Ozzfest Funny and Scary
There wasn’t much in the way of heavy-metal depravity at the 2002
edition of Ozzfest. And certainly not on the tour bus of P.O.D.,
parked behind the main stage at the Montage Mountain ski resort in
Scranton, Pennsylvania. There were, however,
peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches.
“You want one?” asked guitarist Marcos Curiel. “No? You said no,
but you had to think about it. That means you really wanted one.”
Before any further decisions (or sandwiches) could be made, a
roadie got on the bus and announced that the band was due onstage
in five minutes.
“I thought we had twenty minutes!” said singer Sonny Sandoval.
The band had just encountered that rarest of rock & roll
occurrences: A festival running ahead of schedule.
Ozzfest 2002 had a genial mood — as much as any fourteen-hour
heavy-metal marathon could. Maybe it was because of its patron
saint’s transformation from a Black Sabbath boogeyman to the
nation’s favorite doddering dad. Most bands were available to sign
albums in an autograph tent. Other tents included the tapestry
tent, with the sign “Buy a fucking tapestry now,” and “Pain and
Pleasure,” where, for twenty dollars, two dominatrixes tied patrons
up, gave them a flogging and took a photo. Ozzfest ran smoothly on
July 10th, its opening originally intended to be the third date,
before Sharon Osbourne’s cancer surgery.
Many of the day’s best groups — System of a Down, Drowning
Pool, P.O.D. and the Apex Theory — hopscotched between genres. The
worst acts (including Sweden’s Meshuggah) were just dull specimens
of Bandus Ozzfestus genericus, with the usual jackhammer rhythms
and a singer howling like a wounded animal. At 11:30 a.m., Ill Nino
became the first band to inspire moshing. For the rest of the
afternoon, the pit was intense enough to kick up clouds of dust —
the budget version of a smoke machine.
Backstage, performers were hanging out in the catering area; the
hot tip of the day among bands was the availability of Itzakadoozie
popsicles. And musicians visited each other, but generally not in
dressing rooms. “We invade people’s buses,” said Lostprophets
singer Ian Watkins, marvelling at the luxury of Adema’s tour bus.
“Everyone’s up early, everyone’s ready to get it on,” said Adema
singer Mark Chavez. “It’s not a competition, but everyone’s
throwing down.”
“Ozzfest always seems cool,” Rob Zombie said later. “Maybe it’s
because everybody’s like-minded with the metal. I always heard
horror stories about ego trips from other festivals.” Asked about
The Osbournes, Zombie said, “I knew the family before the
show. It’s funny in real life, too.”
At 4:30 p.m. the action shifted to the main stage. The
production values gradually increased, with pyrotechnics, lights
and a video screen. Around 9:30 p.m. that screen began showing a
montage of scenes from The Osbournes. Osbourne himself
then scampered onstage to an outpouring of “Oz-zy!” chanting from
the crowd — so he mooned them. After a few songs, he announced,
“Sharon’s doing fucking great,” to loud cheers. He played all the
crowd pleasers — “Crazy Train,” “Bark at the Moon” and “Iron Man”
— while roaming around the stage the same way he shuffles around
his living room.
Osbourne is more comical than scary now, but being in on the
joke seems to make his fans love him all the more. He played well
on a night when he probably would rather have been home with his
wife — even if his music couldn’t possibly be as entertaining as
the video footage of him haplessly throwing knives at a block of
wood.