Mötley Crüe
Glasgow SECC, 14th June 2005
In the beginning was the sexiest, sleaziest, most debauched, depraved and dangerous rock band in the world. They were Nikki Sixx, Vince Neil, Tommy Lee and Mick Mars. They were Mötley Crüe. And they were good.
They fought the world, they fought other bands, they even fought off death. But mostly, they just fought each other.
Which is why, since the early 1990s, the original classic Crüe line-up has been sadly defunct. Singers and drummers came and went, sucked into the Mötley machine and spat out again, washed up and destroyed, but somehow things in camp Crüe were never quite right without the aural assault and battery of Tommy Lee or the alley cat yowl and sexgod posturing of Vince Neil.
And then one day, the Crüe looked at the state of their bank balances and decided it was time to be friends again (Beverley Hills mansions, rapacious ex-wives and broods of children don't come cheap). It was time to go on with the show…
And so, for the first time ever in 25 years, the Mötley circus (or Carnival of Sins, in fact) rolled into Scotland, complete with go-go dancers, fire eaters, stilt walkers, acrobats and a four-foot high dwarf called Mighty Mike. For me, at any rate, this was one of the most eagerly anticipated gigs of the century. Would the band be red hot, or would I go away mad?
It has to be said, things didn't get off to a brilliant start. A disappointing set from '80s goth/punk/grunge heroes Killing Joke didn't exactly get us in the mood to party. Stary, scary and way too serious for an aging audience of rock'n'roll stockbrokers let out of the office to play, they weren't the ideal choice of support act. And they didn't play any of the (three) tracks I know either. Thanks, guys.
But as the lights go down and an utterly daft 'celebrity death match' style video rolls (featuring the most un-looky-likey Crüe puppets imaginable on a mission to save the world), we suddenly remember why we're here. The boys, too, know exactly why we're here. Kickstarting the show with 'Shout At The Devil' and 'Too Fast For Love', it quickly becomes clear that if they're going to do a mortgage tour, they're going to do it properly, plundering their back catalogue shamelessly and gleefully - none of yer arsey 'this is not a greatest hits tour' for the Crüe, thank you very much.
And thank you very much Crüe, for being you. Because there they are, in all their glory. The junkie, the wife-beater, the drunk driver and the granddad, a little older, perhaps a little wiser (although then again, probably not…), definitely a little fatter in the case of Oor Vince, but as wild and wicked and dodgy and dangerous as ever. Racing the stage in a blinding blaze of glaring lights, white hot flames, fireworks and exploding speakers, throwing all the classic Crüe shapes we've seen a thousand times in videos and posters and haven't witnessed live in 14 years, they're back and they're brilliant.
Nikki (plus scary pointy Satan beard) is as dark and dangerous and manic as ever, stalking the stage with his hair in his eyes, leering and baring his pearly white Californian gnashers and smashing expensive musical instruments to smithereens. Tommy, naked but for a tie, a thong and some very strange make up, is the eternal teenager, bless him, blethering on in Bill and Ted dude speak whilst sweeping the crowd with the infamous titty cam. Mick is, well, Mick, hunched and awkward and pale as death, but still one hell of a kick ass guitarist. And Vince? Well, these days portly Mr Neil can barely sing three words in a row without running out of breath, but he works the crowd like the blonde, arrogant, rock lovegod he so genuinely is, and still makes me go a bit weak at the knees. What was that about eternal teenagers? Sigh.
A helter skelter race through the first two albums is followed by – you granddads you – a ten minute interval. How thoughtful, now I can go to the loo. Cider (£3 for a half bottle of Magners – sheesh!) goes straight through you at my age…
Then it's back on stage with a bang for 'Girls, Girls, Girls' (complete with porn on the big screens and aerial acrobats in fishnets), 'Wildside', 'Dr Feelgood', 'Don't Go Away Mad' (hooray! I love that song), 'Same Ol' Situation', 'Primal Scream', and a nod to the fact that they have a new (best of) album out in the form of the bass heavy anthem 'Sick Love Song', followed by lighters aloft for 'Home Sweet Home' and a (literally) explosive rendition of 'Kickstart My Heart' for the obligatory fake ending.
The encore sees the guys clad in some exceedingly unflattering boiler suits (well, Nikki looks cool, but then Nikki looks cool in everything. Vince looks like he's come to read the meter and Mick, in a decidedly unfetching panama hat, looks like a cross between a plumber and a cricket umpire). 'Helter Skelter', 'Anarchy in the UK', fire breathing, fireworks and many more explosions and then it's all over.
Cocksure, obnoxious and stupid; dodgy, dirty, sexy as hell and larger and louder than ever: Crüe are the ultimate rock'n'rollers, and I love 'em. Crücial to the history of rock, and crücial to me, long may they swagger their sweaty, sleazy way across the stadiums of the world.
'We've never played Glasgow before,' Vince bellows (well, at least he remembered where he was – that's a start). 'But we're gonna play here again!' Here's hoping they don't keep me waiting another 14 years…
Sonisphere 2010, 30th July - 1st August 2010
