The Roar of the Populist Heroes

Just a few blocks south of the site of next week’s Democratic National Convention, Limp Bizkit mounted an experiment in participatory democracy with a free show at the Grand Olympic Auditorium.

The L.A. band’s 20-city free tour, which is being sponsored by Napster--the music business’ public enemy No. 1--was supposed to lay bare the new rage culture that’s apparently infected America’s youth like a computer virus.

In fact, despite the potential problems of the first-come first-served policy (wristbands guaranteeing admission were distributed earlier in the day to fans who had begun gathering Wednesday night), the crowd was a model of comportment, filing into the Olympic with few complications.

After opening sets by Cold and Cypress Hill, the crowd milled while roadies dressed in black-and-white striped prison uniforms constructed a chain-link fence along the edge of the stage. Once Limp Bizkit appeared, the audience’s ambient thrum grew into a baleful roar.

This show had the unpredictable feel of something genuinely combustible, as fans scratched and clawed their way up the fence, or jumped on stage and dared bodyguards to throw them back. Prowling their makeshift cage like quarantined animals, the musicians played their strident rock-rap while frontman Fred Durst, rock’s answer to Ayn Rand, preached his harsh manifesto of self-reliance.

By aligning itself with a company that has enabled fans to do an end-run around the music industry, Limp Bizkit has cast itself as a populist hero. It’s a savvy marketing ploy, certainly, but it’s also more than that--few bands have ever sacrificed so much potential concert revenue for the benefit of their fans. Limp Bizkit should be commended for having its priorities straight.