Motley Crue

It had been ten twisted years since I'd last seen Motley Crue at Madison Square Garden during the height of their big-haired heyday on the Girls, Girls, Girls tour and to be honest I wasn't expecting much from the former Sultans of Sleaze. More than a few grungy groups and techno trends have stolen the spotlight from our Hollywood heroes and what little I had heard of their '90s output couldn't hold a Zippo to "Too Fast for Love," "Shout at the Devil" or any of the other Teutonic tunes that had been the soundtrack to many of my most cherished and charred memories. Yet, like the full circle of destiny itself, or a nagging case of herpes, here come the Dirtbag Dudes once again, this time in support of their latest CD, the matter-of-factly titled Motley Crue’s Greatest Hits.

The new disc is actually an ever-so-slight repackaging of 1991's Decade of Decadence collection. The difference with Greatest Hits is the inclusion of two new songs, both produced by Bob Rock, who handled the knob twisting chores on the band's last great commercial success, the bazillion selling Dr. Feelgood. Despite their platinum pedigree, the new songs are no big deal, so if you already have Decade, there's no real reason to pick up G. Hits. However, if you don't have the earlier collection and are in the market for a CD more molten than an overly microwaved pizza, G. Hits is the one to get, if only to pay respect to the elder statesman of loud, rude rock 'n' roll.

"Kiss are the grandfathers. We're the fathers," bassist Nikki Sixx said of the glam/heavy-metal scene, when I spoke with him by phone recently. The band was headquartered in the Louisville, Kentucky Hilton, gearing up for another gathering of the "Crueheads," the "best fuckin' fans in the world," according to Mr. Sixx. With his fans supporting such plush accommodations for a band that hasn't had a hit in this entire decade, he just may have a point there.

For those not up on their Headbanger History, Motley Crue are singer Vince Neil, back from a brief solo "career" (The band still bickers about whether he was fired or quit to pursue his dream of being a race car driver.), guitarist Mick Mars, who appears to be back from the dead, judging by his skeletoid frame and skim-milk grey complexion, the aforementioned Nikki Sixx, who has been around the whole time, in varying states of consciousness, but is now six years clean of "dope and coke" or "Dancing on Glass," as he described in a song off the Girls, Girls, Girls record (Nikki says of his wasted years that drugs were "like a razor that was going to split me in two."), and finally, Tommy Lee, who is working at again being known for his drumming skills rather than his all too visible marital and legal difficulties. Tommy hits the road freshly sprung from a much overly publicized jail term and in concert comes out from behind his kit to effusively thank the "Crueheads" for the constant flow of support and loving vibrations he received from them during his four months in "that stinking place."

Though the feral foursome are not nearly as popular as in their multi-platinum years, the band still brings busloads of overpowering lights and sound and their fans still number large enough and make sufficient noise to turn the smaller venues into a big house party for three thousand or so of your rowdiest, "Crudest" friends. And it's this "nads" out, devil sign in the air, fist-pumping dumb fun atmosphere that makes a Motley Crue show such a God awful good time.

Right from the first prescription-strength chorus of "Doctor Feelgood" you find yourself singing along and not because the band can't sing for themselves. Vince's voice was nearly as piercing and full of personality as ever and the backups, though partially enhanced, cranked the Crue's presence up from 10 to a Spinal Tap approved 11. Be it the adrenaline rush of "Live Wire," the butane burning balladry of "Home Sweet Home" or the Sunset Stripper strut of "Girls, Girls, Girls," this was a concert for the angry, confused, hormone-driven teenager in everyone. Furthermore, the band couldn't say enough about their audience, reminding everyone repeatedly how "fuckin' great it is to be here!" It seems, Vince and the boys were just as proud and grateful to be up on stage performing as their audience was to have them there.

The only slow spots in the evening's otherwise exhilarating events were the inclusion of songs off 1997's Generation Swine disc and the new tunes recorded for the Greatest Hits package. I don't know who is writing this slow, depressing drivel, but they should be stopped immediately and with extreme prejudice. Motley Crue have always been about carnal cravings, youth, lust, vengeance, fornication, rebellion and, oh yeah, SEX, in the best Alice Cooper, Kiss, Aerosmith tradition. While the new material may be more contemporary in theme and song structure, the tunes would be more at home on a Smashing Pumpkins set list and have no business being given the time of night by Dr. Feelgood's #1 patients. Fans go to see the Crue to hear about "Looks That Kill" and riding on the "Wild Side." The last thing working-class wallets want to do is pay big buckaroos to see their heroes sing about fear, changes, or being anything less than invincible. Many in the crowd used the new songs as an opportunity to do some "Smoking in the Boys Room" of their own, which I doubt was the intent of the new clean and sober Crue.

The only other knit worth picking on the night was the band's lackluster look. For a group that once defined glam-rock style and fashion, they now are content to take the stage in outfits not fit to wear to one of their old sound checks. Furthermore, Mick Mars' hair seemed suspiciously wig-like. But considering his advanced age, I guess that can be forgiven, since one can only imagine how terrifying he would look without it. As a final fashion statement, Vince should probably consider cutting down on his dairy intake to avoid filling out his already oversized billowy shirt, his one item of apparel that ISN'T meant to be worn skin tight.

But in the end, when the "Smokin' in the Boys Room" has finally cleared and the debris settled from a night of "Anarchy in the USA," I have to give Motley Crue two devil signs up for their unabashed energy and platinum parade of hits. They're just as annoying and socially unacceptable as they've ever been and more PowerAde to them for it. Sure, they could've played a little longer and with better musicianship (holding your bass out into the crowd for the kids to slap at it isn't really considered a solo), but none of the grimy, grinning Crueheads rolling out of the theater by the evening's end seemed to notice or care. And honestly, neither did I.

By the way, for obvious reasons, alcohol wasn't served at this show and yet somehow, I still had fun. Damn, they must've been good.