LIVE AT DOUBLE D'S IN MORRISTOWN, NJ
Before launching into this little review, I'll address anyone who's asking "Sweet Jesus, man...Why the fuck would you VOLUNTARILY go to a QUIET RIOT concert in 2003"?
Well my dear Chesterfield, I'll tell you why:
1. Balding, middle aged men in spandex and sequined jackets = ALWAYS FUNNY.
2. I wanted to see for myself how a popular band from the 1980s handles itself in front of a small audience in a small club the day after a band of their peers allegedly torched a Rhode Island club, killing almost 100 of their fans. You know, what kind of stage show was there, if there was any acknowledgement of the guys in GREAT WHITE, etc...
3. Fat, drunken, dumbass, hillbilly-headbangers = ALWAYS FUNNY...and often VERY ANNOYING...but I'll get to that in a minute
A mere twenty-four hours after a
nightclub fire at a GREAT WHITE concert claims nearly 100 people, the members of QUIET RIOT hit the stage at Double-D's in Morristown, NJ. Surprisingly, the show was sold out. No bullshit. SOLD OUT. Keep in mind, this room only looks like it holds about 300-400 people, and that's with a balcony...but still, there were THAT many fat, drunken, dumbass, hillbillies who wanted to see this band...on a rainy, shitty Friday night in February.
The event was promoted by a local radio station, WDHA FM, and there was a journalist at the front door jotting down observations. I wondered if he noticed how uppity the staff of this club seemed to be? There were at least four police cars cruising around outside this club (which isn't that unusual, but they were there...keeping an eye out), and given the fact that a rock club burned down the night before when a metal band from the 80's showed up, I'm sure they were paying very close attention to the crowds. I also wouldn't be surprised if a fire marshall made a surprise appearance to make sure the club wasn't over-stuffing the room, and that the band wasn't shooting off fireworks.
Which brings me to my next point, and that is this: It was VERY obvious that when Quiet Riot started playing, they filled up that tiny stage. There was absolutely no room to put pyrotechnic devices anywhere near them, and furthermore...no need.
THERE IS NO NEED TO SHOOT OFF PYRO WHEN YOU'RE PLAYING ON A TINY STAGE IN FRONT OF A FEW HUNDRED PEOPLE. We can see you just fine. It's not 1985, and this isn't Madison Square Garden. You want to play in an arena? Fine, blow up everything you can find...until then, put down the gas can and the matches. People were packed into this place like sardines, and if there had been a fire, a lot of people would have been hurt. Not because the club necessarily was doing anything wrong, but because a big fire in a small room would cause panic, injury and death. Just ask the people at The Station in West Warwick, Rhode Island. I'm sure they would have enjoyed the Great White show just fine without the fireworks, and oh yeah...the death.
Anyway, onto QUIET RIOT...Kevin DuBrow, would you please, for the love of Christ, take the dead raccoon off your head? C'mon, you look silly. The guy was bald in 1985, what makes him think anyone buys that the collection of pubes taped to his head is passing for his own hair? He flipped it back a few times, and you could really see this guy's got scalp issues. Other than that, the band looks exactrly like they should. Rudy Sarzo, Carlos Cavazo, Frankie Banali, and yes, Kevin DuBrow all realize that they're never going to be as popular as they were twenty years ago, and that they're basically a nostalgia act....despite the fact that they write and release new music. They're wearing the stretch pants, sequined boots, and studded shirts, and so are the aging fans in the crowd. The market for pointy guitar, spandex-and-glitter crunch rock has declined, and there's only so many people who are going to pay to see these guys live anymore. If they DO think that they're going to ressurrect some mass-following...hoofah, are they in for a shock. Not going to happen. Ever.
The music was...Quiet Riot. I mean, it's nothing revolutionary. "Cum On Feel The Noize" and "Metal Health" are about as trailblazing as these boys ever were, and the rest of the songs in the set sounded fairly similar; Riff, verse, Chorus, verse, chorus, solo, chorus, chorus, end. Repeat ad nauseum for two hours. Throw in a drum solo and an ear-piercing, shredding guitar solo (it IS nice to see some guys who learned to play their instruments, though...a welcome change from the power-chord-monkeys who seem to be dominating rock radio in 2003). Kevin DuBrow ran through the standard hard-rock stage moves, and Rudy Sarzo twirled his bass like a baton...pretty choreographed and stale, but at least they're performing. DuBrow had his standard 'insert-name-of-city-here' banter for the crowd, and made a few wiseass comments that went over like a sack of hammers...but he's a lead singer, not a comedian. They waited until later in the set to play their two biggest hits, as any band would do...and left the thinning-out, plastered crowd sweaty and deaf. Standard fare for a night of headbangin'.
This brings me to my FAVORITE part of any heavy metal concert: The audience. Ahh yes, you knuckle-dragging, sloped-forehead, tattooed, drunken cretins...I do enjoy your company, for you are the true entertainment in any show like this.
The men are usually:
A) wearing heavy metal shirts or leather vests
B) trying to compensate for receeding hairlines by growing their hair longer or shaving their heads bald.
The women are usually:
A) fatter than they were fifteen years ago, but still trying to fit into the same clothes.
B) former strippers who wear waaaay too much makeup and smoke like chimneys.
In any case, they're fun to watch, point at, and spend an evening with, because they make you very thankful that you're not them. And like any group of degenerates, there's about 10% that fucks up the evening for the rest of the crowd. These are the people who get really drunk and pick fights with everyone in the room, because they're trying to compensate for some massive insecurity...
Like the asswipe who picked a fight with me....oh, let's talk about him, shall we?
Basically, I was in the balcony, watching this group of middle aged rockers thrash about on stage from what was probably the ONLY place you could get a look at them. The walkway was narrow, but I am no where near as fat and awful as I used to be, so I definitely wasn't clogging up the passengerial artery too much. If you wanted to get by me, you could have. I watched some big black dude and six bouncers do it just fine, so the little fella who decided I was in his way should have been able to RUN passed me with his arms apart. Of course, he didn't. He had to be half my size and 80 to 100 pounds lighter than I am...and like any good drunken asswipe, he decided to get in my face and scream at me for being in the way. "Hey man, why don't you get the fuck out of the way!" He slurred, "You're blocking my fucking view!"
"What? No I'm not."
"Yeah man, why don't you fucking move and let someone else see?"
"What?"
"Why don't you MOVE SO SOMEONE ELSE CAN SEE!?!"
"What?"
"MOVE OVER!!!"
"What?"
"I SAID, WHY DON'T YOU...HEY, YOU FUCKING HEARD ME ASSHOLE..MOVE!"
"What?"
By now, this fucking guy was BULLSHIT. It should be noted that playing deaf is a good tool when dealing with drunkards who like to pick fights with you. You haven't antagonized anyone, and if the guy DOES decide to throw a punch, you can break both of his fucking arms and be totally justified in doing so. Keep in mind, I'm saying this as someone who was twice the size of the other guy. If you're dealing with someone BIGGER than you, a whole new set of rules applies. In any case, you want to avoid a fight, because if you DO start fighting, the bouncers will show up and beat the shit out of both of you.
Security guards at clubs always win. Always Always Always...so avoid fighting at all costs. I didn't move. Fuck him. I think he called be a "bitch", but the music was so loud, I couldn't tell. He proceeded to go downstairs and pick two other fights in front of the stage...at which point, secuirty broke it up and threw his bony ass out. See? I'm right. They ALWAYS win.
The crowd had thinned out substantially by the time band did their encore; most likely because Quiet Riot fans in 2003 probably have jobs, spouses, kids or any number of obligations that prevents them from staying out until 2am.
During the whole show, there was no real mention of the tragedy in Rhode Island. There was a little reference made before one song, but DuBrow and his hairpiece steered clear of that somber subject...which is surprising because the guys in Quiet Riot probably know and are friends with the Great White members. Although, Frankie Banalie did offer condolences on
The Band's Website.
...but the real tragedy of the evening, folks...is that Kevin DuBrow, along with his spandex pants, studded shirt, and pubic hairpiece...probably got laid on his bus after the show.
