I was 18.
I had never been to a concert of this magnitude by myself. I remember when Metallica announced the Summer Sanitarium tour...I half groaned. They had just released their St. Anger cd and if I had ANY faith left in them, it had been crushed with that garbage excuse for music. Still...I really liked the rest of the bands...well, Mudvayne and Deftones were good. I knew Shante, my best friend in PA, would be ecstatic to catch Linkin Park...with her eternal love affair with Chester. So I asked her if she wanted to go, to which she let out a loud stream of squees and ohmygods. I took that as a yes and purchased our tickets, then went on the task of finding our way there.
My parents said No. Absolutely not. Not Metallica. Not Philadelphia. Not two 18 year olds on their own. Needless to say, I was beyond giddy when we made our way to Flip Flip Flipadelphia that Saturday at noon...Mom and Dad not talking to us in the front of the Lumina. I always get what I want. In one way or another.
We made it to Vet's Stadium by 1 p.m. and the place was packed. People tailgating and drinking everywhere, with Metallica blaring. Shirtless folks, tattoos and spikes galore. My Dad just shook his head and said "I'll be here to pick you up at 11. Wether it's over or not. At this bus stop. You better be here." We trampled our way out of the car, the two whitest NON white people in PA. A Puerto Rican chick in a white tank top and cargo pants with Chucks. A black chick in a short skirt and a hoodie in the dead of summer with her vans. I looked like a Billabong ad. She looked like she lived at Hot Topic. Who cared? We were on our own in a kick ass concert in Philly.
For $75 bucks, we got seats in the 6th level...nosebleeds. We didn't care...what we DID care is that the concert started at 3 p.m. and it was a 100F degree day in the city. Undeterred, we made our way up to our seats, and were insanely jealous of the pit crowd down in the field. Every now and then, a daring group of people would break through the bouncers and make a run for it into the pit. Half the group would get caught, and if you were lucky enough to make it to the pit and hide in the mass of humans, you were golden. Shante and I looked at each other and smiled. Mudvayne was the first act.
If there's anything worse than sitting under the hot summer sun in a crowded stadium unable to drink a cold beer...it has to be doing all of those while Mudvayne is screaming their heads off for an hour. God. Christ. It was awful. Every song sounded the same. By the third one I had a raging headache and couldn't stop yawning. Shante was just slumped on her seat staring up into the sun, going on about Linkin Park and how she was too black to tan so that was nice. I looked down and my chest was already a nice shade of purply red. This would hurt tomorrow.
The afternoon passed...with Deftones taking the stage next. As soon as they played Change in the House of Flies and the sun started going down, the mood immediately changed in the stadium. Everyone sort of mellowed out, and we all started getting more into the show. Linkin Park was next. Needless to say, I lost Shante for a solid hour. Lost her. She was hooting and hollering and fanning herself and hysterical. I'll give this much to them, though...they sound amazing live. Absolutely flawless. Like listening to a CD. And yes, I had a huge crush on Mike Shinoda. So there. I enjoyed it too.
Limp Bizkit was next and I felt myself cringing and groaning. I did not allow myself to like crap music like that. Would not...Right. I knew every word, to every song. I was on my feet, fist pumping and dancing with random people next to me. They were all about one thing: Sex and Irreverence. They pulled it off perfectly. Too many tits were around me to keep track. Mine stayed safely tucked in, although it was tempting for a beer. Shante, well...she got a lot of beers. Ahem.
The place was easily sold out...and then some. It was 9, and the temperature had dropped to a comfortable mix of breeze and low 70s. The lighting and stage was being prepared for Metallica. Ramps here, steps there...fire there...speakers everywhere. Lars' drum set was mind boggling. How would he get in there? I wasn't about to watch from up there. Not happening. So I grabbed Shante's arm and she knew what I was about to do. We made our way down to the ground level and got in line to get into the pit. It was mayhem. It was easy. When we were close enough to the gates, we followed a group of 'rushers' into the pit. About 15 bouncers were chasing us, a group of 10. I lost Shante at some point, but got as far as seeing her scurry into the pit undetected. I could feel the one dude on my heels chasing me with a flash light. The pit crowd kept cheering us to keep coming, and I saw some dudes wave me over. I dove in their midst and they pushed me deep into the sea of sweat and bodies. Two of them flanked me all the way to the front, telling me to keep low. Others joined in making distractions. Soon enough I was pretty up close with Brad (tall dude #1) giving me a pat on the back and smiling, and Joe (tall dude #2) offering me a cigarette and saying that was a hell of a run. I agreed.
We talked for a while, they were from Ohio and Jersey respectively. The lights went dim and my heart stopped. Strobe lights started flashing and the place fell silent. Brad kept gripping my arm and saying "DUDE! DUUUDE!", and yeah, all I could do was give him a dorky smile and fidget excited.
Lars emerged, from under the stage and right in the middle of his drum set. Raising slowly and twirling his drumstick. Oh. So that's how he would get in the middle of his drum set fort...Nice. Kirk made his way down a ramp with a single white light following him, as he pushed his curly hair away from his face...The bassist? Yeah. I refuse to say his name. If it wasn't Jason, it wasn't the Metallica bassist. I rolled my eyes as he made his way to the stage. And then...the man of my many dreams. The subject of my fantasies. The idol I've had for decades...just strolled up to the front of the stage with his plated Explorer and a black, tight tshirt. He simply said "Good evening, motherfuckers" into the mic...and that was enough to make the crowd explode into a collective roar. For all of us to let out the intense screaming we had been holding in until they were all on stage.
The first song was "Master of Puppets". They played every single old song for a solid 2 hours. NOTHING from St Anger. I was in heaven. I was groped. I didn't care. I got to see Metallica play the first song I learned to play on guitar, 'Hero of the Day' and my heart both swelled and broke...because I missed everyone in PR and they would NEVER believe I got to see them so up close. I don't think I can say much more except I had no voice by the time it was over. My hair was drenched, my cargo pants torn, blood from fights left and right stained my white tank top. I was alive. I was Yari. I was Metallica.
Shante and I met up after the show at the entrance...both breathless. We just hugged each other and walked a mile or two down to the bus stop where dad would be, arm in arm. Dad was there and just looked at us once before motioning for us to get in the car. No one spoke on the way home...but we must have reeked of Summer Sanitarium. Every couple of miles a car would drive by with a bunch of people hanging out the window blasting Metallica and honking into the dark PA highways. We'd flip em off and scream back in solidarity...from the back of a Lumina driven by my parents who thought we were possessed by Satan.
We were just possessed by youth. By metal. By freedom.
July 12th, 2003. The day Metallica redeemed themselves to me. And that's all that matters.
