Just days before we schlepped to the Cal State Long Beach stop on this year's Warped Tour, we got an e-mailed press release announcing production of a film called Punk Rock Holocaust, which is apparently being shot during the tour. Seems the "plot" of this "comedy" is a goof on slasher films, with mysterious forces systematically slaughtering assorted band members, fans, merchants and crew—with, naturally, cheeky cameo appearances by plenty of Warped "rock stars." We know: ho-hum city! Yet we couldn't really get past that title alone—should the word holocaust really be applied to anything except you-know-what? And should the words punk rock really be applied at all to the Warped Tour? . . . Then there was the release that arrived trumpeting how the Warped Tour "works to clean up the environment" by using cleaner biodiesel B20 fuel in their generators, how they're partnering with organizations to help save rain forests and using environment-friendly canned water and biodegradable eating utensils for the bands and crew. Lovely! But considering that the fields at CSULB were strewn with trash tossed by uncaring kids who probably treat their bedrooms the same, wouldn't it be even better for the environment if the Warped Tour just ceased altogether? Considering the atrociousness of this year's bands—most of whom seemed to be locked in a tight contest of who could copy whom the closest—that's what we'd vote for. (Rich Kane)
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Nothing spells "I'm gettin' blown tonight by my trophy wife—finally" better than an evening at the Lindsey Buckingham show—also known as Fleetwood Mac—at the Pond two weeks ago. We were all caught up in the campiness of Stevie Nicks as she struggled to keep her pulse in living digits and barely bothered to drama us up with just a single twirl and only two lacy shawl changes. BOO! We didn't usually know what song Stevie was singing off-key, but we really enjoyed her tambourine solos—those were supposed to be solos, right? She is Stevie Nicks, though, and she did nail "Landslide" and "Stand Back," making the spooky, melanoma-ridden, peroxided, Botoxed, air guitar-playing crowd of Halloween Town shriek with ecstasy—which, of course, they weren't on, preferring big cups of domestic beer that spilled everywhere and stank us up. Lindsey Buckingham had sex with his guitar three times, and that's when we decided that he really is mondo sexy. Really. We would even do him. A lot. For free. Mick Fleetwood is a freakish troll and exceptional drummer, but five solos were too much for our tympanic membranes, and when he grabbed his crotch, we lost all interest and decided to be lesbians again. (Stacy Davies)