The Royal Arena smells of heated nachos and nostalgia. Fred Durst troops up in neon yellow t-shirt and pink shorts and looks like a dad who just discovered rave. It's both charming and a little awkward. Like the concert itself.
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Disclaimer: Apropos Magazine received access or a review copy. As always, we share our own impressions — unfiltered.
Six stars
The evening starts with a so-called warm-up line-up, which feels more like an ironic commentary than an actual musical entree: Karen Dió, BONES, N8NOFACE, Ecca Vandal and Riff Raff. The latter looks like an actor who has been told to play “rap star with ADHD”. It is too much, and at the same time far too little. The audience begins to wonder if Limp Bizkit is really coming.
But they do. At 9:45 p.m., without any kind of drama. They put out with “Just Like This” and “Gimme the Mic,” and it's hard not to get a little bit happy. Not because it sounds good -- in fact, it doesn't -- but because it sounds familiar. The sound is low, a little gritty, and it takes some of the heaviness from the numbers. But hey, it's still “My Generation,” and who doesn't get a little soft about the heart of the kind of teenage anger delivered by men in their mid-fifties?
Fred Durst seems... tired. Not in the way you care. More like one who is perfectly happy with autopilot being an option. He jokes a little. Talking a little. Peptalker the audience in small chunks. It's cozy, but it's not wild.
Wes Borland, by contrast, is a sight. A gold mask, black habit, and the most theatrical body language in the arena. He plays like it still matters. He is still a show. Maybe he should be in a completely different band. Maybe he should be a character in a computer game. In any case, he is the most vivid element on stage.
The setlist is a greatest hits bag mixed with a bit of covers: George Michael's “Faith,” a Slayer riff here and there, Metallica's “Seek & Destroy” in a truncated, ironic format. It's a bit like a YouTube video, you click on and halfway in can't quite remember why you're still watching it. But one looks further. Because it feels familiar. Because it was something once.
The audience is mildly euphoric. Many have had these tickets hanging on the fridge since November. People know the lyrics. People bawl. People know when to jump. And when “Break Stuff” hits, plastic mugs and shoulders are smoking in the air. That might be the highlight of the evening. Not because it's tight -- it's not -- but because it still works.
Reflection
If you had come for the music, you went home a little disappointed. If you came for the experience, you might go home with a little smile. Limp Bizkit anno 2025 is half rock band, half concept art. It's karaoke in its own glory. It's midlife crisis disguised as stage show. It's still kind of funny. But it's also a bit of a sin.
It was never meant to be perfect. It was meant to be Limp Bizkit. But you could miss a little more rage. A little more ferocity. A little less “I paid to be here”.
