GETTING ARRESTED

Getting arrested at the Big Day Out

It was three days before leaving on a full scale world tour in support of our sophomore album and those paranoid morons in the US consulate decided not to issue me a US visa because my passport was “damaged”. Motherfuckers! That hadn’t stopped them from issuing five previous visas in that same passport. So I spend the day before the 2004 Big Day Out in the Australian consulate, rushing a new passport through so I could pick it up the next morning, dash across town, drop it off at the US consulate and wait for hours to get the stupid visa stuck in before heading off to the festival.

By the time I got home from this tedious chore the Big Day Out was already in full swing so I rapidly changed into some serious festival clobber, rolled a couple of joints and hopped on the first available train out to Homebush (oh how I miss the glory days of the Sydney Showgrounds in Moore Park). By this time every paying punter was inside the gate and well on the way to heatstroke, drunkenness and general oblivion and as a result the train was virtually empty. Oh well I may have missed the Darkness, Datsuns and Dandy Warhols but I should catch most of the Muse set … or so I thought.

The train pulled in to the Olympic Park station and I walked excitedly towards the gates, talking on the phone to some friends who were already inside. As I swiped my train ticket through the barrier that pre festival excitement was instantly replaced with a gut full of fear as I saw twenty police officers and two black police labradors. No turning back now, I’ll just walk in a purposeful and rapid gait away from this minor inconvenience.

Not so fast mister. The nearest Labrador sniffed at my pockets and its nose followed me with some kind of magnetic attraction. “Mate. Over here.” “The dog smelt something on you so we’re gonna search you. What have you got?” I came clean and turned over my two little joints readying myself for interrogation and cavity search. So what happens now? Am I being arrested? Will I ever be allowed to travel to the US again? Will I catch the end of Muse?
At least the NSW police force were efficient at dealing with the whole episode. My two joints were secured in an evidence bag large enough for an entire human head and I was offered the olive branch known as the Cannabis Caution – my first and last Get Out Of Jail Free card. A half hour delay and some kind of signed confession was all it took to get moving again. At least I stayed out of jail and would probably be able to get on the plane to the US tomorrow - right?
By the time I reached the main arena Muse were playing their last song. Damn. At least I already saw them and the Darkness at their respective sideshows during the week. Over to the other stages for the tail end of the Kings of Leon (Wow, could their pants be any tighter?) and the Mars Volta (OK. Everyone play everything at once – now!)
Just enough time for a drink and a smoke before heading into the main arena to see the professionally hungover Strokes and stake out a position for the best Big Day Out headliner ever - Metallica!

Before they took to the stage there was a spectacular electrical storm raging behind the stage just to let us know that God disapproves of the Devil’s Music and may choose to unleash his wrath at any moment.

What is it about Metallica that turns normal functioning humans into insane raging animals? Evidently their music causes a near fatal surge of testosterone to its male listeners – myself included. When they opened with “Blackened” I lost my mind. My life wouldn’t be complete until I crashed into the front section. Crowd surfers were pouring over the D barrier, getting pulled down by security and marched out. That’s when the light bulb went on. My two nearby friends Marco and Jarrod gave me a boost and I started crowd surfing towards the D barrier and security guards within. As expected security pulled me to the ground and started to march me out. I acted compliant so that the grip on my collar eased a little and when I saw the opening I gave the yellow shirted ogre a solid rugby style fend and ran for the promised land. Just before I reached the seething mass of shirtless maniacs I turned and gave the finger to the security guard I had just eluded and he wisely chose not to chase me into the mosh.

From here it wasn’t far until I was standing underneath James Hetfield at the front of the stage and screaming for “Battery” between every song. They may have put out a string of crap albums since their landmark Black album but they sure know what the crowd wants to hear we like your old stuff better than your new stuff. When they finally played Battery my brain exploded. It was as if I had seen God – albeit a hairy one on stage wearing a low slung guitar.