Guns and Roses was not that sort of gig. Neither, although their focus and musicianship was a lot more admirable than anything from the previous night, were Saturday's penultimate main stage act Bullet For My Valentine. Their energetic set failed to connect with the crowd, as really did any main stage act over the weekend. Part of the problem there was the amazing VIP/GA crowd situation, which saw the first hundred feet of center stage occupied mainly by sparsely populated seating VIP seating.
As they left the stage, though, anticipation was building for Alice In Chains. The sun was going down facing the main stage and the incredibly poor attendance of the previous night had been transformed into a crowd of thousands, steaming both from the humidity and from the amounts of booze being consumed. People milled and stumbled, lawn chairs were arranged in lines that would prove to be a labyrinth for the many shirtless intoxicated, and the crush at the GA fences got deeper and more thoroughly packed.
We arrived from an anticipatory beer run back to our campsite just in time to catch a confident, rollocking, efficiently brutal version of "Them Bones" being bashed out by way of an opener. The stage was dark, sparse even, with a giant screen behind the band showing simple imagery. All the band members were dressed in black, and nothing on the stage, even the bass drum skin, was branded with the band's name. It was low-key, almost. Jerry Cantrell, looking good for his age, with a slightly weathered visage and short grey hair, pulled off the complex solo of the opener with no visible effort whatsoever, no grandstanding on a monitor, no running around. Just a supremely talented musician playing a classic solo with the minimum of fuss but the maximum of focus and application. It was note-perfect.
What this headline performance actually was was a proper rock concert. While showmanship has its place, there's no substitute for the actual part where all the men play their instruments well and the songs hit home. Maybe it's an unfair comparison - AiC were always the more thoughtful band, and their music never lent itself well to theatrics. Nevertheless, on a darkened stage, with frontman William DuVall's vocals providing a flawless impression of the sadly departed Layne Stayley and doing that thing where they harmonize with Jerry Cantrell to produce a harmony greater than the sum of its parts, the overall effect was breathtaking. So was the strength of AiC's back catalog, an oft-overlooked aspect of their careers that gets lost underneath the big radio hits that the crowd here had come to see. While the previous night all that got big cheers were the golden standards, AiC got a rapturous reception throughout and mumblings could be heard around us about the quality of this compared to Friday night.