« Back to Part 1: Precious Metal
I walked in the cold, wearing just my flannel. I figured it would be really hot, and I didn't want to get blood all over my jacket. Plus, my house was close to the Bismarck Civic Center. This venue might have seated only 10,000 people, but once held a legendary concert where AC/DC played so loudly they cracked the cement foundation of the building, leading to their ban from ever playing in North Dakota again.
Being a total loser most of my life, I was cool being by myself. I grew used to it. Although I was a little bummed nobody wanted to see this show with me. So I wasn't that excited for the concert, I was just happy to have something to do besides play SEGA in my basement.
I had no idea what to expect. Would Rob Zombie and that hot bass player chick actually be in my little hometown? Were people going to be swinging swords around trying to kill people like me? Would somebody rob me so they could buy drugs? Was I going to see real boobs for the first time?
Before I arrived I heard a lot of noise. This was a good sign, right? Sort of.
Hundreds of people were outside waving crosses and holding pickets about Jesus and salvation. Some sat in prayer circles, others just read from the Bible—a book I kept right next to my dictionary. A lady grabbed my shirt and looked into my soul screaming, "If you go in there you'll do drugs, worship Satan, and have premarital sex! You'll go to hell!"
We stared at each other for a while. The lady yelled in my face again repeating, "If you go in there you'll do drugs, worship Satan, and have premarital sex! You'll go to hell!" For the first time in my life I felt like doing something wrong.
Sweaty dudes without shirts kept bumping into me, grossing me out every time their slimy skin hit mine."That sounds awesome!" Then I flipped the bird to my first adult.
I couldn't get inside fast enough. The need to have heavy metal course through my eardrums made me jittery—or it could have been the two Mellow Yellows I drank for the supreme sugar rush. I would have cut the line, but I was still puny by North Dakota standards. A security guard patted me down. I tried to work up a fart for him, but couldn't do it. After he tore my ticket I ran inside excited to see devil music.
I didn't realize there were opening bands. I saw the SuperSuckers who sucked. Then the Toadies, who hadn't made their popular song yet. I looked around for people shooting drugs or having "The Sex." Nothing. Just a bunch of people smoking and making out. I couldn't find anybody punching anybody.
Then the lights went out. "Ah fuck! The power's out!" I shouted. People started flicking on lighters. I didn't have anything in my pockets except ChapStick. I shrugged my shoulders. "That's it I guess." I turned around to leave but wondered why nobody else did.
Then my dog-like hearing kicked in. Some mechanical machine operated on the stage. The curtains were opening…to reveal…a 30-foot wide neon DEMON HEAD!!! A bass line rumbled so low it pumped my heart for me. A guitar raised every hair on my sort-of-pubescent body. I actually jumped when the drums boomed. Then another sound I didn't recognize scorched my auditory system—thousands of people screaming. That definitely wasn't on the CD.
Somebody jumped on stage with ratty dreadlocks and a hell-black cowboy hat. This towering freak picked up a microphone and started yelling, "How fucking hardcore is Bismarck Fucking North Dakota?!!" I yelled as loud as I could, hoping my squeaky voice would add to the screams.
All through the show Rob Zombie ran all over the place. He sat in between speakers to head bang. He kicked stuff. He pointed at things and they exploded in blue flames.
I saw people throwing all kinds of crap onto the stage. I saw a few shirts and sneakers go up there. I smelled cigarettes and some sort of smoke I didn't recognize. Sweaty dudes without shirts kept bumping into me, grossing me out every time their slimy skin hit mine. I wasn't so much worried about the transference of LSD, but a lot of these half-naked guys sported zits and boils as big as my eyeballs. I didn't want one of those things oozing onto me.
After maybe ten songs a movie screen replaced the giant devil head. "I heard all those people outside telling you you're going to kill yourselves or worship Satan or whatever. This little film is for you. It's about all the bullshit this tour has put with. You aren't stupid, those people are stupid. You're too smart to kill yourselves over music. They're the ones who are making it a problem. You're the ones who are making it FUCKING rock!"
So we watched a five-minute flick with Rob Zombie. Then the screen shot up and we experienced more metal. Everything was going great until he dropped his mic after a song and said, "Bismarck, you've been awesome. Have a great night!"
"They didn't play ‘More Human' yet!" I started to leave a second time. Still fascinated I turned around to see the dark stage and just wanted to take in the new experiences. I assumed the dudes on stage were breaking things down. I tried to burn the demon skull into my brain, but more music startled me. He finally played my favorite song, "More Human Than Human." I tried to give myself whiplash with a few more headbangs, and after the encore ended I waited a few minutes until I was sure he was done.
I passed right by the merch stand, unable to buy a hat or t-shirt because I'd spent all my money on the ticket itself—but I'd always have the memories. I didn't get to see boobs or do drugs, and wouldn't enjoy either for a few years yet, but I walked home alone with devil horns in my eyes. The next morning at breakfast my mom asked me something but I couldn't hear anything. "What?" I replied. And then I smiled, happy for the first time on a Saturday morning.
End Note: The next concert I saw was Pearl Jam, which was a great concert in everybody else's eyes. I wanted to see pyrotechnics, blood, and strippers, not Eddie Vedder standing still. After White Zombie, at every concert I want to see a stage show and feel energy, not some cracked out singer spouting some half-assed political message. And I still have that green flannel.