Doc, Corey, N8, Eddy, Bones, Debarge and I are standing by Borland’s guitars, guarded by his guitar tech, a tall man in a long dress.
Lethal, who chooses the walk-out and set-transition songs, has dropped “In the Air Tonight” by Phil Collins.
Fred is wearing the same hat and shirt and shorts. When he walks out onstage and when the blacklights hit him, he lights up like a tropical fish.
“How you doing?” asks Fred. “We are the Limp Bizkit cover band. We’re gonna do some of Limp Bizkit’s tasty tunes tonight. Ladies and gentleman, without further ado, I’d like to introduce you to this fucking dope rif—“
Wes’s first chord of “Break Stuff” blasts through the amps. The crowd makes a bursting sound.
Fred does what he’s done onstage for three decades: He starts out standing, shifting geriatrically, voice nervous, almost falsetto. But then he starts to sway, then step, then walk, then gun along to the lyrics, rap-tapping the space in front of him. When the drop comes he goes into a low roar, jumping with his feet out, like a skater in the air.
Spotlights come on—thin hard beams of white that hit the stage, then flip out into the crowd, hitting energized people, some with kids on their heads.
Rivers walks up the steps to play along with Otto. Wes darts back and forth. Fred bobs and sings, occasionally striking poses, holding the mic out. The crowd always knows its part: “It’s just one of those days.”
Halfway through the track, the band takes it down. Fred walks forward.
“Helloooooooooooooooo,” he says to great response. “This is the weirdest stage I have ever seen in my life. What specifically is this area for right here?”
He walks out between the monitors and the stage front, and does a dance that few will recognize as the Charleston.
“If it’s your first time at a Limp Bizkit concert, lemme see your hands.”
Most go up.
They go through the old favorites, as Fred introduces his bandmates. Between tracks, Lethal plays Bon Jovi, Credence, Pantera, and a rap track I’m embarrassed to say I had to ask Doc Ice to identify.
“Rakim,” he says. “God of hip-hop.”
Next is “N 2 Gether Now,” a 1999 Bizkit track recorded with Method Man, produced by Houston-then-Brooklyn legend DJ Premier. Fred brings out Eddy Baker. The crowd doesn’t have a “Break Stuff”–level reaction, but the song is perfect, their harmony natural, and they flow so well together you can’t believe Eddy was eight years old when the track dropped. It’s a beautiful five minutes, and they move through the song as one. Afterward, when Eddy’s walking offstage, he spots Doc and literally starts jumping up and down. They hug. “It happens,” Doc says.
