HOLLYWEIRD TOUR 2002
Cock Rock: Older? Sure. Wiser? Yeah, I suppose. Fatter? HELL YEAH.
For the FOURTH year in a row, I have brought myself out to an outdoor shed in either New Jersey or New York, and seen POISON's package nostalgia tour, during which they bring out three other bands from the late 1980s-era hair/glam rock era and rock out for six hours or so. Is it for the music? A little. Mostly, I go to these things for the sheer FREAK FACTOR. You'll understand what I mean in a little bit.
It's 2002, and Poison have brought CINDERELLA back on tour with them (they were Summer tourmates two years ago), as well as a resurrected WINGER and FASTER PUSSYCAT. Now, it's late... and I just spent the last five hours getting my ass rained on at Jones Beach in Wantaugh, NY...so I'm going to my best not to make this review as punchy as I feel....here goes:
FASTER PUSSYCAT - First band on stage, but I was in traffic on the Grand Central Parkway for ninety minutes, and missed their entire set by the time I got to the venue. I never fucking liked these guys anyway, so I don't give two shits. Although I did check out their website, and it looks like they're all dressing like Nazis now. Good for them. Make a few friends.
WINGER - Gone are the pin-up boy images, leather pants, and poofy hair. All of the guys in Winger wore jeans and T-shirts, and looked like they haven't shaved in a week. Quite honestly, the most talented band to occupy space on that stage tonight. Say what you will about their cheese-metal song catalog (admittedly, the only album I really got into was
Pull, their third, BEST, but unfortunately totally disregarded third disc on Atlantic Records), but Kip Winger, Reb Beach, Paul Taylor, Rod Morgenstein, and John Roth blew everyone else off the stage (musically) tonight. They were tight as hell, they all sang on key (Kip hit ALL of the high notes with very little exception), and played their asses off. A lot of those Winger songs, while lyrically fucking ignorant (I'm still pondering the deeper meaning of "Can't Get Enuff" and "She's only Seventeen"...fucking kill me), they're not easy to play at all; not even remotely. Yet these five guys all play them flawlessly AND sing harmonies while doing it. I wish they played more from the
Pull disc, but I have a feeling I'm the only person at Jones Beach who even knew Winger made a third CD, so I guess they had to stick with what works.
CINDERELLA - Judging from the amount of people who filled up the Amphitheatre when these guys took the stage, I'm guessing these guys were the reason Poison even went on tour this Summer. Cinderella can draw a crowd. Like TESLA, these guys were unfairly lumped in with the hair-metal bands of the late 1980s, when in reality they were a straight-ahead blues rock band with some great songs under their belt before the bottom dropped out of the rock band business in the early 1990s. Another great group of musicians, Tom Keifer, Jeff Labar, Fred Coury, and Eric Brittingham (plus another guitarist and keyboard player) ran through an hour of their hits, back to back while all of us in the crowd got our asses soaked to the bone, because it was raining cats and fucking dogs. Tom Keifer's voice is amazing, even through he still sings like he ran his larynx through a meat grinder (and even though he's starting to go bald...Tom, KEEP AWAY from the camera guy when he's aiming toward your head...you're a little thin up top, buddy). I never understood how guys like Tom and Brian Johnson of AC/DC could sing like that and NOT destroy their vocal cords. He hit all the high notes on "Shelter Me", "Nobody's Fool", and "Gypsy Road"...as well as every other hummable tune in their arsenal. I'm not a HUGE fan of Cinderella's, but I didn't realize how many of their songs I actually knew until I found myself humming them as they played them. Jeff Labar did the patented "throw my guitar around my neck/windmill" thing with his bright purple axe...which matched his bright purple shirt, and like Keifer, managed to sing in key for the duration of the set. A fine performace from some old farts in tight pants. I do wish for once lead singers could stop screaming "How Ya Fuckin' Doing New York (or any other city for that matter)?!?!" We're fine, and we're not thirteen anymore. Now, get a new line or shut the fuck up. Jesus.
Now, before I move on to Poison, let me take a minute to explain what I meant by FREAK FACTOR. You see, at these nostalgia shows, there is, what you could refer to as a certain segment of the population who hasn't figured out that it isn't 1987 anymore. I'm referring to A) guys in muscle T-shirts with more flab and hair on their arms than your average gorilla....B) Women whose asses could double as Drive-In movie screens who feel compelled to shake them around in a circular motion, knocking over chairs, drinks, and small children, while cellulite falls out of their daisy dukes...C) Ex-strippers who have popped out a few kids who still dress in their old spandex and white fringe jackets, and attempt to dance seductively while their enormous lower lip dangles out like a spinnaker on a catamaran... ALL of these people were in attendance tonight, and ALL of them made for a more enjoyable evening. Look, as far as I'm concerned, the bands were just a soundtrack to the moron-fest in the stands. When you get tired of listening to microphones feeding back and humming along to power balads, you just look to your right and/or left, and spot one of a hundred women with Volkswagen Jetta-sized guts hanging out of a Poison Baby-Tee, and munching on a $6.00 Pretzel from the concession stand...and you imagine how much fun it would be if a scene from
Hatari! was re-enacted right in front of you with a fat woman being tranquilized by John Wayne driving by in a Land Rover. Ladies, please go on diets or buy some bigger fucking jeans. If I can see you pubes poking out through the seam in your Levi's...they're too small.
POISON- The Glam Slam Kings of...whatever...hit the stage around 9:30-ish (Honestly, I don't fucking know. I was soaked and too busy watching some dumbass get beat down by security) to a fairly packed house. Granted, the entire upper teir was empty, but for a rainy, shitty Tuesday in July...there were A LOT of people at this Poison show. For the fourth consecutive year, the band opened with "Look What the Cat Dragged In" and Bret Michaels prancing around in a white fur coat with a purple bandana on his head. I'm not the biggest Poison fan, but they did write some painfully simple, catchy songs that the masses seem to really get into, so they must be doing something right. They ran through all of their standards: "Ride The Wind", "Unskinny Bop", "Fallen Angel", and "I want action"...plus the obligatory "Something to Believe in" and "Every Rose Has it's Thorn". In a rather bold move (or so he thinks, I'm sure), Bret Michaels told in-house security to "Back off for a second and be cool" so the people in the stands could all move out of their seats and rush the stage, to make the venue look more crowded..which quite honestly, it did. I was waiting for one of two things to happen: Either A) a maniac fan to jump on stage and beat Bret to death with his microphone stand, and anally violate Rikki Rockett with a drumstick...OR B) A brutish security guard who gets cornered by a bunch of kids to suddenly lose his mind and begin randomly pepper-spraying people and beating them about the heads and necks with a billy club. Neither one happened, but holy shit, I do find that very funny. No, really...I'm laughing hysterically right now at the mere thought of it. Oh, before I forget, I should mention that Poison should NOT be allowed to cover songs by classic rock bands other than KISS. They did a bang-up job with "Rock and Roll all Nite", but they mangled "Squeezebox" by the Who, which they even recorded on their new disc...and went so far as to introduce it as "This here's a new one...Squeezebox!"...Oh, shut the fuck up, dude. It's not new. It's a thirty year-old song made famous by The Who. Stop playing it. Judging by the lack of people clapping along during that one, I'd guess the audience wants you too as well. Poison is smart though, right after they butchered "Squeezebox", they ripped into one of their classic tunes, which perked the crowd right up. Finally, and this is a little lesson in Rock-Economics if you're interested. About 30 minutes in, Bret announces that the band would like to invite "Anyone with a ticket stub who sat out here in the rain" to join them at the PNC Bank Arts center in Holmdel, NJ...where they'll be on Sunday, July 14th...to show their ticket at the entrance, and you'll "Get In Free"... Holy shit! Brilliant fucking marketing, dude....here's why: 1) you look like a saint to all your soaking-wet, fat, middle-aged fans... 2) You know full well that PNC hasn't sold out yet, so what's the harm in telling 10,000 people in Jones Beach to drive out to Jersey on a Sunday night? Maybe 1,000 show up, and you can sell some T-shirts, and PNC can sell some more hot dogs and beer...3) even if 500 people from Jones Beach show up, the crowd will look that much less anorexic when you play in Jersey on Sunday...Like I said, smart move. OK, so the show ends with a lot of smoke, confetti, and fireworks, and me and my cohort make our way to the left of the stage to utilize our "Meet and Greet with Poison" passes that were given to us by a local radio station...yeah, right...Along with about 200 bucktoothed jackasses who ALSO had "Meet and Greet" passes to hang with the band...among which were a dozen fatties from the "Official Bret Michaels Fan Club" who all got preferential treatment at the gate. Note to Bret: If you even CONSIDER fucking one of those chicks, you should blow your brains clean out the back of your head. Needless to say, we didn't wait around with the herd to see Poison. Fuck it. I don't need a "Meet and Greet" pass. I'll just type
RIKKI ROCKET IS A FUCKING HOMO BECAUSE HE CHANGED HATS TEN FUCKING TIMES DURING POISON'S SET LIST. C'MON DUDE, WHO HAS A FUCKING HAT RACK BEHIND HIS DRUM KIT??? A FAG, THAT'S WHO!!!...and maybe they'll get pissed off enough to make a phone call.
OK, I'm pooped. 'night. Rock on, fat asses.
