I learned about Motley Crue right around the time I learned the word “fingerbang”, and I’ve been a fan of both ever since. I remember being the passenger for donuts on Pico after a house party, in an Impala, to “Wild Side”. I remember listening to “Nona” on repeat when my mom was mad. I’ve been considering a “Theater of Pain” tattoo for a decade now and I never stopped singing “Home Sweet Home”. I have a special shelf in my heart where I keep that song and dust it off at karaoke. I got introduced to Tommy Lee at a DMX show, where, upon realizing whose hand I held, I leap-frogged my own hand and climbed his outstretched arm like a spider monkey. Suffice to say I had a mix tape ready when my friend alerted me that we were going back to The Bowl for The New York Dolls, Poison and Motley Crue.

En route to the show, in traffic on Hollywood Boulevard, we saw the “Deathproof” car. I knew that this was a sign of the best day ever. “Deathproof” is an epic movie starring Kurt Russell. It’s supposed to be a killer car flick, but it’s straight Kurt Russell porn if you ask me. Sighting the car was foreplay.

I’m surprised I could see the car through all the black eyeliner, but I know an omen when I see one, so we proceeded directly to my secret parking block. I ain’t sayin’ where it is, because I ain’t payin’ thirty bucks to park, but we caught a fresh departer and snagged an epic spot. The walk up to The Bowl was fine for us, but dammit sluts, don’t you know after all these years, those shoes are for layin’ on your back, not dancin’ at a show. Jeez. I appreciate the effort, but for your feet’s sake, be like a commuting secretary and wear Reeboks in transit! For an example of “how it’s done” look no farther than these dudes.


We missed The Dolls, but as we were right on time for the Deathproof car and the parking space, I knew that it was as intended. We smuggled our way through the tour busses and into The Bowl to find our seats. Upon establishing that our friends had better seats, we dipped and dived our way to the floor seats, which we managed to occupy for most of Poison’s set.


I hadn’t expected to be so stoked on Poison, but “Talk Dirty to Me”, whoa, what an opus of rad. Midway through Poison’s set we get busted and after passing 4 tickets around for 9 people, we got escorted back to our seats. Once settled, we noticed another empty box, better for dancing. We both had the right idea, but we went separate ways. I hopped the railing, with both of our tickets in hand, and I lost my wingman. I blew it. Thank Christ we weren’t on acid. She come’s from the woods, so she didn’t panic like me. We were reunited in an aisle during Poison’s last hurrah and agreed that we’d better enjoy the show from our own seats, as we were in double jeopardy with the security team.

I loved the whole night, but I was a bit astounded by the Crue Board, where fans were invited to text in messages and they would be posted “live” on-screen at the venue. “Who cares?” I just don’t get it. This isn’t the 7th inning stretch and if you’re not about to propose, I don’t give a rat’s ass. I’m here to rock, not to read.

In a further astonishing example of metal viral marketing  I was made aware of this horns app:


The Crue took to stage in a flurry of downtuned, double bass, shrieking, pyro. After twenty-five years of cock swagger rock n’ roll these dudes are professionals. They don’t torture the crowd with new releases that they’re trying to push, they play the songs that fans want to hear. It was a really good show, until the drum solo, when I wet myself and Tommy Lee did the loop!



The solo itself was insane and he was hitting triggers and playing the most ominous, intense, rave I have ever heard. Then just to make sure that we would all be as pliable as Pam Anderson in his grasp, he played the piano intro and outro for “Home Sweet Home” on a silver grand piano. Give THAT drummer some!

I got lucky and heard most of my favorites, including “Looks That Kill” and “Kickstart My Heart”, but their ending was inspired. During the “Kickstart” encore, roadies put four silver 2 gallon vessels on the stage, for what I assumed was pyro oblivion. I had noticed that the band had returned to the stage in black coveralls, but I didn’t think much of it, until Vince picked up one of the vessels and launched gallons of BLOOD onto the first dozen rows. The other band members followed en suite. I can only imagine the freaked out VIPs, looking like Sissy Spacek in “Carrie”, in the front rows screaming about their hair and their dry cleaning, as Tommy Lee led the crowd in a chant for each band member, “When I say Mick, you say Mars. Mick!” “MAAAAARS” the audience roared back. I’ve never seen buckets of blood thrown at the privileged. Thanks Motley Crue!!!