Ozzfest 2007 - United In Hatred

(left: Hatebreed circle pit at the second stage)     This weekend I attended Ozzfest at the Gorge. I spent my Saturday out in the sun, shirt off, beer in hand, with metal in my eardrums. And as I stumbled around in my drunken haze, I began to see them. The desolate ones. The very dredges of society. The tweakers, the meth-heads, the coke addicts, the goths, the white trash, the sexually perverse, the overweight, the grossly overweight, the rejects, the high school drop-outs, the alcoholics, the drug abusers, the drug dealers, the bikers, the punks, the bad-asses. I saw them all. I saw people whom society rejects, young and old. I saw people drunk, stoned, tripping, and tweaking - all united under one common banner, under one common desire, under one universal feeling. Hatred.     Hatred of themselves. Hatred of their country, their government that lies to them, stabs them in the back, and bleeds them dry. Hatred of their family, their mothers, their fathers, their brothers and sisters, their teachers, their employers, their lives, their ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends, ex-wives and ex-husbands. Hatred of the society that rejects them, hatred of the popular culture that ignores them, and most importantly - hatred of all those not real enough, hardcore enough, to join them in the swirl of emotion that is heavy metal, that is the mosh pit, that is Ozzfest. In all of their drunken rage, I felt my own. In all of their hatred for the outside, I felt their love for one another. With each "unattractive" and drunk soul I ran into, I felt more and more at home.     There's nothing quite like being in the mosh pit for your favorite metal band (real metal, not any alternative/emo/pop bullshit). The most intense and blackest hatred you can summon in your heart isn't enough to overcome the unbelievably warm and comfortable feeling created by looking around and realizing that, amongst the shirtless, drunk masses, you are simply one of them. Everyone around you has as much pain as you do. Everyone around you hates as much as you do. Everyone has tattoos, has scars, has imperfect bodies and imperfect faces. Everyone has been through what you have. Everyone loves each other, because everyone understands each other.     I saw parents with their little kids. I saw dads with their teenage sons. I saw husbands and wives. I saw middle school posses, high school posses, college frat guys, and aging hippies. I saw people not giving a fuck about their appearance, not giving a fuck about how they acted. I saw people crying, laughing, meditating, puking, and fighting. And I've got the scars to prove it. One huge slice across the mid-section? Check. Bump on the forehead from a head-butt? Check. Bruised elbow? Check.     Jamey Josta of Hatebreed trashed religion, and the crowd went wild. He honored Dimebag Darrell, and the crowd went silent. Randy Blythe of Lamb of God called the crowd a bunch of syphilis-infested pussies, formed a wall of death, and unleashed hell on the hundreds of us in the mosh-pit. Each singer that came up unleashed their vocals on the beautiful scenery overlooking the Columbia River. Each singer came up and unleashed their hatred on the world. And in doing so united all of us in our most common emotion.