Apocalyptica @ The Majestic Ventura Theatre

When I explained the Apocalyptica concept to my girlfriend, “four cellos and a drummer doing Metallica covers and stuff,” she was a bit skeptical. “Meh,” were her exact words I think. As we drove to Ventura for the show, I tried to convince her that it was going to be awesome, unique, live music experience. She seemed more interested in visiting the Camarillo Outlet mall, going shelling at Leo Carillo, looking at cute craftsman houses in Ventura, and having me take her out to dinner.

While enjoying the latter, we discussed our expectations for the show. Would there be a mosh pit? Would we get beaten up? What exactly happens at a metal show? You see, we were both metal virgins and more than a little nervous our cherry-popping would be a loud, painful experience. And we weren’t entirely wrong.

Upon entering the aptly titled Majestic Theatre, most of our initial concerns were swept aside. We walked past elderly couples in flannel, parents toting small children, a man in a kilt, and a woman belly dancing by herself in some lonely corner of the room. The hardcore metal fans were pushed up front on the first landing in front of the stage. The older, more cautious in attendance, Christine and I included, sat in white plastic chairs well back of any potential mosh pit hot spots. The stage was dressed with two pairs of thrones, built to look like skulls, surrounding a huge drum set, all in front of a massive winged skull cello backdrop. I thought to myself, “so this is a metal show.”

After it was clear the halfway empty theatre wasn’t going to get any fuller, the house music, The Who’s “Won’t Get Fooled Again,” climaxed in long, high screeching note, and then segwayed into some unholy, beastly sounds. It was a bit cheesy, but had a surprising affect. Christine dragged me down to the front landing for “the real experience” of rocking out right in front of the band.

The lights went down and Apocalyptica appeared on stage urged on by a raucous applause from the hardcore fans on the floor. Their music is dark, wonderfully layered, complex, textured strings, punctuated by machine gun fire drums. And it’s loud, really really loud, I can’t stress that enough. They began playing seated in their skull thrones, but quickly got up and began marching around the stage, cellos in hand, long Finnish hair swirling hypnotically as they began to head-bang.

The crowd was into it too, at least those who were there for a metal show. The older people in the back rows who showed up for cello quartet clapped politely after each song, but seemed a bit uneasy. During “Race” a mosh pit broke out next to Christine and I. It was probably the pussiest mosh pit in the history of metal, three teens with long hair and tight pants smashing into the crowd and one another. Like little gnats, they were easily batted aside but still quite annoying, so Christine and I moved closer to the speakers to avoid being swallowed up in a teeny-bop whirlpool of hormonal angst.

About halfway through the set, Taryn Green (of Fuel) joined the band to provide vocals on a couple of songs, including David Bowie’s “Heroes.” The less said about his time on stage, the better. His presence there not only greatly diminished my pleasure of the music, but had me wondering for the first time whether or not this was just a novelty show.

If “This is Spinal Tap” didn’t already exist, Apocalyptica would be the perfect candidate for a mocumentary. In between hardcore songs with titles like “Betrayal” and “Somewhere Around Nothing” the band adoringly addressed the crowd with sweet Finnish accents and broken English. They giggled and discussed the national sports of Finland (hockey and head-banging), the beauty of California, how much they love metal, and offered several apologies for not speaking better English. Whenever they spoke, they came across as cute. Cute like, I wanted to take them home to meet my mom and have a big bowl of matzah ball soup, cute. I can’t imagine there are many metal bands who would appreciate that type of invitation or label.

The only thing that kept them from becoming a bad SNL sketch, was the sheer quality of their music. I laughed every time they spoke, but as soon as they started playing, I was instantly nodding my head and totally into it. They combined incredible orchestration, with precise execution, and I couldn’t help but get fired up. That was, until my ears stopped working.

Christine was also suffering. Her ears were destroyed and she was getting upset, so we ventured to the back of the room to escape the speakers. From our new perch, we both enjoyed covers of “Enter Sandman,” “Nothing Else Matters,” and the epic “Hall of the Mountain King.” The later proved to be both playful and cathartic, two adjectives I would’ve thought were nearly mutually exclusive.

After a (somewhat undeserved) double encore, Christine and I returned to my car for our drive back to LA. She hates metal and instrumental music, but I managed to get her to admit, the show was not only interesting but truly impressive. The quality and complexity of the music we had witnessed was unlike anything either of us had ever seen. It was our first metal show and a pretty incredible experience. She did have a few complaints, mostly about the songs with vocals and how much her ears hurt. Fortunately, I was at the same rip-roaring, head-banging, incredibly awesome and loud show, and her complaints fell on largely deaf ears.