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. . . or too young for that matter.
Back in May when I took Krusty to the Bludgeon Your Head With Someone Else's Fist Fest, I told the Littlest Loaf Pincher I'd take him to see any group he wanted to see. I knew full well that the kid's an old schooler and he'd never pick anybody who was still young enough to strut it on stage.He didn't disappoint. He picked his favorite band. No way on earth those guys would climb out of their iron lungs long enough to rock a sold-out arena full of thinning mullets and rock-show virgins.
Boy was I wrong.
AC/DC can still bring it. And I aint talking some pansy-ass watered down, unplugged version of once-great stadium anthems. I'm talking two-plus hours of gut-wrenching, ball-busting, face-melting, throat-shredding rock and roll.Sure, Brian Johnson sounds like Burgess Merideth filtered through a quart of rot-gut whiskey. But that's the beauty of the band from down under. You ain't gotta be able to sing to sing along. All you need is a throat and some wind. Lots of wind.
Their hair is thinner, and their bodies aren't quite as tight as they used to be, but the music never missed a beat. From the first lick of Angus' Gibson to the last cannon blasts of "For Those About to Rock," The sixty-something rockers danced, cavorted, and sweat -- lots of sweat -- their way through all their classics.
This may be showing my age a bit, but one of the best things -- aside from everything else -- was the fact that from the first notes of The Answer's opening set, to the trip out to the parking lot after AC/DC brought the house down, not one single four-letter syllable was uttered on stage. And that's refreshing in a world where posers think they have to be foul to be offensive. (What I muttered in the traffic jam leaving the show is another story.) Kids, take note. Lace you lyrics with thinly-veiled sexual innuendo and benign threats of violence if you wanna be a real rocker.
I'll be deaf for days, but it was worth it. Not only for the first-class rock show, but for the look on the LLP's face as he banged his head old-school. Now if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go gargle with old razor blades. It's the only way I can think of that Brian Johnson recuperates between shows.
The last time I went to a rock concert, Ozzy was recovering from rabies. That doesn't mean this old turd can't rattle his brain with the best of them. So I piled Krusty and a couple teens into the Turd-Brown Taurus and headed south to what was billed as a celebration of heavy metal lifestyle.
I always thought of head-banging as more of a quick way to get a headache than a lifestyle, but hey, I'm game. So we crowded the lot of the arena with several thousand like-minded live music fans to get down with the sickness. After all, this is the Music As a Weapon tour featuring Disturbed.
I'm not sure what happened to music on my way to middle age, but it's changed . . . and not for the better.Back in the seventies, The Who set the record for the loudest concert in history -- 131 decibels if my aging memory serves me correctly -- and you could still understand the lyrics. And the only four-letter words you ever heard were "rock" and "roll." Today, rock shows are about distorted noise and demonic hollering. And lead "singers," if you can call them that, fling f-bombs around like beads off a Mardi Gras float.
Rock and roll used to be about music, lyrics, showmanship, and women. . . Okay, it was about women.
Today it's about beating the crap out of total strangers.
Women included.
At least Krusty had the good sense to stay out of the pit, though he did body surf to the stage and slap hands with some dude with dreadlocks and a microphone.Rock and Roll used to be about rebellion. Individuality. And the contact high you could get walking past the door to the arena.
Yesterday, I saw more thinning mullets and bad ink than on my last trip to Louisiana State Penitentiary. So much for being unique. And I actually heard one old coot complain when the guy next to him lit a cigarette.
Yep, the audience at your standard rock show has changed. Pre-pubescent punks from the burbs decked-out in pasty make-up and black because they think it looks hip. They drag aging yuppies from the Beemer to backstage where the old fart hopes to prove to junior that he's still got the chops he had when he was in college. Here's a clue. Kid, that make-up makes you look gay. And Dad, old dudes in pony tails are creepy.We saw 10 bands in just over 10 hours. All-in-all each one sucked a little less than the one before it. Only four put on any kind of show. While their "music" ain't my thing, Killswitch Engaged kicked major ass. And Lacuna Coil, has a sound just unique enough to make them stand out in a crowd of screamers.
But for my money, the best music of the day had to go to four teenagers from Coweta, Oklahoma. Crooked X. Leif Garrett good looks and pipes to boot, combined with some face-melting guitar licks and just a really cool attitude won them a spot in my iPod.
And of course thanks to Disturbed for helping me prove to Krusty that the old man can still bang his head with the best of them.Now, please pass the Tylenol.
Not since Eddie Van Halen ripped off brother Alex's guitar and began shredding has a rock band made such a splash on the music scene. Well, maybe I'm drinking the Kool-Aid.
Ya see, a few months back, sports dood rounded up a few hard-rock wannabes in an attempt to live out his life's dream: fronting a rock band. After a couple hastily arranged practices, the guys threw together a playlist right out of I Love the 80's, and a band was born. The only detail left was a name.
A rose by any other name might smell as sweet, but in rock and roll, the name is everything. Don't believe me? Ya think Deep Pink could have rocked Smoke on the Water? Would Molting Crew have ever been bad enough to Shout at the Devil? Would you have followed Floyd the Barber to The Dark Side of the Moon? I think not.So when it came time to name the band, these brave souls left it to the photog staff. Not a good idea. Ya see, I've also always wanted to be in a rock band, but I couldn't carry a tune if it had a handle. But I've made great use of the copious amounts of downtime we find in this business hanging around court houses, outside meetings, and kicking the curb at the cop shop. I've got a list of really cool band names.
As a joke, I suggested my favorite. Spoojitzu.
But something happened after it was summarily laughed off the big blackboard of band names in the practice garage. Sports dood began to take a liking to the sound. "We're Spoojitzu. See you next tour."
With one week to the big debut, it looked like a lock. Until someone in the band clued him in to the joke.The band debuted under the name SoundBYTE. Appropriate for a bunch of TV guys making a lot of noise in a barroom. The Burbank Road tour wrapped up this weekend. My ears are still bleeding. 
As to why Josh Meeks is swinging boxers over his head? Let's just say he's got a thing for sweaty singers.
Boy was I wrong.
Their hair is thinner, and their bodies aren't quite as tight as they used to be, but the music never missed a beat. From the first lick of Angus' Gibson to the last cannon blasts of "For Those About to Rock," The sixty-something rockers danced, cavorted, and sweat -- lots of sweat -- their way through all their classics.
This may be showing my age a bit, but one of the best things -- aside from everything else -- was the fact that from the first notes of The Answer's opening set, to the trip out to the parking lot after AC/DC brought the house down, not one single four-letter syllable was uttered on stage. And that's refreshing in a world where posers think they have to be foul to be offensive. (What I muttered in the traffic jam leaving the show is another story.) Kids, take note. Lace you lyrics with thinly-veiled sexual innuendo and benign threats of violence if you wanna be a real rocker.
I'll be deaf for days, but it was worth it. Not only for the first-class rock show, but for the look on the LLP's face as he banged his head old-school. Now if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go gargle with old razor blades. It's the only way I can think of that Brian Johnson recuperates between shows.
