DISTURBED

On the eve of the release of their bruising new Indestructible, Revolver joins the band's intrepid members—and the even more intrepid members of the United States Armed Forces—in Kuwait for the concert of a lifetime

By Brian Stillman
Photo by Travis Shinn

It is dark, and it is quiet, and the men lined up side by side glance nervously at each other as the slowly growing light reveals jagged cliffs and rocky outcroppings. “Ambush,” one mutters, but quickly shuts his mouth, remembering, almost too late, to maintain noise discipline. The four men are dressed in black, and in the dim shadows, their M-16s and .50-caliber machine guns look like extensions of their own bodies, extra limbs that end in fire and smoke and death. But the men fidget with the weapons; the cool steel feels awkward in their hands and against their shoulders.

“They’re out there,” says another one. He’s mostly talking to himself, but the others nod their heads. They know the enemy’s waiting for them.

Time ticks by slowly. And then everything happens all at once.

Iraqi insurgents swarm over a hill, following the hail of bullets that erupts from their machine guns. The four men return fire, compensating for their lack of experience with testosterone-fueled enthusiasm. They’re not worried about wasting ammunition, as long as they waste the enemy.

Less than a minute later, it’s over. The Iraqis lie dead, and the four men slap each other on the back, congratulating themselves on a successful mission.

Then the training exercise ends. The lights come up, and the battlefield is transformed into a small, black room. A movie screen dominates one wall. Facing it, various types of small arms are tethered to computers by thick cables; the guns are real, but they fire light instead of bullets at simulated, digital enemies projected onto the screen. Large speakers are arranged across the floor, and, when the program’s running, they rattle with the sound of gunfire. It’s the world’s most advanced first-person shooter.

“That was fucking awesome,” says Dan Donegan. The Disturbed guitarist steps back from the .50-caliber machine gun he was so recently firing, a grin splitting his face nearly ear to ear. He looks at his brothers-in-arms—i.e., his bandmates—who are all nodding their heads in agreement. It was definitely fucking awesome.

Welcome to Kuwait. Specifically, welcome to Camp Buehring, one of the United States’ last stops for troops traveling north to fight in Iraq. Located approximately two hours outside of Kuwait City, and 45 minutes from the Iraqi border, it’s a sort of military graduate school. Here, soldiers, often fresh out of basic training, learn the additional skills they’ll need to fight a guerilla war in the middle of the desert where it’s often difficult to tell friend from enemy, where I.E.D.s (improvised explosive devices) can come from almost anywhere, and where the environment itself is often just as dangerous as any terrorist. More than 150,000 troops can pass through here in a month.

Of all the places you might find go to find a multiplatinum metal band—backstage with strippers, in a hot tub with strippers, in a limo snorting coke off the thighs of strippers—this seems the least likely. Temperatures can reach as high as 140 degrees, and the desert doesn’t offer any shade. The fine, dust-like sand gets into everything—clothes, equipment, the air you breathe. (Blow your nose, and don’t be surprised if it comes out reddish-brown. Those flecks of red—that’s blood.) Accommodations are hardly four-star: low-slung barracks with six to a room, a separate building full of communal shower stalls (and only three-minute showers to conserve the trucked-in water), and toilets with signs reminding you to flush as you go in order to avoid clogs.

Oh, and not a drop of alcohol. Anywhere.

And yet, the members of Disturbed all agree that, right now, there’s nowhere they’d rather be. They’ve come to Kuwait as part of Operation MySpace, a USO-style performance for the troops that also features Filter, DJ Z-Trip, the comedian Carlos Mencia, the Pussycat Dolls, and—believe it or not—Jessica Simpson. They’ll all be performing for approximately 8,000 troops from all branches of the military. At the same time, satellites will beam the performance back to the States, where it’ll be simulcast online to an expected audience of 3 to 4 million viewers.

For Disturbed, who are about to release their new album, Indestructible, that’s just the right kind of exposure at just the right time. It’s also a public-relations goldmine; traveling overseas to entertain the troops translates into the sort of mainstream credibility and goodwill that generates powerful media coverage.

None of which, says singer David Draiman, matters at all.

“If we didn’t have a record, if there was no MySpace simulcast, if there was no media coverage at all, we’d still be here,” he says. “We’re doing this for the troops, pure and simple.”

This being the entertainment business, there’s a temptation to cry “bullshit.” But here’s the funny thing: Draiman, Donegan, drummer Mike Wengren, and bassist John Moyer actually mean everything they say. From the moment they arrive at Camp Buehring, despite more than 20 hours of traveling, Disturbed are chatting with the troops, signing autographs, and posing for photos. They eat with the troops in the mess hall every day—often hardly getting to eat at all as they field requests for signatures on hats, gloves, and even holsters. They play foosball with the Provost Marshals who make up their security detail. They wake up with reveille (or earlier) and they participate in training exercises. Disturbed live the soldiers’ lives—to what limited degree they’re allowed to, anyway—and try their best to understand what they’re going through out there in the middle of the desert.

And yes, they’re playing the show for free. (MySpace covers the costs involved in getting the band and some gear overseas, but that’s it.)

“We really appreciate them coming out here,” says Sergeant First Class Mike Smith. “They could be doing anything with their time, but instead they’re experiencing what we’re experiencing, living like we’re living. It’s nice that guys who are rich and famous are willing to sacrifice their lifestyle, even for a few days.”

The troops, he says, sometimes feel ignored. They turn on the TV and watch news reports about some starlet’s self-destructive behavior or politicians’ scandals. They see political talking heads endlessly debate the whys and wherefores of the war in Iraq. But rarely, says Smith, are there any stories about the actual troops themselves. “Concerts like this show that at least someone cares.”

“I thought that was the point,” says Donegan. “This isn’t just another show, and it shouldn’t be treated like that. We’re not here to just jump onstage, play some songs, and go. We’re here to pay our respects by hanging out with the troops.”

“We’ve been bugging our management and label for years, trying to get onto a USO show,” says Draiman. “The title track off our new album is dedicated to the troops. It’s an anthem for them, our way of showing respect for what they do.” So when MySpace came along with a chance to head to the Middle East, Disturbed jumped at the opportunity.

They had no idea what they were getting into.

Camp Buehring’s a funny place. Generally speaking, there are only two colors: tan (the surrounding desert, as well as the tents, the fatigues, the vehicles, the buildings, and whatever else the military has lying around) and blue (the sky). Everyone’s armed, with rifles slung over shoulders, and automatic pistols resting squarely on hips or dangling underneath shoulders. Hummers are the vehicles of choice, though they’re nothing like the ones you find stateside; optional extras for Kuwait include machine guns and mysterious black boxes that no one likes to talk about. (When questioned about it repeatedly, one soldier finally answered with the old joke, “I’d tell you, but I’d have to shoot you.” Except nobody laughed.)

However, the spartan simplicity of military life is offset by incongruities that border on the surreal. For instance, right across from the rows of tents that house the troops, and surrounded by high walls of sand-and-dirt-filled wire mesh and 10-foot-tall concrete blocks, is a Starbucks. Not a stripped-down, camo-clad, military version of the ubiquitous coffee shop, but the real deal, right down to the bluesy, alterna-crap CDs for sale next to the cash register.

And for troops who get tired of eating in the chow hall, the camp also has a Subway sandwich shop, a Nathan’s hot dog stand, a Taco Bell, a steak sandwich joint, and even a Chinese restaurant.

Buehring maintains a state-of-the-art workout facility in a building as big as an airplane hangar, and a PX that looks like a mini Wal-Mart and stocks everything from combat knives and rank insignias to paperback bestsellers and episodes of Lost on DVD. Troops can shoot pool or throw darts in the recreation center, or play videogames on Xboxes and Playstations in their barracks.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the military wants to provide the troops—many of whom are still teenagers—some of the comforts of home. For soldiers heading up to fight in Iraq, these amenities help offset the jagged nerves and anticipation during the final stages of training. And for the lucky ones returning home, it’s a chance to decompress after the rigors of combat, to unwind in a relatively relaxed environment. Of course, not everyone’s lucky enough to make it home. As the band is told during orientation, “For a lot of these kids, this concert could be the last good memory they have.”

It’s a sobering reminder of the reality of war, and it sticks with the Disturbed guys throughout their visit. “I never really thought about it like that, which makes me feel a little ignorant,” says Moyer. “This show’s important—and that sounds so egotistical and ridiculous that I can’t believe I said it.”

“It’s true, though,” says Specialist Gil Mandabon. “For the people going out, this is really a big deal. Seeing the show, hanging out with the band—it lets them forget their problems for a little while. It takes their minds off what’s about to come. They’ll be talking about this for months.”

The pre-dawn hour at Camp Buehring is cold. But it’s not dark; giant floodlights illuminate almost every inch of the camp all night long, making it easier for the troops on guard duty to patrol the grounds.

Despite a late first night, everyone in Disturbed is awake. Partly it’s the jet lag, partly it’s the unfamiliar surroundings, but mostly it’s the sheer excitement. They’ve been invited to join in on the training exercises, which include not only the simulated firing range, but also a virtual-reality ride in a Hummer—complete with firefights, of course—and a slightly less virtual “roll over experience,” wherein they take part in one of the most common causes of casualties in Iraq: A Hummer that’s flipped over as a result of hitting an I.E.D.

But before any of the fun stuff begins, the band visits a medical-emergency training class. This is where soldiers practice treating combat wounds, using advanced dummies that not only simulate breathing but also feature missing limbs, exposed organs, and spurting blood. On the one hand, it’s hard not to be impressed by the technology involved. On the other hand, “you think about why we need these things, and suddenly it’s not so cool,” says Wengren, shaking his head. “But it’s important to remember what’s at stake. We’re about to play with guns and Hummers and do all sorts of cool stuff. It’s easy to get carried away and forget what it all means. I’m glad we saw this first, to keep it in perspective.”

After the medical training, the band—accompanied by Carlos Mencia and Z-Trip—head over to the roll-over “simulator”—though it is literally a Hummer bolted to a machine that flips it 360 degrees.

“Who wants to be the driver?” asks the instructor. “How about you?” he adds, pointing at Draiman. Which cracks everyone up, because, as Donegan points out later, “Dave is an…interesting driver.”

Donegan shouldn’t have been so quick to make fun of his friend, because a second later, the instructor looks at the guitarist and barks, “Who wants to be the gunner? You? Get up there!” Now the troops laugh. Apparently, gunner is the most dangerous position to be in when a Hummer rolls. It’s even worse if you’re tall, like Donegan, because more of your body’s exposed.

“He’s dead,” says one soldier.

The rest of the band piles in to the vehicle, and the instructor gives them some lessons on how to brace themselves. Then everyone stands back, a switch is thrown, and slowly the Hummer begins to rotate. It’s not moving nearly as fast as it would in an actual training exercise, but everyone thinks it would be better to take things slow. Donegan, especially, agrees.

When it’s over, after gawking soldiers have a chance to pick up some autographs and snap some more photos, Draiman’s quietly pensive. “You know, it was going half speed so I wouldn’t throw up, but if there’s a real explosion, these guys’ll get the shit torn out of them when it flips,” he says. “It really hits home what they risk for our safety.”

The band’s next stop is a virtual convoy ride, where they practice patrolling one of the bombed-out roads winding through Iraq. Afterwards, they try their hand at the shooting simulator, where heavy metal gets to meet some real heavy metal. Everyone agrees, when it’s over, that, real or not, the experiences were intense.

“Definitely as close to the real thing as I’d like to get,” says Wengren. “In some ways, it’s like a giant video game, and you don’t think you’re going to get that worked up over it. But then, with the sound of the gunfire and everyone yelling and the pressure—you really get into the scenario and suddenly it starts to feel real.”

“Except no one’s really shooting back, and you can’t die,” points out Moyer.

“Yeah,” says the drummer.

Camp Buehring might be the only concert venue in the world that requires its audience to carry firearms at all times.

“It’s pretty weird,” agrees Sergeant Brad Adkins. He’s seen a few different shows at Camp Buehring, including performances by Drowning Pool and Poison’s Brett Michaels. But he’s really looking forward to Disturbed. “They’re one of the bands we all listen to when we’re working out, or when we’re getting psyched up for training. I love them. I think they’re great, and I can’t wait to see them play tonight.”

But the firearms policy puts a damper on the show, he says. “That’s one of the reasons we’re not allowed to mosh anymore—it’s too easy to get hurt. Last time, I broke two ribs when I slammed into some guy’s M-16.”

Despite the heavily armed crowd and the uniquely military set decorations—which include armed Hummers and Bradley fighting vehicles, as well as camouflage netting and various banners and flags—the concert itself doesn’t feel all that different from one you might go to in any major city. Thanks to a crew of about 500 people—both soldiers and a local Kuwaiti concert crew called Coaxial—the show features a large stage, a loud sound system, and flashy lighting effects. Multiple camera crews roam the stage, feeding footage back to a control room full of computer equipment and satellite link-up gear, which in turn sends the whole thing beaming back home for the Internet audience.

“I’m amazed at how professional it is,” says Draiman during a sound check. “I’ll admit, when I first heard about the show, about the technical logistics involved, I thought it’d be a train wreck. Don’t get me wrong, I still wanted to play, I was just prepared for the worst. But everything’s coming together without any real problems. It’s like any other show.”

It’s early afternoon, and the temperature is already in the 90s. The area in front of the outdoor stage doesn’t have any shade, but that hasn’t stopped 50 or so troops from gathering around early, both to listen to the sound check and to get a good spot for the night’s performance. Most of the soldiers are in full uniform, but a few have the day off and lounge around on beach chairs in shorts and shades, drinking sodas and eating chips. Except for their M-16s and M-4 rifles, they could be any tailgaters at any concert.

The early attendees are rewarded for their dedication; earlier, Disturbed learned that many soldiers couldn’t make the show due to training or deployment schedules, so the band decided to use their sound check as an opportunity to put on a mini concert.

Off to the side, a small coterie of British soldiers, part of the allied forces stationed in the Middle East, stand around swigging bottles of “near beer.” They’ve never heard of Disturbed and have only turned out to see Jessica Simpson. “We’re a bunch of guys, she’s a hot girl; what’d you expect?” says Corporal Jeordie Topping. “But they’re pretty good—I’m glad they’re here.”

Army Specialist Lawrence McGrogan agrees. He’s part of the base’s permanent staff, though he’s already spent a tour in Iraq. “They’re not really my thing, I’m more into bands like Pearl Jam,” he says. “But it’s cool that they came to play, and 90 percent of the people here are into them.”

A fact that’s clear from the cheers erupting from the rest of the audience.

Wrapping up the sound check, Draiman has one small concern. Since this is a military base, and military bases have all sorts of rules, the singer’s unsure about what he’s allowed to say onstage. “I’m a little worried about it,” he says to one of the Public Affairs Officers who acts as the band’s liaison and chaperone. “I can’t in good conscience go onstage and not say at least one ‘motherfucker.’ On the other hand, I don’t want to end up in a jail cell.”

Thankfully for all involved, he’s assured that cursing’s OK.

That night, the performance goes off without a hitch. Disturbed play first, after a warm up by DJ Z-Trip, who spins weird mashups of different rock and rap songs. The set is short, by the band’s standards—only 40 minutes—but they make the most of it, laying down hit single after hit single. Of course, they play “Down With the Sickness,” and the crowd reacts as expected—they go apeshit. Despite the rules against moshing, and the presence of dozens of military police and officers of various rank—including two- and three-star generals—a few people manage to crowdsurf. One soldier managed to find a chicken suit somewhere, and the audience cheers as he’s lofted up onto their shoulders. He manages to last a few minutes before the MPs drag him away.

“No question, it’s a surreal experience,” says Draiman. “The minute you see the soldiers in full uniform with weapons crowdsurfing…it’s hard to describe. But it’s nice to see the soldiers have a chance to let loose. It’s easy to forget that they’re just regular kids.”

More than two weeks later, Disturbed are still recovering from their trip to Kuwait. They’ve been having trouble processing the experience, and every time a friend or family member asks about the trip, they find themselves at a loss for words. One thing they are certain of, however, is that as much as their playing Camp Buehring affected the troops, it affected the members of the band even more.

“I never expected to make friends with the troops,” says Wengren. “These are people we’re still keeping in touch with via email. You think about what they’re facing every day, and you’re just hoping they stay safe.”

“I thought I had an idea of what it must be like out there, but really I didn’t have a clue,” says Moyer. “I mean, we’re out there for four or five days, I’m missing my wife, my dogs—and I feel guilty for saying that, when the soldiers are over there for months or years at a time. They’re living in the heat, in the dust; they’re making huge sacrifices. It’s humbling.”

Draiman agrees. “Look, I don’t agree with the war, but I do believe in supporting the troops, who have an incredibly tough job to do, who literally put their lives on the line, and who deserve our respect,” he says. “If we can give something back to them by being out here, I consider it an honor to have the opportunity to do so.”