The best Mötley Crüe songs are actually Van Halen songs.
When I got word that my trusty Kiwi (bird, not fruit) Sarah (we go on wacky adventures together and solve crimes, don’t sweat it) was bequeathing free Crüe tickets to myself and resident junior cub reporter Jay Haddow, we began trying to name the songs we liked. The other people in the room’s best guesses were Runnin’ With The Devil and Hot For Teacher. I was going to begin my insidious plan to foil Anami Vice’s Anti-Bullshit Campaign and let them go on believing this was the truth, perpetuating the lie and filling more and more people’s heads with ‘mouth-poo’ as he calls it. Unfortunately I couldn’t bring myself to steal Lee Roth’s thunder. Curse your eyes! I’ll get you one day Vice! [cue thunder and shake fist at sky]
Ahem. Let’s get to it…
First: the bad news. As we were not cordially invited to review this show, Jay couldn’t bring his retardedly futuristic Avatar-ass camera. It’s alright though. We’re resourceful. As soon as we got in, we pick-pocketed a tourist, asked the first leather-assed hussy we saw for a hairpin and some bubble gum and stole an old (really out of place) man’s monocle and MacGyvered a shitty camera out of it. See the results at the bottom of this page. Guerilla shit, sons!
One more semi-irrelevant thing to get out of the way: something really needs to be done about beer line-ups. Generally the line-up itself is populated by many, many bad tattoos and worse haircuts. That aside, the turtles working the taps are generally comprised of equal measures molasses and moronic and/or have grandchildren. Aka you will miss the song you most want to hear (Kickstart My Heart). Smashing!
The rest of the set list:
Wild Side
Shout At The Devil
Saints Of Los Angeles
Live Wire
Motherfucker Of The Year
Looks That Kill
Don’t Go Away Mad (Just Go Away)
Same Ol’ Situation (S.O.S.)
Louder Than Hell
Primal Scream
Girls, Girls, Girls
Encore:
Home Sweet Home
Dr. Feelgood
Mick Mars (the only member not to show his member to the world) had a crazy-ass guitar solo that incorporated Hendrix’s Voodoo Child. While he remains completely rigid like some low-budget horror animatronic muppet, the crowd was shaking as if rabid with violent joy. It’s okay. Jay would make a good human shield, if it all went pear-shaped…
Other highlights:
– Vince Neil having bras, panties and water bottles thrown at him by the crowd.
– The crowd (and security guards) having spit, water and middle fingers thrown at them by Nikki Sixx. Perhaps in retaliation. “For Vince!”
– Tommy Lee keeping the Mamba sheathed and charismatically conversing with us “fuckers” amidst a shower of lit joints that he praised before handing them off to one of his roadies. Unsmoked. No women were slapped during this portion of the show either. Fancy that!
– The moment of silence for Haiti where a bunch of the classless leather-chapped retards in attendance cheered and screamed ‘Twat!’ After the show they caught the skytrain to King George.
– The old, old tits and the embarrassed husbands of the owners of them there fun-bags.
– The man who danced as if he was skiing over a hill made up of band-saws and flamethrowers (no, that was the stage) attempting to limbo under the wild, swinging saggy subjects of the previous sentence. Also of note: the beard he began growing 29 years ago when Mötley Crüe first formed.
Anyways, good stuff old timers. You’re no Van Halen, but I wouldn’t want you to be any other way. If anybody sees my jean jacket sleeves, let me know. My headband and I will be smokin’ in the boys room.
(Don’t tell Miss Teen USSR, OK?)
Fuckers.
As you were,
– Nuv
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In the name of all that’s holy, a Crue review? I want a pen name for my pen name!