This blog is overdue but honestly, I'm only just recovering.
Normally, I eschew all things Ozzfest. It's commercial and attracts a type of attendee I'd rather see staked to an ant pile than spend time mushed up againt in the pit. However, this year I had to make an exception:
Norma expressed interest in checking it out after our resounding Iron Maiden success plus there were two bands on board I could support: Goatwhore and Soilent Green. Thus, tickets were purchased and plans were made.
Texas in summer is hot. Suicidally hot. As the date neared, I wondered if my alabaster hide would be able to deal with the brutal solar punishment. I also wondered about my friend, Neurally Mediated Hypotension (NMH). I'd avoided a date with that bad boy at Iron Maiden but my agonizing 2003 Blind Guardian experience is still fresh.
SPF 50 spray on sunscreen did the trick in avoiding solar punishment. I applied liberally, let dry, then buffed with a soft cloth to achieve a high shine. That shit is oily and I felt like a prize hog all glossed up for the state fair. By the time Goatwhore came on, I was already covered by a thin layer of dust which only got worse as the day went on.
The Goatwhore boys get major credit, especially Nathan. That motherfucker marched out in the 95º+ heat wearing all of his leather armor. I couldn't believe it. Good for you, Nate. You're a badass and you looked the part. Sammy was a surprise with a full head of hair. He spent the set nodding to the driving beat and channelling a Satanic Julius Caesar. Zack blasted the kit and Ben, all in black and sporting his trademark gauntlets, kept the crowd entertained by pantomiming most of the lyrics with his enormous hands. Goatwhore always brings it without fail.
Witchcraft from Sweden played next, but I did not enjoy them all that much. They were doomy, like Cathedral, but with less stage presence. Norma and I busied ourselves making fun of the ridiculously fat security guards, while simulatneously feeling sorry for the Witchcraft drummer who put in a great performance despite the continuous self destruction of his kit. I later found out no one had thought to put carpet down on the drum riser. This resulted in his kick drum attempting to walk away, his floor tom collapsing, and then various mike and cymbal stands falling over. Poor fellow, he beat the shit out of that crap ass TAMA kit and then some despite the technical difficulties.
Soilent was up next. The sun, behind the stage when we'd arrived, was now creeping to its zenith and starting to fry my back. By this time, we'd been up 7.5 hours, eaten almost nothing, and drunk far too little. I reapplied SPF 50, buffed to a shine again, then huddled under my white long sleeve shirt for protection. I wasn't really sweating any more. As Brian Patton crossed the stage carrying his guitar, we waved at each other and then I felt it: the "drop". A sensation like falling shot through me and suddenly, it was very, very hard to breathe for a few seconds. My stomach knotted; my head began to swim. My heart rate, already a little fast, shot way up. Here it comes, I thought. This is how it starts - the NMH combined with heat stroke. No way. Nuh-uh. I am not fainting on the barrier two bands in. Am not. Metal is pain and I'm tough. Or stupid. Or both. But I wasn't missing my NOLA boys.
After some significant leg bending and foot stomping, I started to feel better. The people behind me were clearly bothered by how I was moving around but, you know what? Fuck ya'll. I'm not giving up my front row spot over a little pooling blood in my legs. Step back and let me stretch. By the time Soilent prepared to start, I was breathing normally again and feeling okay. Not great, but good enough to make it another 30-40 minutes.
It was at least 100º by 1pm and the Green ripped through their set with almost no pauses. Ben was running back and forth, dressed more lightly for this band in white t-shirt and cargo pants but still turning a fine shade of crimson as he bellowed out the lyrics. I don't know how he remembers all the words. The man has an amazing memory. Ask him how to get to any club in the country and he will pause for a few seconds, his eyes ticking back and forth as he visualizes the route. Out will come every highway, every turn, every shortcut, and probably a tip on a good place to eat nearby after the set. He's a living GPS system in addition to a lyric encyclopedia.
I do think Tommy Buckley deserves the main kudos for the SG set. The man grinds and blasts like a machine any given night, but on that Saturday, in the blistering heat, his performance was heroic. Especially the constant, furious snare rolling in Sewn Mouth Secrets.... Jesus Christ, Tommy. How do you do it?
Soilent exited the stage looking as exhausted as I was feeling. I sadly watched them go; I wanted Norma to meet them but the whole backstage access thing was clearly a clusterfuck. Plus, I know how I feel after getting off a hot stage: I want water, stillness and silence - I can only imagine how much they all needed to rest. Therefore, Norma and I retreated to shadier places to find food and drink. 24 ounces of 7-Up went down my craw like I was some kind of shop-vac. My heart rate was still worrisome but I did start sweating again. We took shelter in the VIP lounge with its widescreen TVs and air conditioning. That's what saved me: after 30 minutes my heart slowed down to a normal speed and I no longer felt like something was going horribly, horribly wrong inside me. VIP passes: worth every penny. They kept me out of the hospital for sure.
We ventured outside again after a while and I came to regret not watching Devil Driver. They seemed really cool and I enjoyed what I could see of them onstage. We giggled at the various examples of human devastation walking through the crowd and made silent pacts to never, ever stop exercising.
I realized I had about a 15 minute half-life out in the sun. Back to the lounge. We met some cool folks and ran into Sammy Goatwhore, who seemed to have snuck into the lounge (Sammy does that a lot, he sneaks). As always, it pains me our metal community is global and therefore, spread out. I see many of my friends for maybe five minutes once every six months when they come through on tour. If I'm lucky, we get to hang out at the van or backstage for a couple hours. If the planets are in alignment, they stay over at the house. But still, it's always sad - you never get enough time with these special people.
The day flew by. Before we knew it, Ozzy was getting ready to go on. I've always had a very warm place in my heart for the Ozz-man. He was one of my first crushes. His voice still gives me chills. Ever more childlike and simple as the years go on, Ozzy embodies the pure enjoyment of metal music. On stage, he's like a 5 year old at a birthday party - all smiles and excitement. No worries. No cares. I believe him when he tells the crowd, "I really do love you all." I think performing is the only thing that makes that man happy; the stage is only place in the world where he truly feels at home. I imagine the rest of his life is a confusing fog of events through which Sharon leads him, dressing him up and pointing him in the direction he needs to go. On stage, he knows where he is and who he is. I still love you, Ozzy, you sweet, simple man.
A girl passed out during Zakk Wild's formless, wanking guitar solo. As in, lost all control of bodily functions passing out. Bad news. I'm sure the Frisco ER was HATING Ozzfest by the time the night was over.
Metallica... well, I'd only seen them once, on the Justice tour. Great show. Neck was wrecked for a week after. Even though they have long since diverged from anything I like, I have to say, they brought it. They played mostly old tunes and played well. They were my first speed metal band, and I felt as fond of them and their songs at Ozzfest as I did when I was 18. King Diamond's appearance at the end was a trip as well, although Scott Ian's hilariously excited air-guitaring from the wings was just as entertaining as well. Scott Not, you looked so cute with your pink Dimebag beard and big, goofy smile. All in all, it seemed like everyone was liking each other and having a lot of fun. Once again, it was metal camraderie between bands-bands, bands-crowd and crowd-crowd. I ended the night filled with renewed passion for metal music and love for everyone who shares this adventure with me, even if we don't like the same bands.
God, I love metal.
