Holmdel, NJ – I knew it was a bad idea to talk all that crap about Apollo’s mother, and retribution came by way of an ocean of automobiles on the scenic Garden State Parkway as I made my way down to PNC Bank Arts Center for the first installment of Dave Mustaine’s Gigantour. I pulled into the parking lot with mixed feelings. It’s a noble endeavor on the part of Mr. Mustaine to be sure, to take on Ozzfest armed only with the talent of your lineup and the relatively cheap ticket prices, but would the outcome be worth the effort?

In many ways, Gigantour played it safe. It’s not a wholly inappropriate approach, given that it’s only the first of presumably numerous years of the tour, and obviously the waters need to be tested, but in examining the roster, there were only three bands I had never seen before – Dream Theater, Symphony X and Bobaflex – and that was more out of lack of interest than neglect.

With the exceptions of the aforementioned Bobaflex and maybe Dry Kill Logic (who debuted on Roadrunner in 2001 but have since parted with the label), everyone playing was already a well-established act. Think about it; Life Of Agony, Nevermore, The Dillinger Escape Plan, Fear Factory, Dream Theater and Megadeth. They’re all pretty safe bets in terms of drawing a crowd. Even Symphony X has an established fanbase. No one’s looking to make their career off this tour.

Even so, I strolled into the Arts Center just as Dry Kill Logic were saying a hearty goodbye. I guess that’s what I get for having a real job. By the time my fat ass made it up the stairs, Dillinger were halfway through “43% Burnt,” which made me think I had missed the whole set. I had never seen them live that they didn’t end with that song, and here they were opening with it. Way to turn my world upside down, guys.

Their performance would be the most blistering of the day, the most raw, powerful and passionate, with thick-necked frontman Greg Puciato not only shouting out Morristown arcades, but, at several intervals, grabbing Chris Pennie’s crash symbol and throwing it across the stage. Dillinger is nothing short of monstrous live, and this set, played before a sparse but enthusiastic hometown crowd, was no exception to the rule. Their destructive fervor was unmatched.

The schedule had it so as one stage soundchecked its next band, the other had a band playing. Symphony X, who landed their spot on the tour thanks to the poking and prodding of Dream Theater drummer Mike Portnoy, handled their crowd with diligence, vocalist Russell Allen somewhat reminiscent of a young Ronnie James Dio, full of “whoas” and “yeahs.” The Dream Theater fans loved them, but if Portnoy had been like, “I really want to take Buckwheat Zydeco [look it up – Eds] on this tour,” they’d probably love him too, so maybe that’s not saying much.

Fear Factory, complete with Strapping Young lad’s Byron Stroud on bass (how does he do it?), opened their set with the title track to their most beloved record, Demanufacture, Raymond Herrera’s double kick pulsating like Uma Thurman’s adrenaline-shot heart in Pulp Fiction. They played more or less what was expected of them: “Martyr,” “Replica,” “Shock” etc., with only “Transgression” off the album of the same name, released only the day before. Burton C. Bell injected a little extra melody into the chorus of “Edgecrusher,” and they threw “Acres Of Skin” from Digimortal into the set, but other than that, surprises were few and far between, up to and including Bell’s foot-on-the-monitor stance, a pose he’s struck at every FF show I’ve ever seen.

By this time, the seats were starting to fill up. More and more Dream Theater t-shirts of various colors and sizes on dorky white dudes. Great.

Sometimes I wonder what New Mexico thinks of Life Of Agony. Once they get out of the NY/NJ area, are the crowds half as psychotic? Either way, I’m Jersey born and Jersey raised, so you’re god damn right I was rockin’ out like a fiend when they hit the second stage. This, the eighth or ninth time I’ve seen them, was no less enjoyable than the first, and even the oldschool NYHC tough guy next to me who was talking about how the new material sucks was singing along to it, so obviously he couldn’t have thought it was that bad. Everyone else was going insane.

Their sound came through particularly clear, it seemed, and old favorites like “Through And Through” and “Underground” – during which vocalist Keith Caputo stopped the song to chastise a security guard for punching a rowdy crowd surfer – fit well alongside material from Broken Valley, released earlier this year to what I can only assume was a lukewarm response outside the Tri-State Area. Looking around the stage, at all the 30-year-old dudes belting out “The Day He Died” and going nuts every time guitarist Joey Z. opened his mouth, you’d think they were kings. And they were, if only for the 45 minutes they were onstage in their home away from Brooklyn.

It was almost dark by the time Dream Theater took the stage, which was probably better, because there was less of a chance to see all their fans simultaneously masturbate. I have never understood the appeal of that band, and now, having endured their pompous self-indulgence as a 90-minute precursor to Megadeth, I understand it even less. Each member of the band looked like he was giving a clinic. Does a band exist with less passion for their own music? If they do, I don’t want to see them either.

When James LaBrie promised at the end of “Pull Me Under” that the band would be back next Spring for a headlining Evening With tour, he held up three fingers to indicate how many hours their set would be. The crowd went off. I shook my head. I just don’t get it.

There’s been much made of Megadeth’s various lineup changes, so let me be the guy to say it: Who cares? It’s Dave Mustaine singing and playing guitar. Get over yourselves.

A smattering of tracks new and old, the greatest hits and relative album cuts like “She Wolf” from Cryptic Writings, Megadeth’s set was an explosion and fire-infused display of exactly how forceful classic metal can be. Oh you know the smoke machine was going full blast.

Sure, everyone said their last record sounded dated, but it doesn’t matter if you’re dated if the date kicks ass. “Kick The Chair,” “Die Dead Enough” and “Blackmail The Universe” held their own against “Skin O’ My Teeth.” That’s an accomplishment in itself.

Horns were thrown, solos were ripped, and when it was said and done and we all swayed to the symphony of destruc-sha-un, we shuffled sheep-like out of the venue to the parking lot, where the Parkway awaited our entrance with impatient intensity.

Gigantour accomplished its goal of providing proven, quality metal bands to the masses at low cost, even if it didn’t do it in such a way that really blew anyone’s mind. At the end of the day, it was an inarguable – if predictable – success, and no one ended up with egg on their face.

– JJ Koczan