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Also this issue: Mehta Physics Matter of Import The Kills The Sick Lipstick 4 Way Street Richard Thompson
Jamaican Dave's Birthday Bash Tracy Chapman |
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July 17-23, 2003
music
Unwrapping the Summer Tour Package.
The choices we make say a lot about who we are. Even the small ones. It's something you think of when, upon being presented with a fork in the road, you opt for headbanging to Metallica at Veterans Stadium instead of square dancing to Brooks & Dunn's Neon Circus and Wild West Show at the Tweeter.
Sometimes it's no choice at all. Perhaps the heavy metal coursing in my veins drew me to the Vet for one of the last ever concerts at this venerable multipurpose arena. Like the mullet, bowl stadiums are losing ground in our society, replaced by cleaned-up, corporate slaves. Once the dominant features on the skyline at a Metallica show, mullets were outnumbered by backward baseball caps this Saturday. These most functional of coifs are as versatile as the all-purpose stadiums of the late '60s. Phillies heartthrob Darren Daulton knew that on a sunny day at the ballpark nothing prevented the condition known as "red neck" better than a mullet. They also serve as a nice awning for rain and beer to run right off -- and would have been useful for the flurry of fluted glasses that rained down on the Summer Sanitarium stage like snowballs on Santa Claus.
Linkin Park's battle cry -- "People in the pit, let's do this shit!" -- was every bit as electrifying as "Whoomp! There it is," and brought the crowd to its feet. The band was a powder keg of energy, running around in the heat, jumping off ramps and taking adequate breaks to rehydrate. If their vocalists could only master playing the guitar while rapping, this team of youngsters could take it to the next level.
Up in the 700 level, where the seats were coated in vomit, the rampant making out and exposed fleshy parts brought back memories of those dismal post-Kruk, pre-Thome Phillies seasons when fans would distract themselves by brawling between the Jumbotron screens. Reminded of those historic indiscretions, I asked an official-looking person whether Veterans Stadium court was in session for the concert. My innocent inquiry was met with a whole lotta harassment before a simple "yes" answer. It could've been worse: The fan manhandled for dancing on the tarp-covered pitcher's mound during Limp Bizkit's set found out the hard way that Vet court was in session. A few songs later, the Limp One, Fred Durst, roamed from the stage for a tour of the Vet, waltzing around the infield and mound with impunity and a security escort. Ah, rock stars.
In a fitting almost-end to live music at the Vet, a revitalized Metallica came out swinging for the fences with a very heavy set that concentrated on some of their most aggressive songs. After tearing through "Master of Puppets" and "Harvester of Sorrow" for their most loyal fans, they kept the pedal down and didn't pause for the acoustic lulls that derailed recent tours. Classics such as "No Remorse" and "Blackened" were unleashed with such convincing fury that you'd almost forgive Metallica for softening in the '90s and ushering in a new age of faux metal acts.
For all of Metallica's valiant efforts to hasten the Vet's demolition, they didn't get much help from the crowd. Maybe everyone was tired after Limp Bizkit (who had biggest pit of the day) or they had taken the "dangers of moshing" warnings to heart. Either way, the pit was pitiful: I didn't get kicked in the head or knocked down once during Metallica's set, and one guy actually excused himself for jostling me.
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