Ozzfest '99 (Episode Three: The Gravel Pit, The Last Stand and The Abdication)
Janet and I entered the lot where the Second Stage was located and immediately felt gravel under our feet. I guess the promoters had it laid out to take the heat off of the asphalt. Not a bad idea in theory, but it was a little deep in places and traction was lacking. Fear Factory had already taken the stage and we both headed out into the middle of the standing crowd. The stage was fairly small, like one you'd find in a medium sized nightclub. The sun was over our shoulders now, falling towards sunset, and it blazed right into the faces of the performers. Better them than us, because then we wouldn't be able to see the full cups of water the guitarist was tossing into the teeming pit in front of the stage.
Janet likes to get into the action. She wanted to move closer to the stage and I was cool with that. We navigated through the crowd with ease; there was ample space out in the gravel lot so far, so people weren't crammed together. We found a nice spot about 20-25 people deep center stage and enjoyed the show. Fear Factory was pretty good live, but not so much on disc. I learned that one the hard way. Goodbye $8.99 (used price at Boo Boo Records in San Luis Obispo later that year). But we were into it at the time and so was the crowd.
The distance between people at the Second Stage was akin to the space between fans at a football game when they stand to cheer a play. That space is dictated by the rows of seats, otherwise who knows what would happen in that stadium. But out in the lot, people seemed to be laid back, if that's possible for a metal concert, and we just looked over the heads in front of us to see the stage, grooving on the slamming beat and grinding guitars of FF. It took me a moment to realize that the distance between us and the people right in front of us had grown. "That's odd", I thought, and went right back to watching the show. Upon further review, those people in front of us were now about 10 feet away, with their backs to the stage and looking right at us. I glanced at Janet to see if she'd noticed this, but she was headbanging, never taking her eyes of off the stage. I then looked over my shoulder and felt like Chief Brody's son in the water in JAWS.
We were alone in the vortex of the moshpit, not one person within 5 yards of us. Somehow, we hadn't noticed any pushing and shoving. The diameter of the pit was at about 15 feet when I first noticed it and it quickly matured into the standard regulation measurement of 25 feet by the time I realized that I needed to do something. The breed of this pit differed from the nightclub variety; in a nightclub, you're usually packed in so tight that it's really just an oceanic tide that takes place, with people rarely able to break free and really wail on each other. But out here in the Gravel Pit, there was ample room to gain speed and the participants did this by doing a skip-run around the inside perimeter of the human circle, taking a shove from time to time from those on the fringe. I looked around and got a little dizzy trying to find an escape route, watching the half-dozen moshers circle us like rabid dogs. Me, with my Colonel Blake-style floppy hat and Janet wearing her straw bonnet probably looked like easy prey out there.
I took it all in before we made our getaway. It was impressive; the diameter had now easily surpassed 50 feet and there were at least fifteen moshers gaining momentum on the deadly Merry-Go-Round. I hooked Janet by the back beltloop of her pants and pulled her steadily backwards to a possible break in the circle I'd seen. She whipped her head around at me and was about to ask what the hell I thought I was doing, when she looked around and I only could read her lips as she said, "oh, shit". We skulked out of the pit, never turning to walk forward, only backtracking to the edge. We dodged flailing humans like so much fleshy shrapnel in some weaponless war. Reaching safe haven on the perimeter, we watched as the pit collapsed for a moment upon itself to about a 5 foot diameter. Then, it gasped as a whole and came back up to the 25 foot norm. We were comfortable where we stood and happily pushed stray moshers back into the pit. It was "catch and release" at the Second Stage that day. One guy in his late teens wobbled out of the pit and into our space. I was about to feed him back to the human hurricane when Janet stopped me. "Here comes Florence Nightengale, hopping down the Ozzfest Trail".
This kid was obviously stunned, possibly from a blow to the face or maybe just pure exhaustion. Janet grabbed him by the shoulders, asking him all the pertinent questions: "All you alright? Do you know where you are? How many fingers?" He responded in grunts and I told Janet, "Aww, he's fine", taking a cue from Drunk One earlier in the day. We were a little relieved when a buddy of his came up and put his arm around him to escort him off (literally) into the sunset. I turned to Janet, "See? The circle of life".
After Fear Factory was done, it was time to rally with Mike and Chet at Camp Geezer. Janet and I went up the sloping concourse to the beer stand nearest the entrance to the grass area. The line moved slower than I would have liked and I was getting worried about running into some sort of "beer curfew". Finally, we got to the head of the line and Janet ordered. I noticed some concerned looks on the faces of the beer servers. As I got closer, I overheard them saying something about cups and the shortage thereof. Janet got her two brews, I stepped up and ordered and was told that they just used the last cup. What? I felt like asking them if they did not realize that this was Ozzfest when they planned the beer consumption rate. Then it occured to me that maybe they did and the cup shortage was planned! Bastards! In desperation, I offered to purchase a beverage in the runoff cup that sat beneath the tap. "No, man, you don't want that one", the beer guy replied. I didn't see the problem; only beer runoff came into contact with the cup, right? But his raised eyebrows held more of a story and I trusted him. We waited for a while until a cup delivery could be made and then we heard the roar; Rob Zombie had taken the stage.
Blew off the second pair of beers. Janet would share the two with the Four. We bounded down the hill, now in early darkness. Camp Geezer stood the test through Slayer and then the dEFTONES. Mike and Chet had held firm and their tale of defense is unknown to me, but Janet and I returned with ale and we celebrated our reunion. I leaned in close to make myself heard over Mr. Zombie's racket and asked Chet about the dEFTONES. "You would have dug it, man" was his reply. The beer line had denied me the experience. Damn you, August Busch and all your offspring. (I later toasted ol' Auggie and his brood listening to the dEFTONES, with Janet, at a Metallica concert last summer. We're good now, Busch and me).
Rob Zombie put on an entertaining show, but it was a bit comical. We all had a great time singing the choruses to his radio hits and loved all the pyro effects. But I couldn't get the thought out of my head that I was watching some sort of Syd and Marty Krofft production of a heavy metal concert.
Meanwhile, the masses were gathering behind us up the hill. This would be our finest hour. The blanket was still unfurled and at it's full spread, but a little curled at the edges. Chet and I took the rear while Mike and Janet watched the flanks. Time after time, over the din of Rob Zombie and his circus-cum-horror flick rumpus, we had to shout people away from our territory. This took a little away from the enjoyment of the show onstage, but also gave us an extracurricular activity. This was not a passive event for us. The lights came up and we had lasted yet another act with Camp Geezer somewhat intact.
We finished the last of the beer and had to rehydrate. The bottles of water, as they had been all day, were a savior. Chet dug out two bottles from the backpacks. A girl next to us on the rail (a latecomer, I might add) wanted to buy a bottle of water from us. But we really didn't have that much and didn't really want to sell. If we sold, we were jerks. If we gave it to her for nothing, we'd get a rush of beggars wanting the water. We planned ahead for this event and now had to listen to these people whine as if it were post-apocolyptic Mountain View and we possesed the last untainted water. We all looked at each other and didn't know what to do until Chet spoke: "Fine, sell it to her". Janet took the lead here and turned to the whiner girl and firmly offered, "Five bucks". The girl was a little taken aback at first but then said, "Fuck that". We all agreed that the water was ours and was to be hoarded. Screw these idiots. Let them trudge up to the bathrooms and drink from the sinks. This ain't no commune sweetheart, this is Ozzfest '99.
The lights went down and there was a sudden surge forward. As much as we had prepared, we were caught off guard by the siege. Chet and I tried to hold back the throng. None broke our linked arms but we were pushed forward towards Janet and Mike, who were dealing with their own problems securing the sides of the blanket. I actually had my feet dug in and was sliding down the hill, unable to gain footing. Mike looked over his shoulder at us and laughed maniacally. Janet had a little panic in her eyes as she looked to me and Chet for suggestions. The only vision I've seen on film that I can compare that moment to is the attack on Helm's Deep in Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers. We were overrun and we knew it at the same time. Simultaneously, we yelled "Fuck it!!"
Janet dropped to her haunches and gathered the blanket into a ball. Chet, Mike and I threw or kicked the backpacks into a pile at our feet and we met four abreast against the rail. We all exhaled and started laughing while Sabbath assualted us with "War Pigs".
L-R Tony, Chet, Mike (obscured) and Janet
Chet looked over to our right, elbowed me and we all screamed, "No way!!" It was Drunk One and Drunk Two at the rail next to us, right where they'd been so many hours before. They had returned from who knows where and we all wondered what tales they could tell. I can only think that they were like rock and roll homing pidgeons. They both had bleary eyes and crooked smiles, but they were energized. They gazed at their king, Ozzy, as he lept around the stage singing "Fairies Wear Boots". High fives all around. It was the comeback of the century.
Black Sabbath did not dissapoint. All the great tunes were played and each was received with a great roar. Electric Funeral, Into the Void, Sabbath Bloody Sabbath and of course, the Twin Towers of Heavy Metal; Paranoid and Iron Man. While Mike and Janet were respectfully appreciating the tunes, Chet and I were getting off. This was Sabbath! I hadn't seen Sabbath since '82 and hearing Tony Iommi's riffs live again was overpowering. Ozzy was frenetic onstage, doing some sort of 2-inch leap from time to time that seemed to take great effort from him like he was doing a standing broad jump. It was hilarious, but we cheered every time he attempted it. God bless Ozzy.
After the show, the lights came up and we witnessed the exodus of the Thick Brows up the hill. We hung out for a little bit so the demolition derby in the parking lot could begin without us. Looking around, the grassy area looked like a battlefield. Garbage, shoes, blankets and the occasional passed out human littered the General Admission section. We saw rockers picking up their fallen compatriots and drag them off to the parking lot. No mullet left behind.
Ozzfest has come around every year since then and I haven't had the interest that I had when Black Sabbath reunited. I guess I'd go if it fell on a Saturday night or if I had the time off. I know it just wouldn't be the same. Except that I'd most likely run into Drunk One and Drunk Two on the rail, drunk off their asses at 11:30am. God bless the Washington Two.
Janet likes to get into the action. She wanted to move closer to the stage and I was cool with that. We navigated through the crowd with ease; there was ample space out in the gravel lot so far, so people weren't crammed together. We found a nice spot about 20-25 people deep center stage and enjoyed the show. Fear Factory was pretty good live, but not so much on disc. I learned that one the hard way. Goodbye $8.99 (used price at Boo Boo Records in San Luis Obispo later that year). But we were into it at the time and so was the crowd.
The distance between people at the Second Stage was akin to the space between fans at a football game when they stand to cheer a play. That space is dictated by the rows of seats, otherwise who knows what would happen in that stadium. But out in the lot, people seemed to be laid back, if that's possible for a metal concert, and we just looked over the heads in front of us to see the stage, grooving on the slamming beat and grinding guitars of FF. It took me a moment to realize that the distance between us and the people right in front of us had grown. "That's odd", I thought, and went right back to watching the show. Upon further review, those people in front of us were now about 10 feet away, with their backs to the stage and looking right at us. I glanced at Janet to see if she'd noticed this, but she was headbanging, never taking her eyes of off the stage. I then looked over my shoulder and felt like Chief Brody's son in the water in JAWS.
We were alone in the vortex of the moshpit, not one person within 5 yards of us. Somehow, we hadn't noticed any pushing and shoving. The diameter of the pit was at about 15 feet when I first noticed it and it quickly matured into the standard regulation measurement of 25 feet by the time I realized that I needed to do something. The breed of this pit differed from the nightclub variety; in a nightclub, you're usually packed in so tight that it's really just an oceanic tide that takes place, with people rarely able to break free and really wail on each other. But out here in the Gravel Pit, there was ample room to gain speed and the participants did this by doing a skip-run around the inside perimeter of the human circle, taking a shove from time to time from those on the fringe. I looked around and got a little dizzy trying to find an escape route, watching the half-dozen moshers circle us like rabid dogs. Me, with my Colonel Blake-style floppy hat and Janet wearing her straw bonnet probably looked like easy prey out there.
I took it all in before we made our getaway. It was impressive; the diameter had now easily surpassed 50 feet and there were at least fifteen moshers gaining momentum on the deadly Merry-Go-Round. I hooked Janet by the back beltloop of her pants and pulled her steadily backwards to a possible break in the circle I'd seen. She whipped her head around at me and was about to ask what the hell I thought I was doing, when she looked around and I only could read her lips as she said, "oh, shit". We skulked out of the pit, never turning to walk forward, only backtracking to the edge. We dodged flailing humans like so much fleshy shrapnel in some weaponless war. Reaching safe haven on the perimeter, we watched as the pit collapsed for a moment upon itself to about a 5 foot diameter. Then, it gasped as a whole and came back up to the 25 foot norm. We were comfortable where we stood and happily pushed stray moshers back into the pit. It was "catch and release" at the Second Stage that day. One guy in his late teens wobbled out of the pit and into our space. I was about to feed him back to the human hurricane when Janet stopped me. "Here comes Florence Nightengale, hopping down the Ozzfest Trail".
This kid was obviously stunned, possibly from a blow to the face or maybe just pure exhaustion. Janet grabbed him by the shoulders, asking him all the pertinent questions: "All you alright? Do you know where you are? How many fingers?" He responded in grunts and I told Janet, "Aww, he's fine", taking a cue from Drunk One earlier in the day. We were a little relieved when a buddy of his came up and put his arm around him to escort him off (literally) into the sunset. I turned to Janet, "See? The circle of life".
After Fear Factory was done, it was time to rally with Mike and Chet at Camp Geezer. Janet and I went up the sloping concourse to the beer stand nearest the entrance to the grass area. The line moved slower than I would have liked and I was getting worried about running into some sort of "beer curfew". Finally, we got to the head of the line and Janet ordered. I noticed some concerned looks on the faces of the beer servers. As I got closer, I overheard them saying something about cups and the shortage thereof. Janet got her two brews, I stepped up and ordered and was told that they just used the last cup. What? I felt like asking them if they did not realize that this was Ozzfest when they planned the beer consumption rate. Then it occured to me that maybe they did and the cup shortage was planned! Bastards! In desperation, I offered to purchase a beverage in the runoff cup that sat beneath the tap. "No, man, you don't want that one", the beer guy replied. I didn't see the problem; only beer runoff came into contact with the cup, right? But his raised eyebrows held more of a story and I trusted him. We waited for a while until a cup delivery could be made and then we heard the roar; Rob Zombie had taken the stage.
Blew off the second pair of beers. Janet would share the two with the Four. We bounded down the hill, now in early darkness. Camp Geezer stood the test through Slayer and then the dEFTONES. Mike and Chet had held firm and their tale of defense is unknown to me, but Janet and I returned with ale and we celebrated our reunion. I leaned in close to make myself heard over Mr. Zombie's racket and asked Chet about the dEFTONES. "You would have dug it, man" was his reply. The beer line had denied me the experience. Damn you, August Busch and all your offspring. (I later toasted ol' Auggie and his brood listening to the dEFTONES, with Janet, at a Metallica concert last summer. We're good now, Busch and me).
Rob Zombie put on an entertaining show, but it was a bit comical. We all had a great time singing the choruses to his radio hits and loved all the pyro effects. But I couldn't get the thought out of my head that I was watching some sort of Syd and Marty Krofft production of a heavy metal concert.
Meanwhile, the masses were gathering behind us up the hill. This would be our finest hour. The blanket was still unfurled and at it's full spread, but a little curled at the edges. Chet and I took the rear while Mike and Janet watched the flanks. Time after time, over the din of Rob Zombie and his circus-cum-horror flick rumpus, we had to shout people away from our territory. This took a little away from the enjoyment of the show onstage, but also gave us an extracurricular activity. This was not a passive event for us. The lights came up and we had lasted yet another act with Camp Geezer somewhat intact.
We finished the last of the beer and had to rehydrate. The bottles of water, as they had been all day, were a savior. Chet dug out two bottles from the backpacks. A girl next to us on the rail (a latecomer, I might add) wanted to buy a bottle of water from us. But we really didn't have that much and didn't really want to sell. If we sold, we were jerks. If we gave it to her for nothing, we'd get a rush of beggars wanting the water. We planned ahead for this event and now had to listen to these people whine as if it were post-apocolyptic Mountain View and we possesed the last untainted water. We all looked at each other and didn't know what to do until Chet spoke: "Fine, sell it to her". Janet took the lead here and turned to the whiner girl and firmly offered, "Five bucks". The girl was a little taken aback at first but then said, "Fuck that". We all agreed that the water was ours and was to be hoarded. Screw these idiots. Let them trudge up to the bathrooms and drink from the sinks. This ain't no commune sweetheart, this is Ozzfest '99.
The lights went down and there was a sudden surge forward. As much as we had prepared, we were caught off guard by the siege. Chet and I tried to hold back the throng. None broke our linked arms but we were pushed forward towards Janet and Mike, who were dealing with their own problems securing the sides of the blanket. I actually had my feet dug in and was sliding down the hill, unable to gain footing. Mike looked over his shoulder at us and laughed maniacally. Janet had a little panic in her eyes as she looked to me and Chet for suggestions. The only vision I've seen on film that I can compare that moment to is the attack on Helm's Deep in Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers. We were overrun and we knew it at the same time. Simultaneously, we yelled "Fuck it!!"
Janet dropped to her haunches and gathered the blanket into a ball. Chet, Mike and I threw or kicked the backpacks into a pile at our feet and we met four abreast against the rail. We all exhaled and started laughing while Sabbath assualted us with "War Pigs".
L-R Tony, Chet, Mike (obscured) and Janet
Chet looked over to our right, elbowed me and we all screamed, "No way!!" It was Drunk One and Drunk Two at the rail next to us, right where they'd been so many hours before. They had returned from who knows where and we all wondered what tales they could tell. I can only think that they were like rock and roll homing pidgeons. They both had bleary eyes and crooked smiles, but they were energized. They gazed at their king, Ozzy, as he lept around the stage singing "Fairies Wear Boots". High fives all around. It was the comeback of the century.
Black Sabbath did not dissapoint. All the great tunes were played and each was received with a great roar. Electric Funeral, Into the Void, Sabbath Bloody Sabbath and of course, the Twin Towers of Heavy Metal; Paranoid and Iron Man. While Mike and Janet were respectfully appreciating the tunes, Chet and I were getting off. This was Sabbath! I hadn't seen Sabbath since '82 and hearing Tony Iommi's riffs live again was overpowering. Ozzy was frenetic onstage, doing some sort of 2-inch leap from time to time that seemed to take great effort from him like he was doing a standing broad jump. It was hilarious, but we cheered every time he attempted it. God bless Ozzy.
After the show, the lights came up and we witnessed the exodus of the Thick Brows up the hill. We hung out for a little bit so the demolition derby in the parking lot could begin without us. Looking around, the grassy area looked like a battlefield. Garbage, shoes, blankets and the occasional passed out human littered the General Admission section. We saw rockers picking up their fallen compatriots and drag them off to the parking lot. No mullet left behind.
Ozzfest has come around every year since then and I haven't had the interest that I had when Black Sabbath reunited. I guess I'd go if it fell on a Saturday night or if I had the time off. I know it just wouldn't be the same. Except that I'd most likely run into Drunk One and Drunk Two on the rail, drunk off their asses at 11:30am. God bless the Washington Two.
posted by Tony at 1:22 PM
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