It was the year 2000. I was a wee goth weirdo attending middle school, obsessed with a band with the very unfortunate name of “Orgy.” Orgy was a mix of nu-metal and industrial sounds, and I was Quite Sure I would one day marry the lead singer, Jay Gordon. I printed pixelated photos of him off the early internet and plastered them on my bedroom wall, my locker, my trapper keepers, etc.
You can only imagine my excitement when it was announced they were playing a show in nearby Seattle!
My mom agreed to escort me to the show, and she, a naive but honest CPA, endeavored to ensure she wasn’t summoned away for some sort of tax emergency. So she blocked out “Orgy Concert” in her digital work calendar for all her fellow employees (and boss!) to read.
Hilarity ensued.
Around the same time, I used Napster to discover melodic black metal bands like Cradle of Filth. My fixation with nu-metal soon faded, replaced by an admiration for inverted power cords and tremolo picking coupled with wildly inappropriate lyrics about, say, necrophilia and black magic.
Timeless subjects, really.
***
Fast-forward to modern day.
I still adore Cradle of Filth. Their song Cthulhu Dawn is a veritable bop, as the kids say.
But I still have a soft spot for nu-metal, so I was delighted when a fellow research scientist at LBNL invited me to join him and his sister at the SICK NEW WORLD music festival in Las Vegas. It happened at the end of April, a mere week after my contract at LBNL ran out.
What a wonderful way to ring in funemployment! My ears are still ringing, in fact.
A day before I flew out, I read in the SICK NEW WORLD app that I could only bring a clear, see-through bag, so I turned to my local Buy Nothing group.
Fortunately, Amanda said she had one that fit the bill. She didn’t take a photo before setting it outside for me to pick up, but I was grateful for the last-minute help. How bad could the bag be?
I picked it up. It had a yellow logo that read “Dole Plantation.” You know, the same Dole that overthrew the Hawaiian monarchy in a spectacularly bloody fashion.
This is both simultaneously the most metal and the least metal bag I’ve ever laid eyes on, but I was out of time, so I made do.
***
We arrived in Las Vegas a day early to do some people-watching. Neither my husband Mitch nor our friend that came with us (Amy) are big gamblers, but we very much enjoy watching other people make bad decisions.
There are a lot of bad decisions in Las Vegas.
The day of the concert we walked across town and ate incredible tacos at Tacos El Gordo. We waited in line for ages, watching tasty food being delivered for over 30 minutes. So by the time we got to the front of the line, we ordered…entirely too much food. This was the closest anyone came to vomiting on the trip: not from alcohol, but from over-eating:
After lunch, I was heading to the concert! I was feeling both grossly stuffed and a little nervous, as my work friend had had a death in the family and had to cancel. So I was meeting his sister, Coral, for the first time at the festival. My work friend is a big ‘ole sweetheart so I figured Coral would be too, but it was still my first all-day metal festival and I had metal-plated butterflies in my stomach. But I wasn’t about to let my nervousness interfere with my enjoyment of the music.
I got there in time to see Filter at 12:45 PM.
They played that song “Take a Picture,” and they apparently wanted to take our picture because they played that song and then took a selfie with the crowd in the background. Tres cute.
My favorite song of theirs, which they ended the set with, is “Hey Man, Nice Shot.” Incredible bass line.
Then I got to see Orgy perform! The sound at that smaller Spiral Stage was, in my opinion, horrendous. They also had a bunch of collaborations with people I’d never heard of. Who even were these new (to me) artists? Get out of my nostalgia. I tried to get to the middle where it sounded less awful, but my bag was breaking and I was distracted.
Two bands in, the Dole bag completely betrayed me. In its defense, I may have overloaded it, but in any case the strap ripped out of the plastic body, spilling all my stuff. A nice couple behind me called out to me to make sure I noticed the avalanche of stuff the bag vomited onto the ground. I appreciated them looking out for me. Despite some stereotypes to the contrary, metalheads are the nicest of any music fandom.
I skipped over to a medic tent and asked if they had any medical tape I could use to close up the plastic body of the bag. They were happy to oblige, but the strap was beyond saving, so now I had to hug this sweat-covered plastic bag against myself in the outdoor Las Vegas sun while I bopped along to my nu-metal.
Meanwhile I’d been trying to text Coral, but the reception was awful, particularly for her. She was wearing an iconic outfit: red corset and green flowy skirt. You’d think I’d be able to spot such vibrant colors in a sea of black ‘fits at Acid Bath.
I, being all of five feet tall, could not.
Eventually, I suggested we meet at a specific med tent, and we found each other at last. We got along famously, as predicted.
She had even reserved a locker AND had an extra bag with her, so I was able to transfer my stuff into her tiny backpack, saving me from the sweat-covered Dole disaster. Coral: My savior.
We bopped on over to Bollywood, which is a metal band from India that incorporates traditional Indian instruments into their music. They were pretty fun!
Next up for us was Twin Tribes. I thought they were like if the vampires from Twilight played goth wave. Think Pirate Vampire Circus vibes.
I really enjoyed seeing Kittie, an all-girl band that’s been around since my youth. This crowd was delightfully rich with ladies, and I was happy to see how many young women were super into this band.
You see, Kittie was another band my bestie Monica and I were obsessed with, back in the day. We fantasized about forming our own similar all-girl group, with me on a guitar I rarely practiced and Monica on bass.
We even made a website to explore these dreams, called MonicatsRevenge420. We, obviously, wouldn’t have been able to tell weed from oregano. Honestly, the “420” was ironic.
I thought myself very clever for this.
Coral and I took each others’ photos at the inexplicable Confessional photo op stand, and then went in search of food. Coral snagged a free tornado potato from someone who ordered too much food and was about to toss their untouched spud. As the woman, a pained expression on her face, slowly approached the trash cans, I recall Coral asked, “What are you going to do with that?” and the woman explained she ordered too much and just didn’t need it, and offered it to Coral, who was quite pleased. It was a pretty good potato!
Finally, it was time for Marilyn Manson, who I have very complicated feelings about. I loved, loved, LOVED his music in middle school and high school. I thought he was a voice of reason after the Columbine shooting. I took a biotechnology course in 11th grade and for my final project I wrote covers of popular songs, all of which were now about DNA and such. We covered Manson’s cover of “Sweet Dreams” but called it “Sweet Genes,” and played all the songs live at the final event. I actually practiced my guitar for that show.
“CGTA,” our cover of the YMCA song, was also a big hit.
Anyways, Manson has since been revealed as someone who commits spousal abuse so I personally can’t enjoy his music anymore. But there wasn’t anyone else I wanted to see during that time slot, so we shimmied over to Manson’s stage.
I, a mycologist accustomed to hunting mushrooms, promptly noticed a phone on the ground. I risked sticking my face into someone’s crotch and picked up the phone.
From the lock screen it was immediately apparent that the owner had clearly lost their phone before. Multiple times:
But I was quite happy to return it, as last year someone stole my phone while I was getting off Amtrak in New York. On my birthday, no less. My 40th birthday. I hope the thief felt really awkward as they watched all my birthday wishes come in.
After that birthday experience, the chance to return someone’s phone felt like a cosmic righting.
Returning a phone during an outdoor metal fest is easier said than done, however. Selene called from her friend’s phone, and we were waving Coral’s fan to direct them to us, but A) Coral and I are both too short and B) We couldn’t hear the owner well enough most of the time to confirm if anyone’d even heard us.
Eventually between songs, we were able to hear her well enough to confirm I was indeed not planning to steal the phone, but rather just not wanting to miss Marilyn Manson.
“Oh,” she said. “You’ll bring it to Lost and Found right after Manson?”
“Yes!”
“But of course. Enjoy the show.”
After Manson, I hiked my tiring body back a million miles to the entrance and dropped off the phone, then treated myself to an exorbitantly priced margarita. The bartender made it a double for free, and I was delighted and shared how this felt like instant karma for returning the phone moments earlier. She agreed, and I hurried my way back to Coral, missing the beginning of Evanescence.
I only really know their big hit, “Bring me to Life.” I yelled to Coral, asking if I’d missed it. She replied, “I think so.”
Bummer. No good deed goes unpunished, as they say.
“No Good Deed Goes Unpunished” sounds like a metal song.
But then, at the very end of the set, I heard a familiar piano intro: Bring me to life!
Coral had been thinking of a different song, and I hadn’t actually missed the song I wanted to hear! The turn around from disappointment to happiness was jarring, in the best way possible. I was having a great time.
But by the time KoRn came on at 9 PM, my feet were absolutely killing me. I had worn my good walking shoes, but Mitch and Amy and I had walked a few miles before the show even started, and then I stood and walked for 9 more hours. Unhinged people like marathon runners train to spend that much time on their feet, and my untrained feet doth protested. We sat on the fake grass for a bit, and we were not the only ones.
KoRn was great, not so much because I am a huge fan still but because so many of the attendees were clearly huge fans. The energy was just wacky, incredibly high, even with all the older metalheads in the crowd.
Finally, finally… at 10:25 PM the headliner started: System of a Down.
Again, the excitement from the crowd was nearly palpable. Or maybe it just felt palpable because of the press of the now-maximum volume crowd. In-between songs, I commented to Coral that I would venture closer to the front if I could.
And I swear I’m not making this up: this absolutely tiny young goth woman appeared as if out of nowhere and offered to bring us closer. Coral and I agreed and off we went, our fairy GothMother leading the way, slinking through the small gaps in the crowd, holding hands with Coral, who was holding hands with me. I uttered a near-constant stream of “Sorry, ‘scuse us, coming through, sorry, ‘scuse us” and the tiny goth woman brought us much closer in very little time.
Being directly under the lasers was extra epic because the weather shifted and it started very lightly sprinkling on us.
The rain in the lasers became magical sky glitter. It was one of the prettiest moments in a metal concert I’ve ever seen, and a memorable way to end my first all-day metal festival.
As we joined the masses to leave, we passed by a pierogi stand that was giving away the last of their food. We scored free pierogis! And they were pretty good, too.
I bade goodbye to Coral, and Mitch and Amy met me at a nearby casino. Uber was criminally expensive at the time, so we walked back to our hotel, during which I felt like my feet were actively falling off my body. I collapsed into bed, my ears ringing, my face sore from smiling.
Thanks for reading. Let me know your favorite concert stories in the comments below!
