The biggest acts on Ozzfest 2004 — Judas Priest and Black Sabbath — played on a beautiful, clear summer night whose tranquility was shattered by deafening volume. Of course, the audience was hardly there for tranquility. Ozzfest is all about thunderous riffs, chest-thumping volume, looking mean or sexy or both and dressing entirely in black, preferably with dash of S&M flair.

It's also about tradition. Heavy metal can be traced back to the late sixties and this year's headliner, Black Sabbath, with 70 million records sold and counting, is the Rosetta Stone of the genre. Judas Priest, one of heavy metal's most popular bands, has been a huge presence since the late 1970s. Two generations of fans turned out in droves for this year's sold-out Ozzfest.

I was braced for disappointment. Ozzfest bands like Black Label Society, Lacuna Coil and even thrash-metal gods Slayer are young enough to bang their heads and mean it. They look the part. But middle-aged headbangers are a shoe-in for self parody of the Spinal Tap variety.

Some of that self parody was apparent in Judas Priest's set. Frontman Rob Halford's high-end vocals are as earsplitting and operatic as ever, and the band's tight sound and hammering leads are still impressive. But choreographed dual guitarists shaking their perfect hair in tandem is a bit much.

Black Sabbath is an even older band, so I was surprised when they came on with such power, kicking off with the great Vietnam-era anti-war anthem "War Pigs." Giant video screens showed footage of Vietnam-era door gunners morphed into images Baghdad being bombed, goose stepping SS troops and scenes of mass destruction. All to the soundtrack of a band that was bottom-heavy, pitch-perfect and vastly superior to all of the younger acts on the ticket. Kids and old fogies alike sang every word.

Enter John "Ozzy" Osbourne, a puffy, overweight, drug-addled pop god who is indescribably "cute," in a grandfatherly kind of way. He shuffled across the stage like an old man in what looked like silk PJs, jumped up and down as if afflicted with some kind muscular malady, and mumbled inaudibly into his mic. Yet the founder of Ozzfest and original Black Sabbath vocalist managed to ooze oddball coolness. There's nothing else quite like him in popular culture, and he's a lot of fun to watch.

The clown-like charisma of Ozzy, whose voice has managed to hold up quite well over the years, was the best thing about Black Sabbath that night. While bassist Geezer Butler exuded a frantic energy with his 100-notes-a-minute playing, the other two members of the band looked tired. Guitarist Tony Iommi (who in middle age bears a shocking resemblance to Geraldo Rivera) barely moved the entire evening, pumping out a competent three-chord rhythm and uninspired leads. Overweight, shirtless drummer Bill Ward looked like he could have been sitting in on a ho-hum night with the Grateful Dead; his playing was equally competent and listless. Given their saggy appearance, it's no wonder Black Sabbath wouldn't let the press photograph them.

I viewed Ozzfest from the general admission lawn, which is where most people sit, if they can avoid the spit and beer puddles. Lawn seats are a little more forgiving on the ears, but too distant from the stage. Were it not for the three giant video monitors, I wouldn't have known what any of the artists' faces actually looked like.

Signs outside the amphitheater announce you can't bring in food or water for "safety reasons." I was forced to throw out my 89-cent bottle of water so they could sell me the same one inside for $3.50. A large beer will run you $8. The worst moment of the night was when hunger inevitably forced me to buy a soggy chicken sandwich (no condiments, they ran out) and barely identifiable grease-logged "chips" for $6. Everything is low quality and ridiculously inflated, which prompts the question: Is Clear Channel TRYING to piss people off? I mention this because being annoyed as you're squeezed for every penny is a regular part of the Journal Pavilion experience. It detracts from the music.

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