By Judy Pak
Daily Bruin Senior Staff
The heat was on, the lineup was hot, the meat was cookin’,
the crowd was massive, but, surprisingly, the concert ended up
cold.
Yes, this year it was bigger, longer and louder. And with that
under consideration the concert should have been a day-long,
hulking, sun-drenched, beer-soaked, hormone-charged, rockin’
heaven for rock fans.
But it was just nowhere near that.
Instead, KROQ’s annual Weenie Roast offered 50,000 fans a
numbing 12 hours of bleak modern rock at Anaheim’s Edison
International Field.
Over the past eight years, the Weenie Roast has been known to be
bigger and badder each time, but this year it was kinder and
gentler than ever before, resembling Lilith Fair more than anything
else.
It wasn’t difficult for Third Eye Blind to sedate the
audience with its complete lack of flair and aggressiveness. Lead
singer Jenkins doesn’t have the greatest voice as is, and one
too many times he slipped into an annoying whine that sent thirsty
throngs out of their seats and made it increasingly difficult to
navigate the concession area.
Creed crooned too many sound-alike songs until even the
band’s fans got nauseated. But the fireworks compensated for
the band’s unexplosive music.
Ozzy Osbourne reached one of his lowest points for someone who
had once played such an integral role in one of heavy rock’s
seminal bands. He lost the visceral and metaphysical élan he
had helming Black Sabbath during those awesome peak years.
Apparently, Ozzy rates his solo stuff much as we do, feeling
compelled to include a Black Sabbath reunion in his
performance.
From several key acts it seems like if you’ve seen it
once, you’ve seen it all. For example, if Cypress Hill is
tired of rap or has simply lost the creative spirit for the music
that brought them to the forefront, why beat the listeners to death
by revisiting old territory with the same routine over and over
again?
The Offspring, however, did deliver a solid performance but
never really ascended the innovative plateau. Sure, they’ve
still got the chops, but their mild sermonizing and positive
messages, admirable as they may be, are beginning to sound a
little, uh, parental.
Godsmack’s unbearable performance proved there
shouldn’t be any more room for inspired imitators in metal.
Anaheim’s own Lit and opening act Incubus really didn’t
offer anything memorable but its sets were still strong enough to
make Third Eye Blind look like a sister group.
In this day of pseudo-macho, kitchen-sink, smarmy acts
dominating the Weenie Roast, the women were not forgotten. The huge
video screen’s camera scanned the crowd encouraging the
females to represent with bare breasts. Finally, the crowd began to
generate a raucous ambiance when No Doubt’s Gwen Stefani, the
lone woman on the bill, whipped up a schizo, bouncy set of
ska-inflected rock. With her unique riot girl-meets-fragile babe
personality, she displayed a broad palette of emotions, styles and
sounds through her dynamic ballads, testosterone-fueled rock,
diaphanous slow rock, and a dash of power pop.
It also helped that Scott Weiland from Stone Temple Pilots was
as eccentric and spontaneous as ever, appearing in a bight red wig
and a tiny silver dress, making a point to the crowd that he wanted
to show cohesion with underrepresented women.
Despite the singer’s much-publicized trials and
tribulations with drugs, he and the band have not lost their
ability to tantalize the crowd with clarity and vibrancy.
The spell was been cast by the undisputed leader of the night,
Korn. Overloads of angst-ridden teens everywhere released their
frustration and used their heavy music as a punching bag for their
daily lives, a temporary antidote to their bitterness.
Lead singer Jonathan Davis’s pained vocals rode high above
the quintet’s creepy metallic grind, as it engendered a kind
of narcotic mood, a condition seething with the vulgar frustration
of the young and disillusioned.
However, Korn didn’t misplace its rage in a wash of
complicated indulgences, and it hadn’t forgotten the
importance of humor in such bizarre and monstrous musical
expression.
On the other hand, Davis’s good pal Fred Durst of Limp
Bizkit was unable to initiate a lively response from the crowd in
his attempts to recreate the pandemonium at last year’s
Woodstock. And, boy, did Durst try hard. He was as restless as a
caged leopard, hyping the crowd to jump and “bum rush the
stage” with his lame rendition of House of Pain’s
“Jump Around.” And during “Nookie” he
evoked fans to break through the security barricade.
The crowd’s reluctance to turn annihilative demonstrated
that Fred has lost his trademark ability to incite a teeming horde
to hostility like he did last summer. Maybe security was doing a
better job, or maybe some people are sick of Durst’s typical
anthem of anti-authoritarianism.
As the eccentric card in this year’s lineup, Moby bore the
challenging mantle of bring the only electronic act. His
performance only proved that the entire genre’s mettle and
live viability was greeted with indifference of tens of thousands
of kids. Moby lost the crowd’s attention by running around
and doing a little of everything and nothing, while his venomous
comments about frat boys lowered the energy level.
All in all, the Weenie Roast did do a good job of being an
open-minded festival, providing a little something for anyone and
nothing for everybody. It’s just too bad the quality of music
and atmosphere had to be sacrificed for the immensity of the
concert.