One fine day about a year ago I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business, engrossed in a riveting game of Minesweeper, when my boss suddenly burst through the invisible walls of my office, without even bothering to pretend I had a door.
He had a sinister look on his face that said, “I’ve got something in store for you, my young minion. Plus, I just caught you playing Minesweeper.”
After letting me panic for a few moments, he pronounced my fate. “You’re going to the Poison, Warrant, and Quiet Riot concert tonight. Take your wife. Write an article.”
Oh boy, an ’80s metal concert! Great! And then we can go superglue our asses to a beehive.
I was less than thrilled. I had promised my wife a romantic evening out on the town, and my plans didn’t really involve sweaty glam rockers living out their mid-life crises in a pair of chafing leather pants. “Yeah, um, slight change of plans, honey. We kind of have to cancel our dinner reservations, and I pawned off our theater tickets. But on a positive note, C.C. DeVille might sweat on us!”
Sure, there are jobs out there with much bigger drawbacks than mine. I could be the intern in charge of changing Strom Thurmond’s diapers, for example. Or I could be the “back and ass” guy at an electrolysis shop.
Or I could be the guy who cleans out the elephant cages at the circus. Legend has it, someone actually died two years ago when a constipated elephant suddenly “let loose,” so to speak, right on top of him. After being knocked unconscious to the ground, the poor man suffocated under 200 pounds of ill-timed pachyderm poop. What are the odds?
I personally have never been blasted by a constipated elephant at work, so that’s one perk about my job. But at the time it was small consolation for being shipped down a one-way street to Metalsville. I mean, I’m proud to be the resident music junkie, but – no offense to all the ’80s warriors out there – these bands aren’t exactly the cutting edge of rock and roll anymore. Quiet Riot hasn’t hit No. 1 since 1983. I was 7.
But I have to admit, I did have kind of a morbid fascination with what the crowd would be like. I imagined an ocean of mullets, a forest of stone-washed jeans, a field of high-top sneakers. Do they still peg their pants? Do they wear Swatches instead of watches? Do the men prefer to perm their hair, or just feather it back? I had to know.
It would make for a great story to say that I was way off with my stereotype of ’80s metal fans. But no, I pretty much nailed it. There were frayed jean shorts, nipple-bearing mesh shirts, assorted leather accessories, and plenty of half-shirts that were probably more flattering 20 years ago when they weren’t hanging over a poochy gut.
What I was wrong about, however, was how much fun I would have. And not at other people’s expense, either. Poison, Warrant, and Quiet Riot all put on a genuinely good rock show. It took some time, but eventually I was able to wipe the smirk off my face and buy into the glitz and glamour of a decidedly over-the-top stage show. There were pyrotechnics, laser shows, a rockin’ sound system, Bret Michaels in a blazing white fur coat, and plenty of hit songs from all three bands that I had nearly forgotten all about: “Cum On Feel the Noize,” “Cherry Pie,” “Talk Dirty to Me,” ad infinitum.
As for the bands’ newer material, well, um (cough) it was (ahem) maybe not the most artistically credible music I’ve come across. (“Come on, everybody. Rock the house. Slam it ’til we all freak out,” implores Quiet Riot.) But for what it’s worth, all three bands are still making original, straight-forward stadium rock without selling out. After being subjected to eight straight hours of Top-40 radio at work, I found it kind of refreshing. I mean, really, someone’s got to keep rock and roll alive, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be Creed. “My sacrifice” is listening to their latest single 10 times a day.
What does the future hold for ’80s rockers? Well, I’ve been hearing a new Hall & Oates song on the radio lately, so I guess anything’s possible. And, while their approach is definitely more tongue-and-cheek, a pocket of new bands like The Strokes, The Hives, and The White Stripes have sparked a revival of the straight-forward garage rock that yielded to ’80s metal so many years ago. As Quiet Riot’s Kevin DuBrow said to me last year, “That’s just the nature of music. It goes in cycles.”
So does journalism – it’s one year later, and here’s my article, just in time for Poison’s next tour through Central Pa.
He had a sinister look on his face that said, “I’ve got something in store for you, my young minion. Plus, I just caught you playing Minesweeper.”
After letting me panic for a few moments, he pronounced my fate. “You’re going to the Poison, Warrant, and Quiet Riot concert tonight. Take your wife. Write an article.”
Oh boy, an ’80s metal concert! Great! And then we can go superglue our asses to a beehive.
I was less than thrilled. I had promised my wife a romantic evening out on the town, and my plans didn’t really involve sweaty glam rockers living out their mid-life crises in a pair of chafing leather pants. “Yeah, um, slight change of plans, honey. We kind of have to cancel our dinner reservations, and I pawned off our theater tickets. But on a positive note, C.C. DeVille might sweat on us!”
Sure, there are jobs out there with much bigger drawbacks than mine. I could be the intern in charge of changing Strom Thurmond’s diapers, for example. Or I could be the “back and ass” guy at an electrolysis shop.
Or I could be the guy who cleans out the elephant cages at the circus. Legend has it, someone actually died two years ago when a constipated elephant suddenly “let loose,” so to speak, right on top of him. After being knocked unconscious to the ground, the poor man suffocated under 200 pounds of ill-timed pachyderm poop. What are the odds?
I personally have never been blasted by a constipated elephant at work, so that’s one perk about my job. But at the time it was small consolation for being shipped down a one-way street to Metalsville. I mean, I’m proud to be the resident music junkie, but – no offense to all the ’80s warriors out there – these bands aren’t exactly the cutting edge of rock and roll anymore. Quiet Riot hasn’t hit No. 1 since 1983. I was 7.
But I have to admit, I did have kind of a morbid fascination with what the crowd would be like. I imagined an ocean of mullets, a forest of stone-washed jeans, a field of high-top sneakers. Do they still peg their pants? Do they wear Swatches instead of watches? Do the men prefer to perm their hair, or just feather it back? I had to know.
It would make for a great story to say that I was way off with my stereotype of ’80s metal fans. But no, I pretty much nailed it. There were frayed jean shorts, nipple-bearing mesh shirts, assorted leather accessories, and plenty of half-shirts that were probably more flattering 20 years ago when they weren’t hanging over a poochy gut.
What I was wrong about, however, was how much fun I would have. And not at other people’s expense, either. Poison, Warrant, and Quiet Riot all put on a genuinely good rock show. It took some time, but eventually I was able to wipe the smirk off my face and buy into the glitz and glamour of a decidedly over-the-top stage show. There were pyrotechnics, laser shows, a rockin’ sound system, Bret Michaels in a blazing white fur coat, and plenty of hit songs from all three bands that I had nearly forgotten all about: “Cum On Feel the Noize,” “Cherry Pie,” “Talk Dirty to Me,” ad infinitum.
As for the bands’ newer material, well, um (cough) it was (ahem) maybe not the most artistically credible music I’ve come across. (“Come on, everybody. Rock the house. Slam it ’til we all freak out,” implores Quiet Riot.) But for what it’s worth, all three bands are still making original, straight-forward stadium rock without selling out. After being subjected to eight straight hours of Top-40 radio at work, I found it kind of refreshing. I mean, really, someone’s got to keep rock and roll alive, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be Creed. “My sacrifice” is listening to their latest single 10 times a day.
What does the future hold for ’80s rockers? Well, I’ve been hearing a new Hall & Oates song on the radio lately, so I guess anything’s possible. And, while their approach is definitely more tongue-and-cheek, a pocket of new bands like The Strokes, The Hives, and The White Stripes have sparked a revival of the straight-forward garage rock that yielded to ’80s metal so many years ago. As Quiet Riot’s Kevin DuBrow said to me last year, “That’s just the nature of music. It goes in cycles.”
So does journalism – it’s one year later, and here’s my article, just in time for Poison’s next tour through Central Pa.
