The singers screamed till ears hurt.

The common erupted into confusion, men shouting, the singer screaming, Nieda shouting for Bili, everything happening at once.

The lead singer held his microphone six inches from his face and screamed at it as if it were an obstinate child.

In "War Nerve," the band's singer, Philip Anselmo, screamed, "The pathetic media . . . judges what I am in one paragraph."

"It's a killer thing we are all here together," screamed the singer, Phil Anselmo, who had just removed a yellow devil's mask, "and shows that music is the universal language."

She flew hey-diddle-diddle straight up the middle - actually slowing down as the gunners got the range - until the singer screamed something about "through the fire and flames."

I was enchanted by the world of rock music-the way the singers could scream of good and evil, proclaim themselves angels or devils, and mortals would stand up and cheer.

Many of the songs are amusing or emotional, but after a while too many seem similar - a plaintive half-melody that slowly rises in intensity and volume, until the singer is practically screaming.

The singers screamed and groaned painfully or droned on a few loud notes possibly intended to resemble agitated human speech.