Ozzfest '99 (Episode One: The Rail)
"You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villiany. We must be cautious"-Obi-Wan Kenobi to Luke Skywalker, describing Mos Eisley spaceport in Star Wars.
Obviously, the old Jedi master never went to Ozzfest. Mos Eisley is a day at Disneyland compared to what Chet, Janet, Mike and I saw at the Shoreline Ampitheater in Mountain View, CA on Tuesday, July 20th, 1999.
The reunited Black Sabbath was to headline the festival that year. Black Sabbath had really never gone away, trudging ahead after Ozzy left in '79 with an assortment of singers. They made two really strong albums with Ronnie James Dio, one album with Deep Purple singer Ian Gillan that flopped commerically but remains one of my guilty pleasures, a solo album from guitarist Tony Iommi that turned into a Black Sabbath album with Glenn Hughes at the helm and then a string of releases with Tony Martin and yet another with Dio thrown in there somewhere. The Tony Martin albums were hardly noticed by the buying public, but they hold up just fine in the Sabbath catalog in my mind. In 1998, Black Sabbath performed a couple of U.K. reunion shows in Birmingham, the band's old hometown and released a double live CD culled from those shows. The subsequent success of that release led to the original lineup of Black Sabbath headlining the Ozzfest in 1999.
Chet and I were excited and made plans to make the day happen. We both secured that Tuesday and Wednesday off so we could stay the night. We also asked Janet and her (now ex-) boyfriend Mike if they wanted to head up with us. They did and actually offered to drive. We called ahead and got a couple of hotel rooms close to the venue. We decided to buy General Admission lawn tickets. You see, the ampitheater is built in a bowl, with seats spreading up a hill away from the stage in a semi-circle. Then comes a rail and a huge grass berm in which people sit on blankets or on rented low-backed chairs. There are more banks of speakers up there to relay the sound instead of the stage's setup having to support the entire venue and there are large video screens at the foot of the lawn section as well. From my experience at the concerts I'd seen from the lawn, it was a great place to kick back and enjoy the show. But those were shows from the likes of Yes, Rod Stewart and other acts where people are respectful of one another. This was Ozzfest. What were we thinking?
The bill boasted something like 8 bands on the main stage and started at 11:30am, so we left pretty early from Fresno. We made good time on the 101 up to Mountain View. I was glad because I get a little antsy about getting to shows early, especially general admission shows. To be honest, I turn into a Nervous Nellie with worry warts and an ulcer. Going over my plans to get to just the right spot again and again probably drove the others mad, but I couldn't help myself.
We got to into Mountain View around 9:45 or so and stopped for some fast food breakfast gunk, bought some bottled water at a liquor store and checked into the hotel, really just there to drop off our bags, wash up and head over to Shoreline. We had backpacks full of food, bottled water and sunscreen. The SPF 2000 sunscreen was essentially just for me; it would be a long day in the sun and my companions didn't want me bursting into flames, at least until Sabbath hit the stage. We hopped back into the car and made the short drive over to the ampitheater.
After parking the car, we walked towards the forming line. It really wasn't too long, so we did well to get here early. The People-Watching was rife with subject matter, but there wasn't a varied mix of people at this event. The majority of these concert-goers were of the Under A Rock variety. It was probably the ugliest and single largest collection of mulleted, unbathed and dimwitted mouth-breathers I've ever set my eyes upon. I looked at some of these zombies and wondered how they tied their shoes that morning, much less how they found their way here. I saw one brute wearing a Megadeth shirt from the Rust In Peace tour that obviously was not dug out of the closet just for nostalgic purposes, but was worn on at least a weekly, if not daily basis. It was threadbare and had turned gray after so many years of obvious wear. Just a little fashion hint to all you metal-heads out there; if you can see your nipples through a shirt that was once black, it's time to retire said shirt.
The gates were opening and we did that slow, shuffling, penguin-like walk on the way up to the security pat-down. Near the turnstiles, there were demonstrators with signs, decrying heavy metal and it's influence on people. They seemed passionate and I found it facsinating that this was still an issue that some religious folks held onto. I really hadn't heard the term Satanic associated with music since the Judas Priest suicide trial of 1990. Most of the people in line were merciless in their ridicule of these protesters. It's probably not the best time to try to convert someone when they're holding a ticket to Ozzfest, just feet from the entrance and yelling in your face, "Yeaaaahhhh, I'm going to Hell!! Whhooooooo!!!"
We got searched at the gates. It was just your usual pat-down and the useless questions about having knives or other weapons. But when they searched our backpacks, we were told that we had to take the caps off of the bottles of water. Our response was a collective, "What? Why? I don't get it." We were told that Ozzy's people told security to make sure that no bottle caps were to be taken into the venue because they could be used as projectiles. We agreed that they could be, but that there were many other, more dangerous things that could be used as projectiles being brought inside. Like small humans, for instance. We reluctantly unscrewed the caps, tossed them in the trash can that held an assortment of other forbidden items like full beer cans and half-full vodka bottles and stepped through the gate, standing there together wondering how we'd be able to keep the water in the bottles throughout the day. Chet, being the engineer that he is, figured a way to use some plastic from a sandwich bag in Janet's backpack and some rubber bands that appeared seemingly out of nowhere to seal the bottles. It worked well and I remarked that a sealed bottle of water would make a much better projectile that a little ol' cap any day. The security lady smiled from outside the gate, acknowledging the insanity of such a policy.
Next we had to make our way around the concourse to get to the general admission area. We double-timed it up the concrete walkway that sloped upward toward the entrance to the grassy hill. Passing concession stands and merchandise booths, we turned around a slight bend on the way. There we found another line. Wah? The show was going to start in about 30 minutes and we still had to stake a claim out there on the grass. It gave me time to go over our plan one more time. The others rolled their eyes while I told them that we definitely wanted to be on the rail so as not to have anyone in front us, but we'd have to hustle because that's where everyone would go first. The troops nodded and Chet and Mike decided to get some beers for us while we waited. It was 11:05am.
We slammed the beer and prepared for our mission. Securing all of our gear in the packs, we agreed that we'd split up and do a sort of reconnaissance survey first, then agree where to set up Camp Geezer, named for the Sabbath bassist. The gates swung open and there was a push for the opening, causing a bottleneck that birthed humans out onto the grass like some unholy litter of jackals. We got seperated and became a bit disoriented, but shook the feeling when we realized that people were sprinting for the rail. Shit!
Like a scene from the Oklahoma Land Run of 1889, we all took off running at full bore, dodging those that chose to plop down higher on the hill. Many of those fools were tragically trampled and many blankets were destroyed because of the poor choice to settle down too soon. Trying to spot a place on the rail while at full tilt was pretty hard, but Chet and I landed at about the same place, looking at each other and breathing hard. We looked around for Janet and Mike. The rail was filling fast with folks putting down blankets and waving to others in their party to come down and help hold the space. We saw Janet off in the distance searching for a spot. She caught a glimpse of us and did an arms wide open shrug, telling us she'd had no luck. Mike was already more than halfway around the grass area, about 200 feet away, when he signaled that he'd found something. Chet and I almost left the spot we had to go meet him when he wildly waved us off; someone had jumped the claim. Chet turned to me and said, "Bird in the hand, man, bird in the hand". We decided the spot we had would do and Janet came over and placed the blanket on the ground to make our homestead.
Here's a picture Chet took of me at Camp Geezer before the show while Janet and Mike went on a beer run.
We had a little time to waste before the show and spent it watching the masses enter through the small portal to the grassy area. Janet and Mike returned with the beer and we all celebrated my successful plan. For all the fretting I did, it paid off with a nice little patch on the rail near a light/sound standard. It was about 11:45am when we got our first neighbors to the right. Two heavy and very drunk guys, whose momentum from running down the grass hill had them hit the rail pretty hard, looked down at the stage with wide, if not bloodshot, eyes. They high-fived each other and then high-fived us, yelling a raspy "Ozzy!!" After talking to them for awhile, we were able to decipher the following account; they had driven all night from Washington state and were here to see Ozzy. That's all we could gather for the moment. One talked very excitedly and the other larger one slurred badly. Did I mention it was 11:45am?
I'll paraphrase the conversation we had with them:
Drunk One: Yeah, man, we came all the way from Washington to see Ozzy!
Drunk Two: Ozzy!!
Chet: You know it's Ozzy with Black Sabbath, right?
Drunk One: No, man, Ozzy's here. It's Ozzy!!
Drunk Two: Ozzzzzy!!
Me: Well, yeah, it's Ozzy, but he's playing with Sabbath. They reunited for this tour. It's all Sabbath stuff tonight.
Drunk One: Tonight? When's Ozzy playing? (At this time, Drunk Two is weaving badly and cannot communicate anymore. It looks as if each of his eyelids are blinking at slightly different intervals. He makes burping gestures with his face, but emits no sounds.)
Janet: They come on about Ten, right Ton'?
Me: That's what I've read. There's 6 or 7 bands on before them, man.
Drunk One: But we're here for Ozzy, man!
Drunk Two: (garbled message)
Chet: You guys better pace yourselves. It's gonna be a lonnng day.
Drunk One: Naaahhhh, we're fine.
At this time, we wished them luck and went on with our good ol' time. Puya, a Mexican metal band that sounded great but sang in Spanish, was onstage to open the show. The four of us were checking out the show when we heard someone behind us say, "Man, that guy is fucked up and it's only noon". We looked over our shoulders to see Drunk Two passed out on his back up the hill a bit. Janet pointed him out to Drunk One and he flipped his hand and said, "Aww, he's fine".
But Janet has a little Florence Nightengale in her and went to see if he was alright. He had his shirt up over his impressive belly and was shuddering at times, possibly laboring in his breathing. The sun was at it's highest point and was beating down on him, so it was probably a good thing Janet went over. She came back to Drunk Two and let him have it:
Janet: Dude, you should get your buddy some help. He's gonna get heatstroke or something out here.
Drunk One: He's fine, I tell ya.
Chet: He's fucked up, man. Too much too soon. You guys should go chill out in the shade for awhile.
Drunk One: But Ozzy! We're here for Ozzy!
Mike: Dude! Ozzy doesn't come on for 10 hours. Go chill.
Me: Ten hours, man. That's a long way from now. You'll never make it if you keep partying.
Drunk One: But we haven't even been drinking or nothin'.
At this point, all of us gave him the look a mother gives her 4-year-old when she's caught him in fib. I may have even put my hands on my hips and slightly cocked my head to one side. A paramedic showed up to examine Drunk Two and sat him up. He was pretty bad off. Grass in his hair, red-faced and on his way to a mid-day hangover. The Washington Two stumbled off into the distance up the hill. We thought we'd never see them again.
Next up: Episode Two: The Encroaching Horde
Obviously, the old Jedi master never went to Ozzfest. Mos Eisley is a day at Disneyland compared to what Chet, Janet, Mike and I saw at the Shoreline Ampitheater in Mountain View, CA on Tuesday, July 20th, 1999.
The reunited Black Sabbath was to headline the festival that year. Black Sabbath had really never gone away, trudging ahead after Ozzy left in '79 with an assortment of singers. They made two really strong albums with Ronnie James Dio, one album with Deep Purple singer Ian Gillan that flopped commerically but remains one of my guilty pleasures, a solo album from guitarist Tony Iommi that turned into a Black Sabbath album with Glenn Hughes at the helm and then a string of releases with Tony Martin and yet another with Dio thrown in there somewhere. The Tony Martin albums were hardly noticed by the buying public, but they hold up just fine in the Sabbath catalog in my mind. In 1998, Black Sabbath performed a couple of U.K. reunion shows in Birmingham, the band's old hometown and released a double live CD culled from those shows. The subsequent success of that release led to the original lineup of Black Sabbath headlining the Ozzfest in 1999.
Chet and I were excited and made plans to make the day happen. We both secured that Tuesday and Wednesday off so we could stay the night. We also asked Janet and her (now ex-) boyfriend Mike if they wanted to head up with us. They did and actually offered to drive. We called ahead and got a couple of hotel rooms close to the venue. We decided to buy General Admission lawn tickets. You see, the ampitheater is built in a bowl, with seats spreading up a hill away from the stage in a semi-circle. Then comes a rail and a huge grass berm in which people sit on blankets or on rented low-backed chairs. There are more banks of speakers up there to relay the sound instead of the stage's setup having to support the entire venue and there are large video screens at the foot of the lawn section as well. From my experience at the concerts I'd seen from the lawn, it was a great place to kick back and enjoy the show. But those were shows from the likes of Yes, Rod Stewart and other acts where people are respectful of one another. This was Ozzfest. What were we thinking?
The bill boasted something like 8 bands on the main stage and started at 11:30am, so we left pretty early from Fresno. We made good time on the 101 up to Mountain View. I was glad because I get a little antsy about getting to shows early, especially general admission shows. To be honest, I turn into a Nervous Nellie with worry warts and an ulcer. Going over my plans to get to just the right spot again and again probably drove the others mad, but I couldn't help myself.
We got to into Mountain View around 9:45 or so and stopped for some fast food breakfast gunk, bought some bottled water at a liquor store and checked into the hotel, really just there to drop off our bags, wash up and head over to Shoreline. We had backpacks full of food, bottled water and sunscreen. The SPF 2000 sunscreen was essentially just for me; it would be a long day in the sun and my companions didn't want me bursting into flames, at least until Sabbath hit the stage. We hopped back into the car and made the short drive over to the ampitheater.
After parking the car, we walked towards the forming line. It really wasn't too long, so we did well to get here early. The People-Watching was rife with subject matter, but there wasn't a varied mix of people at this event. The majority of these concert-goers were of the Under A Rock variety. It was probably the ugliest and single largest collection of mulleted, unbathed and dimwitted mouth-breathers I've ever set my eyes upon. I looked at some of these zombies and wondered how they tied their shoes that morning, much less how they found their way here. I saw one brute wearing a Megadeth shirt from the Rust In Peace tour that obviously was not dug out of the closet just for nostalgic purposes, but was worn on at least a weekly, if not daily basis. It was threadbare and had turned gray after so many years of obvious wear. Just a little fashion hint to all you metal-heads out there; if you can see your nipples through a shirt that was once black, it's time to retire said shirt.
The gates were opening and we did that slow, shuffling, penguin-like walk on the way up to the security pat-down. Near the turnstiles, there were demonstrators with signs, decrying heavy metal and it's influence on people. They seemed passionate and I found it facsinating that this was still an issue that some religious folks held onto. I really hadn't heard the term Satanic associated with music since the Judas Priest suicide trial of 1990. Most of the people in line were merciless in their ridicule of these protesters. It's probably not the best time to try to convert someone when they're holding a ticket to Ozzfest, just feet from the entrance and yelling in your face, "Yeaaaahhhh, I'm going to Hell!! Whhooooooo!!!"
We got searched at the gates. It was just your usual pat-down and the useless questions about having knives or other weapons. But when they searched our backpacks, we were told that we had to take the caps off of the bottles of water. Our response was a collective, "What? Why? I don't get it." We were told that Ozzy's people told security to make sure that no bottle caps were to be taken into the venue because they could be used as projectiles. We agreed that they could be, but that there were many other, more dangerous things that could be used as projectiles being brought inside. Like small humans, for instance. We reluctantly unscrewed the caps, tossed them in the trash can that held an assortment of other forbidden items like full beer cans and half-full vodka bottles and stepped through the gate, standing there together wondering how we'd be able to keep the water in the bottles throughout the day. Chet, being the engineer that he is, figured a way to use some plastic from a sandwich bag in Janet's backpack and some rubber bands that appeared seemingly out of nowhere to seal the bottles. It worked well and I remarked that a sealed bottle of water would make a much better projectile that a little ol' cap any day. The security lady smiled from outside the gate, acknowledging the insanity of such a policy.
Next we had to make our way around the concourse to get to the general admission area. We double-timed it up the concrete walkway that sloped upward toward the entrance to the grassy hill. Passing concession stands and merchandise booths, we turned around a slight bend on the way. There we found another line. Wah? The show was going to start in about 30 minutes and we still had to stake a claim out there on the grass. It gave me time to go over our plan one more time. The others rolled their eyes while I told them that we definitely wanted to be on the rail so as not to have anyone in front us, but we'd have to hustle because that's where everyone would go first. The troops nodded and Chet and Mike decided to get some beers for us while we waited. It was 11:05am.
We slammed the beer and prepared for our mission. Securing all of our gear in the packs, we agreed that we'd split up and do a sort of reconnaissance survey first, then agree where to set up Camp Geezer, named for the Sabbath bassist. The gates swung open and there was a push for the opening, causing a bottleneck that birthed humans out onto the grass like some unholy litter of jackals. We got seperated and became a bit disoriented, but shook the feeling when we realized that people were sprinting for the rail. Shit!
Like a scene from the Oklahoma Land Run of 1889, we all took off running at full bore, dodging those that chose to plop down higher on the hill. Many of those fools were tragically trampled and many blankets were destroyed because of the poor choice to settle down too soon. Trying to spot a place on the rail while at full tilt was pretty hard, but Chet and I landed at about the same place, looking at each other and breathing hard. We looked around for Janet and Mike. The rail was filling fast with folks putting down blankets and waving to others in their party to come down and help hold the space. We saw Janet off in the distance searching for a spot. She caught a glimpse of us and did an arms wide open shrug, telling us she'd had no luck. Mike was already more than halfway around the grass area, about 200 feet away, when he signaled that he'd found something. Chet and I almost left the spot we had to go meet him when he wildly waved us off; someone had jumped the claim. Chet turned to me and said, "Bird in the hand, man, bird in the hand". We decided the spot we had would do and Janet came over and placed the blanket on the ground to make our homestead.
Here's a picture Chet took of me at Camp Geezer before the show while Janet and Mike went on a beer run.
We had a little time to waste before the show and spent it watching the masses enter through the small portal to the grassy area. Janet and Mike returned with the beer and we all celebrated my successful plan. For all the fretting I did, it paid off with a nice little patch on the rail near a light/sound standard. It was about 11:45am when we got our first neighbors to the right. Two heavy and very drunk guys, whose momentum from running down the grass hill had them hit the rail pretty hard, looked down at the stage with wide, if not bloodshot, eyes. They high-fived each other and then high-fived us, yelling a raspy "Ozzy!!" After talking to them for awhile, we were able to decipher the following account; they had driven all night from Washington state and were here to see Ozzy. That's all we could gather for the moment. One talked very excitedly and the other larger one slurred badly. Did I mention it was 11:45am?
I'll paraphrase the conversation we had with them:
Drunk One: Yeah, man, we came all the way from Washington to see Ozzy!
Drunk Two: Ozzy!!
Chet: You know it's Ozzy with Black Sabbath, right?
Drunk One: No, man, Ozzy's here. It's Ozzy!!
Drunk Two: Ozzzzzy!!
Me: Well, yeah, it's Ozzy, but he's playing with Sabbath. They reunited for this tour. It's all Sabbath stuff tonight.
Drunk One: Tonight? When's Ozzy playing? (At this time, Drunk Two is weaving badly and cannot communicate anymore. It looks as if each of his eyelids are blinking at slightly different intervals. He makes burping gestures with his face, but emits no sounds.)
Janet: They come on about Ten, right Ton'?
Me: That's what I've read. There's 6 or 7 bands on before them, man.
Drunk One: But we're here for Ozzy, man!
Drunk Two: (garbled message)
Chet: You guys better pace yourselves. It's gonna be a lonnng day.
Drunk One: Naaahhhh, we're fine.
At this time, we wished them luck and went on with our good ol' time. Puya, a Mexican metal band that sounded great but sang in Spanish, was onstage to open the show. The four of us were checking out the show when we heard someone behind us say, "Man, that guy is fucked up and it's only noon". We looked over our shoulders to see Drunk Two passed out on his back up the hill a bit. Janet pointed him out to Drunk One and he flipped his hand and said, "Aww, he's fine".
But Janet has a little Florence Nightengale in her and went to see if he was alright. He had his shirt up over his impressive belly and was shuddering at times, possibly laboring in his breathing. The sun was at it's highest point and was beating down on him, so it was probably a good thing Janet went over. She came back to Drunk Two and let him have it:
Janet: Dude, you should get your buddy some help. He's gonna get heatstroke or something out here.
Drunk One: He's fine, I tell ya.
Chet: He's fucked up, man. Too much too soon. You guys should go chill out in the shade for awhile.
Drunk One: But Ozzy! We're here for Ozzy!
Mike: Dude! Ozzy doesn't come on for 10 hours. Go chill.
Me: Ten hours, man. That's a long way from now. You'll never make it if you keep partying.
Drunk One: But we haven't even been drinking or nothin'.
At this point, all of us gave him the look a mother gives her 4-year-old when she's caught him in fib. I may have even put my hands on my hips and slightly cocked my head to one side. A paramedic showed up to examine Drunk Two and sat him up. He was pretty bad off. Grass in his hair, red-faced and on his way to a mid-day hangover. The Washington Two stumbled off into the distance up the hill. We thought we'd never see them again.
Next up: Episode Two: The Encroaching Horde
posted by Tony at 8:37 AM
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