Sunday, July 20, 2008
ZARAGOZA, Spain — A sea of rowdy Spanish rock-'n-roll fans swayed en masse like a human wave of angry surf.
Mostly they were young men in denim and leather, many with long, black hair and plenty of facial piercings to accent the macabre side of this thing called Heavy Metal.
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Sweaty bodies against sweaty bodies proved their dedication to their beloved musical dreams, and they were smiling, laughing, dancing and clearly having one hell of a grand time.
It was beautiful really, except for the strange and painful shortage of female fans compared to American audiences. God bless America.
Thin Lizzy, a killer band of world-class virtuosos had just completed a rousing set of classic songs, executed with animal energy by legendary Arkansas drummer, Tommy Aldridge and the soulful pyrotechnic guitar fire and amazing vocals of Whitesnake's John Sykes.
The crowd went wild even after a long, hot sun-burning day in central Spain.
This annual Monsters of Rock festival attracted hard-core rock fans from Barcelona, Madrid, San Sebastian and from all across the Spanish countryside for a rare shot at well-known bands from around the world.
Waiting in the wings were Deep Purple, Twisted Sister and the English band Saxon.
A beautiful, cloudless blue sky awaited the snarling R&B band from Detroit. That's us.
I clenched my fist to perform our pre-concert ritual of spiritual fist-punching with my ferocious Funkbrother bandmates Mick Brown on drums and Greg Smith on bass guitar.
Like young wolves preparing for the hunt, we couldn't wait to mount the stage for our nightly MotorCity Madhouse musical assault, knowing these foreigners were dying to witness the ultimate soundtrack of freedom and defiance.
The enormous overpowered PA system ramped up, my German soundman Frank knew he was about to G-force the throngs into sonic hysteria.
You want to rock? I hope you can handle this full-on real American rock my friends. We unleashed The Beast.
Owning their souls with the definitive love song "Wango Tango" we had the crowd dancing like they were born again — arms up and fists clenched grinding to the Motown pummel. I could not have been happier.
Mick's drums sounded like dangerous thunder, Greg's bass like an industrial earthquake permeating skeletons for miles around. And my effervescent Gibson Byrdland guitar, well let's just say God was smiling at the ultimate utilization of fiery tone from my hand-carved Northern spruce hollow body beast, delivering what can only be described as electric guitar perfection.
As a musician, I was genuinely moved to once again take part in such a consummate shared communication of connecting music from my incredible band. That would have been more than enough.
After an incredible hour-long set, it happened. With all the passion and fire I could muster, I sang the spiritual lyrics of the Great White Buffalo, the beast overcoming overwhelming odds.
I slammed the final chords from my gorgeous white Gibson, held my baby over my head, and I swear to God the sky went from blue to black.
A howling wind nearly ripped the Lakota war bonnet off my head. The PA system began whipping to and fro. The stage began to shake violently.
My band and I were escorted off the stage amid not only a wildly cheering audience, but swirling debris and the beginnings of big, scattered raindrops.
We barely made it the 70 yards to the large metal building when it struck. Violent winds tore the roof off the stage. Speaker columns and huge overhead lighting trusses broke loose and smashed to the ground. A tsunami of hail rained down. The scared crowd ran wild, looking for shelter from the storm. Amplifiers and band equipment were being destroyed by wind and hail, and it was a sight to behold.
In my dressing room, glowing yet exhausted, a towel around my wet head, I listened to the hail smash on the metal roof and people scrambling to save gear and themselves. It was wild.
With the fury of nature, we had shut the place down.
There would be no performance by the other three headlining bands. The stage was wrecked, the audience dispersed into the hinterland, and the Monsters of Rock festival was officially shut down.
Maybe I should look into my dance moves while wearing the Indian headdress and singing the Native American theme song of the defiant Great White Buffalo.
If that was a rain dance I did, I should probably back it down a notch or two. Maybe not.
Hey, Euro baby, that's what we call American rock 'n roll. And don't you ever forget it.
Ted Nugent is a Waco-based musician and television show host. Contact him directly at tednugent.com.
