Frost and Fire IV

FROST AND FIRE IV
Ventura, California
October 4-6, 2018
By Kit Ekman
Photos by Stephan Bachmann
Within a very short period of time,
Frost and Fire has garnered a
reputation as the gold standard of
underground true heavy metal
festivals in the United States. And
why not? Start with an organizing
team that is motivated, experienced,
and meticulous. Build on that
foundation with stacked, all-killer-nofi
l l e r l i n e u p s t h a t c a n s t a n d
unflinchingly alongside even the
most revered of their European
counterparts. Add an audience
consisting of roughly 500 die-hards
from around the world (I swear,
sometimes it feels like there are more
Europeans than Americans at F&F),
the vast majority of them being
awesome people and kindred spirits.
It’s the kind of event where, every time
you turn around, you see a dear friend
that you encounter all too rarely, so
you stop what you’re doing, grin and
give them a hug because you’re so
happy to see them. Top it all off with
t h e p i c t u r e s q u e b a c k d r o p o f
downtown Ventura, California, a
beachside paradise situated roughly
an hour north of Los Angeles. The
result is a surefire winner, every
single time. Frost and Fire has
definitely become my favorite festival
in the world, and I’d wager that a
sizeable percentage of attendees
would concur.
That said, event organizers Night
Demon (who hail from Ventura) strive
to avoid stagnancy, so they tinker
with the formula and logistics from
year to year. For this edition, the
m o s t v i s i b l e c h a n g e w a s t h e
elimination of Bombay Bar & Grill as
the primary fest venue; indeed,
Bombay wasn’t part of F&F at all this
year, and the only time I walked inside
the place was to enjoy a tasty Bloody
Mary on Saturday morning. That’s a
major change, indeed, but the
organizers’ hand was forced by
operational changes at Bombay that
were simply not conducive to a
continued relationship with the fest.
Instead, all events, save the afterparties,
were conducted at the
spacious Majestic Ventura Theater.
It’s a beautiful, cavernous old facility
with a generous stage, excellent
lighting, and a sloped, tiered floor that
guarantees superb sightlines for all.
The 15-minute set changeovers
allowed ample time to socialize, refill
one’s glass, explore merch and
vendor tables, take smoke breaks,
use the restroom, etc., between
bands, which was nice. (By contrast,
at Bombay, there was a two-stage
format, meaning that bands were
playing at all times, forcing painful
decisions of whether to watch a killer
band or socialize/ use the loo / get
another drink.) With “only” seven
bands appearing each day (as
compared to the 12 or more in years
past), it seemed easier to devote
mental energy to each act while they
were onstage and enjoy them fully,
with an allotted music time of 4:30
p.m. – midnight (or 3:30 p.m. –
midnight on Saturday).
An experiment was the “Pit Pass,”
which meant that only patrons who
paid a sizeable premium were allowed
into the floor area immediately in
front of the stage (at least for the first
two and a half days, until the rule was
jettisoned with no announcement). It
worked out well for me because I paid
that premium, and there was plenty
of space in the pit; it was easy to find
friends there, and the quotient of
wasted lunkheads looking to cause
trouble was kept to an absolute
minimum. But I do understand there
was some grousing about the policy
in certain quarters. The classiest part
about the festival? Oh, that’s easy. A
large Manilla Road banner hung from
the balcony (which was closed off, by
the way) to honor the memory of the
late, great Mark “The Shark” Shelton.
Sometimes a band would be playing
and I’d turn around and look up,
catching a glimpse of that banner and
feeling Shark’s spirit in the room,
keeping a watchful eye over us all and
guiding us to the heavy metal
promised land.
Photo: Shelton Family Archives
Was the festival perfect? Well, no,
perfection is an unattainable ideal,
after all. Far and away the biggest
source of discontent was the Ventura
Theater itself. Drawbacks that
rankled attendees ranged from the
lack of air conditioning (it was so hot
inside that my clothes were spotted
with salt stains from profuse sweat at
the end of each night – Ragnarokkrera
Bob Byrne would have died), to
the unappetizing food options
(cardboard-flavored pizza anyone?),
to the egregiously overpriced drinks