour manager told me the day before on the phone was the largest one there. You’d think it would be easy to find, but that’s easier said than done. Finally finding the thing, I can tell you that with the sides expanded, it’s bigger than the living room in my apartment back in NYC! Much as there may be status in having the top of the line Prevost tour bus, I can tell you that that RV looked a hell of a lot more comfortable to me. No pretention, a couple of friends here and there, a few beers, and the tension of the previous interview just faded away. Drummer Joe Eshkenazi was totally charming and laid-back in comparison to those bristly Hotwire boys. There didn’t seem to be a question that he wasn’t willing to answer. Compared to the stressful situations of some of the bands, he was amazingly relaxed prior to his set.
Seeing as things were running later and later. I was able to catch both Unloco and Endo do their different takes on the nu metal thing. I don’t know what it is, but it seems that a lot of the current crop of cds just don’t measure up to the aggressiveness of the band’s live sets. I had gone into interviewing both of them begrudgingly. Their releases had been okay, but not stellar. So, I was pleasantly surprised to see that they were much more lively and animated than their records made them out to be. While I didn’t leave there a converted, rabid fan, at least I had a more open mind to both bands.
But it was a very different story for the next two bands on the bill. If you know anything about me from reading this site, it’s that I’m a rabid hardcore and thrash fan. I still had one more interview to do, but it was just going to have to wait until I got my earful of Sworn Enemy and Voivod. It was good to see the backstage area fill up with both band members and industry for both sets. The crowd went nuts for the NYHC of Sworn Enemy…hometown boys and all that. But I was disappointed to see the faces glaze over when it came to the technical metal stylings of Voivod. If it hadn’t been for Jason Newsted being a member, I wonder how many of them would have bothered. And I know that’s a fucked up thing to say, but most of those kids were just in diapers when the band was in its heydey. Still, it was great to see Snake singing again all the twisted compositions that Piggy has done over the years.
After the set, as I was sitting in the shade of the trees over by the Voivod bus, I had a nice conversation with a gentleman who told me that he’s been driving Ozzy around for over 10 years now. Mostly gearhead stuff about buses and how many tractor trailers it takes to move the whole circus from town to town. God bless him and all the other crew members. Next time you go to a show, remember that it’s the musicians that make it rock, but it’s the roadies who make it roll….
I took a few minutes to say hi to my old friend Piggy and co-ordinate a plan of action before we both had to take off and get back to work. He was off to the FYE tent to do the meet and greet/autograph signing and I was off on my seek and find mission number three…the whereabouts of the Twisted Method RV.
It was with some trepidation that I undertook this last venture. I had heard rumblings all day from bands and concertgoers alike that these were some weird dudes. It was usually conveyed in a tone that implied that it was weird in a bad way, not weird in a good way. So what would I find when I got there?
Can I just tell you that all those who were grumbling are just totally full of shit? Dumb fuckers. They must be jealous or something. So the guys have a little bit of style…as much punk as Clockwork Orange….just cuz you don’t get it don’t mean it ain’t good. I do have to tell you that they had the best-decorated RV on the tour.
It looks like all the others, but when you get inside and shut the door, well, it’s another world—pitch black, zebra covered couches, low wattage strip lights and a subzero ac system—a rolling nightclub. If these guys were weird in a bad way, then I must be just as weird as they are because I felt right at home. (They can’t be all bad if they had my old friend Eddie Wohl mixing their record.) It was a hell of a lot more logical to my mind than the spectacle that they call Cradle of Filth that I had left performing on stage. That I just don’t get.
Don’t get me wrong. I dig performance art. I like technical music. Hell, I can even tolerate dissonant singing on occasion. But when you put it all together in that manner it just makes me want to ram rusty nails into my eyes and ears to kill the pain they are inflicting upon me.
So, I left that cacophony some people call music behind and joined Tripp on his RV for a little convo and a few brews. I hung out there for a while, until my skin started turning blue and I started shivering. It was time to motivate, but my vampiric vision preferred that dark lair. Upon my exit, it took quite a few minutes to be able to actually see in the broad daylight again. Stage 2 was closed and the crowd had moved over to the band shell for the main stage bands. I’ll spare you the description of the backstage porta-johns and just tell you that by the time I got across the compound Disturbed had already taken the stage.
Of that genre, I’d have to say that Dave Draiman and company are one of my faves. I enjoy their aggression, and from the looks of things, so do a lot of other people. While the newer material may be a bit more refined and restrained and divinely inspired, it was the old shit that got the crowd going. They didn’t have much of a stage show, so I took the moment to go up to the top of the hill and stand on the long-ass line to try to get some grub in my gullet before Manson and his crew of merrymakers took the stage.
Manson always has an over-the-top presentation, and by comparison, this year’s stage set may have seemed tame. But accordingly, I can tell you that on The Golden Age of Grotesque and its accompanying tour, he has finally cohesively coordinated all his influences, production, message, and presentation into a neat little package. While he has previously used disturbing imagery, I have to give much props to his girl Dita Von Teese for helping him to polish it. It’s like watching both Joel Gray and Alan Cumming’s versions of the Cabaret MC on an industrialized acid trip preaching anarchy—both disturbing and brilliant.
Okay, here’s the part of my review where all the Korn fans are going to send me flame mail…but I have to tell you that I’ve seen them a bazillion times since they first started back in ’89 or ’90 or so While I do like a few of their songs, I’m not a Korn-head. So, I took my leave to join up with my friend Piggy back over at his tour bus.
Seeing as all the crowds had transferred over to the main stage area, it was nice and quiet back behind the 2nd stage where their bus was parked. A good and relaxing space for the old folks…hehe…We had both finished our “work” for the day (well, I had technically almost finished) and were just sitting back catching up with each other. Away and I were discussing some of the cds I had brought him and one of their friends was helping stuff the bags with the pictures that they autograph every day at the meet and greet. Our bellies were full, we had beers in hand and it was shoot-the-shit time. Well, for all of the Canadian members of the band, that is. Poor Jason. He was only half done. And you could see that the double duty was starting to catch up to him as he came out of the back of the bus with his bass slung over his back in a gig bag, doing that slow trudge and spouting the famous phrase “time to make the donuts” as he made his way out the bus door and to the golf cart to take him over to play Ozzy’s set.
About ten minutes later, Piggy and I decided to walk over to the backstage area to watch Ozzy’s set. But it seems that the security guy had other ideas. Pig’s laminate was good to go, but my pass was only good for the 2nd stage, even though Piggy was escorting me with his laminate. So we were told to walk back around and go in the other way. We found ourselves inside a locked fence cuz they had locked off the 2nd stage area to keep vandals away from the equipment. Not knowing which way to go in the dark and taking another wrong turn, we ended up somehow outside the entire compound in the main parking lot.
At that point we both realized that it would be ridiculous for him to walk through the front gate (which was the closest entrance at that point) because although I’m anonymous he would get mobbed. We had had enough of the maze of fences of the backstage area. So we ended up sitting on the hood of somebody’s car out in the parking lot and listening to Ozzy’s performance in the dark. And that’s when it struck me…I was doing the exact same thing that I had done back in high school….jammin’ on Ozzy in the parking lot. Only this time it was better than any tape or cd system could have ever been cuz it was the real thing. I guess the more things change, the more they stay the same.