Ozzfest 2000

Somewhere in a field outside Marysville, the sounds of raging metal music and the smells of rice paddies mixed with cow pastures wafted skyward on a blistering hot Monday. The Ozzfest came to Northern California, and with 15-odd bands on the bill plus the overlord himself, Ozzy, set to throw down, it was a long day for those tough few who would stick it out till the end.

The circus kicked off on the second stage with the band Pumpjack at about 10:15 in the morning, which was about the time we were just arriving and trying to get our media passes and whatnot. So, needless to say, we missed their set. But, amongst the sea of dyed mullets and scantily clad harlots, my boss and I were pleased to find out that we were getting the V.I.P. treatment. That meant a booth behind the raging mullet war, but in front of the blazing sun. All I can say is thank goodness I had remembered to bring my earplugs because as you can imagine at a metalfest such as this one the sheer volume of this mutha could have awoken Randy Rhoads himself.

Around 11 AM, the metal ceased for a little bit so this guy could jump two tour buses for an MTV show, "Senseless Acts of Video." At first the guy did one huge jump and cleared the buses by many feet. Then he brought out the guys from Methods Of Mayhem and did circles around them, and also jumped over them while they were standing on the tour buses. Now, what came next is beyond me, but this guy kept jumping the tour buses over and over. He should have stopped while he was ahead and made it seem that jumping that shit was somewhat of a task for him.

So, if I know anything about day-long festivals, it is that as one band finishes, immediately on the next stage another band starts their set, and so on. On the third stage, which pretty much served as a freak show, was a man who pretty much looked like G.G. Allin and proceeded to pretty much desecrate his body and yell obscenities at the crowd in true G.G. fashion — only this freak didn’t throw his poo out to his audience. However, the shit did hit the fans, because he seemed to yell at the crowd more than entertain ‘em. He did the standard freak show routines, such as lifting objects with his nips and tongue. He even brought out a girl from the audience to staple a shirt on him and some heavy kid to come stand on him whilst his face was in a pile of broken glass.

Soon after the freak left the third stage, up came a big biker-looking fellow on the main stage who seemed to have a severe problem with spitting. This guy was hawking spit all over the place. I can only hope that he didn’t have Hepatitis C or something. So, after finding a spot where I could shoot my photos and not get hawked on, I was surprised to find out that the big biker guy who was playing the living poop outta the guitar, and also served as lead singer, happened to be Zakk Wylde whom was one of the many Ozzy guitar prodigies. Back in the glory days of metal this guy, who used to look like a tall blonde chick that could rock a guitar, now was this hairy guy that sounded like the cookie monster trying to sing.

Sometime later Methods of Mayhem hit the main stage. M.O.M. — as they’re known to the hip elite — are fronted by ex drummer-turned-horribly-bad-vocalist/guitarist Tommy Lee of amateur porn fame, and they stank the place up. With lyrics that read like they got them out of the back of a book of dirty limericks, and crappy rhyme spitting thrown in by some day-glo-clothing-wearing freak, the Mayhem made it painfully apparent that there must be some serious money involved in being a part of the show. Why they played the main stage and Kittie didn’t has to be about the money. Record labels got to be paying Ozzy to get their bands big billing. Don’t kid yourself by thinking it’s about the talent, save for probably Pantera, who obviously deserve top billing. The rest of the pecking order are all about the Benjamins.

So after that stomach-turning display, Kittie heated up the second stage and rocked like you’ve never seen four teenage chicks rock. Frontwoman Morgan belted out some Slayer-worthy growling while the rest of her crew backed up her shrieks with some hellraising fury. It’s hard to believe such a huge furor could come from such little people, but Kittie pulled it off. Touché.

Following that, and to a somewhat diminished crowd — probably due to the triple digit heat in the pit — Incubus brought on their funk-style groove and donned shirts and ties, in much contrast to their Ozzfest metal brethren. Always impressive, Incubus played some favorites off their last album, S.C.I.E.N.C.E., and some newer stuff that’s still catching plenty of radio play and exposure (namely "Pardon Me" and "Stellar"), to the small crowd’s baking gratitude. Let me tell you right now that the guys in the band are so nice. We did an interview and took some photos on their bus so look for it in your upcoming copy of The Synthesis.

Spiky-haired Static-X put on their half hour, which was marked by nothing extremely interesting except for the sheer unreality of their frontman’s hair staying shellacked straight-up through the whole thing. One couldn’t help but stare at it the entire time. The only song I really dug wasn’t even one of their own, but of the old industrial rockers Ministry. They did a killer remake of "Burning Inside" that was pretty much played verbatim as it was played on the record.

After Static X performed, the next act to follow was Godsmack whom had a charming lead screamer who certainly knew how to win over fans by making fun of the audience and inserting the word "fuck" after every three words. He even singled out some young kid for sitting down. He cursed him out for a little while, then segued into their latest single, "Keep Away." Only then did the kid get up and act interested. Go figure. I think that I can speak for that little kid that being singled out in front of thousands of kids by a rock star is no cup of tea. Oh well, I assume the kid learned his lesson.

When Pantera took the stage, the whole day was made worthwhile. The Cowboys From Hell are the kings of metal and still throw down with a frenzy of fucking hostility like every aggro-band-come-lately wished they could in their most depraved wet dreams. Dimebag Darrel swung his axe and pulled off some wicked licks like the guitar virtuoso he definitely is. Phil got emotional between songs, almost to the point where it looked like the big lug might shed a tear in thanking the crowd for their cheering support. "I love you guys." He went on: "We’ve been at this for quite a few years and we’ve never let you down and you guys know it, so go ahead and give yourselves another round of applause for being there with us. We love you." His voice creaked through the opening verse of "Cemetery Gates" before he cut it short to go straight into "Fucking Hostile," at which point the moshpit erupted into serious mayhem. Pantera didn’t disappoint, and easily made the entire show a success solely on the power of their 45-minute set. If anything, having the show go on after that only brought it down, especially the painful spectacle of Ozzy, which everyone who bore witness would have to admit was sickening to watch.

Now, we know Ozzy is pretty much the godfather of metal. Black Sabbath ruled long and supreme, straddling the entire genre since the late 70s and making unforgettable music. But to let the old man get up on stage and pretend he still can perform in his advanced and severely declining age is unforgivable. Watching him stumble through "War Pigs" and hoping he didn’t totally fuck it up by forgetting a line midway was an exercise in extreme patience. It was like a new metal version of The Emperor’s New Clothes as you watched the crowd watch Ozzy. You wanted to ask the guy next to you, "Doesn’t anyone tell him he sucks and shouldn’t sing anymore? Shouldn’t we do something?" But no, the show went on and as Mr. Osbourne slurred through song after song, and paced the stage with his left arm hanging limply askew, the lesson was hammered home repeatedly. At some point you’ve got to take the old dog out back and put a proverbial bullet through his head just for mercy’s sake. Sure, Ozzy’s getting richer by being out there, but is it worth it? The answer is no.

- M. Cameron Newell with Floyd Pinkerton
- Pix by Bill Fishkin and Floyd Pinkerton

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