I can't remember how long I'd been waiting to see Papa Roach play live, but when I finally did, Jacoby himself apologised for how long it had been since they last performed in the UK (something like 12 years). The anticipation for the show and indeed the level of energy within it were therefore understandably high. The venue was at the time called the HMV Forum and like most concert venues around London it was originally built for another purpose; in this case, an old cinema. Because of the unusual layout, the gig had quite an intimate feeling to it and owing to the desirability of the show, tickets were sparse at the point I'd managed to secure some. The best I could do was a front row seat of the circle balcony section, which was tremendously unnerving.
It wasn't the height that concerned me. It was the sitting down.
Here, merely a few meteres in front of me, a highly anticipated metal band were being illuminated member by member among the darkness as they each contributed their riffs to the intro of Days Of War to open their set, and there I was, sat down, peering over a safety rail, looking at all the 'standing people' losing their minds. I've never been a 'sit down' person at a gig before - I've always stood up among the grunge and gore of the hardcore fans.
"Wait a minute. I am a hardcore fan!" I remember thinking.
"This is not where I belong - among the chaperoned and terrified kids who only knew of Papa Roach for their track appearances in various video games. I deserve better than this! I am going to stand in my seat!"
And so I stood.
For a second or two.
I stood proudly, and gleefully and deservingly, right up a scowling steward from the sidelines began to home in on me, and then I sat down.
This was rubbish!
The band were fantastic, but the experience I was having was rubbish! I mean, I may as well have been sitting at home, watching the whole thing on telly, or on the tube with my Papa Roach playlist playing on my iPod.
Part way through the set however, all of my concerns were abated. It transpired that sitting in the front row of the upper circle area turned out to be the greatest spot in the whole venue to be.
As Jacoby concluded his contribution to one of the high-octane tracks, he abandoned the stage to allow the rest of the guys to shred through some aggressive solos, and dropped into the security alley. He moved along to the edge of the venue and hopped over a railing and onto the emergency exit ladder leading up to the circle. A little unusual, but not the first time I've seen a frontman spontaneously traverse the staging between or during a song.
Then he appeared, vaulting over our safety rail, into the front row of the circle and between the legs of a stunned crowd member.
What was a few metres away for the most part of the show was now only several inches away, looking tremendously uncertain as to what to do next. It was clear that this was the destination of his mid-set excursion and was cue for the entire population of the upper circle to cascaded over the rows of seating to swarm him like some sort of super-keen love volcano. Caught up in the tide, I too surged towards the singer who now had more hands on him than a ship has on deck.
Once satisfied that enough people had been touched, the commotion dispersed and everyone returned to where they came from.
This event, along with dragging a chap out of the crowd to dance on stage with the band, and energetic slinging of drumsticks out to the once again eager hands of the masses, made for a memorable and engaging experience worthy of embodying in a commemorative merchandise T-shirt, which is exactly what Day 203 of my THREEHUNDREDANDSIXTEEFIVE challenge is all about.
