KROQ Weenie Roast and Fiesta
Irvine Meadows Amphitheater, Irvine, Calif., June 20, 1998
Life is all about experiencing new things, just ask Harvey Danger lead singer Sean Nelson. "For the first time in my life I can say I was hit with a tampon in the back," he said toward the end of a much-misunderstood second-stage set at the sixth annual KROQ Weenie Roast and Fiesta. Despite commandeering the airwaves with their buoyant punk anthem "Flagpole Sitta," Harvey Danger may just be a bit too clever for the rage rock crowd -- especially since the only thing dangerous about the band is Nelson's ability to mimic Morrissey's stage moves with frightening accuracy. Later, the pressure of a hostile crowd proved too much, as a visibly flustered Nelson tangled himself up in his own mic stand, temporarily disconnecting his own vocals.
Yup, it was that kind of day at the annual festival, where rage rock separated the men from the boys and zoot suit riots proved more interesting than increasingly endangered decent rock bands. KROQ scored high marks for Mexican-flavored authenticity (ie: Tecate) but failed miserably in securing bands that were muy interesante.
Every summer festival has its kitsch genre (last year it was ska, this year it's swing), but it just isn't necessary to have Big Bad Voodoo Daddy and the Cherry Poppin' Daddies on the same bill. Be that as it may, it's only fair to say that BBVD destroyed the Cherry Poppin' Daddies in the "Best Dressed" category, appearing in perfectly-pressed three-piece suits despite the scorching heat; the Cherry Poppin' Daddies swing-shift, however, proved to be slightly more entertaining than BBVD's. But in general, swing is better grist for Short Attention Span Theater than for a crowd of thousands.
Los Angeles flava-of-the-month Ozomatli, however, were the first band to spice up the second stage crowd with their hybrid of old school hip-hop principles and Latin-tinged Aztec romping. "Welcome to the chorizo roast!" said one of the band's twelve members. "Mexicans don't eat wieners!" Part Gipsy Kings and part P-Funk, the ethnically diverse Ozomatli remained true to the spirit of the day.
Up next were the Deftones, who quite possibly could be to blame for the recent rash of school shootings. Their unique version of primal scream therapy could easily drive the most normal eighth grader to commit the gnarliest of crimes. If this is rock & roll for the twenty-first century, please shoot me instead.
On the main stage, boredom ruled for the majority of the day, mostly due to the syndrome known as "Summer Festival One-Hit Wonder." The menu at the Weenie Roast and Fiesta read like a who's who of "here today, gone today" rock one-offs. Fastball played "The Way," Creed played "My Own Prison," Blink 182 played "Dammit," Save Ferris played "Come On Eileen" and Marcy Playground played "Sex and Candy." Thank you very much, you are all now free to evaporate into the annals of the world's collective rock & roll memory. As for the bigwigs, Everclear were semi-impressive, but that was a relative judgment. The Wallflowers' six-song set lacked emotion, charisma and spontaneity and sent the already listless crowd spiraling into a near-comatose stupor. "Everybody looks a little bit sleepy," commented a spiritless Jakob Dylan. Funny you should mention that.
It wasn't until Third Eye's Blind's rusty set that the 16,000 weenie roasters came to. During "Graduate," an ageless Billy Idol appeared on stage with his trademark snarl and a lyric sheet in tow. Nevertheless, he had no problem delivering the line "Can I get my punk ass off the street?" with perfect slurring precision. Ska forefathers Madness followed, although the young crowd hadn't a clue who they were until the familiar bounce of "Our House" came bouncing though the speakers. While Graham "Suggs" McPherson has put on a little weight over the years, his vocals were spot on -- even if the kids didn't realize Madness helped start this whole ska mess in the first place. Like Rodney Dangerfield, they can't get no respect.
From there, things got a little hairy. Summer festival whores Green Day churned out the usual hell-raising set. Drummer Tre Cool remained true to his punk roots by setting his drum kit on fire (again) and Billie Joe Armstrong proved to be the fastest swearer in the West after belting out an unintelligible rant of cussing and spitting. Just after "Longview," the band banged out riffs from Black Sabbath's "Paranoid" and Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger" before Armstrong stripped-down to his leopard skin briefs for the remainder of the set. While Armstrong enjoyed his display of public lewdness, Third Eye Blind bassist Arion Salazar charged Green Day bassist Mike Dirnt in an apparent attempt to bear hug him on stage. As security immediately honed in on Salazar, Dirnt reared back and kicked him once for good measure. Backstage, another scuffle occurred and Dirnt spent the rest of night in the hospital with a fractured skull.
Once the smoke cleared, Prodigy assaulted the audience with their barrage of aggressive techno grenades and sinister gazes. Strangely, they have added a live drummer to their arsenal this time around, even though he's useless when pitted directly against the deafening beats of Liam Howlett. But other than Maxim Reality's annoying chants of "Where the fuck is the West Coast?" Prodigy's thunderous set, although a tad lengthy for the restless, was a convulsion-inducing treat.
As Prodigy finished up their synthetic barrage, the Crystal Method fired up the sequencers on the second stage to see everyone out the door. Usually with these sort of things, people simply watch as they make way for the exits. But on this night, the Method's spastic beats and heart-thumping rhythms froze the crowd in their tracks. But unlike most of the day, they were enthralled, not catatonic.
KEVIN RAUB
(June 22, 1998)
