Motley Crue live in Melbourne, 2011 (review)

Venue: Rod Laver Arena

Date: 24/09/11

Motley Crue’s The Dirt is one of the most notorious reads in the entire genre of rock biographies, which lead to the LA glam/metal band to be crowned undisputed kings of excess and bad behavior. No surprise then that their live show is equally excessive and totally over-the-top in a way that suits the band’s image, yet at the sacrifice of its ability to perform. This current tour is in celebration of 30 years of sex, drugs, arrests, messed up shit… oh and some rock n’ roll as well for good measure. The tour also boasts that fans are getting Motley Crue’s original line-up of Nikki Sixx, Mick Mars, Tommy Lee and Vince Neil - as if anybody could name the band member’s occasional replacements in the ‘down-time’, or early ‘90s to mid-00’s hit-free period – but then it is a testament to the ‘Crue that any of them are still talking considering the brutal in-band bitching that’s become as famous as their unhealthy lifestyles.



But Motley Crue are all now in their 50s, and have surely grown into well balanced men with a wealth of experience and know-how, right? Nah, who am I kidding!? The young bushy haired men who proudly sang about Smokin’ In The Boys Room and Girls, Girls, Girls refused to die, if the twenty-foot high expressions on Motley Crue’s craggily faces, peering down at us from the live-feed projection screens are anything to go by. Alas though the band’s aggression and prowess, much like their long-gone youth cannot be sustained for very long following the tremendous first rush of Too Fast For Love.



Despite the 30 years of ‘Crue action, its hard to ignore the feeling that Vince, Nikki and Mick don’t seem particularly comfortable with one another as they shift around the stage swapping mics so that fans can get a good look at each member. In particular, Vince’s attempt to finger Nikki’s bass strings mid-song results in a quick and very awkward retreat by Sixx, who gets a pretty stern glower in return. Meanwhile guitarist Mick Mars, with his frozen expression, begrudgingly joins the other two on a narrow raised platform in a woeful attempt to show solidarity that fails to translate as anything other than forced. The show is only three songs in, and already the seams are unraveling, so what a better way to distract from this fact than by wheeling out a huge mirror-balled grand piano that even Elton John would consider ‘a bit camp’ and getting drummer Tommy Lee to play it under a cool blue spotlight.

Tommy always had the 'extra spicy' curry before a performance.

Now Tommy Lee may be the owner of the most famous penis in rock, but he’s here to prove that there’s more to him than just an over-sized schlong, dammit! Lee makes a big show of prepping for his piano solo - as he would have done at every concert on this tour no doubt – and cue the big ‘80s power-ballad moment that, eh nobody appears to have been waiting for. Home Sweet Home, quite frankly dies mid-way through, as even from up in the bleachers, the audiences boredom is palpable. A rather telling long break follows and the stage lights are cut as the band hurriedly cross off every ballad from the set list and re-emerge with nowt but cock-rock left.

Next up, its stage two of Tommy Lee’s attempt to steal the show with an even more pointless display than his piano fiasco with the mother of all Spinal Tap moments; his kit, which has been mounted at the base of a circular vertical roller-coaster track, begins to edge up and around as he plays the most obviously not-live drum solo of all-time. Lee’s strapped in to his stool, so you know he’s gonna go the full 360 degrees, he does, and the effect is sickening, but not particularly ‘sick’. For about 10 minutes, Lee, after hauling a completely non-plussed fan up to join the ride, continues his rotating drum solo, aided by bursts of flame and showering sparks, but by now my mind is just wandering to things like ‘what happened to the rest of the band’ and ‘the level of insurance they would have to pay incase the ‘lucky’ audience member slips out of the restraints must be astronomical’.

Finally the rest of the band return, and we are in the home stretch of Motely Crue’s 30th anniversary concert, which so far has been every kind of absurd, but served up without a shred of irony. Not much so far has happened to cause any offense or ruffle feathers, but despite the long break off stage, Vince Neil appears to have given just about all he’s got and so he puffs his way through Dr Feelgood, forgetting half the lyrics and walking where he previously would run. The performance only continues to become more and more shambolic after this, and no amount of fire balls, smoke jets, sparks, cannons or revolving drum kits can hide the fact. Nikki Sixx barks into the mic to rouse up the audience as the show concludes – again with no sense of irony - “When we first got together, we knew we needed a singer like Steven Tyler, Robert Plant and Bon Scott… and with Vince Neil, we got all three!”

Even Vince wasn’t entirely convinced of Sixx’s comparison, but in a final act of forced unity, the band embrace and hold one-another’s arms aloft, and remind us how much better we were as an audience than… insert any capital city that isn’t Melbourne. But by then it was all too late for Motley Crue’s fans here at Rod Laver. I’m going out on a big general limb here, but if Australian audiences can be summarised at all, I think it’s safe to say, you just can’t bullshit us. Motley wanted to be loved so badly that they were literally turning on their heads to impress us, but in reality a few more weeks in rehearsals would’ve sufficed. The biggest shocker of all though is, who would have guessed the most notorious hard living, hard drinking, hard shagging band this side of the Rolling Stones damn well fake it?



lEIGh5

Sean Moore (Manic Street Preachers) interview (2010)

COMBAT ROCK

Manic Street Preachers could've been willfully obscure as their often confronting topics are on Postcards From A Young Man – their tenth album in 24 years. Yet their cold-hard tales of degenerative diseases, sold-out Britain and virtual-world obsession are instead served up with some sweet cock-rock riffing, big choruses and an orchestra. Initially these Welsh communist glam-punks were a reaction to mindless stadium rock – and not much has changed in that regard – but what better way to mock your enemy than to become them - with a knowing wink? Their strength has always lied in their understanding of the importance art plays in critiquing humanity, yet they are also a rock band and nowhere near as "Preachy" as the name might suggest. Instead these childhood friends, James Dean Bradfield, Nicky Wire and Sean Moore, now in their 40s, continue forging a quiet battle against accepting the status quo.

Promotion of their latest album has been unusually high for the Manics, as their loyal fanbase like to call them. Their post-millennium releases have suffered largely from growing indifference, but it seems they are determined that Postcards From A Young Man won't suffer the same fate. It's been 11 years since the trio toured Australia, so anticipation is high, but as I chat to the Manic's drummer/trumpet/player-cum-co-writer Sean Moore, it becomes clear anticipation for him can be a killer. Backstage at the BBC, pre-warm up for the Manic Street Preachers' appearance on Later With Jools Holland, Moore whispers, "It's Holland's 250th show, so it's supposedly going to be a big one." He begins, while drawing a sharp breath, "I just saw Phil Collins in the hall and The Klaxons are here…" He pauses as there's a knock on his dressing room door. "I better get that… It's okay, it's only my breakfast." Moore doesn't like doing live TV, and the arrival of his first meal of the day is a greater relief than usual. "Sorry, I was expecting to be hauled out to do rehearsal then," he says with a nervous laugh. "I do find live television extremely nerve-racking. I've never been able to just slip into 'performer-Sean' mode. I'm always teetering on edge, and it either goes one way or the other. Hopefully we won't fall off on this occasion though."





As it's a landmark show for Jools Holland, he's pulled out all the stops and employed a full choir and string section to back the Manics. The new album is a heavily layered set, bursting with anthemic numbers and devoid of introspection. It has been described by the group's bassist and writer Nicky Wire as "their last shot at getting on the radio" following a lacklustre response to the group's previous three albums. The Manics have never sat easily on radio playlists; If You Tolerate This, Your Children Will Be Next was as close to radio-friendly as they came, and so a battle plan was drawn up to get their message out to as many listeners as possible by dressing up their already solid tunes, and calling in some help from their peers. "We asked Ian McCulloch, John Cale and Duff McKagan to play on the album because we're fulfilling a lot of our boyhood dreams this time around," Sean states. "Echo & The Bunnymen was the first gig we all went to see, and my first album was Porcupine,」 he says, brightening up. Arguably, the antithesis of the Manics on their angsty debut was big, dumb, misogyny-peddling Guns 'N' Roses, which makes the appearance of ex-Gunner's bassist Duff McKagan on A Billion Balconies Facing The Sun seem all the more strange. Sean continues.



"In a way, you're right, but at the same time Guns 'N' Roses introduced James and Richey to rock music," he reasons. "Whereas Nick was more into Rush, for me AC/DC is about as heavy as it gets." He laughs. "We met Duff when he presented us with an award and we reciprocated our appreciation by asking him to play bass on one of our songs. Turns out he's right into what we do as well, surprisingly." Ian McCulloch duet-ing, John Cale playing piano and a Gunner could all easily be seen as unduly ambitious, but the album was designed to be a sharp turn away from 2009's Journal For Plague Lovers and its bleak outpourings. Comparing the recording of Postcards… with Journal For Plague Lovers, Sean is very clear. "This album and Journal For Plague Lovers are basically Jekyll and Hyde," he confirms. "Recording Postcards… was quite easy by comparison. We had our objective and we stayed put until that was seen through, whereas Plague Lovers was a collection of Richey's old lyrics that we built music around and it became a kind of Holy Bible part 2." In 2008, an official verdict of 'deceased' was finally reached after the 1995 disappearance of Richey Edwards, the Manic's troubled guitarist/writer. His gut-wrenching lyrics and biting commentary were always a driving point in the band and one that main songwriter Nicky Wire has remained inspired by. The last album Edwards' made with the band - 1994's The Holy Bible - was also their most disturbing and confronting, both lyrically and musically. The latest release, much like Holy Bible, is the second to follow a Richey-penned record. Sean discusses.



"We were quite aware of following up that album with something much brighter, as we did (follow-up The Holy Bible) with Everything Must Go (in 1996). We did two or three albums of that nature – heavy, Richey albums - but you just can't do that every time. If we did, I don't think I'd be speaking to you now," Sean says ominously. "The record-buying public don't want to hear that, and we have always said that we want to be heard by as many people as possible because we feel we have something worthwhile to say." Reactions to Manic Street Preachers entire canon of work are, in many ways, typical. There are those who yell 'sell-out' at anything but the band's purest angst period – Generation Terrorists, The Holy Bible – however the post-Richey following still see the band's passion as firmly intact. Sean considers the widely varying perceptions.



"I agree that we have a divided audience, but I don't believe we have released anything we didn't wholly believe in," he continues. "We always need something to react against to even begin to get our creative juices flowing and if we ain't got that, we don't do anything particularly well." All Manics albums are angry at something; their debut, Generation Terrorists (1991), was the truest example of a punk record released in many years. The band, dressed head-to-toe in glam-rock regalia, dug their heels deep into their own generation's apathy (and bad 『80s metal), and so began the wild ride of album upon album spiked with wake-up calls or ripping in to the cold truth on all forms of human rights injustices in and outside of the developed world. However, unlike U2 for example, the Manics never patronise their fans; they presume the listener to be curious, informed, or wishing to be challenged, but Sean understands the songs don't always translate. "You know, I wouldn't want to be in a band making music that meant nothing to people, and I get that people don't always see the meaning in our songs, but when they do it feels like we've achieved something." Moore explains, "I don't make any apology if that's not the case, but it would be quite boring for us if we made it too easy or over simplified it." He adds, "We were criticised for being too flamboyant in the past, and for having overly wordy songs, but sometimes I think you need music that goes that bit further than just rocking out."



The beauty of the Manics is you can invest in the often intricate song meanings as many fans would want, but engaging with the well-defined passion of their delivery is a rich enough reward in itself. James Dean Bradfield has one of the strongest voices in modern music, plus the trio have never allowed a gigantic, memorable hook pass them by. Sean explains, "The way we see it, you have to make the music as accessible as possible especially with this album (Postcards…) because Journal… was a lot more edgy, or less musically direct." Sean adds, "We are guilty of being a bit obscure at times, but we wanted this album to rise up out of that." Postcard From A Young Man is nothing if not direct. It takes hold from the very first listen with all the strength of a greatest hits CD. Yet within is a loose, but prevalent theme of longing for simpler times, or at least criticism of the crap-tastic 'world of purchase power' we find ourselves in. Sean discusses.

It's Not War (Just The End Of Love) on Later With Jools Holland

"The title refers to more tactile forms of communication which have all but been replaced by things like e-mail. It's very easy to gain information about a person, but any kind of personal touch is fading away rapidly." The cover image features actor Tim Roth (Lie To Me, Reservoir Dogs) shirtless, his face mostly obscured as he takes a Polaroid picture. The dated photo summarises beautifully the tactile world to which Sean refers - Roth as he was 20-odd years ago embracing a long-lost artefact. Moore continues, "It's just something that harks back to when we were young, I suppose, when you had to sort of maintain and care for the condition of a record or a photo. Now digital images and mp3s are forever frozen in a kind of stable perfection, and none of these things have a chance to wear." He sighs, "But we still like the strange beauty of seeing tangible objects gradually fray at the edges."



Manic Street Preachers can claim a roaring return with Postcards From A Young Man. If their wish to 'get back on the radio' comes true, the album's first single (It's Not War) Just The End Of Love - a commentary on Russia and America's forever damaged ties despite the Cold War ending years ago – would be a delicious prospect. Yes, they are willingly living in the past on this album, and their paranoia of an Orwellian future seems as dated as the idea of infiltrating the mainstream. But the Manics' greatest drive is that there's still room in popular music for renegades, and share their fan's hope that that's something which will never fall out of fashion.



lEIGh5

In the weeks before the Manics Melbourne concert, I was invited onto local community station JoyFM to do a two hour special on the band just playing faves and talking a bit about the group in between songs. The program was called "Raise Your Flag", a kind of all-things-punk weekly show... Funny thing is, we got complaints that the music wasn't suited to the theme of the program! What do you think, reader?



Manic Street Preachers "Raise Your Flag" playlist

Whiplasher Bernadotte (Deathstars) interview

From the often humourless Stockholm metal scene, Deathstars come shining through with their self-styled 'death-glam' sound. (Think of a nod towards KISS, a sideways grimace at Rammstein and a fart in the direction of Front Line Assembly… with glitter.) Since 2000, they have released three hell raising albums and are gearing up to make their first Australian visit, before which I sit down with Andreas "Whiplasher Bernadotte" Bergh (singer and hat wearer) to shine some light on the dark and glammy world of Deathstars.

"Our band is kind of like a circus in hell". Andreas begins with a smile in his deep, accented voice. "I think it's important to entertain and scare the hell out of people at the same time." As a youngster Andreas was fascinated by the look of Kiss and the elaborate staged horror shows of Alice Cooper. He says, "I was very attracted to these kind of theatrical displays that went hand in hand with the music, particularly in the late '70s and early '80s. Bands then wanted to shock their audiences and give them something more than just music." He adds, "I mean Alice Cooper's Welcome To My Nightmare live show was so incredibly dark but also very, very funny." Some humour wouldn't go astray in Scandinavian music, so is there room in Deathstars shows for the odd laugh? "Our shows are very dark", He says, dragging out 'dark' to 'daaarrk' as he continues, "We are not really able to have the theatrics because of how many shows we play. We sometimes have to jump straight off the plane and go to a club and start. It's that crazy at times."



Despite the hectic touring, it's a relaxed sounding Whiplasher speaking today; "I'm actually on holiday in Norway enjoying some good coffee and some sun. I'm having a little break before we devastate Australia." There's good humour in his voice as he tells me he has no concept of what to expect from our land or even how the band will be received. "I might get my board shorts on and have a run on the beach." He laughs, "I have only been to the airport in Sydney to catch a connecting flight to New Zealand back before the band when I was a documentary film maker."

Although Andreas has played in bands since he was 13, he sidelined in print journalism and documentaries to feed a few fascinations. "I spent some time with the Maori in Tonga. These guys lived in a deeply religious fishing community and I made a film about their lives, which I think will surprise a few people." It's always good to have something to fall back on, but Andreas sees his time making films as a guide to the use of powerful imagery and maintains an eagle eye over all of the band's promotional output. "I always work together with the photographers and video directors as a way of maintaining consistency in our own style."



The Deathstars 'look' is all five members in white face paint, black hair and military style uniforms with Andreas crowned by a marching band leader's cap. Topping off the look, he half glitters his face and carries a cane leaving no doubt as to who's wearing the pants. "I like to think I am the leader but I am really just a prostitute in this band." He says, giving a low rumbling laugh and the first indicator today of that booming voice heard on the recordings. Our talk turns to the roles of the other members of Deathstars on the album. "We have a very bad democracy in the band". He explains, "I write all of the words and Nightmare Industries (Emil Nödtveidt – producer, guitars and keyboards), who is the dictator, writes all of the music. That is how we have always worked since we were in bands together in our teens. It was also because up until this year we all lived in different countries. Now that we are all living in Sweden, who knows maybe we will write the next album with more input from the other guys."



The album they are touring is Night, Electric Night. Recorded over two years, it is essentially a darker album than its predecessor Termination Bliss (2006). "It is difficult to make happy songs about suicide". Andreas explains, alluding to Via The End, written about Nödtveidt's brothers' death. "Most of what I write about comes from our everyday lives, things that are real and have some sort of impact on us." Does writing come easy to the well tailored frontman? "I am writing all of the time. I enjoy it so much and I never have to really force myself to work on my songs… I am not a lazy songwriter." Andreas is very strict on what goes in and what stays out of his songs. "Nobody gets to see what I write until it is completed, I am happy with it and it is ready to go into the song, and nobody gets to see what I am not happy with." On this point, he sounds deathly certain. I wonder if Andreas happy then with his band being tagged as 'death-glam'? "Of course, and anyway, it is a name we came up with." I suggest you can attach the word 'glam' to just about anything, but what does it mean to him? "I think it tickles a nerve. It makes me think of a time when bands cared about their presentation and had a laid back, sort of chilled attitude."



With their striking image and powerful music, Deathstars have attracted the odd… well, odd fan to their fold, Andreas coolly discloses. "I met this guy in London who had his car all painted up in Deathstars artwork and he had gotten seven tattoos all over his body of us". Enough to either delight or horrify I probe, "Actually I found it very erotic." Another of those guttural laughs escapes Andreas's throat and he ads, "I'm only joking!"























(above) with Skinny Disco

(middle) with Whiplasher Bernadotte





lEIGh5

Deathstars live in Melbourne 2009

venue - Corner Hotel (review)

If you could sum up the atmosphere of this wild night with a simple food analogy, imagine two ten tonne trucks carrying sides of freshly slaughtered beef carcasses crashing in a narrow back alley, exploding and instantly barbequing their contents. A fire truck then comes screaming around the corner, it's occupants emerge wearing steel plated armor and begin spraying the wreckage with hoses that disperse beer instead of water. This scene can be applied not to the Deathstars concert, which is still hours away, but to the streets surrounding the Corner Hotel which are filled with howling, crazed football fans. The desperately cold wind and lack of access to any venue seems to have created pockets of hysteria all around the place. The thought that there's going to be a very loud and fast metal band playing their first Melbourne show right in the middle of this fray is as frightening as it is exciting. I can't get the thought out of my head of someone running with particularly weak plastic bag filled with bricks just waiting for the inevitable tear. My photographer Fruitbat and I put off entering the venue for as long as possible, instead preferring to watch the scene unfolding at the stage door - which is a parade of black haired, black leather-clad gents carrying gear into the venue and us trying to work out who was in a band and who was a roadie. Supporting Deathstars are two new bands from the darker side of music, Familiar and INK who all up including the headliners and roadies equaled something like 20 dudes helping keep the black hair-dye trade afloat. Time to cue up, and oh boy do I feel underdressed. Nearly every fan has turned up in their best and blackest regalia from the standard platform boots and fishnets to, as a couple of girls had, some glowing blue balls woven into their hair.

The first support is Sydney band Familiar who have only been playing together for two months and to my delight, at least, the lead singer is Ashley Rothschild formerly of 90s synth-rockers Caligula. He's funny too making cheeky comments about 'panda-eyes' and general morbidness at Deathstars assembled followers. The band, although sounding a little unrehearsed, make a pretty decent start to the night with their power riffs and big chorus's. However, the second support band INK failed to keep the momentum up started by Familiar. The words 'earnest' and 'Nickelback' were muttered at the back of the room while they played their short set. Strangely, and amusingly the Deathstars current CD starts playing in the intermission while the headliners are getting pumped up backstage. Finally, the curtain parts and five heavily made-up men storm the stage as a chilling pre-recorded synthesised church organ replaces the CD on the PA.



Here are Deathstars; the accessible brand of industrial metal. The album their touring, Night Electric Night, is loaded with all the theatrical gloom references fully owned and paid for by Scandinavian bands. The themes are dark in the same way Batman is with its gothic loaded imagery and style. Sweden's Deathstars cater more to metal fans who love the massively exaggerated posturing and the bizarre clash of macho-campness that Kiss used to specialise in. They don't have a political edge and no matter how 『serious' they might sound on the surface – there's far greater absurdity underneath it all. Frontman, Whiplasher Bernadotte – a composite of a young Alice Cooper and a zombie military band leader - is tailored, uniformed and glittered, his unholy band in similar dress and white face-paint. Despite Bernadotte's commanding presence it's his lanky bass player, Skinny Disco who draws the most attention as he swings his two foot long dreads around and screams his lines into the microphone. His shrill squawks are responses to Whiplashers deep ballsy calls throughout the entire set. It's quite amazing how these guys can maintain their throat-shredding vocals unfailingly for the hour-and-a-half show. On stage it must be around 20 degrees hotter than the room as maintaining the well-tailored look is another matter - after only three songs, Whiplasher's disheveled hair is clinging to his face, he ditches the jacket and hat and has lost most of his glitter. I'll bet by the end of this tour he'll be going on stage in a wife-beater and trackies.



The story going around is that last night's show in Sydney was pretty average, but there's no evidence of sloppiness tonight - in fact it's almost impossible to fault the band at all. Whatever they were selling I wanted to buy it, and the beefy onslaught of (D.E.A.D.) The Mark Of The Gun, Tongues and Night Electric Night were some very tempting offers. The concert is both thrilling unrelenting but somehow the audience manages to remain fairly motionless – except for horns aloft and restrained clap-alongs - in which case Whiplasher's invitation for us to top two fans supposedly fucking in the moshpit at a concert in Madrid is unlikely to happen.

Trying to guess which songs are the fan favourites is impossible as everything receives rapturous cheers of approval, that is until near the end when the one I've really been waiting for, Blitzkrieg causes a near riot. It's now the mega-anthem end of the show and they unleash 『popular' singles Cyanide, Death Dies Hard and Revolution Exodus all in a row. It's taken most of the night but finally the room temperature has reached sauna level. Goths simply do not generate body heat. Whiplasher is stalking the stage drenched in sweat saying; 「Melbourne, you have a very strange climate!」



Depending on what you like to get out of a concert - Deathstars succeed absolutely as a live band. Personally, I like my shocking attention span catered for, eye bulging excitement from go to whoa, loads of visual stimulus and a sing-a-long part. They ticked all of my boxes tonight, plus if I ever find myself under a full moon in a frosty Northern European graveyard, Deathstars would be the only possible soundtrack.



lEIGh5



CORNER HOTEL SET LIST:

Night Electric Night

Motherzone

Semi-Automatic

Mark Of The Gun

Tongues

Last Ammunition

Fuel Ignites

New Dead Nation

Trinity Fields

Chertograd

Blitzkrieg

Blood Stains Blondes

Cyanide

Death Dies Hard

Revolution Exodus





Photos by me and Mary Boukouvalas