I had an epiphany at the Limp Bizkit show.
I had an epiphany at the Limp Bizkit show.
Could the wigs, masks, weird cover songs and dodgy sex jokes mean something?
The floor was sticky with spilt beer, the crunch of plastic cups underfoot echoing around the venue.
The doors had only been open for an hour and the show hadn’t even started, but the man standing next to me in a black T-shirt with a big beard was desperate to tell someone, anyone, just how happy he was.
So he tapped me on the shoulder and lunged his plastic cup towards mine.
“I’ve been looking forward to this all week,” he said.
He grinned from ear-to-ear, then declared, without prompting: “I live in Mt Roskill. I fucking hate it there.”
As we talked, a lad next to us lifted up his mate’s shirt and bunted him with his head like a billy goat.
Others walked past sporting baggy cargo pants, oversized Dickies shorts, backwards baseball caps and tattoos, with trays of drinks balanced delicately in their hands.
What my new friend meant was: I hate it at home. This, this right here, this is where I belong.
If you closed your eyes and breathed in deeply at Spark Arena last night, you could almost smell it, the sticky, sweaty stench of the Big Day Out, the long-defunct and much-loved music festival that many in the crowd were almost certainly disciples of.
Most of us should have known better. Most of us were too old for this.
Yet, on a Sunday night, near the end of 2023, 8000 fans inexplicably showed up at Auckland’s biggest indoor venue for Limp Bizkit’s largest show here since headlining the 2001 leg of that Australasian festival.
We got almost exactly what we came for: a nostalgic party full of 90s rap-rock songs and a handful of surprising covers, all soundtracked by a band whose use-by date should have expired a long time ago, but for some reason is enjoying a sudden burst of renewed enthusiasm.
That band includes Wes Borland, a masked guitarist who showed up looking like he was rejected by Slipknot for being too flamboyant.
It also has Fred Durst, the front man who dressed like an extra from Boogie Nights and should be permanently barred from ever using the wig box again.
They have a DJ.
Limp Bizkit is clearly loving every second of their revival.
“I tried to stick a kiwi up my butt earlier,” declared Durst, who is 53.
“It didn’t work out.”
How did this happen?
It’s a question I’ve been pondering for a long time. “Nostalgia. It’s just … it’s a thing,” promoter Paul Brommer told me when I asked him to explain this phenomenon.
Sure, nostalgia’s a factor. It’s why Live and Incubus are teaming up for a tour soon. It explains how Jerry Seinfeld can charge $850 for front row seats to his own Spark Arena show. It’s why Robbie Williams is touring to massive crowds.
But it didn’t feel like the full answer.
Having gone to last night’s show, I believe there’s more to it.
So, this, right here, is the epiphany I had at last night’s Limp Bizkit show.
Music no longer has boundaries.
It doesn’t move in genres, or trends.
Everything, now, is everything.
Billie Eilish releases ballads, pop songs and gothic dance bangers full of quotes from The Office.
Twenty-One Pilots fuse drum n bass, metal and pop, then add stadium-sized football chants into the mix.
Songs released decades ago can become hits again thanks to TikTok and the power of the algorithm.
A Los Angeles dubstep DJ has as much chance of making it as a teen rap producer from South Auckland.
Music has become one big bowl of messy soup.
Dip your spoon in and you never know what you’re going to get.
So last night’s show wasn’t really a Limp Bizkit show. They didn’t play any deep cuts, or obscure songs, or new material, or anything from their superior but unloved 2005 EP, The Unquestionable Truth, Pt. 1.
It was the giant bowl of musical soup right there up on Spark Arena’s stage, the perfect 90s pop culture juke box, a show capable of going absolutely anywhere and everywhere it wanted to.
Rage Against the Machine’s ‘Killing in the Name Of’ next to ‘Nookie’? Sure. George Michael’s ‘Faith’ alongside ‘My Generation’? Okay. The Who’s ‘Behind Blue Eyes’ beside ‘Rollin’?’ Why the fuck not?
Turning the Mission: Impossible theme tune into a rap-rock rager about self-respect?
Fuck it. Go on.
By playing up to the absolute bonkers ridiculousness of it all, then making some savvy cover song choices, and giving people a reason to jump around, Limp Bizkit have turned themselves into the perfect party band to soundtrack this orgy of sound.
It’s an incredibly smart power play by a group often derided for being … a little stupid.
Does it work?
You bet it does.
As ‘Break Stuff’ – a testosterone-fueled aggressor that started all that trouble at Woodstock ‘99 – signaled the end of the show, no one was complaining.
They were too busy jumping and shouting and crowd surfing and flinging their beer cups into the air and embracing people they’d never met before like long lost friends.
Afterwards, as Simple Minds’ ‘(Don’t You) Forget About Me’ played the band off, the same guy who tapped my shoulder earlier swung his arm around the venue, grinned even wider and declared: “My people.”
Or, perhaps, his g-g-generation.
The week ahead…
It’s a big week for shows, with Spark Arena hosting Dermot Kennedy on Wednesday, Kraftwerk on Friday and The War on Drugs on Saturday; K’ Rd hosts The Others Way festival on Friday night (I’m going!), and the Powerstation has Matt Corby on Friday and Dimmer on Saturday. Get amongst it.
Coldplay tickets go on pre-sale on Wednesday and judging by the number of people talking about this one, it’s going to be in hot demand. Also, if you went to the Limp Bizkit show, you might want to check out Mike Patton’s Mr Bungle, who play the Auckland Town Hall on March 3 with The Melvins. Tickets are here.
You haven’t been able to avoid me lately. Sorry about that. Last week I said yes to absolutely every media request and went on NZ Herald’s The Front Page, RNZ’s Mediawatch, and The Spinoff’s The Fold. The topic? The death of music journalism. Have a listen, if you like: we’re going to talk about this more soon.
“I want you to eat a bag of my shit.” That’s what one former staff member wishes upon the founders of Pollen, a troubled and now-defunct UK-based music festival company. Crashed: $800m Festival Fail examines the dramatic rise of the VIP, travel, tech and experience-based touring company, until it all comes crashing down with claims of bad festivals, money troubles and creative accountancy quirks. Honestly, it’s like Fyre Festival taught us nothing at all. (On TVNZ+ now.)
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Would it be fair to infer from your review that male-presenting people outnumbered female-presenting people by a margin larger than the coalition government's?