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With the spirit of Ozzy Osbourne circa 1982 in our hearts, we plunge ourselves knee-deep into evil ...
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Page 2
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"There's so many people here now who are wearing my pee!" ...
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Page 3
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One girl peels her lips from the other woman's mouth and whispers ...
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Page 4
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"If this doesn't summon the madness, nothing will." ...
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New England Metal & Hardcore Fest: The Visuals
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Browse Bands by Name
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Or enter a band name below to search:
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 Bands Main
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On Sunday morning, appalled by the lack of degeneracy, the Goat makes one last-ditch effort to step it up: After not shaving all week, he heads to the hotel bathroom and emerges with a "molest-stache," a Geraldo Rivera-esque, barely-there hint of dark facial hair that's rounded at each end and practically screams "pedophile." It creeps me out — along with everyone else at Metalfest who sees it — instantaneously. "If this doesn't summon the madness, nothing will," he declares.
All day, talk revolves around previous Metalfests and how much better they seem — like last year's, when a certain metal-related television personality passed out in someone's room, and a gaggle of metalheads photographed her in various positions with various props (the results of which, surprisingly, have yet to make it to the Internet).
However, Sunday's biggest emergency is a brush fire outside the hotel, sparked by a cigarette flung into a patch of tulips and decorative mulch. A maintenance man responds with buckets of water, then mutters under his breath, "Stupid f---ing kids."
Just before 3 p.m., Goat Horn, a denim-and-leather-clad Canadian power trio, deliver a devastating set, finishing just in time for extreme metallists Light This City to take the main stage. The males in the audience stare, love-struck, at the lovely Laura Nichol — metal's best answer to Gwen Stefani — who writhes onstage, barking ferociously and naughtily running her hands through her hair.
At around 5 p.m., as Cannae unleash "Rats, Snakes and Thieves" on the main stage, Tim — who drove nine hours from Maine to rock out at Metalfest — asks, "Who's playing, you know?" We tell him, but frankly, he doesn't seem to care much. "I'm here for the bruises," he says, before displaying the contusions on his legs, arms and neck — the battle wounds he'll no doubt exhibit when he returns to school on Monday. "I got kicked in the nose too!" he exclaims with pride.
Avant-metal outfit Daughters close out the second stage with a brain-bludgeoning performance, but most of the kids crammed into the Palladium are here for one band, and one band only: DragonForce. The heavily '80s-influenced British power-metallers are known for delivering breakneck tempos, background choral singing and lyrics about fire and swords and epic battles. During a DragonForce gig, the bandmembers are in constant motion, like children with ADD after finishing off bags of FunDip.
Around 10:30 p.m., the bandmembers emerge from the backstage area to chants of "DragonForce! DragonForce!" and deliver their first concert on American soil. The band's microphone stands boast two cup holders each, where bottles of Budweiser — with straws — rest, waiting to be consumed. As guitar virtuoso Herman Li comes running out, holding his axe high above his head, some of us notice that the band's celebrated onstage trampolines — from which the musicians perform acrobatic leaps — are missing.
"It's not about trampolines," someone from their label tells me dismissively. "They're not a gimmick band."
The Metalfest crowd doesn't seem to care, as it sings the lyrics to "Black Winter Night" back at the band's deeply Bruce Dickinson-influenced frontman, ZP Theart. "This is happy metal," grouses a morose metal fan, standing at the bar, waiting to order another beer. "This sh-- makes me feel like I won something."
Around 3 a.m., fatigue finally sets in — along with the depressing and mind-boggling realization that we have not seen a single bared breast all weekend. Although Metalfest has managed to kick everyone's keister, this year was comparatively tame.
"The entire thing just sucked," says Joseph, who makes the trek from Minnesota to Worcester each spring. "The bands, the parties — maybe everyone got too loaded during the day, and turned in too early each night. Maybe we need to go burn down a church or something."
"It was an off year if ever there was one," the Goat says. "My feelings are hurt by this non-debauchery. When Metalfest weekend has come and gone without us seeing a single arrest, something's not right."
We say our goodbyes and start heading for the door when a wide-eyed friend emerges from the bathroom — where someone's punched a hole in the wall, and both the toilet seat and towel rack have been atomized — frenetically rubbing one of his nostrils.
"Dude! You guys are leaving already?!" he asks urgently. "You can't be out of steam yet, man! Come on — crack open a beer!
"It's f---ing Metalfest, man."
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Photo: MTV News
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