Ravinia Festival tickets are officially dropping today for over 100 summer concerts
As of Thursday, April 24 at 8am CDT, ticket sales are open exclusively at Ravinia.org, where you can also find the full schedule of performers and programming. (Note: Tickets are available through the Ravinia app and will be delivered digitally.) There are several seating options available, from the covered outdoor amphitheater The Pavilion (which holds 3,350 seated attendees) to lawn seating associated with general admission tickets.
Keep in mind that price points differ based on the type of ticket you're looking for and the act you want to watch, but there are definitely some affordable options out there to look through.
Among the highlights are Grace Jones with Janelle Monáe and Queen! on June 7; James Taylor and His All-Star Band with special guest Tiny Habits on June 19; Kygo with special guest Victoria Nadine on July 6; Beck with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra on July 23; John Legend celebrating the 20th anniversary of Get Lifted on August 23 and 24; and the Marvel Studios' Infinity Saga Concert Experience with Chicago Philharmonic on August 29.
Along with return festival favorites like Heart, Al Green, The Black Crowes, The Roots, Diana Krall and Chicago, Ravinia will welcome several exciting newcomers for the season, including Nas, Sutton Foster, Juanes, Ray LaMontagne, King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard and The Mohan Sisters. And a notable component of this year's festival is the 89th Chicago Symphony Orchestra residency, which spans six weeks and features an extraordinary range of performances, with the works of Tchaikovsky, Mahler, Gershwin and more on the setlist.
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The Guardian
3 hours ago
- The Guardian
‘I got a nosebleed in minutes!' How the Wedding Present's indie banger classics inspired a musical
In 2009, Matt Aston was watching the Wedding Present frontman David Gedge perform a 'bizarre and brilliant' gig with the BBC Big Band when he was struck by a notion: that the combination of the singer's conversational lyrics and brassy, orchestrated new arrangements felt a bit like, well, watching a musical. 'I parked the idea,' says Aston, a theatre director and writer. 'Then some time later, I saw David's other band Cinerama with a 16-piece orchestra and thought, 'This could be musical theatre!'' Aston had had a few drinks and remembers sitting afterwards, trying to convince his mate – screenwriter and playwright William Ivory, who hadn't been drinking – that this wasn't the daftest idea ever. 'Billy said, 'You can't make a musical out of Wedding Present lyrics. It's not that kind of music.'' Aston laughs, aware that pop musicals tend to be vehicles for colourful, uber-mainstream acts such as Queen or Abba, not veteran indie rock bands. 'But I said, 'Oh yes you can.'' And oh yes he has. Reception: A New Musical is about to premiere in the band's home town of Leeds. Various Covid-related delays mean its appearance now serendipitously coincides with the band's 40th anniversary and new retrospective collection, 40. Aston, more usually associated with theatrical productions such as Ivory's RAF play Bomber's Moon, insists he would never have done it without Gedge, the show's creative consultant. However, the singer says that when Aston first approached him in 2020, he was 'astounded'. Gedge, speaking by video call from his Brighton home, says: 'I told him, 'I don't know anything about musicals – and I'm not even sure I like them!' But he explained that my lyrics are like dialogue, which he could link together in a storyline. Then the pandemic happened and I was half expecting to never hear from him again. A year ago, he called and said, 'I've written it. I'm starting auditioning and then rehearsals. Can you come along?'' Reception isn't a biographical musical. It's an emotionally charged story about friends who meet at the University of Leeds and subsequently go through ups, downs and breakups. When I sit in on rehearsals, I instantly pick up on Gedge's impassioned lyrics. Lines such as 'I just decided I don't trust you any more', from the 1990 hit Brassneck, are delivered by characters in emotionally appropriate situations, experiencing love, betrayal, loss, you name it. Meanwhile, actor-musicians nail that head-rushing Wedding Present sound, something the singer sums up as 'the Velvet Underground – but faster'. The Wedding Present have been York-based Aston's favourite band ever since he saw them at Confettis nightclub in Derby on 20 October 1988. They were one of the foremost British indie rock bands of the late 80s and 90s, successors to the Smiths. 'I was 15 and really small,' he grins during a lunchbreak. 'Everyone had to huddle around me to sneak me in. But the noise, the lights, the surge forward, beer going everywhere, balloons coming down from the ceiling … I got a nosebleed within minutes, but I was blown away.' Since that day, he has seen the Wedding Present and Cinerama '60 or 70' times. Like the characters in Reception, the band came together in and around Leeds uni. Born in the town's Bramley area, maths student Gedge was the first of his extended working-class family to go into higher education. 'So,' he says, 'when I packed it in and said, 'I'm gonna be famous', they were appalled. I stopped going home because we'd have arguments all the time. But they had instilled a work ethic. I was very driven.' Gedge describes how the band sat individually cutting and glueing the sleeves for 500 copies of their first single, Go Out and Get 'Em Boy!, released on their Reception label for £500. When John Peel played it on Radio 1, the singer was so excited he ran all the way to bassist Keith Gregory's house to shout: 'Have you got the radio on?' As Gedge recalls: 'Peel played it 10 times. At that point, my life changed.' Although 1987 debut album George Best and 1989's Bizarro exemplify the band's inimitable, classic sound, Gedge insists the musical fits in with 'the Wedding Present tradition of going off at weird tangents'. Indeed. George Best was an indie No 1, making them such hot property that they signed to major label RCA for 'the sort of deal normally given to people like Annie Lennox'. And then their next release for their new label was an album of Ukrainian folk songs, instigated by guitarist Peter Solowka (who later formed the Ukrainians). In 1991, as the music world went baggy, the 'Weddoes' listened to US alt-rock and made the slower, darker album Seamonsters with 'a maverick engineer no one had heard of'. This was Steve Albini, who subsequently produced Nirvana. 'We literally lost half our fans,' Gedge admits. 'But now they all think it's one of our best albums.' In 1992, they released a single every month. 'That was such a great idea that we had it all planned within 15 minutes,' the singer laughs. 'All seven-inch singles, cover versions on the B-side, matching sleeves. To RCA's credit, they said OK.' All of which paid off when the band equalled Elvis Presley's record of 12 UK Top 40 hits in one year. There have also been some lyrical curveballs: 1987's All About Eve reflected on the year Gedge spent in apartheid South Africa as a child, while 1989's Kennedy dwelt on conspiracy theories. But Gedge insists that the overwhelming majority of his 300-plus songs are about relationships, meaning they're well-suited for drama. His early lyrics are particularly raw. The 2018 documentary Something Left Behind suggested they were all triggered by being dumped by his first love, but Gedge says otherwise. 'Jaz was my first proper girlfriend. She chucked me and went off with someone else, but after her there was Alexandra, then Sally.' He says a lot of the lyrics – such as those to My Favourite Dress ('a drunken kiss, a stranger's hand on my favourite dress') – were drawn from real life. 'But that wasn't Jaz, that was Alexandra.' For Aston, such songs capture 'those moments we all have where someone is the centre of your world, then your world ends and that kind of defines you'. To this day, Wedding Present gigs are full of men (and some women) of a certain age, singing Gedge's words, occasionally tearfully. 'A psychologist once explained that men of my generation didn't talk about emotions,' says the singer, 'so they come up and thank me for getting them through their divorce or whatever with the songs. It's flattering – but I just write songs. I'm not a doctor who saved their life.' One fan is Keir Starmer. In 2023, the PM – who studied law in Leeds – revealed that My Favourite Dress, which is beautifully reimagined in Reception as a piano ballad, is one of his favourite songs. 'David,' Starmer explained, 'managed to perfectly distil the tortuous agonising feelings of jealousy into three minutes of angst.' 'He came to a lot of our early gigs,' Gedge reveals. 'I don't remember him because there were loads of lads and girls, but he was a mate of a mate of Keith's and I'm told I have hung out with him.' The singer smiles broadly. 'But I'm still waiting for my invitation to Downing Street, like Noel Gallagher got from Tony Blair.' Now 65, Gedge carries his 'indie rock god' status lightly. When Aston first met him properly, after years of 'mumbled hellos at the merchandise stall', he found someone he could work with – and whose presence looms over Reception. 'There are many not-so-subtle references in the script,' the writer-director laughs. 'All the character names are from the songs. The lead character spends a year in Seattle, which David did, although we moved the couple in My Favourite Dress from Manchester to Brighton. So there's a bit of me in there and a lot of him.' For Gedge, Reception is 'a fictional story but it kind of features me without me. Which is clever, really.' Aston knows the project is quite a departure but says: 'I wouldn't take the risk for myself or David if I thought it wouldn't work. It's a love letter to the band – a thank you for the last 40 years.' Reception: A New Musical is at The Warehouse in Holbeck (Slung Low), Leeds, from 22 August to 6 September. The 4CD/4LP 40-song collection 40 is released on 19 September. The Wedding Present tour from 23 September
Scotsman
8 hours ago
- Scotsman
Covermounts: How a simple marketing tool led to the soundtracks of our lives
This article contains affiliate links. We may earn a small commission on items purchased through this article, but that does not affect our editorial judgement. Whatever happened to those CDs we used to get on the front of magazines, and why did the marketing tool die out? Sign up to our daily newsletter Sign up Thank you for signing up! Did you know with a Digital Subscription to Edinburgh News, you can get unlimited access to the website including our premium content, as well as benefiting from fewer ads, loyalty rewards and much more. Learn More Sorry, there seem to be some issues. Please try again later. Submitting... They were the means by which many music fans discovered what would become their favourite acts. The covermount, the CD on the front of magazines, saw a golden age in the '90s, yet digital technology once again affected a physical format. Benjamin Jackson looks back the the history of the marketing tool, and offers his 'holy bible' CD he's kept for nearly 30 years. It was the foremost way before digital technology that we ended up discovering our favourite new acts without sitting through commercial breaks on the radio and television. And for those of us who used to grab old cassette tapes and cover the holes at the top, it was one of the ways we could have our favourite songs without the start or end being interjected by a radio host. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad Yeah, home taping was killing music, but having a DJ ask you to 'sing along' live on air before the drop to 'Bohemian Rhapsody' was a worse crime in our minds. The irony being you're piecing together a Queen album to replace the one you copied over with Bone Thugs -n-Harmony and Skee-Lo. That probably is just me on that occasion. Sorry, mum – didn't want you to find out this way. But I digress; covermounts are those CDs that you would find on the front of, well, every magazine in the '90s and early '00s, be it the best that the metal world had to offer or retrospectives on 'Cool Britannia' and the artists that influenced a newer generation of artists. They, ultimately, were a promotion tool, though in hindsight, at the time, some of us felt it was altruistic in our young age that record labels would give us music, for free, without commercial interruptions. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad They were a means to discover new music before file sharing came around; so what happened to the covermount CD and how popular was the format at its peak? | Canva/Discogs But it worked – those acts that graced the covers of the CDs on the covers of magazines did end up getting a lot more attention than, say, those within the back pages of the NME and the like. Some of us still own those very CDs that became a formative experience in a world of musical discovery, something cranks like me complain doesn't feel like that experience really exists anymore. Excuse me while I shake my fist at the sky. Now I'm in my 40s. So, how did the covermount first come to fruition? Why did it die out, and Benjii – what is the CD sampler that you still own from way back in 1998 that you considered your 'holy bible' when it came to the metal scene? Join me as we wade through the excessive amount of plastic and revisit the halcyon days of the covermount. That is, unless you had it taken from the front of the publication before even purchasing said item… Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad C86 and the dawn of covermount stars Though the boom of the covermount occurred much later, its roots can be traced back to the late '70s and early '80s, but at that stage, they weren't used for music. Instead, during the dawn of the home computer, magazines such as Your Sinclair or Amstrad Action would regularly provide covermounts that were vital for hobbyists and programmers. Though they were not compact discs, they were instead in the form of cassette tapes (remember loading those up on the Commodore 64?) and then later floppy disks. Unlike record labels, which often gave away samplers, publishers would offer full versions of games, applications, and utilities. Considering that learning programming like BASIC was often a tedious, trial-and-error approach, these covermounts served as a kind of guaranteed 'day-one' working version, a far cry from the patches and updates gamers expect today. The success of the early computer covermounts didn't go unnoticed, as the music press saw the potential in using a similar model to promote new and often obscure artists directly to their readers. The first iconic example of this was the C86 cassette, released by the British music magazine NME in 1986 - hence the 'punny' name. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad What started as a simple compilation of independent British bands became an accidental landmark; featuring 22 tracks including the likes of Primal Scream and The Wedding Present, it was meant to be a snapshot of the emerging underground guitar pop scene. Instead, it was a massive success, and the collection of jangly guitars, melodic hooks, and a distinctly DIY aesthetic became a defining moment for a new sound. It inadvertently gave a name to an entire subgenre: 'C86 indie pop'. However, unlike those found on the front of magazines in the future, readers instead had to order the cassette by mail, sending in a coupon and a small fee. But the idea was a hit, and it proved that a magazine could not just write about a musical movement, but actively create and define it by putting the music directly into the hands of the fans. The Golden Age of the Covermount The success of C86 proved that the covermount was a powerful tool, but it was the arrival of the compact disc that truly ushered in its golden age. In the late '90s and early 2000s, the CD was the dominant music format, and magazines seized the opportunity, plastering them onto the front of nearly every publication imaginable. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad Magazines like NME, Q, and Mojo were the pioneers, turning the free CD into an art form. These weren't just collections of random tracks; they were often meticulously curated compilations that served as a musical education. They could be a tribute to an iconic artist, a "best of the year" roundup, or an introduction to a new wave of bands, giving readers a tangible snapshot of a moment in music history. For a generation of fans, a covermount CD from a trusted magazine was the fastest and most efficient way to discover a new favourite band or genre. This was a win-win for everyone involved. For publishers, a covermount could instantly boost sales—a Sunday newspaper once sold an extra half a million copies with a single Beach Boys compilation. For record labels, it was a low-cost, high-impact way to promote new acts and sell albums. And for us, the readers, it was a gateway to new musical worlds, a physical object that became a cherished part of our collections and, ultimately, the soundtrack to our lives. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad But the concept was not without its detractors; one of the biggest concerns was, as we all became environmentally conscious, the sheer volume of single-use plastic was seen as a wasteful burden, with the production of the CDs and their non-recyclable elements becoming difficult for consumers - and therefore publishers - to ignore. Some arguments giving away music merely 'devalued' it, and by bundling the hottest hits to come our way, music became 'throwaway' rather than the piece of art people paid for. This sentiment grew especially fierce as artists were hit by a double blow; while covermounts offered little in the way of royalties, the dawn of digital piracy in the late '00s was seen by some as an even greater threat than the practice of giving away music had only helped enable. In an age where people craved something new and shiny, covermounts just weren't cutting it anymore. The thrill of having a new album on a disc was quickly replaced by the even greater excitement of album leaks, which became more and more prominent. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad These weren't just new; they were incredibly "shiny"—unpolished files not yet fit for human consumption, a form of contraband that felt more valuable than the perfectly curated CD. The digital age and the decline of the Covermount The final nails in the covermount's coffin were logistical and technological. The production and distribution of millions of CDs became an increasingly expensive and cumbersome burden for publishers. As the convenience of digital downloads and eventually streaming services like Spotify took over, the sheer volume of single-use plastic became an unsustainable and wasteful burden that was difficult for both publishers and consumers to ignore. Magazines that would regularly feature covermounts, such as NME or Q Magazine, eventually stopped giving them away in the early 2010s. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad Publishers, seeing that CDs had become a simple expense no longer tenable in a digital landscape, decided to shift their focus more toward digital platforms than print. After all, where would you mount a CD on a newsletter in your inbox? Answers on a postcard, please. While the golden age of the covermount is now a distant memory for most, it never truly died. For some, like those who still buy Classic Rock magazine, the practice lives on as a nostalgic nod to a bygone era, and there are still publications out there that offer covermounts, be it to celebrate a musical occasion or as part of a special edition of a publication. But for everyone else, it remains a memory of a time when the music you loved was delivered to your door or from a corner shop once a month, a physical object that served as a gateway to the soundtracks of our lives. What was on that covermount CD that made you keep it, Benjii? Thanks for making it all this way, and glad that you asked – though I'd have mentioned it anyway. Chekhov's covermount, am I right? Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad The CD in question, though, would be Kerrang! 1998, from issue #728, which featured System of a Down, Limp Bizkit, Korn, and Garbage... pretty much, all the bands I still listen to and love today. Check out the Deezer playlist above to get a feel for just how important that covermount was for me and other like-minded metalheads of the time Did you have a favourite sampler CD or covermount that influenced the music that you would end up still listening to years later? Drop the writer of this article an email to share your experiences and maybe collaborate on a great 'Now That's What I Call A Covermount CD' in the near future.
Scotsman
17 hours ago
- Scotsman
Covermounts: How a simple marketing tool led to the soundtracks of our lives
This article contains affiliate links. We may earn a small commission on items purchased through this article, but that does not affect our editorial judgement. Whatever happened to those CDs we used to get on the front of magazines, and why did the marketing tool die out? Sign up to our Arts and Culture newsletter Sign up Thank you for signing up! Did you know with a Digital Subscription to The Scotsman, you can get unlimited access to the website including our premium content, as well as benefiting from fewer ads, loyalty rewards and much more. Learn More Sorry, there seem to be some issues. Please try again later. Submitting... They were the means by which many music fans discovered what would become their favourite acts. The covermount, the CD on the front of magazines, saw a golden age in the '90s, yet digital technology once again affected a physical format. Benjamin Jackson looks back the the history of the marketing tool, and offers his 'holy bible' CD he's kept for nearly 30 years. It was the foremost way before digital technology that we ended up discovering our favourite new acts without sitting through commercial breaks on the radio and television. And for those of us who used to grab old cassette tapes and cover the holes at the top, it was one of the ways we could have our favourite songs without the start or end being interjected by a radio host. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad Yeah, home taping was killing music, but having a DJ ask you to 'sing along' live on air before the drop to 'Bohemian Rhapsody' was a worse crime in our minds. The irony being you're piecing together a Queen album to replace the one you copied over with Bone Thugs -n-Harmony and Skee-Lo. That probably is just me on that occasion. Sorry, mum – didn't want you to find out this way. But I digress; covermounts are those CDs that you would find on the front of, well, every magazine in the '90s and early '00s, be it the best that the metal world had to offer or retrospectives on 'Cool Britannia' and the artists that influenced a newer generation of artists. They, ultimately, were a promotion tool, though in hindsight, at the time, some of us felt it was altruistic in our young age that record labels would give us music, for free, without commercial interruptions. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad They were a means to discover new music before file sharing came around; so what happened to the covermount CD and how popular was the format at its peak? | Canva/Discogs But it worked – those acts that graced the covers of the CDs on the covers of magazines did end up getting a lot more attention than, say, those within the back pages of the NME and the like. Some of us still own those very CDs that became a formative experience in a world of musical discovery, something cranks like me complain doesn't feel like that experience really exists anymore. Excuse me while I shake my fist at the sky. Now I'm in my 40s. So, how did the covermount first come to fruition? Why did it die out, and Benjii – what is the CD sampler that you still own from way back in 1998 that you considered your 'holy bible' when it came to the metal scene? Join me as we wade through the excessive amount of plastic and revisit the halcyon days of the covermount. That is, unless you had it taken from the front of the publication before even purchasing said item… Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad C86 and the dawn of covermount stars Though the boom of the covermount occurred much later, its roots can be traced back to the late '70s and early '80s, but at that stage, they weren't used for music. Instead, during the dawn of the home computer, magazines such as Your Sinclair or Amstrad Action would regularly provide covermounts that were vital for hobbyists and programmers. Though they were not compact discs, they were instead in the form of cassette tapes (remember loading those up on the Commodore 64?) and then later floppy disks. Unlike record labels, which often gave away samplers, publishers would offer full versions of games, applications, and utilities. Considering that learning programming like BASIC was often a tedious, trial-and-error approach, these covermounts served as a kind of guaranteed 'day-one' working version, a far cry from the patches and updates gamers expect today. The success of the early computer covermounts didn't go unnoticed, as the music press saw the potential in using a similar model to promote new and often obscure artists directly to their readers. The first iconic example of this was the C86 cassette, released by the British music magazine NME in 1986 - hence the 'punny' name. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad What started as a simple compilation of independent British bands became an accidental landmark; featuring 22 tracks including the likes of Primal Scream and The Wedding Present, it was meant to be a snapshot of the emerging underground guitar pop scene. Instead, it was a massive success, and the collection of jangly guitars, melodic hooks, and a distinctly DIY aesthetic became a defining moment for a new sound. It inadvertently gave a name to an entire subgenre: 'C86 indie pop'. However, unlike those found on the front of magazines in the future, readers instead had to order the cassette by mail, sending in a coupon and a small fee. But the idea was a hit, and it proved that a magazine could not just write about a musical movement, but actively create and define it by putting the music directly into the hands of the fans. The Golden Age of the Covermount The success of C86 proved that the covermount was a powerful tool, but it was the arrival of the compact disc that truly ushered in its golden age. In the late '90s and early 2000s, the CD was the dominant music format, and magazines seized the opportunity, plastering them onto the front of nearly every publication imaginable. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad Magazines like NME, Q, and Mojo were the pioneers, turning the free CD into an art form. These weren't just collections of random tracks; they were often meticulously curated compilations that served as a musical education. They could be a tribute to an iconic artist, a "best of the year" roundup, or an introduction to a new wave of bands, giving readers a tangible snapshot of a moment in music history. For a generation of fans, a covermount CD from a trusted magazine was the fastest and most efficient way to discover a new favourite band or genre. This was a win-win for everyone involved. For publishers, a covermount could instantly boost sales—a Sunday newspaper once sold an extra half a million copies with a single Beach Boys compilation. For record labels, it was a low-cost, high-impact way to promote new acts and sell albums. And for us, the readers, it was a gateway to new musical worlds, a physical object that became a cherished part of our collections and, ultimately, the soundtrack to our lives. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad But the concept was not without its detractors; one of the biggest concerns was, as we all became environmentally conscious, the sheer volume of single-use plastic was seen as a wasteful burden, with the production of the CDs and their non-recyclable elements becoming difficult for consumers - and therefore publishers - to ignore. Some arguments giving away music merely 'devalued' it, and by bundling the hottest hits to come our way, music became 'throwaway' rather than the piece of art people paid for. This sentiment grew especially fierce as artists were hit by a double blow; while covermounts offered little in the way of royalties, the dawn of digital piracy in the late '00s was seen by some as an even greater threat than the practice of giving away music had only helped enable. In an age where people craved something new and shiny, covermounts just weren't cutting it anymore. The thrill of having a new album on a disc was quickly replaced by the even greater excitement of album leaks, which became more and more prominent. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad These weren't just new; they were incredibly "shiny"—unpolished files not yet fit for human consumption, a form of contraband that felt more valuable than the perfectly curated CD. The digital age and the decline of the Covermount The final nails in the covermount's coffin were logistical and technological. The production and distribution of millions of CDs became an increasingly expensive and cumbersome burden for publishers. As the convenience of digital downloads and eventually streaming services like Spotify took over, the sheer volume of single-use plastic became an unsustainable and wasteful burden that was difficult for both publishers and consumers to ignore. Magazines that would regularly feature covermounts, such as NME or Q Magazine, eventually stopped giving them away in the early 2010s. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad Publishers, seeing that CDs had become a simple expense no longer tenable in a digital landscape, decided to shift their focus more toward digital platforms than print. After all, where would you mount a CD on a newsletter in your inbox? Answers on a postcard, please. While the golden age of the covermount is now a distant memory for most, it never truly died. For some, like those who still buy Classic Rock magazine, the practice lives on as a nostalgic nod to a bygone era, and there are still publications out there that offer covermounts, be it to celebrate a musical occasion or as part of a special edition of a publication. But for everyone else, it remains a memory of a time when the music you loved was delivered to your door or from a corner shop once a month, a physical object that served as a gateway to the soundtracks of our lives. What was on that covermount CD that made you keep it, Benjii? Thanks for making it all this way, and glad that you asked – though I'd have mentioned it anyway. Chekhov's covermount, am I right? Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad The CD in question, though, would be Kerrang! 1998, from issue #728, which featured System of a Down, Limp Bizkit, Korn, and Garbage... pretty much, all the bands I still listen to and love today. Check out the Deezer playlist above to get a feel for just how important that covermount was for me and other like-minded metalheads of the time
