There are two things you should do only in private: masturbate with a microwave-warmed melon and play air guitar. But at the Mötley Crüe concert at Philips Arena on Fri., Sept. 16, I found myself surrounded by people motioning as if uncontrollably possessed to do both.
Bordered by equal parts busted-looking dudes, busty girls and bald heads -- all wearing their nattiest and/or rattiest concert T-shirts and fanciest drunks -- I raised my mettle as the curtain rose and the Crüe incited us to "Shout at the Devil." Little did I know that in less than an hour, this same crowd would shout "Bullshit!" and demonize the Crüe.
The show opened with a quim, quavering thrust. The band stalked the stage, girls writhed on it, shit exploded -- actual flames and fireworks, not just the air guitarists around me. It all fit in with bassist Nikki Sixx's 25-year-plus apocalyptic harlequin thing. My crew imagined how great it would be if guitarist Mick Mars -- who has a degenerate bone disease -- performed from a cushy red recliner or tricked-out chrome wheelchair. But as the band closed the first set with "Livewire," one member fell to the wayside, and it surprisingly wasn't the one with the artificial hip.
Singer Vince Neil stumbled off stage, leaving drummer Tommy Lee to stall with some halfhearted crowd participation before an "intermission" that stretched to nearly 40 minutes. My crew knew something was wrong, and here were our theories: One of Neil's face-lift incisions burst, his scrotum got caught in his zipper, or he tore a calf muscle. It's option three, and the band canceled the show, but promised to reschedule. After a plea from the band to remain calm, we filed into the sadly riotless night.
Afterward, I went to Vickery's to bullshit with a visiting old friend, muscled and tattooed enough to be a Crüe roadie -- Todd Terranova, who many may remember from holding down the door at Eleven50 and/or the Crescent Room -- and watched girls, girls, girls line up as Tommy Lee's tour bus approached for his "DJ"/Jägermeister and spit-swapping gig (all make me shudder).
Man, was there some bad hair that night, but it wasn't the weekend's worst fashion miscarriage. On Sat., Sept. 17, I was at EarthLink Live acting a twat as a presenter at the admirably executed, if slightly incestuous, second annual Atlanta Music Guide Awards. There, a local DJ coined a new term: "midrock." It's rock infused with Midtown's metrosexual buffoonery and reasonably assessed as middlin'. Handing "Best Live Act" to obscenely overcoiffed "crunk rock" group Family Force 5, I was suddenly nauseous and struck with an image of a short bus as tour bus. 311 could be considered Mozart in comparison.
Somebody's melon got doubly microwaved, however, for one to think some of the self-congratulatory, masturbatory "rock" going on in this scene doesn't need to stay behind closed doors.
Redeye celebrates going out and going off. Send comments to firstname.lastname@example.org.
Killin it. So damn sexy
ooooohhhh, I'm so excited!! I can't wait to see them together!
come on man you know you got a bromance. you probably still rock that OutKast…