Photo courtesy of Dana Gorab

The Newport Music Hall in the mid-90s was something else. Located on the Ohio State University campus in Columbus, it was, and still is, a staple venue for any national touring band on its way up, and it’s where I saw the majority of shows in my formative years.

My older brothers and I practically lived there and we saw some life changers - Bad Religion on their Stranger than Fiction tour (super rough pit), The Reverend Horton Heat every six months (like clockwork), the Foo Fighters on their first tour when people were just yelling at Dave Grohl to play Nirvana songs (he did NOT take it in stride), but there’s one that stands out above all; and that would be Tool.

Maynard and the fellas were touring the Ænima album and had not yet graduated to arenas, so in November of 1996 they rolled through town and absolutely blew the doors off the place. I think the only other show I saw that was louder was the Deftones, and I still maintain my cumulative hearing loss stems from that one.

Regardless, it was a good time to be 16 years old and angsty. Grungy grunge was in full swing, the industrial scene was freaky (incidentally, Nine Inch Nails’ The Downward Spiral tour was my first show ever), and my brothers and I were huge fans of Tool but hadn’t seen them live yet. Now I had made the comment earlier that they hadn’t graduated to arenas, but they certainly already had that ‘arena’ sound and the Newport’s capacity is only 1,700. They were loud and intense and I think Maynard had fake boobs on. The crowd was ravenous.

I’m only three months into being 16, I’m 5’6” on a good day and 150 pounds that’s including my tough-guy chain wallet, and I’m smack dab in the middle of THE most aggressive pit that’s chock-full of ACTUAL tough guys. My one brother, Mick, loved a good pit, but he’s a bigger dude. I was more of a ‘pit adjacent’ guy and given my, ahem, petite carriage, I became a natural crowd surfer. I wasn’t going to dare try it at this show though as it was way too dangerous. I thought, “I’ll hang out at the back, still on the floor, but out of harm’s way.” Yeah well, the impetuousness of youth got me, and I flung myself into the middle of the scrum. It did not work out well.

I held my own for a couple songs but when “Hooker with a Penis” (yup) started, it happened… BAM! Knocked unconscious. Apparently, as I was being tossed back and forth like a voodoo doll in a washing machine, my head came into direct contact with the windmilling combat boot of a crowd surfer. All this was told to me by the incredibly nice, baldheaded shitkicker that pulled me off the ground and got me to safety. Well, ‘incredibly’ nice is a stretch; I think he said something like, “Stay off the floor you dumb fuck!”

There I was, sitting up against the wall on the side of the club by the door that lets you outside to smoke, bleeding, ears ringing, head exploding, “Undertow” playing on amps turned up to 11, no clue where my brothers are, and suddenly the reality of how bad it could have been starts to set in. ‘I could have been stomped to death’ I thought.

I would like to say I shook the pain off like old Chucky Bronson, but a tear or three was shed that night. Partly because of the pain, but mostly it was because I was freaked the fuck out. And the soundtrack to this lunacy was Tool, so you know, that didn’t help.

Eventually I found Mick and our other brother Jeff, dusted myself off for the encore and lived to get my ass kicked at other Newport concerts (like the aforementioned Bad Religion show). So sorry, bald guy who arguably saved my life that wild November night thirty years ago. I probably should have taken your advice, but dang it, I can’t live without passion.