Torture never stops for devoted Zappa fan

When the lineup for this year's Bonnaroo festival in Manchester was published earlier in the year, I was -- like other classic rock fans -- disappointed that the rumored Led Zeppelin performance would not take place.

Having that band drop into our neck of the woods was an admitted longshot, but the festival still had an impressive array of talent: Metallica, Pearl Jam, Chris Rock, B.B. King, Widespread Panic ... there was something for every musical taste this year.

But it wasn't until a few weeks later when another announcement from festival organizers had this old musical curmudgeon leaping around like a five-year-old: Zappa Plays Zappa was coming to my home county.

It was too good to be true. All during my teenage years of the late '70s, I had my list of favorite bands -- Pink Floyd, Rush, Zeppelin, early stuff from Styx, Kansas ... but over and above them all was rock iconoclast Frank Zappa.

Yes, his lyrics could be offensive and yours truly had to keep those song titles away from the prying eyes of the parents in those days, but Zappa's incredibly complicated melodies and drastically shifting time signatures had this rebellious teen hooked.

However, Frank never toured this part of the south, at least, not during a time period where I could sneak away and see him. The closest place he performed was Atlanta, but I only learned of it after the fact. Frank's last tour was in 1988 and he died of cancer in 1993, so I had to live with the fact that I would never see his stunningly intricate compositions performed live.

That is, until this year.

Frank's son, Dweezil, has assembled a stellar line-up of musicians to bring his dad's music to a new generation, and now, 30 years after I got in trouble for playing "that song" around the house, I would finally be able to experience it firsthand.

I knew what I had to do. No matter what it took, I was going to be front row, center stage for this personal milestone. It would take planning, focus, a small amount of karma and unlimited zeal to pull this off, but I was determined it was to be done

However, to obtain this coveted spot, I would have to arrive at the What Tent at the 'Roo early on Saturday and move through the crowd between acts. The bands playing beforehand may not be to my particular liking, but I remember thinking, "how bad could it be?"

Over the next five hours, I found out.

The night before, I chose not to check out Metallica's headlining show because of the obviously aggressive nature of the crowd. Unfortunately, due to the fact that I had never heard of the groups that would play before Zappa, I was totally unaware that these acts would attract the same type of individuals.

What was far worse is that in all my planning for this day, I had foolishly ignored something called "moshing." But an education was soon to be delivered.

For those of you unfamiliar with the term, I'll just refer to Wikipedia, which defines moshing as "the activity in which audience members at live music performances aggressively push or slam into each other. Moshing is frequently accompanied by stage diving, crowd surfing, and headbanging."

My definition of the practice is "a poorly executed amateur Muay Thai kickboxing demonstration performed by highly intoxicated yahoos without any concern for innocent bystanders."

The first act that day was Two Gallants, which was not my cup of tea, but they had talent. The crowd was getting into it and they were well behaved. Between sets, I moved closer to the stage.

When Against Me! first cranked up, there was a bit of jumping about and dancing going on ... people just having fun. But the band hadn't even gotten into the second tune when part of this mob of thousands suddenly rushed forward and began savagely hurling themselves at each other.

For some, the resulting melee was terrifying. While much of the crowd seemed to actually enjoy the abuse of strangers, many petite and slender young ladies fled the tent as quickly as they could. Many of these poor girls I ran into, some quite literally, had a look of pain and terror in their eyes as they tried to escape.

Groups of ladies were locking arms and pulling each other out of the controlled riot, before they were trampled. This left more room at the front of the stage and throughout the performance of Against Me!, I used the chaos to my advantage to move up a little closer to my goal.

When the punk band finished its set, I managed to make my way up to the second layer of unwashed humanity that were straining against the barrier in front of the stage. Well, I thought, just one more act to go. I only had to wait for two more hours and everything would be fine.

Of course, it all depended on my surviving the next two hours.

It wasn't long before heavy metal behemoth Mastodon took the stage, cranked the amps up to 11 and began to emit an earsplitting din so overwhelming, not a note of it was intelligible.

Since I'm already hearing impaired, I had removed my Widex devices long before entering the tent, but the electric howls cut through my 30 dB hearing loss without a problem.

But, the audio assault was nothing compared to the physical abuse I endured.

Behind me, arms and legs were flying through the air. Several times, I felt that my ankles were about to snap when the throng would be pulled back and forth or to the side unexpectedly. I took a jarring shot to the back of the head that nearly put me on the ground, and suffered a smashing blow to my right foot that shattered my big toenail down to the quick.

But then it really got scary. Now that I was one layer from the front, thousands began to push relentlessly forward and the heat was unbearable. It became difficult to breathe. The air was thick with the stench of human sweat, suntan oil and burning weed.

At the time, there were two thoughts going through my brain: One was "hang on, this is almost over." The other concerned The Who's 1979 gig in Cincinnati where 11 fans were crushed to death. But the vicious ordeal did finally end. Despite the screams for an encore, Mastodon was finally extinct and I had my cherished spot.

So, was it worth all the agony? Every single note of it. As the dust cleared, a diverse variety of Zappaphiles joined me at the front and we communed. I was finally with my own kind.

Then came the moment. Dweezil took the stage and promised "something sophisticated" before launching into a cover of the over-played '80s hit "Eye of the Tiger," which quickly mutated into "Approximate." Then the real fun began.

Zappa veteran Ray White took the stage and belted out "City of Tiny Lights" and for the next two hours, the pain was elsewhere. Nothing else mattered. There was the blistering improvisation during "King Kong," the selection of tunes from "Joe's Garage," the encore featuring "Cosmik Debris" -- all performed to perfection.

After seven grueling hours, I slowly emerged from the tent wounded, dehydrated ... but still alive and quite happy.

So if you see me moving around slowly with a bit of a limp this week, please understand that I have truly suffered for my music.