The great, the good and the just-
got-lucky go nuts at a something-
for-everyone bash in Brazil.Rock In Rio
Rio De Janeiro Olympic Park
P!nk somersaults on to a gigantic chandelier
suspended from the lighting rig. Bruce
Dickinson swashbuckles his giant pet zombie. Jon
Bon Jovi transforms the huge arena into a church to
himself. Yet none of the on-stage madness at Rock
In Rio 2019 comes close to outshining the sheer
spectacle of the event itself, a South American legend
that crams Rio’s Olympic Park with all the glitz of the
carnival, the enormity of Corcovado mountain and the
colour of Copacabana.
The entire velodrome has been converted into the
world’s biggest projection screen, where punters
trampoline through digitally mapped tsunamis and
sandstorms, a hi-tech statement on climate change. In
an adjoining arena, acrobats from Argentina’s circustheatre Fuerza Bruta swing above the crowd through
sheets of water representing the downpours of ’85,
and fling boxes of shredded paper around manically.
On a stage designed like a cartoonish favela, musicians
and DJs from the city’s notorious slums stomp and
roar their undiscovered talents. The daredevils who
aren’t braving the on-site roller-coaster zip-wire above
the crowd in front of the main stage, and each evening
ends with a firework
display that rattles
windows in neighbouring
countries. In terms of
bang for your square foot,
Rock In Rio 2019- drawing 700,000
people to two weekends
featuring a line-up that reads like a Best Of Reading
1980-2019 – is the Greatest Show On Earth.
It’s also comfortable enough in its position as
Brazil’s beacon of rock’n’roll identity to allow itself
a little self-ribbing. Hence on the first actual day of rock
in Rio (the first night features Drake, Seal and Ellie
Goulding), comedy metal overlord Jack Black holds
aloft a glowing crystal ball of unknown but assuredly
godlike powers and unleashes Tenacious D’s set of
squealing metal, acoustic prog and graphic sex
balladry (‘I’m gonna hump you sweetly, I’m gonna ball you
discreetly’), interspersed with glorious comic interludes:
toy saxophone solos, a samba cover of Smells Like Teen
Spirit, and a bit where Black’s fellow frontman Kyle
Gass quits the band live on stage.
It’s rare that pastiche
ever rivals its source
material, but the D’s clear
love for all things tongue-
waggling and played-
behind-head makes them
a masterful homage. So
ferocious are their bursts
of shamanic voodoo rock, in fact, that they expose
Whitesnake, who play the second stage straight
afterwards, as a throwback, despite taking innuendo
hair-rock skilfully from every angle.
Weezer are the undoubted stars of Rock In Rio’s
self-induced roast, adorning Beverly Hills with extra
squeal for the occasion, powering through Hash Pipe‘Smart, sly and
scorching, Weezer play
the set of weekend one.’
Muse bring the brass- and plenty more
visual treats.
104 CLASSICROCKMAGAZINE.COM
‘It^ falls^ to^ Muse
to^ show^stadium-level^ r
ock^a^ way^ forward
.’