I’ve been there, São Paulo. Several times actually. I clearly remember the first time I heard Brazilian Portuguese through the intercom of one of the country’s biggest airports during a lay-over. I almost glided off my chair. Man, that’s sensual! I softly punched the woman sitting next to me and whispered in her ear: “I have no idea what the hell he’s saying or who the man is behind that voice, but I want to marry that guy.” In short, I had a reason to go back and discover the city behind the airport.       

Two days before I realized I might want to get a Couchsurf host in São Paulo, so I used the diversify technique based on quantity. 8 people got a Couchrequest that night. 8 people accepted. I forgot I’m girl, Brazilian men tend to love those. I decided to go with Guilherme: the painter, the tattoo-artist-to-be and, let’s not pretend I didn’t notice, the best-looking one of all. It’s not that I was looking for some adult fun, all on the contrary actually (unlike someone else of this duo), but I think a pretty face just looks more enjoyable at the breakfast table, don’t you agree?      

As the province of São Paulo (and actually everything up north from there) is too dangerous to hitchhike, I decided to not be reckless for once. Weird, I know. So I settled with the civilized version of hitchhiking: Blablacar, a rather popular device in Brazil providing you a door-to-door-service for about half the price of a bus (because man, they’re expensive in this country!). After some highly gratifying welcome-caipirinhas my fresh host prepared for me I traced down my bed rather early, as there was another alternative motive to make it up here:   

Festival Maximus!      

Last year I had the great pleasure to meet my heroes from Rammstein (4th time) and Halestorm (3d time) at this wonderful event in the city of Buenos Aires… This year I had the chance to visit the second edition in São Paulo! A chance made possible by my extraordinary host, friend and all-those-things-in-between-the-lines from Florianopolis, who figured this might be the ultimate gift for a metalhead like me.    

For those about to rock we salute you!      

Of course, we’re still in Latin America, so the whole concept of organization is surrounded by screaming chaos and utter confusion. First of all, in Brazil you can’t give gifts to anyone. Anything that has your name on it has to be bought with your credit card, accompanied by the name of your parents. I’m 29 years old and they live on the other side of the planet, not sure why that is relevant, but okay. So my generous giver had to create an online-interim-bitcoin-one just for the occasion, which I had to print as proof. Then, once you received your confirmation email with instructions (all in Portuguese), you have to take them to the entrance of the festival, to wait in one line with 10,286 other people.       

You have to take along the most valuable thing you possess, your passport, BUT apparently carying 20 bucks in cash along is too risky according to the festival’s management. So they came up with this wonderful system: you can solely pay for your consumptions via the chip in your festival-bracelet, in a currency called ‘metals’. Fancy! Side-note: you have to have A) a Brazilian simcard with B) internet credit to C) create an online account on a solely-in-Portuguese-website to deposit money, for which you D) need a Brazilian credit card, E) a Brazilian tax number (only for permanent residents) and F) a national address, that G) all have to match with your name. Long story short: if you’re a foreigner, and there were many, you can die from hunger and thirst. Or, as a necessary Plan B, flirt your way out if it.   

Ordem e progresso. Good one.         

Luckily I had dragged Guilherme along to be my translator and navigator-through-the-bullshit, but the mind-numbing bureaucracy made me very unluckily miss Hatebreed.   

I guess GHOST had to make up for that.      

Is it metal? Is it rock? I don’t really know, I guess none of that. All I know is that it sounds sinister, unusual and catchy all at the same time. I’ve been waiting a long time on a chance to see this band live, and all of a sudden there it was. Truth told, the entire spectacle of gothic cathedrals, painted faces and Dracula-organ-sounds would come out stronger in the context of an intimate, dark venue instead of a giant stage at broad daylight, but that couldn’t take away our enthusiasm.       

I slowly pushed myself to the front of the stage to be closer to my idols scheduled for later that day. But before that climax I was delightfully entertained by ROB ZOMBIE. I know, with an artist name like that, who can take you seriously right? Well, I guess that’s exactly what this guy doesn’t want.       

Who else runs on stage in a silver latex cowboy-suit and a band dressed like superheroes and transvestites, while asking the confused crowd who was also recently anally fingered by aliens? (Upon which he threw some alien sex dolls into the audience). Interesting. I’m sold.    

Also enjoyable to have Mr. Zombie at a 1-meter distance away from me…   

… and meet my childhood-hero John 5 again!   

Time for one of my personal favorites: FIVE FINGER DEATH PUNCH! A macho-name for macho-metal.         

Yes, I know, their lyrics aren’t all that deep and sound rather selfish and utterly ‘murican (here, have a look, could be one of Trump’s speeches if you read it like that don’t you think?), but man, does it sound yummy. Addictive riffs, clap-along-sounds and a beat that just invites for crowdsurfing. Bonus points for wearing a Soulfly-shirt (CAVALERA!) and letting the Brazilian die-hard fans on stage to headbang along on their sides. 

A nice warm-up for everything I came for that day. And I’m still coming just thinking back about that masterpiece of a show.    

SLAYERRRRR!!!  

Once again. The lords of trash metal! Many bands try, but they set the standard. The best you can do as a musician is just try to follow and accept a modest spot in their mighty shadow. I won’t waste any more words on an indescribable show, because whatever I try, it won’t do it justice.         

I pity every band that has to play after those destructive monsters, even though they were supposed to be the ‘headlines’. So I just enjoyed my dinner of peel-peanuts while listening to some group called Prophets of Rage. Whatever. Some dude with an Arafat-scarf on his head and a rapping black guy. Although that chap shredding his guitar does look and sound familiar.       

Prophets of Rage… wait, Rage… “Oí, essa banda tem uma relação com Rage Against the Machine?”, I screamed in the ear of a guy pogoing next to me. But before he could answer I heard the classic unmistakable intro. Tu-tu-tu-du-du-tu-tu, tu-tu-tu-du-du-tu-tu… KILLING IN THE NAME OF!!!      

And I lost my shit. My whole childhood came back in that one song. What a pleasant surprise. Thank you, life.   

Talking about my childhood. I will never forget the day that my father came back from the record store and took a present for me. 13 years old I was, more or less, when I stared at the album cover with glittering eyes: Hybrid Theory, that sounded so bad ass. Obscure they were too, no one ever heard of this shady band called LINKIN PARK, which made them even more desirable. Until their breakthrough… when even those hockey-girls with pigtails in 2nd grade and Avril-Lavigne-fans (by us, ‘gothics & altos’ back then, referred to us ‘happy-hopping-cunts´) started wearing their shirts as well, while moaning “how cute” that blonde guy Chester was, I immediately lost interest. Not cool anymore. I stopped following them entirely. However, hopefully at the age of 29 I can forget about my street credibility, if only for an instant, and scream along with those smash-hits that colored in my teenage years.       

EVERYTHING YOU SAY TO MUUUUUUUUHHHH!!! CRAAAAAAAWLING IIIIIIIN MY SKIIIIIIN, THESE WOUNDS THEY WIIIIIIIL NOT HE-YAAAAAALL! Can you give an encore, do you want mo-mo-more.    

Yeah, fun.       

This was all I needed. The wrong side of heaven and the righteous side of hell. (5FDP)   

But there was more to São Paulo than just that, obviously. Time for some exploration-session.    

… to be continued!  Check the sequel here!

Until we meet. 

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