Basslines and Bedlam: Remembering Limp Bizkit's Sam Rivers

“Sam Rivers wasn’t just our bass player — he was pure magic. The pulse beneath every song, the calm in the chaos, the soul in the sound.”

- Limp Bizkit on the death of their bassist

It has been a rough year for fans of heavy metal. It started with news of the death of John Sykes, the co-writer and lead guitarist on Whitesnake's legendary eponymous album. Ozzy Osbourne, one of the genre’s founding fathers, passed away in July, just weeks after his farewell performance. In October, guitarist Ace Frehley, a founding member of KISS, succumbed to his injuries after a fall. And then, Limp Bizkit announced the death of their bassist, Sam Rivers.

I discovered Limp Bizkit during a lull in my own musical exploration. With the demise of KNAC, I had retreated into my CD collection and stopped seeking new sounds. That changed when I purchased tickets to Woodstock ’99, an event headlined by some of my favorite bands like Metallica and Rage Against the Machine, but also included bands I barely knew, including Korn, Offspring, and Limp Bizkit.

“All radio is dead”

- Limp Bizkit, “Creamer”

To prepare, I joined Columbia House and used my 13 free CDs to close my musical blind spot. Limp Bizkit’s debut, Three Dollar Bill, Y’all, hooked me instantly with their raw, defiant cover of George Michael’s “Faith.” As someone whose first band once noisily covered Spandau Ballet’s “True,” I could appreciate the art of transforming a sappy pop song into something feral and loud. The only band that has done a cover better in that style is The Offspring with their warped version of “Feelings.”

Encouraged by the band’s first effort, I purchased their second album, Significant Other, when it dropped a month before the festival. This more polished effort was full of angry energy, the perfect soundtrack for a generation that was promised that they would benefit from the trickle-down of Reaganomics, but lived in the economic reality where the rich were just pissing on them. If the world was going to end in a Y2K meltdown at the end of the year, this was what I wanted to go out listening to.

“We shake the whole place, make this earthquake
And it ain't fake when we start the riots”

- Limp Bizkit, “Just Like This”

The band’s recorded performances did not prepare me for what I would experience on the grounds of an abandoned Air Force base in Rome, New York. The intensity of the band, riding on an upward career trajectory, was apparent as soon as they hit the stage. Feeding off an audience reveling in the anger they were selling, that ferocity only grew. It remains the most intense concert experience in all of the many shows I have attended, and I have been to a few Slayer concerts.

The climax of the show came during the song “Break Stuff.” Letting loose after a day of being charged $4 for water in 100-degree heat and backed-up Porta Potties, the crowd had already started to rip plywood off the walls meant to contain them. The destruction only intensified as Fred Durst launched into his song about “one of those days” where your breaking point has been reached.

“Time to reach down deep inside and take all that negative energy, all that negative energy, and let that s*it out of your f*cking system.”

- Fred Durst

Going into the song’s break, Durst urged the crowd to get in touch with their negative energy and let it out. The feeling that swept over the crowd was amazing, almost like a worship service. For some, the call to “Give me something to break” was followed literally as walls were torn off the site’s infrastructure. For others, it was a chance to let go of the challenges of life and just feel free.

That was when promoters cut Durst’s mike, pushing the crowd closer to the edge of complete anarchy. It was at about this time that I started looking for a safe route off the field.

“We already let all the negative energy out. It’s time to reach down and bring that positive energy to this motherf*cker.”

- Fred Durst

Luckily, cooler heads prevailed, and the show was allowed to continue, launching into their then-current single, “Nookie.” During this song’s break, Durst urged the crowd to let loose once again, this time freed from the negative energy they had let go of during “Break Stuff.” Again, a wave of energy flowed through the crowd, this time without the destruction.

Watching the video in the wake of Sam Rivers’ death, it is clear how important he was to creating the band’s energy on stage. He arrives on stage with the intensity of a prize fighter, his middle fingers in the air. He jumps, squats, and grimaces through the set, channeling the deep-seated anger of the audience.

Rivers, along with drummer John Otto, were the heartbeat behind Durst’s fury and Wes Borland’s spectacle. His playing gave weight to the chaos. With his loss, the world of heavy music just got a little quieter.

Recognized as “a valiant fighter for public schools,” Carl Petersen is a former Green Party candidate for the LAUSD School Board. Shaped by raising two daughters with severe autism, he is a passionate voice for special education. Recently, he relocated to the State of Washington to embrace the role of “Poppy” to two grandsons. Explore more at TheDifrntDrmr.