The little men with hammers only let us get a few hours sleep before they start whacking away at my feet. "Six am! Six am! Six am!" bastards. Kafka pays them to follow us. We get to the Milton Keynes bowl at 10am. We're on at 12 mid day. It's raining as we sound check. This place is going to be a mud bath. Standing behind the backdrop as our intro tape plays us in I can hear a chant from the crowd. It gets louder and louder as the tape draws to an end. . . "PITCH-FUCKING-SHIFTER! PITCH-FUCKING-SHIFTER!" Wow.
These people haven't mistaken us for some other band on the bill, they really are here at 12 mid day so see us play. I run out from behind the backdrop and I'm greeted by a cheer from 20,000 people. Insane. The rest of the boys are all looking at each other. This is the biggest gig we have ever done. It feels mad. I'm wearing a vicar's shirt and bondage wrist bands. I figure I'll try and mess their heads up a little. The last thing you expect to see at
a Black Sabbath gig is a priest singing for Pitchshifter.
We go down great. The crowd is loving this stuff. The atmosphere is so charged you can feel it. I take a leap off the stage and run along the edge of the barrier. Soon the mud comes flying. The rain has permeated the soil. The kids have figured out that they can compact it into balls and it will reach the stage. By the end of the 3rd song everything we own is covered in mud. The backdrop, the equipment, the stage crew. Johnny took a direct hit on his leg, but I managed to avoid them all, ducking and diving as I sung the tunes. Mud flies past my ears and through my legs. After every song the crowd applauds like crazy and then the mud keeps flying.
It's a sign of heavy metal affection. The lowest common denominator of affection. Like girls who hit boys they like in the school playground. "I love your band . . . EAT MUD!"
The set flies by as fast as the mud and too soon it's all over. We get ripped off by the stage manager and we don't get to play our last song. It doesn't matter. We had a great time, the crowd loved it and no one got me in the face with a mud ball. Na na na na naa.
After the show we are herded over to the 'Signing tent' to sign autographs and chat to fans. There is a queue of about 500 people who want their programs signing. Mad. I've never felt like a rock star before. I mean sure, people recognize us at gigs and clubs and we do signatures and photos, but this is mad. People queuing up for half an hour just to say hello? Total madness.
After 15 minutes we have to stop to go and do interviews and there's still a good few hundred people left in line. We apologise and sneak away. I did a lot of apologising today. Every time I went outside the backstage area I got mobbed by people. I signed as many stickers as I could and I shook a lot of hands and I got squeezed by a lot of girls in photos taken by their boyfriends. But there's only so much of that stuff you can do before you need the reality of your friends. Friends aren't impressed by what you do and aren't afraid to tell you you >look like shit when you look like shit. Know what i mean?
The best bit of the day? D, myself, Billy and Terry (from Stimulator) sneak onto the main stage while Black Sabbath are playing 'Paranoid'. Can I just say that again? Black Sabbath are standing a few feet away from us cranking out one of their best tunes to 50,000 adoring fans! Pure electricity. I get goose pimples up both arms. Geezer Butler is all over the bass and head banging like a mad man, and Tony Iommi is effortlessly cranking out those riffs. Those guys are amazing. The guitar sounded perfect. The tone of it. I didn't hear one mistake. Both Tony and Geezer looked great. Weird beards, long hair and black leather jackets. I am not worthy oh masters of the universe.
Out in the crowd I stand with our manager Juli and marvel at the majesty of the guitar work. I wonder to myself if any of these kids give a toss about the most influential band in the history of heavy music, or if they just came to see Coal Chamber, Slayer and all the other American stuff. Pitchshifter were the only other British band to play. What's up with that?
A kid behind me turns to his friend and points to the stage,
"Is this Black Sabbath?" Forgive them Oh mighty Sabbaths, for they know not what they say . . .
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