By Darryl Smyers, Special Contributor
Another band playing a landmark album in its entirety, California's Korn entered the dark confines of the Southside Ballroom Tuesday evening to entertain a nearly capacity crowd with its mixture of nu metal and remotely rap-inspired chaos.
For most of the evening, everything clicked. Korn frontman Jonathan Davis was a whirling dervish, eschewing any pleasantries with the audience to instead lead his band through a powerful and almost catchy reenactment of the band's 1994 self-titled debut album. Beginning, of course, with "Blind," Davis and the rest of Korn were focused and intense as they twirled their dreadlocks with manic glee for song after song of riff-heavy heaven.
Sure, Korn can be viewed as a lightweight version of Ministry or even the Butthole Surfers, but when Davis and crew locked onto a groove as insistent as "Shoots and Ladders," the effect was heavy and anthemic, as the crowd body-surfed with reckless abandon. The connection between Davis and his audience is tactile and pure, an odd union of anarchy and acceptance.
This was a night of unsafe music presented quite safely; loud music performed at an acceptable volume that still had an air of danger and distrust.
Perhaps that is how Davis has turned his fusion of disparate styles into worldwide sales of nearly 40 million albums. Davis has found a middle ground between the audacities of the Sex Pistols and the demonstrable acceptability of Green Day.
As a demographically diverse crowd banged heads and pretended this was something other than solid beats and guitar riffs pounded out infinitum, Korn became a band that mattered. When someone allowed their wheelchair to be crowd-surfed across the room, it was an explicit acceptance of Korn's sway with fans who never wanted to be called punks but never minded being labeled metal heads.
Those kind of compliments can't be applied to opening acts Islander and Suicide Silence. Both bands reveled in the patently tuneless and incoherent banter that calls itself metal these days.
Since not a single lyric was distinguishable amidst the caterwauling roar of either band, one would be hard pressed to deny that a better supporting act might well be road construction on Central Expressway.
Korn, however, was somewhat of a revelation. Every song was presented as the last gasp of some college kid on an angry bender. Jonathan Davis is no genius, but he has proven, at least with that debut album from 1994, that he understands the turmoil of the adolescent mind.
Davis connects with an audience that pushes the envelope, but never questions what's written on the letter inside.
This is good music that will never be great. But that's OK with everyone involved. On Tuesday night, they rocked and rolled and banged their heads with an earnestness that was almost inspirational.
