OK? (Maybe then, I'll capture that elusive photo of Jeremy. Next time, I'm coming to see you on tour. Thank you, Zoltan, Chris, Jason and Jeremy. Thank you, Ivan, for the time, and the music.
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It's hard to equate this humble, kind and sweet man with the hard-man singer at least, not until you see that twinkle in his eye, the naughty schoolboy with a heart of gold and a bag full of old hurt. Ivan, he did boxing, golden gloves, that was more his thing.
Martial arts? The other guys, Zoltan and Chris, they're into martial arts. Uncomfortable with the idea of not trying, wanting to reach out. translators, interpreters, or muddling through like the rest of us? They just get by, Ivan said: he likes to have at least a few words or phrases ready, to make an effort, to try. How do they manage with all the languages? I wanted to know. Five Finger Death Punch are touring, what, nine months a year? International. I had my list of questions but as always, they flew out of the window. So we hung on in the media tent watching, waiting, just-in-case one of the band would have a couple of minutes: observing Zoltan, articulate as always, being interviewed on video at the other side of the tent big-guy Chris Kael cuddling a baby and having really-really cute photos taken and then Ivan Moody, just coming over and sitting at our table like we were having a cup of tea on a Sunday afternoon!!! What a treat. I'd been set up for an interview with Five Finger Death Punch bassist Chris Kael, and while we did get to speak for a couple of minutes, the band's PR schedule had changed, and it didn't look like it would work out. Away from the crowd, in the relative-quiet of the media tent. Did I say intense?īut then rewind, back, go back three or four hours to just after two in the afternoon. Intense, heavy, melodic, angry, provocative, threatening. and then ending it all with "The Bleeding". a beautiful version of "Remember Everything", Jason playing acoustic, Ivan singing, that's it. (Oh, I was, s'OK, I sang along too.) "Lift Me Up", "Bad Company", "Burn MF.". Sing along and hope mother's not listening. Including you, young lady, who insisted you were "fine" but laid out full-length at the edge of the pit just inviting insults, or feet.)ĭarn wonderful show. (Those of you who I stepped on in the dark trying to cross from North Stage to South, apologies, but some of you were sitting and laying in some darn stoopid places in the dark. So the crowd goes wild we're kicked out of the pit, someone's trying to hustle all the photogs through to the press tent so that we don't have to fight our way through the crowd as we had been doing all day, but heck, that can't happen, I'm here to see these guys. (Even the growly stuff gets me now, though it took a while.) This was what I'd been waiting for: they are intense, heavy, angry, provocative melodic, threatening and Ivan Moody's voice-when he sings, when he sings-can make my heart break.
If all the rest of Aftershock's two-day show had been garbage, Five Finger Death Punch would have made it golden for me. The huge crowd, by this time, was an ocean of energy riding the waves of Ivan Moody's voice and Zoltan, Jason, Chris' and Jeremy's music. It's a few minutes of madness down there, not incited by anyone on stage, though the audience has been well-and-enthusiastically primed by Pennywise and Rise Against and are just bursting out.
Five Finger Death Punch is on stage, just starting their second song, and people are already flying over the barrier from the crowd into the pit between the barrier and the stage, and a huge, really huge, security guy with no security shirt but with an attitude that means business is telling we, very-crowded-in-the-pit photographers that we have to leave, now, RIGHT NOW!!, forget the three songs rule, we have to GET OUT, NOW and then there's a sick or injured person blocking the exit, and we are scooted one way, then back the other way, still trying to grab that last photo, knowing that the security team are just trying to keep everyone safe but it's frustrating and just a little scary, too. or just after, and all hell is breaking loose in the photo pit. Sunday of Aftershock 2014, about 6.50 p.m.
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