Author: Sandi Sadar Šoba
Photos: Sandi Sadar Šoba
Location: Šalata, Zagreb, Croatia
Concert date: 02.07.2007
Attendance: 2000
Ticket price: 35 €
Early July. Just one day before the national holiday of all Americans, I hopped on a bus to Zagreb, sharing the ride with a motley crew of everyone heading out to test the chemistry of Korn. An American export product, one of the more prominent names in the dream music industry, standard-bearers of the now somewhat dated nu-metal genre … Honestly, after catching them a few years back in the bosom of Ljubljana’s stone temple of good music and satisfying acoustics, Križanke, I didn’t feel like ruining my day with an average show and a limp, pretty worn-out repertoire, but some inner voice talked me into it, whispering that it’d be worth it. If nothing else, to see the gig for the young hopes of the Croatian alternative scene – the bands Popeye and, a bit better known and very pleasant to my ears: Father from Rijeka.
After a few hours on the road, during which we left the grey masses of rain clouds and a heavy downpour behind and swam into an almost sunny bath on the Croatian side of the border, the bus finally stopped and opened its doors in front of the stone walls of the multipurpose sports center Šalata. Long lines of black T-shirts reading Korn, with the odd Slipknot one in between – and if you’d been bracing for a storm, you’d have been in serious danger of getting struck by lightning while standing in that queue (studs and piercings were, fittingly for the gig, there by the ton too). After a short wait I somehow made it to the steel gate and went down some pretty steep steps to the secured, polyvinyl-covered tennis court, in front of which loomed the steel structure of the stage.
The first act was on stage before long, with no announcement whatsoever. Pula outfit Popeye, whose spectral blend of nu-metal, rap, low-frequency bass and tribal rhythms rounds out the offering of their hometown. Short-haired guitarist Zheeka, the rap-and-growl duo Gianne and Fere, bassist Mrlja and the less visible but very audible drummer Lego kicked off a few minutes after the soundcheck. I’d never had the chance to hear them before, but I can confirm that, despite their relative anonymity, Popeye are a band that doesn’t sweat what anyone expects of them on stage or on the airwaves, and they fully deserve the title of Istria’s R.A.T.M. Chatting with a pretty fired-up fan on the left side of the stage, I learned that Popeye have been on the local scene for seven years and that, besides their old record Domaći Benzin, they’re also showcasing material from a second record that’s still to come: Eurupa. Sarcasm and irony and a nicely balanced rhythmic foundation of very digestible beats, intravenous guitars and booming drums are just the right counterweight to what they can offer you lyrically. Mic duties are shared by two vocalists. Bearded Gianne, in a green T-shirt and a fisherman’s cap, who squeezes some honorable screaming and growling out of his throat, joins forces here with a maxed-out dreadlocked guy who showers you with a full load of his stories in a waterfall of words that never runs out of edge or breath – Fere. The musical run would have made a lot more sense if I’d actually known any of what they played, but their set definitely grabbed my attention and made me curious, since the sounds of HC-rap-metal-funk have become more of a rarity than the rule in the new millennium, even though the nineties mostly served up exactly that. The tracks are pretty much identical, but what sticks in your memory are the dynamic vocalists, who fill every inch of the stage and skillfully work a crowd of some two hundred listeners. Possessed by demons and a ton of words, the sweaty pair give much more than the rest of the band, who, a bit too wrapped up in their own little corner of collective responsibility, indulge only in intimate masturbation and the effort to follow nothing but their own thoughts. Collective spirit is what fuels you with kerosene and gives you a sense of grandeur. Popeye seemed a little apathetic, as if they’d run out of spinach. Still, I’m convinced I’ll listen to them with even greater pleasure next time, because in their role as openers at such a career-defining gig they did more than just averagely. They wrapped up a set of a little over half an hour with the song ‘Eurupa’, on which Fere picks up an electro-acoustic guitar and Gianne serves up all the arguments pro and con for joining the EU. Between verses and choruses the other members clear away amps and drums and wheel the next drum kit in on a small riser … Pretty disrespectful to Popeye, you snake-lovers!
Quite a while after the last two departing members of Pula’s Popeye had sent their final greetings and kisses to the crowd, Rijeka’s Father were calibrating their instruments for Tuesday’s suspense of silence. Father are, in one word, fantastic – a dream come true for all grunge fans and all lovers of metal. Father are the answer to the accusations leveled at every band that can’t muster a speck of charisma, a vision of the future or an ounce of stardom. Father are the antidote to boredom, as we got to test recently at their gig at Ljubljana’s club K4 too. Until recently they’d been in total seclusion, plotting and finishing off the opening stretch of a worthy successor to Inspirita, a record that was both critically acclaimed and very warmly received by fans. After the meditative instrumental of the opening ‘Intro’, during which everyone preps to completely drain their energy reserves from the very first chord – curly-haired guitarist Dario Pazanin on the left side of the stage, the energetic drumming machine named Saša Vukosav, bassist Franjo Jardas and the cameras’ indispensable darling (the guy just has a very natural sense for posing, which this time isn’t a criticism), six-stringer Pinky – the front rows start reacting a lot louder. Onto the stage comes the charismatic exorcist of spirits and inner voices, dressed in kimono pants, singer Mihael Prosen. The first serious track of Tuesday’s set is the song ‘Chigla Pegla’. The crossbreed of feelings I usually got listening to Faith No More is back. After an abrupt ending it’s time for an energetic kick in the form of the distorted ‘Never Come Back’. Father are proof that even with a very short-lived but very concentrated effort, a band can break through the borders of its home turf and successfully slot into the spiral of the world’s musical DNA. They’re likable and relaxed. Not aloof or unapproachable. They’re open to new experiments and good music, and they’re not clichéd. Mihael addresses you like soul brothers and sisters. And despite the fact that the sky over Tuesday’s gig was overcast, with veiled sunrays throwing shades of grey onto the stage, and behind the performers the complete vacuum between stage and sky was dammed up by the socialist-realist sign of the INA oil company, Father’s set was out of this world too. After a short pause, during which Mihael announces a banned song, one you might just know. “The song is banned. The song is full of blood and heart…” – ‘Cynosure’. A ballad with a melody that creeps under your skin from the first time it hits the radio waves or reaches you any other way. “Untamed instinct /Tormenting myself by thirsting for you/ Again I’m in no-man’s land / You’re my Cynosure” ring out defiantly and convincingly. Father are my pick for the stars of Tuesday night. After the Beatles-penned ‘Elenor Rigby’, Father unsuccessfully lose themselves in words (‘Lost In Words’), and the closing chords before Korn’s set go to the disco bouncer ‘Machina’, which, with its mechanical rhythms and discourse, invites the crowd to dance and jump around. The audience responds to the effort on stage and sees off the end of Father’s far-too-short set with more than bloody well-deserved applause. The guys were definitely convincing, but I have a feeling you’d get a much longer and, above all, sweeter treat at one of their own headline shows. The diamond was still shining, but I know the diamond that is Father can shine even brighter …
The evening’s highlight was announced by the techs unrolling a sizable bolt of fabric above the stage, on which the futuristic reflection of a creature wrapped in half-darkness smoldered at the crowd. A teaser for the upcoming album. The tarp covering the enormous set of chromed drums was whisked away too. A lettering stood out against the black of the bass drum. A huge sticker announced who would be sitting behind the kit as the new drummer of Korn. David Silveria has left the band. Supposedly to take a bit more time to rest from the band, but unofficially because the creative paths between him and the rest of the band had been drifting further and further apart. Center stage was reserved for a silver work of art – the mic stand, which, on Davis’s commission, was personally designed for Korn’s frontman by the legendary designer, artist and sculptor, and above all icon to every fan of the movie Alien: H.R. Giger. But the wait dragged on and on.
The front rows were already completely packed with fans who’d fought for the best view of the stage boards. A little after half past nine, touring guitarist Clint Lowery and the manipulator of the magic box of electronic sounds, Zac Baird, came out on stage. After an almost gothic intro, the crowd’s volume keeps climbing. Before the Zagreb crowd appears Korn’s new drummer, hooded – an old acquaintance from Slipknot and one of the biggest talents in the waters of metal drumming: Joey Jordison. After a few bars in which the almost unrecognizable, war-painted Fieldy joins the music, Munky also creeps onto the right side of the stage like a ghost. ‘Here To Stay’ booms from the speakers, Jonathan Davis comes running on last of all, and the show can begin! The pretty drawn-out intro immediately gave the impression of a split between Davis’s decent giving on one side and the reserve of most of the rest of the band. Every bar and every pause sounds routine and drained of youthful passion. After the Untouchables opener, the septet on stage takes a time machine back to the previous century. To be exact, to 1996, and from the album Life is Peachy they scrub out the track ‘Twist’. Munky stays rooted to his spot. His bored face is made even more apathetic by the black rings around his eyes. The trendy make-up, with which they unsuccessfully copy a small sea of emos, was, by my standards, a bit of an overdone pose. I give in to listening to music that, at first glance at least, lacks nothing but a pinch of the sparkle and energy the original lineup radiated before ’94. After the psychotic ‘Twist’ they tackle ‘Good God’ in tandem. The dryness of Davis’s incantations and screams of “Won’t you get out of my face?!” is slightly softened by the sampled start with its demonic orchestration of electronic sounds. Mr. Jordison’s heavy hand grabs attention and Jon greets the crowd. “Where are you fuckers? Are you ready for some serious Korn shit? C’mon! Sing along …”. ‘Somebody Someone’ isn’t exactly the most danceable track, but much more movement and singing is reaped by ‘Falling Away From Me’. The rather monotonous mood of the first part of the show, where the listener gets the feeling that buying a ticket earned them the right to dance to jukebox music that this time even dances a little for you, is shaken out of my pretty reserved state by the moment when Davis switches from an oxygen mask to Scottish bagpipes and plays the intro of ‘Shoots And Ladders’. The pause before the next song provokes an avalanche of ovations demanding more, and the septet on stage apparently finally finds a helmsman – the audience. The counting-out rhyme, a children’s song, is followed by the grotesque image of war and concentrated pain that Metallica carved into the chorus of the distorted part of ‘One’. Death and suffering are followed by a cry for life. ‘Got The Life’ is a lovely lead-in to Korn confronting us for the first time with a new creation, with the great mind they’re capable of squeezing out of themselves these days. ‘Evolution’ sounds the way probably every song destined for the thorough conquest of MTV’s video waves would sound, and after a pretty obscure string of the already heard, I wearily conclude that Korn’s era of greatness has started wheezing on the long-distance test of time endurance. ‘Y’all Want A Single’ says nothing other than that, despite everything, they’ve realized that swearing and clichéd venting of frustration sells millions of records. Wild gigging has become a thing of the distant past. On stage stand shadows of themselves. Husks. Prematurely aged icons from some other quadrant of space and time. Seven albums is an achievement, and the guys are undoubtedly sick of repeating the same tunes, but what can you do, when what you’ve made also draws the lines of development, the direction you’ll have to move in from here on. The old members are leaving. Of the original lineup only Fieldy, Jon and Munky remain, and it has to be admitted that neither Fieldy nor Munky gives off a sense of great satisfaction that the half-crippled corpse, the badly withered carcass of Korn, is still moving at all. Korn went from rebels to businessmen. Instead of the heart, the tempo of the music started being written by the ever-growing hunger of ever-greedier wallets. Despite everything, I’m moved by the final dedication of the very last song, which Jon dedicates to those who are no longer with us, and above all to his recently deceased brother. ‘Blind’ ends the agony Davis had been battling, as he had to reach for the oxygen mask more and more often. A peculiar agony – for me at least – was the string of boredom coming from the remaining original members of the band. A bad day? A bad decade? Too low a salary? Maybe it’s time for a job at McDonald’s, and then maybe they’d give off a little more of a ray of enthusiasm about the fact that they’re granted the honor of playing in front of crowds around the world. Some things just aren’t so damn self-evident …
Domestic violence, child abuse and the sinister shadow of crimes happening right behind the door in your own neighborhood can be a lot more terrifying than rambling on about Satan and his cronies. It was exactly this brutal treatment of the above-listed themes that was always the dividing line separating Korn from the junk of all the other bands. Over time, though, the guys went stale and turned into a pretty watered-down version of themselves. With formalities, bare platitudes and everything else, they consistently, professionally shower you for over an hour of their gig, which for those seeing them for the first time may even have been a phenomenal experience. For the rest, say, the gig at Ljubljana’s Križanke offered much more. Big names aren’t always a guarantee of perfect enjoyment and musical delight. Summa summarum: every half-empty glass is half full – thank the gods for the intense and super sets from the support acts. And the rest of the Kornophiles can hope that next time will be better. And then the marmot wraps the chocolate …
Setlist
FATHER setlist: 1. Intro 2. Chigla Pegla 3. Never Come Back 4. Cynosure 5. Elenor Rigby (The Beatles) 6. Lost In Words 7. Machina KORN setlist: 1. Here To Stay 2. Twist 3. Good God 4. Semobody, Someone 5. Falling Away From Me 6. Right Now 7. Shoots And Ladders + One 8. Divine 9. Got The Life 10. Evolution 11. Y’all Want A Single 12. Twisted Transistor 13. ( 14. Freak On The Leash 15. For No One 16. Blind
Photo gallery
