Helen Vassallo
Judas Priest vocalist Rob Halford smears a sweaty palm across his newly shaven and tattooed scalp, and peers up at the concrete monstrosity that is the Rio Palace Hotel.
Who knows, he could be right. Not having been to the Spanish resort myself I'll reserve judgement for now, but if it smells constantly of sewerage and vomit, gives you diarrhea within seconds, has a virtually worthless currency, is inhabited by violent knife - wielding peasants whose sole purpose in life is to rip of tourists, and enjoys drug addiction, prostitution and murder as its national pastimes, then the comparison is an accurate one.
For the civilised mind the place is a hell-hole, and hardly the ideal venue for the biggest and (for the top performers) most buck-raking Rock festivals in the world - geographically or morally.
Faith No More had it sussed from the moment they hit the stage at the massive 170,000 seater Maracana Stadium. On the two previous nights before their long overdue arrival, the teeth-grinding tedium and sense-torturing superficiality of acts like Billy Idol and INXS had been almost too much to bear: only the superlative axemanship of Latin licksman Carlos Santana had been worth braving the stadium's eau-de-khazi for. But suddenly. 'From Out Of Nowhere', there were five slovenly urchins shining like beacons out there in the distance. sounding like an alarm clock during a hangover, and the roar inside the Maracana suggested that the crowd had woken up at last.
Faith No More played the proverbial blinder, Brian, their already considerable popularity in Brazil swelling with every track from 'The Real Thing'.
