Godsmack rocks 'Rabid City'

By Ruth Milne | Thursday, May 27, 2004

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Journal Staff Writer

Rushmore Plaza Civic Center added another act to its long line of memorable concerts with an earth-shaking performance by popular metal band Godsmack on Monday evening.

Security was tight, as always. Fans waited in the lobby for their turn to be searched for food, chains and other forbidden articles at the arena doors.

Fog billowed in the colorful spotlights onstage as the music began. My date nudged me. "My God, the stage is on fire," he said, and waited for me to laugh.

Opening band Split Shift was just recently added to the tour. I had never heard of them, and neither had anybody I spoke to, but they earned some fans with a fast-paced set while the audience trickled in. They worked the crowd up with high-energy metal.

Post-grunge metal act Dropbox took the stage next. Their style? Lots of Alice in Chains-style vocal harmony and brooding Metallica-style music.

Dropbox played several songs from the band's recent self-titled debut, including "I Feel Fine" and a song titled "Nowhere Man" -- nothing like the Beatles number.

As the set wound down, I grew tired of Dropbox. While they performed enjoyable music, it just didn't sound original or new.

The fog machines sent more clouds up. I was nudged again. "My God, they set the stage on fire ..."

A roadie kept me entertained as he darted out from the wings every time lead vocalist John Kosco knocked over the mike stand, setting it back up and scuttling, crab-like, back into the shadows.

Following their set and an extended intermission, the crowd grew restless. They were more than ready for Godsmack. They even cheered the roadies testing the microphones.

With bass notes so loud my teeth rattled, the first notes to "Awake" rang out, opening a thundering rendition of one of Godsmack's biggest hits. The band put on an incredible stage show. Music roared, lights flashed, fog drifted, and the song ended in a huge bang as pillars of flame shot into the air.

My date nudged me again. "NOW the stage IS on fire," he said smugly.

Godsmack roared into "Straight out of Line" next. Drummer Shannon Larkin was located back and center on a round platform while the other three members were spaced across the front of the stage. All four threw themselves into the music, and Sully Erna's voice soared surprisingly full-bodied from his lean frame.

The guy playing air guitar next to me elbowed me in the shoulder. I didn't say anything, because, well, when your shoulder only comes up to somebody's elbow, you don't.

"How many people, it's your first time seeing Godsmack?" asked Erna. Every hand I could see waved in the air. "Then let's make some (expletive) music!" he roared.

That particular obscenity seemed to be his favorite adjective. After performing a rendition of "Faceless" that had the crowd churning, he hollered, "Rapid City, make some (expletive) noise for me!" And the crowd did with vigor.

Godsmack's fans go all-out. When the first notes of "Voodoo" tore from the stage, I saw a grown man jump and shriek like a girl discovering a pony under the Christmas tree.

Erna's anguished voice and a mesmerizing rhythm carry "Voodoo," a haunting song from the band's 1997 self-titled debut. "I'm not the one who's so far away / When I feel the snake bite enter my vay-eee-ains / Never did I wanna be here again / And I don't remember why I came," he sang. The lyrics aren't much in the way of poetry, but they sure are catchy. With the rolling drumbeat, all the song needed was a belly dancer.

Speaking of rolling - it turns out the drum platform is on wheels. When the song ended it rolled slowly forward and to the right as a second drum set on an identical platform rolled onstage.

Erna hopped onto the second platform and launched into a drum duet with Larkin that lasted several minutes, the guitarist and bassist standing off in the background, played music to frame the vigorous drumming. Erna had stripped off his shirt; the man is a work of art. (If my mother reads this, I mean his tattoos.)

Both drum platforms spun and stopped and spun again as flames roared in the background. The lengthy duet ended in explosions and more spinning.

Erna picked the microphone back up -- but happily not his shirt -- to begin "Whatever."

"I'm doing the best I ever did," he shouted. "Now go away."

A shoe flew onstage. Judging by the crowd's mood, it was probably thrown out of high spirits, not anger, but it was followed a few minutes later by another.

Erna's interaction with the crowd never flagged. He paused the song to urge the audience to express its appreciation. "Robbie cries after every show," he said, pointing to bassist Robbie Merrill. "He cries, and we hold him, cradle him, try to make him feel better - but he's very sensitive. So if you're having a good time, you have to let us (expletive) know!"

When a hat flew up, Erna paused to say, shaking his head, "Hey, we're all set for hats, sneakers, boots, okay? We're good with all that stuff."

Getting back to the pep talk, he promised to get Rapid City so (expletive) loud that they'd hear us all the way in New York (expletive) City. Once the crowd gave an acceptable roar, Erna said Rapid City should be renamed "Rabid City."

And he wanted everyone standing up. "If I see you sitting down, I'll have security drag you up onstage. We'll cover you with chocolate (expletive) pudding and make you sing the rest of the song with me!"

A guy next to me sat down hopefully, but we were so high in the balcony that Erna looked about as big as a kidney bean, so no pudding.

The band finished "Whatever," the lights went down, people screamed for an encore. Of course Godsmack came back, performing a gentler version of "Serenity."

"Where do we go when we just don't know / And how do we relight the flame when it's cold?"

The mellow song ended, but the crowd stayed put. Erna strode forward and looked us over. "I guess you guys aren't going home yet." Amid much cheering, he finished off the night with an earsplitting version of "Releasing the Demons."

As the lights came up, I looked over the crowd and was struck by the concertgoers' apparent dress code. A friend of mine delivered a pizza just as the recent Eagles concert was letting out. "Everybody was wearing khakis and button-down shirts," he told me later with fear in his eyes. "They all looked the same. It was like a cult."

But every clique has its dress code. Most of the bands and most of the crowd wore black T-shirts and jeans - the heavy metal uniform, if you will.

Some bands seem to be part of the uniform, part of the image. And Godsmack is popular with a certain image.

But they're also popular because they're entertaining -- and the concert was absolutely enjoyable. Godsmack's music isn't revolutionary, and the lyrics aren't spectacular, but they're good solid fun.

And in the end, it was worth the ringing in my ears.

Contact Milne at 394-8420 or ruth.milne@rapidcityjournal.com