Is Metal Dead? - Gigantour Live 9-11-05 - Clark County Amphitheater
By Trevor Tolva
Has the metal that nursed the products of the ME generation gone, as the Dylan Thomas poem states, softly into that goodnight? Or does it stand in defiance, the way that metal always does, against the dying of the light?
Those chosen people who were anywhere near the vicinity of the Clark County Amphitheater on this September 11, 2005 know the answer as clear as a leather gloved fist to the face as the Dave Mustaine brainchild, Gigantour, rolled into town with it’s devil horns raised high for all the world to marvel.
Walking through the Amphitheater, you couldn’t help but to study the diversity of the audience as they were whipped into frenzy. A veritable motley of 80’s thrashheads and metal mongers mixed with Goths, teenie boppers, metal reformed yuppies, and Volvo driving soccer moms with soccer kids in toe, all of whom, basking in the kinetic conductor ready to ignite and explode upon the grinding of the axes of three of the metal god’s favorite sons: Fear Factory, Anthrax, and, of course, Megadeth.
The crowd was ready to get along like a house on fire as Fear Factory stormed the stage and defined the heavy in heavy metal as they churned and burned an explosive set that satiated the head bangers need to ball. Drummer Raymond Herrera went to war with his signature machine gunning double bass assault as front man Burton Bell controlled the crowd like a ringleader as the band battled the screaming fans in a shout-off of “No More Goddamn Respect” on the aptly titled Demanufacture. It was a raw display of how the crown princes of heavy metal alchemy can turn the basic bedrock D-Chord standard into devil horn praising gold. What you saw was what you got. A no frills rock show with the fat chewed off by a pit bull and the metal heads lapped it up like dogs. It was truly a sight to see.
But that was just the beginning.
The crowd roared as the spotlights shined amidst the neon green lit stage. The Anthrax banner hanging proudly as the crowd praised, “Anthrax, Anthrax, Anthrax”. Then…the spotlights began to twirl…the neon green pulsed like a heartbeat when suddenly...music blared over the sound speakers. Music harking back to the glory days of variety hours, bell bottoms, and platform shoes as horns trumpeted in a campy introduction you’d see Sonny and Cher walk out to, but thankfully, it brought out the band that innovated the type of fusion thrash metal we listen proudly to today. Joey, Frank, Charlie, Daniel, and the incomparable Scott Ian thrashed us worse than any high school bully wearing a Anthrax shirt ever could. They rocked with more style than a Hiroshima bag lady with twice the energy of the bomb. Scott Ian stomping a hole through your chest with his shredding licks and wild antics; the bastion of rock…the bastard of punk proves he’s still at the top of his free wielding game. When they screamed their mantra, “Anti-social”, it rang as a call to arms to the hive and like bees in a swarm we grabbed on and enjoyed the sting. This was the show of the night. It was metal sound with a punk mentality: fuck the norm, fuck convention, and fuck you too. It proved that metal is only metal if Anthrax says that it’s metal and we praise them for doing it.
Even after the three encores and enough rage to inspire you head butting your mother, the show was still just getting started.
The cages were brought out. The smoke brooding in garbage cans. The world seen through a screen of black and red. The set was ripped out of a post-apocalyptic kegger and the master of ceremony was there to tap and serve a shredded brew of fire, broken glass, and twisted metal. Megadeth was definitely in the house. And they brought the son of a bitch down to it’s foundation. With an explosion of fire, Mustaine and the gang scorched your guts with the type of bone crunching metal that would make even Metallica bow down in worship. Symphony of Destruction, Skin O’ My Teeth, Sweating Bullets…every note roared with the intensity that made these men the metal gods that they are. The main attraction of this set was the production value. The mood was set before they even played a note and it carried over and farther when they started. Although the cannon fire did wreak havoc with the sound at times, especially in Mustaine’s singing, the overall show stayed top-notch. No one can deny that Dave Mustaine’s alcohol fueled guitar is one of the best we’ve ever experienced and tonight like a weapon he used it to slay every single one of us with his mastery and skill. What can I say…Megadeth rules…enough said.
Gigantour was a chiropractor’s wet dream as the head bang fest kept building and building into something louder, faster, and harder and we needed it. With the anniversary of 9/11 and the recent tragedy brought by Hurricane Katrina, the people needed release from harboring emotions and images of horror that’ve been etched into our brains over the past two weeks. We needed an excuse to be unapologetic in our expressions of these troubled times. With every banging of the head, a layer of sadness was peeled away. With every fist pump, devil horn, and primal scream, the film of anger was washed clean and replaced with the fresh raw rage that only metal can induce. Gigantour was an experiment of combustible elements stirred and mixed with fire. It engulfed the masses in a blaze of metal mastery that made you want to pick up a guitar, grow your hair out long, and thrash till your ears bled. So my fellow metal heads, I say turn up the volume, strike a rock pose, and pray for shelter…Gigantour 2006 is just around the corner.
