I’ve already bashed the Clark County Amphitheater in the Coldplay review. All I am going to say is this place is in my top 5 worst live music venues EVER visited and it is not going to get off the list anytime soon.
Let’s talk. And I am singling out any music snobs out there who wouldn’t even consider going to this show based on some kind of self-imposed boundaries regarding the credibility of their musical tastes. This show isn’t about artistry. It is about having fun. All that really fucking matters some nights.
I wore out a cassette of Pyromania somewhere around 6th grade. I still remember Senator Paula Hawkins of Florida holding up the cover of the album and declaring “All this is about is go out and burn a building, burn, burn, burn.” One of those moments as an 12 year old when you truly fear for the world as the people running it are obviously batshit insane. Having somehow devoured Pyromania without becoming an arsonist, all I knew is I discovered a type of music that I loved. That excited me. Something that got me up in the morning, rolled me through a school day which I fucking hated almost always, and put me to bed at night. It was my thing. You know? No one in my family liked it and it was mine. Do I still listen to Def Leppard? Rarely. Would I say I am still into Def Leppard? Nope. Does it matter? No.
Alright party people. Strap in. We are in the third row. Your left. Due to the Russian bread line masquerading as a beer line, we missed a couple of songs in Poison’s set. I found Poison’s set pretty boring actually. Bobby Dahl was sick so Cinderella’s bassist was standing in. It is a little hard to recapture the glory days of drinking, drugging, and banging with Poison. To me, just another band going through the thing. I certainly wouldn’t go see them headline. Alot of Bret Michaels I just find so unbelievably phony and cheesy I wonder if he is about to shit a Velveeta cheese log. I’m still puzzled about the connection Michaels was making between the song “Something To Believe In” to our war veterans. But whatever. After the set, while Bret Michaels hung out on the stage thrust shaking hands like a glad handing politician, we raced out to reload on beer. Totally found a concession area that was underpopulated and a short line. Now that is something to believe in at this venue.
Back in. Let’s get this fucking thing pumped up. We are stoked. Sobriety level to see Def Leppard? Perfect. Four beers on the ground in front of us? Damn right. Check. The air smells like a college dorm on April 20th and I am getting geeked up. Get to meet and chat with the people around us. Let them get the vibe I am harmless, cause I have every intention of dorking out. Everyone around us is super cool, love it when the people around you are chill at a concert. You know that feeling at a show? You do. You are peaking on your chemical ride(s), the anticipation is building, everyone is talking louder so they can hear, and the buzz gets louder and then…
Lights drop.
And then the undeniable beginning of “Rock Rock (Till You Drop)” kicks in. Shit is loud. Don’t know what I was expecting. But not that cut. Not then. So good. Back to age 12 again. Banging your head, screaming out the lyric, fist pumping. I used to jump on my bed while singing that song! Totally lost. I’ve gone to my pretty place.
Logistics. We are on your left. Don’t do that. I say sit to your right instead. Especially if you like, or are with someone who likes, ripped guys who are sweaty. That’s where Phil Collen hangs mostly. And he likes to shake his ass at the honeys. Being in the third row is not necessarily the best. I know. Cry me a river. But seriously. It is a little like seeing how sausage is made. Or if you are into Disneyland, sneaking into the tunnel and seeing Tigger take a piss while eating a sandwich. The pancake makeup is evident. The lines and bags. Some dubious overall musicianship that is getting fixed or created at the board. But. The show makes up for it. The lights and screens, the fire, and the pyrotechnics.
One of the unfortunate side effects of the grunge and indie rock era is the focus on credibility. The ‘fun’ of a show is often left to the female diva type singers. Or the industry-created acts like The Pussycat Dolls that are just plain shitty. I miss the days when rock shows were…shows in every sense.
The Leppard has more hits than Pete Rose. And all of them you can pretty much sing. Even if you can’t do it right now. “Rocket” was a crazy fun sing-a-long. And then you just start reeling them off and your night is flying by “Animal”, “Love Bites”, “Bringin On The Heartbreak”, “Too Late For Love”, “Photograph”, “Hysteria”, “Armageddon It”. The cover of David Essex’s “Rock On” was surprisingly good.
Highlight of the show for me was “Pour Some Sugar On Me”. When you see someone cut loose who normally doesn’t or won’t. It makes it all the better. Rock and roll. Burn a building. Close out with “Rock Of Ages”. Perfect bookend to “Rock Rock (Till You Drop)”. I fix on Pyromania at the start and end. Coast on out to the encore “Let’s Get Rocked”. High fives all around. I am that guy tonight.
You wanna get rocked? Lame, right? Don’t care. I had a great time. If you are of that age, go and be your teen self again. That you is still lurking in there. Or, go and see how it used to be done. It won’t hurt a bit.
