Monday, April 27, 1998 | 12:20 p.m.
The crowd literally looked like a bruise.
Almost every soul at Silver Bowl Park Saturday morning for X-treme Radio's "Big Concert" outdoor festival was garbed in black, blue or some combination of the two.
It was as if some Idaho-sized palooka had administered an overhead left to the entire 10,000-plus capacity crowd. And most of the music played by such no-hit wonder acts as Fuel, Two and Unwritten Law was indiscernible from head trauma.
There were bright points here and there. Holly McNarland and Brownie Mary played tight and tuneful sets early on, leaving a dreadful malaise between themselves and the headliners that was only broken by short, fierce sets by local acts Home Cookin' and 12-Volt Sex. The former played a savage set of horn-driven funk. The latter, recently signed to RCA Records, laid down hyperactive guitar pop evocative of Devo. Both had to interrupt their sets to call for paramedics as the kids near the stage beat each other to a pulp.
"God, these brats will mosh to anything," said one of the sparse thirty-somethings hanging to the back of the crowd. "What are they putting in the water out here?"
Whatever it may be, it couldn't hold a candle to the beer. Twin beverage lines, one at either side of the field, almost met each other in the middle as the wait for booze swelled to over half an hour. Kids tired of waiting could make an attempt at an inflatable climbing wall or visit the Marine Corps recruiters on hand, administering chin-ups.
The headliners acquitted themselves well. Though their last few records have been little short of awful, Bad Religion played a wicked set, beginning with a hard-edged version of "Stranger Than Fiction" and never once letting up on the throttle. Blink 182 and Stabbing Westward did satisfactory takes on their radio hits. The only unfortunate party was Vegas-bred techno outfit the Crystal Method, whose lighting rig took so much time to assemble that police had to pull the plug on the band when they ran over curfew.
"I wanna see a lot of chaos out there," insisted one of the young lions from Fuel. As the day plodded on into night and the dull thud of postpunk induced a punch-drunk stupor, his wish was paid off in spades.
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