Ozzy Osbourne guitarist Gus G. Photo by C.B. Liddell

Just like Stone Sour, Halford also has an album to imprint on the minds of the metal masses, but with better justification, as the just-released Made of Metal album is getting its live premier here. They hit us with the album’s title track, which counterpoints chugging guitars and pummeling drums with what sounds like a quirky pop jingle, then the comic-operatic-tinged “ Undisputed”–both songs demonstrating Rob’s ability to give the basic metal sound a perverse and interesting twist.

But legends like Halford can’t stay in the present for long: “Nailed to the Gun,” from his first post-Judas Priest band Fight, sees the God of Metal in from-a-growl-to-a-scream mode. Next up is the lumbering Eastern menace of “Golgotha” from 2002’s Crucible, in which his vocal soars hypnotically like a muezzin’s call to prayer. Then the set’s highlight–faithful, high-powered versions of classic Priest: “The Green Manalishi” and “Diamonds and Rust.” Close your eyes and you could almost be at the recording of legendary Priest live album Unleashed in the East.

Metal is musical extremism, so it can sometimes suffer from the feelings of familiarity that come with legendhood. This seems evident in the appreciative but slightly muted response that Halford receives for his efforts.

Next band Korn, however, are closer to the mark of metal mayhem. Their druggy, funked-up, and f**ked-up nu-metal, full of discordant chords, weird, daisy chain melodies and off-kilter rhythms–and complemented by their oddball fashion sense–creates the kind of disturbing vibe on which metal thrives.

But the simulation of insanity is underpinned by powerful musicianship, especially from their faultless, newly-recruited drummer Ray Luzier, the engine-room and gear box of the group’s flexible, meandering and frequently intense sound.

The potent mood created by the ghostly chants, rhythmic bursts and jarring chords of opener “Right Now” is supplemented and exploited by subsequent songs “ Here to Stay” and especially the grinding guitars and deranged melody of “ Falling Away From Me.” They even do an unrecognizable, oddball version of Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall.”

The rich aural textures immerse the audience, gradually heightening the pitch of excitement until at the climax the stuttering intro riffs of “Blind” have a remarkable effect. Suddenly, as mysterious as crop circles appearing in a field of wheat, great gaps appear in the dense crowd in front of the stage as they start to circle frantically around in swirling masses in preparation for the oncoming aural assault. The tight rhythmic bursts and intense mood that follow keep the moshpit swirling until the merciful end.

This is officially the last song of the set, but as the last band tonight, they are allowed a brief encore. Suddenly singer Jonathon Davis appears with a set of bagpipes–not that he knows how to play them too well–but the gesture is warmly received. This introduces the tortured regurgitation of nursery rhymes that is “Shoots and Ladders.” Something like this shouldn’t really work, but it does–the hallmark of all edgy music–and Korn nail it.

DAY TWO

As day two dawns, I realize that I am running low on heavy metal clichés. But metal, if anything, is the willful embrace, celebration, and wallowing in of cliché and ritual. The litany of the music and its strong adherence to a set of musical conventions may even be what drives its intensity–as the same points are hit again and again, there is a need for them to be constantly hit harder–so I’m not about to worry about overusing my own clichés.

It’s around 3pm when I arrive the second time and the stage is empty, but then Kuni emerge. The band is an ever-changing cast of musicians loosely assembled around sole permanent member, left-handed Japanese guitarist Kuni. Looking resplendent in a sequined phantom-of-the-opera mask and Sideshow Bob hairdo, he turns out to be even more Americanized than Rob Halford, addressing his home audience in American English rather than Japanese. Fronted by a singer who looks like a beefy Apache Indian, the band delivers a well-drilled but essentially monolithic slab of high-octane metal from the guitarist’s ’80s heyday, including the riff-lathered chug-a-long “Looking for Action,” much marred by an unsuccessful attempt to get everyone to sing along.

Much more to the crowd’s liking is the dense aural textures and propulsive groove of Swedish stoner metal band Spiritual Beggars. Scandinavian metal is something of a brand name for quality now, and the five-piece from Halmstad do nothing to sully this great reputation.

With lumbering, monster riffs, wailing guitars, and a looming sense that Sweden is about to turn its back on 200 years of pacifism and possibly invade Poland, “Beneath the Skin” growls and rumbles, as Michael Amott’s guitar sears the head-banging hordes. This is followed up by the slightly folk-metalish “Coming Home” creating a more wistful vibe, before the band launch into the throbbing metalcore of “One Man Army.”

With one great song after another, a heartfelt performance, and a vibe that grabs the audience’s attention, the Beggars strengthen their claim to being the most underrated band in metal. And just when you think they’re getting a bit soppy with a slice of strung-out, crying blues guitar, “Star Born” launches the sweat-drenched metal masses back into more crunching, bleeding guitars, pummeling drums and monster riffs.

Another highlight is the Zeppelin-tinged “Euphoria,” which excellently showcases the heavy bass, low-tuned guitar and retro vibe of stoner metal. This builds up enough credit with the audience for the band to even attempt a wordless “woah-wow” sing-along before exiting, leaving the fans wanting more.

Angra. Photo by C.B. Liddell

From Sweden we go next to Brazil, via what is probably the lengthiest between-sets　sound check at Loud Park (even though there are two side-by-side stages to speed up　the changeovers). Eventually Angra sidle on to stage to what sound like monkish chants and the sound of a giant mosquito trapped in a bottle.

The complex time-signatures, over-busy drumming, operatic vocals, virtuoso riffing and a free-ranging violin all signal that we are in the realm of Prog Metal. While no one doubts their technical proficiency, Angra don’t really click tonight, running through their gamut of intricately different but overall similar songs without drawing blood.

After a lengthy sojourn to the toilet and the fast food concessions in the corridors, I come back to what sounds from the distance like a bossa nova fiddle derby. More disturbingly, as I resume my seat, it still sounds like a bossa nova fiddle derby.

“We will we will rock you,” Eduardo Falaschi sings, prompting thoughts of “No, you f**kin’ well won’t—at least not like that.” Perhaps Eduardo and the boys have the same idea, as the next couple of numbers are a lot rockier, which leaves the violin sounding a little superfluous. With the next band on the bill being Motorhead, there’s a palpable sigh of relief when Angra finally finish.

There is a timeless quality about the legendary speed metal merchant and godfather of thrash, Lemmy Kilmister. His no-nonsense, down-to-earth attitude to music and life has stood him in good stead. In contrast to Angra, he hardly leaves a gap between his set and that of his predecessors, driving home the message that he is not about to faff around when there’s some serious headbanging to be done.